If I
Could Make Days Last Forever...
by MJ Hajost
Tuesday, 14:10
Johnny flopped down on the squad room couch with a heavy sigh, dropping his head against the back of it and closing his eyes.
"Rough run?" asked Captain Stanley sympathetically, looking up from his paperwork.
"I don’t wanna talk about it," muttered Johnny, folding his hands loosely across his stomach and luxuriating in the relative coolness of the squad room.
"Your lunch is in the oven," said Mike Stoker.
"I’m not hungry," Johnny told him.
"I’m starved," said Roy DeSoto, traipsing into the squad room and making his way to the oven.
"What happened?" asked the Cap.
"Nothing," Johnny sighed from behind closed eyes.
"The heat's just making Gage cranky," Chet Kelly put in from where he and Marco Lopez were finishing dishes.
"Chet, it is not!" answered Johnny petulantly.
"Oh, come on, Johnny," called Roy as he set his plate on the table. "Tell ‘em what happened."
Chet and Marco both turned. "Yeah, Gage, what happened?" Chet wanted to know.
"Nothing happened," Johnny insisted, opening his eyes and glaring first at Chet, then Roy.
His partner simply grinned idiotically back at him. "Johnny got propositioned," he told the crew gleefully.
Johnny shot up from the couch. "Roy!"
Even Stoker started to laugh. "Propositioned?"
"What was wrong with her, Roy, head injury?" sneered Chet.
"I can’t believe you're gonna tell them this!" Johnny moaned.
"Come on, pal," said Stanley, "give."
"I told you, I...don’t...want...to...talk...about...it." Johnny enunciated each word carefully through clenched teeth, hands on his hips, eyes murderously on his partner.
"Oh, I’m sure Roy will be only too happy to tell us," chortled Marco.
"Well, if Johnny doesn’t want to…" Roy let the words trail off.
Johnny’s only response was an angry, "I don’t believe this!" before he stomped out of the room. This was rapidly turning into a very bad day.
"So, come on, are you gonna tell us or not?" Stanley leaned his arms on the table and looked expectantly at Roy.
Roy’s grin, if anything, widened. "Oh, this is too good to keep to myself," he laughed, settling himself comfortably. "Well, we're coming out of the house after this last call. Nothing serious, no ambulance run or anything, and we're heading back out to the squad. Suddenly, here comes this woman, flying down the sidewalk like a bat outa hell on a pair of roller skates--totally out of control. Johnny sees her first and tries to get out of her way, but it's too late. Next thing you know, she flattens him. Lands right on top of him, just lays him right out." Roy demonstrated with his hands.
"Oh, man, I’da paid good money to see that!" exclaimed Chet.
"Oh, that wasn’t the best part," Roy continued, laughing so helplessly that he was having a hard time getting the words out now. "The two of them are lying there, Johnny gasping for air, and she says to him, ‘If I’d known it was that easy to get a man, I’d have done this a long time ago.’ You should have seen his face." Roy was off on another round of giggles. Chet, Marco, and Stoker all hooted with him.
"Poor Johnny," declared the Cap. He was the only who seemed sympathetic.
"Thanks,Cap. At least one person is on my side." Johnny sidled back into the room. "Are you through now?" he wondered, looking pointedly at Roy.
"Johnny, this could only happen to you," laughed Marco.
"Was she at least good-looking, Johnny?" Mike asked.
"Not by a long shot, Mike," Roy chortled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his partner shudder at the memory, and that set off a new round of giggles.
"Hey, Gage, whaddya say we all go roller skating when the shift ends?" suggested Chet.
"Aw, Chet, why don’t you go change the air in your tires?" Johnny retorted. He poked his head into the refrigerator and came up with a carton of milk.
The sounding of the klaxons interrupted Chet’s response.
"Station 51, Engine 16, Battalion 14, structure fire, 680 Foster Court, 6-8-0 Foster Court, cross street Grant, time out 14:23."
"Saved by the bell," murmured the Cap, pushing back his chair and heading out with his crew.
****
Tuesday 17:20"Man, I'm beat," Johnny lamented as the squad pulled back into the bay. He glanced at his watch, jotted the time in the log, and sighed. "Do you know that's the ninth run we've been on today?"
"It's the heat," Roy decided. "Always makes people a little crazy."
"Yeah, well, I'm one of 'em," John assured him as he climbed from the truck. "And I'm gonna get crazier if I don't get something cold to drink soon."
"Not possible, Junior," Roy muttered, shaking his head, "not possible."
"Oh, funny. You sound just like Chet."
Roy laughed and walked into the squad room, Johnny on his heels.
"Package came for you, Gage," Chet said, pointing to a large box that sat on the table.
Johnny glanced at it as he walked to the cabinet and pulled out a glass. He let the cold water run in the sink a minute, filled the glass and drained it, then filled it again and carried it to the table. Setting it down, he frowned at the box. "Who sent it?" he wondered, looking around at the guys.
"We don't know," Mike explained. "It was sitting on the table when we got back from that dumpster fire."
Johnny shrugged and, pulling his scissors from his belt, slit the brown wrapping. Underneath a plain corrugated box gave no hint as to its contents. He cut the tape holding the lid closed and peered inside.
"Oh, very funny, Chet." The younger paramedic picked up the pair of old-fashioned roller skates that rested in the box. "Ha, ha." He dangled them by the straps and made a face at Chet.
Roy grinned and took them from Johnny. "Hey, where'd you get these? I haven't seen a pair like this since I was a kid." He turned them over. "Where's the key?"
"Hey, I don’t know anything about those skates," protested Chet, giving Johnny a patently Chet-like grin. "But, maybe the person who sent it knows how Johnny is with keys."
"Now, what's that supposed to mean?" Johnny leaned forward, his hands on the table.
"Oh, nothin', Gage. But we all know that Roy always drives the squad...if he doesn't trust you with keys, maybe whoever sent those skates doesn’t, either."
Roy managed to keep the skates out of Johnny's reach as he seemed determined to pitch them in Chet's direction. Johnny gave Roy a baleful glare, downed the second glass of water, and stalked to the refrigerator. "Big mouth," he muttered. Roy just grinned and dropped the skates on the table.
"What's for dinner, Marco?" Roy asked, wandering to the counter, where Marco worked diligently slicing a variety of vegetables.
"Steak--I'm going to barbecue," Marco answered, sliding a mushroom out of Johnny's reach. The other made a face and stalked away with the milk he had poured himself.
"Steak?" Roy's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Wow...I can't remember the last time I had a good steak." He flashed an amused look at Marco. "I didn't even know you knew how to barbecue."
Marco shrugged. "Well, actually, I've never tried it before. You guys are my test subjects."
Johnny groaned from his seat at the table. "Oh, great. And, I'm starving, too." He rose and went to the cookie jar, rummaging for the remaining couple of chocolate chip cookies. As he popped the first into his mouth, Roy snatched the other from his hand. Gage started to protest, thought better of it, and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter.
"Well," remarked Stoker, glancing at the clock, "it's almost 5:30. We gonna be eating soon, Marco?"
Marco slid his vegetables into a large bowl. "Yeah. The steaks should only take about ten or fifteen minutes to cook." He turned to the refrigerator and pulled out the steaks he had left there to marinate. While he readied them for the grill, Mike and Roy set the table.
"Hey, when's dinner?" Hank Stanley walked through the squad room door just as the bells went off.
"Aw, man...." Almost in unison, six voices uttered the lament of another interrupted dinner.
Johnny jammed the apple into a pocket and followed Roy out to the squad. With luck, he'd be able to eat it on the way back.
"Station 51, Station 26, Truck 10, Battalion 14, structure collapse, 1422 Chisolm, one four two Chisolm, cross street Century. Time out 17:34."
*****
Tuesday 17:55First to arrive on the scene, the squad pulled to a stop well back of the structure, a new office building, several stories high, still under construction. As Johnny and Roy climbed out of the vehicle, they could easily see the partial collapse on the east side, and a crowd of construction workers milling aimlessly among the equipment scattered around the facility. As the engine rolled to a stop behind them, a yellow-helmeted man trotted up.
"I got a man trapped inside," he reported breathlessly as Stanley stepped down from the rig.
"Any idea where he is?" demanded Cap, already mapping the strategy in his head.
"Yeah," replied the man, "he's in one of the elevator shafts on the east side. About fifty yards straight back through that entryway." He pointed toward an uneven opening on the near side of the complex.
Stanley turned to the paramedics. "Roy, John, grab your gear. Chet, Marco, follow them in, give me a report on the stability of that structure." Even as he spoke there was a loud rumble, and a plume of dust rose from the rubble. "And be careful!" he added unnecessarily.
Roy and Johnny strapped on their climbing belts, each taking an extra belt and a coil of rope. Chet and Marco did the same, and the four men made their way inside.
Johnny gazed up apprehensively as he led the way through the maze of fallen beams, slabs of concrete and sheetrock, and scattered timber. The entire mass creaked ominously, and he stopped in his tracks, waiting for it to settle. This ain't gonna be no grab and drag. He lifted the HT to his lips.
"HT 51 to Engine 51."
"Engine 51, go ahead."
"Cap, it's John," he reported. "Listen, this place looks unstable as hell. We're gonna need some help shoring it up."
"10-4, John. You guys gonna be able to make it to that shaft, you think?"
Gage's eyes traveled over the mess again, and he glanced behind him at the others. All three nodded. Johnny grinned into the HT. "Yeah, Cap, no problem. It's gettin' out that might be the problem."
"All right, but you guys be careful. I don't want to have to rescue you four as well."
Behind him, the other companies had spread out as they pulled onto the scene, and Pete Daniels and Rick Schlater jogged over to plan their strategy.
"We've got one man trapped in there, and I've got four men going after him," reported Stanley, "but they say it's pretty unstable. We're gonna need crews in there to shore it up so they can get the victim out. Pete, have your men move in and start clearing away as much debris as they can. Rick, take your men and gather shoring materials. Have the foreman help you. Let's make this as quick as possible--I don't think that wall's gonna hold much longer."
Inside, the firemen moved cautiously through the debris, finding an occasional pocket of clear floor they could traverse easily, but for the most part they had to climb over and around fallen material. Stopping three or four times as the structure groaned around them, they at last reached their destination.
"Hey!" Johnny yelled, peering into the darkness of the shaft. "Fire department! You okay down there?"
"Yeah," came the muffled reply. "Kinda stuck, though."
Johnny grinned as he glanced at his partner. "Okay, we're gonna come on down and get you out," he called.
"This opening doesn't look as if it'll be big enough for both of us to go down at the same time," Roy decided, scanning the hole. Looking up he added, "And I don't know that this is gonna hold more than one line, anyway." He pointed at the beams which canted crazily above them. "We'd better rig just one line."
"All right," Johnny agreed. "I'll go down first, and you can follow, then the equipment."
Within minutes, Johnny was lowering himself carefully into the dark. A beam of light played over him as he descended, showing the partially constructed tracking alongside the side walls of the enclosure. Further below, the light touched briefly on the tip of a debris pile. Beyond that, Johnny could see nothing. "Point the light straight down!" he shouted. The light steadied below him and he could see dimly the top end of a fallen timber. "Okay, easy now!" His foot touched the wooden beam and he slid cautiously to the side to avoid impaling himself on its tip. His helmet bumped the edge as he dropped alongside it and slipped off his head, clattering to the floor below and allowing him to gauge the remaining distance. Probably about fifteen more feet. "Keep going!" he yelled up.
A minute later he was on the floor, releasing the line and yanking on it once. "Okay, I'm down!" He reached into the left pocket of his turnout coat and, pulling out his flashlight, trained it on his surroundings. The small space was cluttered with fallen debris, and pinned under some large pieces of timber and bits of concrete was the trapped worker.
"How ya doin'?" Johnny asked, stepping across the mess to where the man lay.
"Feelin' better just seein' you," grunted the trapped man.
Johnny dropped beside him. "Okay, let's see what we've got here." He focused the flashlight on the layers that covered the trapped man. "What's your name?"
"Jim Turner."
"My name's John Gage," he said easily as he surveyed the debris. "You hurt anywhere, Jim?"
"Having a hard time breathing with all this stuff piled on me, mostly," answered Jim. "My right leg hurts an awful lot--I think it might be broken."
"Okay, Jim, you just try to relax, and we'll have you out of here in no time." It wouldn't be easy to correct the problem, Johnny thought, shifting to peer underneath the wooden beam that rested across the man's chest. No way he and Roy could do this alone. They'd need two men to lift the beam and a third to pull out the trapped man. He had lifted his head to call up when there was another rumble from above.
Johnny dropped across Jim's face to protect him as dust filtered down over them, throwing up his arms to shield both of them as much as possible. He could feel small fragments of something pelting his back, and he prayed there wasn't anything larger planning on dropping down and at the same time cursed himself for not putting his helmet back on. The rain ceased and Johnny straightened again.
Pulling the HT from his other pocket, he pressed the "Send" key. "HT 51 to Engine 51."
"Go ahead, John." Cap's disembodied voice filtered back in the darkness.
"Cap, we're gonna need some help in here. We gotta get a third man into the shaft to free this guy. We also need some more light, and we're gonna need some splints and the stokes."
"10-4, John. On their way." Outside, Stanley lifted his HT to his mouth. "Engine 26, this is Engine 51. We need additional men inside to help my men extract their victim. Enter through the east side."
"Engine 26, 10-4."
"Mike!" Stanley called. "Give me a hand with the stokes and the splint box."
"Right, Cap!" Thankful to have something to do besides wait, Stoker trotted after his captain to the squad.
Above Johnny, Roy began his descent. Johnny shone his light from below while Chet focused his from above, giving Roy a better view than Johnny had seen. Able to avoid some of the debris Johnny had bumped into, he made it to the bottom quickly, and the equipment followed almost immediately.
"Chet, as soon as the other guys get here, we need you down here!" yelled Johnny.
"Right!" Chet answered.
Johnny shrugged out of his turnout coat. It was cooler down here than up top, but he was already feeling lightheaded from the heat. He and Roy between them set up the biophone and checked the vitals, transmitting the information and informing Rampart that they would be unable to start treatment immediately. By the time Brackett had acknowledged the delay, Chet had been lowered.
"Dutch says to get your sorry ass out of this hole as soon as possible," Chet reported. "Says we interrupted his dinner."
"Good ol' Dutch, always thinkin' of others," Johnny grinned. He lifted his head. "Hey, I got steaks waitin' at my station. What are you complaining about?"
"Steaks? Ha! I got lobster waitin' at mine."
"In what lifetime?"
"Wanna lay a bet on that?"
Johnny could hear the laughter behind Dutch's jibe. "You're on," he called back. "Loser buys dinner."
"I'm picking the restaurant now, Teach."
"That's what I like to hear--that nice tone of respect due your superiors." Johnny flashed his grin in Chet's direction.
"Pigeon," Chet mouthed.
"Think we can get down to business here?" Roy intervened.
Johnny lifted his head again. "Dutch, how come we're still in the dark down here?"
"I don't know, Gage, when was the last time you paid your electric bill?" Two bright lights suddenly stabbed through the dark, chasing weird shadows under and behind the clutter that surrounded them.
"Wow!" breathed Chet.
Wow is right, thought Roy.
They were about thirty feet down from the opening through which they had descended, and in the sudden brightness could see that the elevator shaft covered an area of about twelve feet by twelve feet, give or take a few inches. The walls were bare concrete, with steel rails that ran perpendicular to the floor on the two side walls. Two very long wooden beams rested end-on against adjacent walls, and three or four smaller beams, including the one that trapped their victim, lay scattered on the floor. Chunks of concrete dotted the floor amid thinner slabs of sheetrock, and dust covered everything.
"Okay, Chet," Johnny murmured after a moment of awed silence, "why don't you and I clear off some of this debris and see if we can't lift this timber off our friend Jim here?"
Chet climbed over Roy and began to shift the smaller pieces of concrete, stacking it carefully to the side so that it wouldn't topple onto any of them. It was slow, heavy work, even with three of them working, and it was a good half hour before they had cleared enough away to try lifting the beam.
"All right," Johnny said when he'd caught his breath, "let's give it a shot." He reached up and wiped sweat from his face with the back of his arm. Man, it's hot down here.
Chet stepped up beside him while Roy dropped to the trapped worker.
"Now, it might hurt when I pull you out," Roy warned, "but I'm
not gonna stop, all right?"
Jim nodded, too breathless--in spite of the oxygen they'd given him--to speak.
"Ready?" Johnny asked from his position just underneath the beam.
Chet nodded from in front of him.
"On three. One, two, three!" Carefully, they straightened, putting all their weight into shifting the beam. On the ground, Roy pulled cautiously to be sure the worker was truly free before yanking more firmly and hauling with all his might to release him from the rubble. In seconds that seemed more like several minutes to the firefighters, Jim was free, Roy was busy setting up the first IV, Johnny and Chet had lowered the fallen timber, and the latter two were busy splinting the broken right leg.
"How you doin', Jim?" Johnny called from his spot at the man's right ankle.
"Feelin' a whole lot better," Jim muttered through the air mask.
Johnny grinned. "Good. Let's keep it that way. You've been great, you know that? Not too many people could be so patient about being dug out like this."
Jim shrugged. "Better than being dead."
Johnny grinned. "Yup," he agreed.
Minutes later, strapped in the stokes basket and feeling more comfortable than he had in an hour, Jim was on his way up to the opening above.
"Roy, why don't you go on up first, and we'll send up the equipment?" Johnny suggested as they gathered their gear.
"Okay," agreed his partner. The trip up was faster than going down, and infinitely more pleasant.
Dutch Masters hauled him up easily and helped release the line from his belt. "Grady and Stoker have your victim," he reported, jerking his head toward the exit. "Be careful--they've shored up some of the rough spots, but it's still pretty shaky."
"Thanks," Roy said, taking the equipment Marco had hauled up with the other line and following the distant light to the exit. As hot as it was up here, it sure felt good to be out of that hole. Halfway out, the building creaked and groaned again. Roy stopped and ducked, but the noise stopped. Quickening his steps, he hastily exited the structure, heaving a sigh of relief as he stepped into the fading sunlight. Glancing over his shoulder he hoped silently that Johnny and Chet were already on their way up.
Back in the shaft, Chet had clipped himself to the line. "Okay!" he called up to Dutch. With a jerk he lifted slowly from the floor as the others began to hoist their burden to freedom. He was about halfway up when he felt the tremor.
Behind him, shrugging into his coat, Johnny stopped and looked up. "What the--"
Another vibration, this one stronger. Above, the lights flickered alarmingly.
"Chet?"
There was a loud rumble from above and the floor began to shake more violently. Johnny reached out for the wall as the lights abruptly went out. Quake!
"Johnny!" Chet's scream echoed in the shaft as his line snapped and he dropped into the abyss.
The concrete wailed, screaming as it fell. A booming roar shook the walls and filled the night. The endless noise penetrated the bones, burning into the soul. Chet Kelly realized he now knew what the end of the world would sound like—its noise would fill his dreams. The silence following the collapse was deafening.
Chet lay in the darkness listening to his body with the smell of smoke, leather and dust filling his nostrils. He was face down on something yielding and rough. The surface beneath his face shifted. His face was buried in Gage’s turnout, he realized. Cautiously he lifted his head.
Dust shifted through the beam of Chet’s fallen flashlight and a thick layer of gray grit covered everything. In the gloom, the blanket of debris in front of his face moved, lifting upwards. Beneath the dust-caked brim of his helmet appeared Johnny’s face. Blinking at the powder falling on his cheeks, Gage stared upwards into the darkness and studied the overlaying wreckage that was trapping them in the pit at the bottom of the elevator shaft.
"You okay?" asked Chet, rising carefully to his knees.
Johnny nodded.
"Gage, you’re a disaster magnet!" accused Kelly.
That's the understatement of the year. For once Johnny saw no reason to argue with the stocky Irishman. He sat up slowly, carefully brushing grit from his coat. A sudden sneeze scattered more dust, shaking it from his helmet and onto his hands, triggering another explosive release from his sinuses.
"Bless you," muttered Chet.
"Thanks," Johnny mumbled, sneezing once more.
"Geez, Gage, you're not gonna do that until we get outa here, are you?"
I hope not, Gage thought. "You all right, Chet?" He could barely make out Kelly's face in the gloom.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Chet looked around. "You think that's it?"
He sensed rather than saw the negative motion of the other's head. "There are always aftershocks." Always.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." Chet picked up his flashlight and played it over the shaft. Dust motes danced in the beam, eerily drifting downward in a weird ballet of clustering powder.
Johnny sneezed again.
**********
Tuesday 19:43
Even as the rumbling ceased the scattered firefighters were already at work establishing an orderly plan of rescue for personnel still trapped underneath the fallen east wall. Hank Stanley was busy shouting orders and trying to listen to the reports of injured and missing at the same time.
"DeSoto!" he shouted, spotting one of his paramedics attending a stokes basket near the ambulance.
Roy looked as the ambulance attendants lifted the injured man into the back of their vehicle. In all the noise and confusion, Roy had to work to maintain his focus on the patient. Jeff Grady waved him off from his perch inside, and Roy trotted over to the Cap’s side.
"Any idea who’s still inside?"
Glancing around, Roy took a quick inventory, straining among the crowd already struggling with fallen timber to see if he could possibly tell…. He became suddenly still. "Johnny, Chet…." He turned to Stanley. "Has anyone seen Johnny or Chet?"
"Where were they when you last saw them?" he demanded.
"Still in the shaft. Cap, did Marco or Dutch make it out? They were in there at the top of the shaft…." His voice trailed off.
In minutes, Stanley, Daniels, and Schlater had determined that six men were missing: Gage, Kelly, and Lopez from 51, Masters and Starks from 26, and Will Sanders from 10. As near as they could figure out, Gage and Kelly had been still in the shaft, Lopez, Masters, and Starks had been at the top of the shaft, and Sanders had been helping to shore up the hallway when the east wall had given way.
With a sick dread in the pit of his stomach, Stanley gazed helplessly at the mountain of ruins that had once been a half-finished structure, wondering how, if at all, they were ever going to get the men out of there.
**********
Tuesday, 20:18"Dutch!"
No reply.
"Marco! Starks!"
Come on, guys! Answer us!
"Think they got out?"
Johnny slowly shook his head. "I hope so," he murmured. Once more he played the beam of light from his torch around the wreckage that had fallen into the pit with that last earth-shattering roar, still a little stunned that he and Chet had managed to escape unhurt. Jagged bits of concrete and timber hung firmly across the opening above them, wedged into place by a force to which Johnny felt he owed his undying gratitude. All he could do now was pray that it would continue to hold until someone set them free. God, don’t let there be any aftershocks....
"Earth to Gage…."
"What?" Johnny turned in annoyance, the beam sliding across Chet’s face and staying on his eyes. Chet shifted his head.
"Gage!"
"Sorry." Johnny’s voice was only mildly conciliatory. He shifted the light.
"I said we ought to conserve the batteries, shut off the lights." Chet’s flashlight was already dark.
"How can we find a way out with the lights turned off?" He held the light down, though, his eyes scanning upwards, knowing that Chet was right.
"What difference does it make?" Chet lifted a hand toward the now hidden opening. "We couldn’t climb out anyway. And even if we could, where would we go? If that entrance weren’t blocked, we’d know it by now."
Johnny dropped his head and sighed. Man, I hate it when Chet’s right! He looked over at the other firefighter. "Well, what do you suggest we do?"
"Well, first thing you oughta do is contact the Cap on the HT," Chet suggested, an element of fear underscoring the sarcasm he tried to project into his tone.
With an almost comedic dropping of his mouth, Johnny felt in the pocket of his turnout and pulled forth the handie-talkie. Must be really slipping to let Kelly think of that first, he chided himself. Blowing the dust off the casing, he pressed the "Send" button and choked, "Engine 51, this is HT 51."
The only answer was static.
Glancing at Chet, Johnny depressed the button again and repeated the call.
Still no response.
"Great, Gage, you broke the handie-talkie." Chet's voice carried his disgust across the darkness.
"I'm not the one who landed on it!" John's voice was just as irritable. I'm not gonna give up on this one, though. Dropping to the floor, Gage arranged himself as comfortably as he could and settled the flashlight in his lap so that it shone on the radio.
"Gage, what are you doing?" Kelly squatted beside the paramedic and watched curiously as Gage removed the protective case from the transmitter and then the back.
"I'm gonna fix it," Johnny explained, his voice that of a father explaining something to his idiot son.
"Oh, great," muttered Chet, his voice just loud enough for Johnny to hear, "now for sure it'll never work again."
"Chet!" began Johnny.
Chet looked up expectantly. "What?"
Drawing his lips together in a tight line, Johnny glared at him. "Never mind," he finally grumbled, turning back to his work.
Kelly settled himself against the wall. Might as well get comfortable--it's a sure bet we won't get any help via the handie-talk. He closed his eyes and let the darkness envelop him.
**********
Tuesday, 22:08"Captain, we found Sanders!"
"DeSoto!"
Roy jumped up from where he'd been taking a breather and dashed to the opening the firefighters had managed to clear through the entrance, pushing to the back of his mind the unexpected jealousy that bubbled up as he heard the announcement, and, steeling himself, ducked inside the ruin to make his assessment of the victim.
Sanders was still pinned underneath a pile of bricks and timber, but he was in good spirits and, as far as Roy could tell, had not been badly injured.
"Mostly just can't get out on my own," Sanders assured him.
For good measure, though, Roy got the vitals and relayed them to the hospital. Ten minutes later, Sanders walked from the building under his own power, limping slightly and coughing from the dust, but otherwise unhurt. Schlater sent him off to Rampart for good measure, despite the man's protests, and Roy went back for his turn inside, determined to keep as close as possible to the rescue.
He was more than a little worried about the men in the shaft. After all, Johnny still had the HT. If they were both all right, they would have heard from the pair by now.
With a concentrated effort, Roy pushed Johnny and Chet from his mind and worked at clearing a pathway and shoring up the remaining wall.
**********
Tuesday, 22:30"Aha!"
Chet jumped, startled from his light doze by Johnny's triumphant cry.
"Just push this back into place...." Johnny's tongue darted between his teeth, his brows furrowed in concentration as he bent over the handie-talk. His face suddenly relaxed and his head lifted, a curious expression passing over his dust-streaked features. Glancing at Chet, he muttered, "Well, here goes nothing." He pressed the "Send" button. "Engine 51, this is HT 51."
He released the switch and listened carefully. This time there wasn't even static.
"Aw, nuts!" Johnny bent back to his task again.
Chet sneezed.
**********
Tuesday, 23:33It was the creaking that finally brought him around. Like fingernails on a blackboard, the sound had been grating on his nerves for some time; as hard as he might try, he couldn't ignore it and return to the lovely dream he'd been having. With a groan of disgust Dutch Master opened his eyes. "Stop it already!" he mumbled. No, that wasn't right. That should have been a shout. What was wrong with his voice?
Dutch blinked slowly in the gloom that surrounded him, struggling to figure out where he was, what had happened. Why was it so dark? Better yet, why was he so damn uncomfortable?
At least the groaning had stopped. Why am I sleeping on my stomach? And who took my pillow? He lifted his head to investigate, cracked it sharply on something that was lying on top of him, and memory flooded back. Oh, yeah…that wall fell down.
Dutch was attacked by a sudden fit of giggles. For some reason, the tune from "London Bridge" began playing through his mind and it wouldn’t stop. I gotta tell this to Johnny, he’ll think it’s a riot, he thought, and instantly sobered. Johnny! Man, he was in the pit!
For the first time, Dutch wondered how perilous was his predicament. He reached out slowly with his right hand, discovering to his delight that there was quite a bit of open area to that side. His left arm was pinned under his chest, and as he tried work it free a sharp, biting pain shot through his shoulder. Dutch gasped, sucking in a lungful of dust and coughing violently for what seemed like several minutes but in reality was probably no more than twenty or thirty seconds. Okay, let’s try this another way. He carefully shifted himself sideways, sliding toward the open area on his right. Nope, that’s not gonna work. Something held his left leg in place. Maybe if he could get to his hands and knees he could lift off whatever held him down.
Several minutes later, Dutch gave up the futile effort. He had managed during his efforts to uncover more injuries than he cared to think about just now, not the least of which was what felt like a shattered left ankle. Swallowing hard from his exertions, Dutch lay his head on his right arm and tried to catch his breath.
Wonder where Johnny is now?
He frowned. Not just Johnny. Where was Lopez? He’d been standing right beside him when that wall started to go. Starks, too.
Dutch lifted his head again and tried to scan the area. Had Starks been on his right or left? He ran his mind back over those seconds of hell—terror not for himself but for the guys in the hole. Lopez had been to his right as they stood at the opening…hauling Chet up. Dutch cringed as he remembered the ill-judged attempt to continue bringing Chet up as the wall began to crumble, the angry frustration of both men as they were forced to drop the line and dive for cover. He dimly remembered Andy Starks shouting something…and then shoving Dutch toward the distant entrance. Andy must be behind him somewhere.
"Marco?"
The sounds came out in a tiny whisper. He tried again, louder.
"Lopez, dammit, where are you?"
Silence.
"Andy?"
Damn!
The ruins groaned again.
**********
Wednesday, 00:46Marco Lopez sighed for the thousandth time since the wall had collapsed. Madre de Dios, where am I hidden that they don't hear me shouting? His voice was hoarse and his throat raw from the heat, dust, and almost constant yelling.
His left arm and shoulder were pinned underneath some concrete, so he had no way of knowing how long he'd been there, nor how long it had been since he had regained consciousness. His head ached, probably from the blow that had knocked him to the ground and out. At least he was on his back and not the other way around. He didn't think he'd otherwise have been as calm as he felt himself to be right now.
The biggest worry was another collapse. Bricks, little chunks of concrete, and particles of dust dripped almost constantly from overhead, miraculously bouncing away from the slab that partially protected his head. He had managed to get his helmet back on some time ago, so felt marginally safe, but still, he'd have felt a lot better if he had some company.
Try to relax, Marco. They'll keep looking until they find you.
At least he didn't think he was badly hurt. Except for the headache and the numbness in his arm, there were no injuries. His legs moved fine, his right arm was fine, his voice worked, he could see and hear, he had no chest pains, he had no trouble breathing. He had a lot to be thankful for.
Marco wondered how Chet and Johnny were doing in the pit. Not the best of combinations for a forced partnering under such extreme circumstances. He fervently hoped they wouldn't kill each other before they could be found alive.
Holy Mother, Marco! Worrying about those two when you're pinned here
underneath tons of rubble? Let them take care of themselves!
Marco sighed again. What was that, a thousand and one?
**********
Wednesday, 00:53
Johnny paused to rest, shrugging his shoulders against the strain of bending over his lap, and bumped one of the timbers that rested against the wall. He jumped back abruptly as a couple of loose bricks cascaded down, and dropped the radio as he darted away from the danger. After a minute of silence and no further trouble from overhead, he rose, picked up the flashlight, and swept the floor for the HT. Oh, there it is. He bent down and retrieved it from the rubble, stopped, then uttered a couple of unprintable words.
"What’s wrong?" Chet turned from his own contemplation of their enforced cell.
"One of those bricks knocked the antenna off," Johnny answered disgustedly, fingering the radio anyway, seeing if there was anything he could do.
"Disaster magnet…."
"Shut up, Chet!" Gage already felt bad enough as it was. He slid the now useless portable into the pocket of his turnout, then slipped out of the heavy coat. "Man, it’s hot in here!" He shed his helmet as well, running his hands through his sweaty hair.
"Oh, no!"
Gage turned at Chet’s wail, heart hammering, taking a step toward the Irishman. "What?"
"My watch stopped!"
Johnny made a face. "You almost gave me a heart attack, Chet!" he complained. He looked at his own watch. "It’s almost one o’clock," he added. No wonder he was so tired. And hungry. He rolled his head around a few times to try to remove the kinks, stretching his aching back and shoulder muscles as well.
"What I wouldn’t give for a beer right now," Chet murmured, folding his turnout and setting it near the wall. He dropped onto it and made himself as comfortable as he possibly could, which wasn’t very.
Great. Now Chet had reminded him that he was thirsty, too. Johnny slid onto his own coat next to Chet and stretched out his legs, his hands straying into his pants pockets to reassure himself that his squad keys were still there. "Jackpot!" he cried, happily pulling out the apple he had stashed there on his way out of the station.
"What?"
With a grin, Johnny held up the fruit in one hand as he reached behind to his scissors pack for his utility knife, and split the apple carefully in two, handing one of the halves to Chet.
"I hate to ask how long this has been in your pocket," Chet told him as he accepted the piece.
"I’ll take it back if you don’t want it." Johnny reached for it, but Chet drew his hand back, and grinning, Gage bit into the fruit, savoring the sweet juiciness. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. "What do you suppose is happening up there?" he asked finally, tossing the core into the darkness and leaning his head back against the wall. There was absolutely no light coming from the opening, and in the coal-black dark of the early morning hour he couldn’t begin to guess where the opening was.
"Still looking for us," Chet decided.
"Think the others got out?"
"Marco and Dutch? Yeah…."
"Starks, too?" Johnny didn’t know Starks all that well, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. He had met him a few times here and there, and knew that he was married with an infant son.
Starks must have been the third man up there, Chet realized. He didn’t know him. "If the other two made it out, he did, too."
Johnny sighed and closed his eyes. "I hope Roy’s okay," he murmured.
"Gage, you’re about the only guy I know who can worry about the other guy when you’re in the midst of a disaster yourself," Chet said, shaking his head in the darkness.
Johnny opened his eyes and looked in Chet’s direction, detecting the faint outline of the other’s face in the gloom. "What’s wrong with that?"
Chet shrugged. "Nothin’, I guess. Don’t you ever worry about just yourself, though?"
Johnny shifted on his coat, bringing his legs up to his chest. "’Course I do. If I need to." More than you know, Chet. "Don’t tell me you don’t worry about us sometimes, too, Chet."
"Not me, Johnny boy. Too busy worrying about ol’ number one, here."
Johnny laughed to himself. Yeah, right, Chet. And the moon is made of green cheese. Oops…shouldn’t be thinkin’ about food. Damn.
**********
Wednesday, 01:22
Floodlights illuminated the entire east side of the structure, throwing eerie shadows across the walls as the firefighters moved in and out. Two bulldozers and three more engine companies now occupied what space was left in the construction area surrounding the half-demolished building. The chugging of the engines on the big yellow Cats drowned out the more quiet shouting as the workers traded places, directed a comrade, or snagged a hand or other limb on a piece of the wreckage.
Roy DeSoto ducked under the shoring at the makeshift entrance they’d created near the southeast corner of the building and, straightening slowly, took a deep breath of the warm night air. He pulled off his helmet and swiped a grimy, gloved hand through his sweat-soaked hair.
"Roy?"
He turned toward the voice and saw Jeff Grady approaching from the "lunch" wagon that had been set up near the perimeter. Grady handed Roy a Styrofoam cup filled with ice water, lifting his own in a weird toast to the collapsed wall.
"How’s it look in there?" he wondered.
Roy swallowed a mouthful of the water, savoring the cooling sensation as it made its way down his throat, and shrugged. "Seems like every time we gain an inch we lose a foot," he sighed.
Grady’s eyes remained fixed on the rescue operation. "You think there’s any chance—"
"Yes." Roy’s voice was determined, even. "Lopez is too smart to let Dutch or Starks get hurt."
Grady gave Roy a wan smile.
"They’re halfway to the shaft now," Roy told him, gulping the last of the water. "Maybe—"
His words were cut short as a shout went up from the workers near the exit. Men suddenly poured forth from the gap as a mighty reverberation shook the facing wall that still stood against the night. From where they stood, Roy and Grady watched in horrid fascination as that wall, too, began to crumble in on itself. The night resonated as concrete buckled and bricks tumbled in slow motion to the heap below.
Behind them, Hank Stanley uttered a low, heartfelt epithet.
**********
Wednesday, 01:22
Johnny looked up in alarm as the rumble shook the building once more. "Aftershock!" he muttered, scrambling for the relative protection of the wall, Chet at his side. Both men curled into tight balls, backs to the wall, heads down and arms buried somewhere in their middles.
The noise and concussion lasted for a long couple of minutes, during which Johnny was sure they were going to be crushed by falling debris. A few small pieces bounced down the opening and clattered against the existing rubble. Johnny felt Chet flinch at his side, sure he had done the same thing until at last the noise stopped.
Johnny lifted his head slowly, fearfully.
"It’s okay, Gage, you can breathe again," muttered Chet.
"Yeah. You, too." Johnny’s voice was soft.
"I don’t think that was an aftershock," Chet said after a moment’s silence.
Johnny looked at what he could see of Chet in the darkness. "What would you say it was, then?" he demanded, struggling to keep his fear from penetrating his voice.
"I think this building isn’t safe…maybe some sort of construction short sight, faulty materials, poor workmanship…"
"…cutting corners…." Johnny nodded. "Maybe."
"How much longer you think they’ll be?"
"I think it’s gonna be awhile," Johnny replied around a yawn that even his hammering heart could repel. "They haven’t gotten to us after nearly six hours, and if that was another wall coming down, or more of the first collapse, we’re gonna be here for a while." He closed his eyes and settled more comfortably against the wall, trying to see if he could find a position that might allow him to at least doze.
"Well, if we’re still in here after our shift ends, I’m puttin’ in for overtime."
Johnny laughed out loud at that one, choking on the dust that rose when he moved his feet. "I’ll settle for a couple hundred cold glasses of water," he concluded when he regained control of his voice.
"You gotta set your sights higher than that, Gage," Kelly muttered derisively.
Johnny was shaking his head, however. "I'm a man of simple means, Chester B."
"Simple, yeah, I'd go along with that," snickered the other.
"Don't you ever get tired of it, Kelly?"
Ah, finally got his goat! The use of his last name was always a sign. "So, how's the golf game, John?"
"I don't know, Chet...how's the lawsuit business?"
Touché. "I know you had help, Gage. No way you coulda pulled that one off by yourself." Careful, Kelly. Not too far now. Not with this topic, anyhow.
"That's the beauty of it, Chet. You'll never know." Johnny's teeth gleamed faintly in the dark.
"How come that stunt didn't make you mad?" There. He'd wanted to ask for ages, always afraid to broach the subject--it just didn't do to show compassion in the squad room. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.
Johnny's hand strayed to his eye, the invisible scar that, on occasion, still itched. "I have a short memory," he said dryly.
"Gage, will you be serious?"
"I am!" Gage let out his breath all at once. "You're a pain in the ass, Chet, but you're not malicious. I know you didn't set that trap to purposely hurt me. No permanent damage to the eye, no scars--visible or otherwise." His soft laugh was cut short by a wide yawn. "Besides, I got you back."
And, then some. "Man, I couldn't believe you were actually going to sue me. My whole career flashed before my eyes...." That act had nearly cost him his career.
Johnny laughed again at Chet's shudder. "Yeah, well, it was a piece of work just getting Cap to agree to let me do it." He shifted again. "But, some days I'm sure sorry I brought the Phantom back."
It was Chet's turn to chuckle.
They were quiet a few minutes. Johnny struggled to find a cozy position to nap in, finally settling on a half-sitting, half-lying stretch with his head propped on his helmet. He closed his eyes. "Wake me up if the cavalry arrives," he mumbled, already drifting off.
Chet began to hum. Johnny frowned in irritation. He turned his face away to try to block out the sound, but his eyes soon snapped open. "Chet!" he roared.
"I've got a pair of brand new roller skates," sang Chet softly.
**********
Wednesday, 04:30The shouting from the ruin startled Roy from the doze into which he'd finally fallen sitting in the cab of the squad. Disorientation lasted only a moment before he was out of the truck and heading to the side of the building, wiping sleep from his eyes and sweat from his brow at the same time. Can't believe it's still this hot at--he glanced at his wrist--four in the morning.
"Roy! We found Masters!"
Roy's head jerked up, all weariness vanishing in an instant at Mike Stoker's words. "Is he--" he hardly dared ask.
Stoker nodded tiredly. "Yeah, he's alive. They're working on getting him out now. Not sure how much longer it'll be."
"Are they anywhere near the elevator shaft?"
Stoker shook his head. "Only about halfway again," he sighed.
Hank Stanley joined them, his own eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. Roy doubted the Cap had even so much as sat down since they had first arrived the night before. Didn't even look as if he had eaten since then, either.
"Roy, they don't know how much longer it'll be, but Jeff Grady is heading in now to check on his condition, and he'll relay the information to you. You relay to the hospital, all right?"
"Sure, Cap." He studied the captain's face. "How's it looking in there?"
Stanley smiled. "It's lookin' like we're makin' headway, pal." He glanced at Stoker's sweat and grime-streaked face. "Do I look as bad as he does?" he asked Roy.
"Yeah, Cap," Roy grinned, "but your sense of humor tends to hide it."
"Come on, Cap, let's get some coffee or something," Stoker suggested.
"I'm lookin' for the 'or something,'" Cap said, following him toward the "lunch" wagon, "and I'm hoping it'll be something a little stronger than orange juice this time."
Roy watched them disappear around one of the trucks and shook his head slowly. If I ever get to be one tenth the leader that man is, I'll consider myself a success.
He made his way to the triage area they had set up hours ago, and waited for word from Grady.
**********
Wednesday, 06:20John woke with a jolt for the third time in as many hours, trembling with fatigue and the certainty that someone had called his name. He listened carefully, unmoving. Beside him, Chet snored softly. There's a switch for ya--Chet Kelly sleeping quietly. When he was at last sure that he had imagined the sound, Johnny sat up slowly and tried to shed the memory of the dream from which he'd awakened.
It hadn't been a frightening dream, just...weird. The one lingering image was of helicopters swooping down on this building and dropping something on it--he couldn't be sure if it were explosives or water. It was the shuddering from the impact that awakened him each of the three times he'd had the dream. He wondered if he had been feeling more aftershocks.
Too exhausted to sleep, too hot to lie comfortably, too cranky to be cheerful, Johnny finally leaned back against the wall and imagined himself on a rock climb. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the wall in front of him, pick out handholds he would use, joke with the girl he imagined waiting to join him in the climb. Eat your heart out, Kelly.
**********
Wednesday, 07:02"10-4, Rampart, IV normal saline, transporting right away."
Roy dropped the biophone and grabbed the IV bag from the drug box, tossing it to Bill Dwyer opposite, who began to set up the IV.
"Hey, Roy?"
The paramedic looked down at Marco Lopez and made a face. "Marco, I told you to keep that on," he chided gently, trying to settle the oxygen mask back on the other's face.
Marco's voice was almost gone now. All the shouting he had done had gone for naught: he was found shortly after Dutch Masters had been pulled free, having been trapped in a small dome of debris not too far from the paramedic from 26. Between the noise of the unstable building, the relative soundproof qualities of the rubble, and the fact that Dutch had slipped in and out of consciousness during his entrapment, it was no wonder that no one had heard Marco yelling.
"What about the others?" whispered Marco.
Roy grinned. "Sanders was the first one out," he answered. "Nothing serious—he might even be back at work now. Dutch broke an ankle and dislocated his shoulder, but he’s going to be fine. And you’re gonna be fine, too." As fine, anyway, as a couple of heavy duty contusions and what looked to be a mild lung infection developing could be considered fine.
"Johnny? Chet?" And what was that other guy’s name—oh, yeah. "Starks?"
Roy shook his head. "No word yet, Marco," he replied softly, replacing the mask on Marco’s face and trying to ignore the distress in the other’s eyes.
**********
Wednesday, 08:09"Hey, Gage, what time is it?"
Gage, replacing the boot from which he had just dumped out some pebbles, lifted his head in annoyance. "Chet, is there some reason you always call me by my last name?" The laces snapped angrily against the shoe as he retied them.
"Sorry." His tone suggested he wasn’t. "Didn’t mean to offend you. John."
Johnny heaved a sigh. "It’s a little after eight," he muttered, rising to his feet and resuming the pacing that had been interrupted by the grit in his shoe.
"Must you pace like that?"
Johnny stopped, tilting his head back and gazing upwards in exasperation. "Where are they?" he demanded, speaking through clenched teeth. It was becoming stifling in the shaft. He’d removed his uniform shirt and stood now with his t-shirt hanging out of his pants. He’d have liked to leave his shoes off, too, but he had no idea what he might step on as he paced.
"Maybe they all went out to breakfast," Chet retorted.
John’s head snapped back up. "Did you have to mention food?" he groaned.
"Man, are you always this cranky in the morning?" Chet stood up and began his own restless movement.
"I am not cranky," Johnny maintained.
"Look, Ga—Johnny. It’s okay, I understand. Anybody’d be cranky after spending all night in a hole." Except me, of course.
"It’s not that," Johnny muttered, turning around and returning to his coat.
"What is it now? You worried about missing a date tonight?"
Johnny managed a half-smile. "No, it’s nothing like that." His momentary anger had evaporated and his voice was quiet.
Man, he can switch gears so fast it makes my head spin. Chet waited patiently for Johnny to continue.
"I’m just…wondering about the others," John said quietly. "Starks has a kid, you know?"
Chet, now contrite, lowered himself to his own coat and sat cross-legged. "You’re too good to be true, Johnny."
"Chet…."
"No, I mean it. Here you are, trapped thirty feet down a hole, no air, no food, no water, not to mention hardly any sleep, for fourteen hours. And you’re worried about someone you can’t even help, a guy you don’t even know." He paused. "I admire that."
"I know Marco and Dutch," Johnny reminded him, his expression pained. And Roy. "I just find it frustrating to have to sit here, doing nothing…."
"Where'd you meet Dutch, anyhow?" Chet had thought he knew a lot of firefighters until he’d met Gage. Everyone seemed to know Gage.
"Paramedic class I taught." Almost drove me nuts, too.
"Teacher's pet, huh?"
"More like teacher's guinea pig," Johnny laughed. "He made some wisecrack the first day of class, and I used him to demonstrate everything we did after that."
"Where'd you learn that trick?" Will wonders never cease?
"I've seen Cap do it lots of times."
"Ah, Cap." A master indeed.
Johnny stood up and began pacing again.
"Man, no wonder you’re so skinny!" Chet snorted. "Where do you get your energy?"
Johnny shrugged, continuing his restive activity. "Always been that way," he responded, looking up toward the opening some thirty feet above his head. "When I was a kid, I drove the teachers nuts ‘cause I couldn’t sit still."
Chet grinned. "Yeah, I can believe that. You’re driving me nuts."
Johnny smirked back. "I knew I’d find a purpose for it eventually."
"I can see why you and Roy make such great partners," Chet commented after a short pause.
Johnny had been circling the room, examining the rubble. "Why’s that?" he asked, finally dropping to the floor atop his coat and pushing his damp hair back with his fingers.
"You’re such opposites."
Johnny shot him a look that reminded Chet how idiotic the obvious sounded.
"I mean," he hastened on, "if you were both as intense as you are, you’d drive each other crazy. It’s good for Roy to have you around—you remind him how to get involved in life."
"What’s that supposed to mean? I think Roy has it pretty good," Johnny protested.
"Oh, I’m not saying he doesn’t," Chet said. "But he’s so laid back. He keeps you in line, too."
No argument there.
"Sometimes I envy that."
It was said so quietly that Johnny at first thought he imagined it. Chet's jealous? That explains a lot! Finally, he said, "Yeah, I guess I’m pretty lucky."
Chet laughed. "Oh, come on, Johnny, your luck runs to more than just having a great partner."
Johnny’s eyebrow quirked up.
"You lead a charmed life, Johnny boy."
Gage’s teeth flashed in a wide smile. "Luck has nothing to do with it, Chester B. It’s all skill."
Chet stared at him a second, then his face creased in a slow grin. He began to hum again.
**********
Wednesday, 11:58Hank Stanley ducked his head under the hose and saturated his head, eliciting a warm grin from Rick Schlater.
"Feels good, huh?" He’d done the same thing himself an hour ago.
Stanley ran his hands through his mop of hair and shook the water from his face. "Man, it’s hotter today than it was yesterday," he muttered. Looking up, he could see the thick layer of haze that had settled over the city.
"Could be," agreed Schlater.
Battalion Chief Dirksen walked over from where he’d been consulting with the building’s architect. "You look a little better now, Hank," he smiled.
"Wish I could say I felt better, too," Stanley replied.
"You want me to stand you down?" offered the Chief.
"And have a riot on my hands? You know better than that, Chief."
Dirksen shrugged and grinned. "Just thought I’d offer."
"What’s the word on the rest of the city?" Schlater wondered. "Lot of quake damage?"
Dirksen shook his head. "It was a pretty minor tremor," he explained. "They figure the center was about a half mile from here."
Stanley nodded. "No wonder this place went down so fast."
Dirksen glanced at the half-demolished building and shook his head. "That’s only part of it," he muttered in disgust.
Stanley stared at him sharply. "What do you mean?" He’d spent the last eighteen hours in and out of the building, barely resting, and hadn’t given much thought to the cause beyond the minor tremor that had shaken the east end of the structure.
"Short cuts," the Chief replied evenly.
Stanley stared at him, then turned his gaze slowly to the ruin behind him. And there are still three men missing.
"We’ll find them, Hank." Dirksen spoke quietly.
Stanley nodded mutely.
**********
"Andy! Cap, we’ve found him!" The excitement in the voice coming over the HT sent up a cheer in the crowd of exhausted firefighters milling around near the opening.
Stanley jerked his own radio to mouth. "How is he?"
"He’s alive, Cap! Pretty weak…"
There was the sound of several voices for a second, then the noise quit as Jeff Grady stopped sending.
Stanley waited impatiently for more information, hesitating to transmit his own message for fear of interfering with the rescue. But, God, there were a lot of people waiting out here!
The radio crackled again. "Okay, Cap, we’re gonna be ready to move him in a couple of minutes. Looks like he has a head injury, a broken shoulder, maybe some cracked ribs. Let Rampart know we’ve got him coming out."
"You got it!"
Just let them get him out alive before another part of the wall goes.
**********
Wednesday, 13:30"Ha!" Johnny laughed gleefully and scratched something on the floor with the rock he held. "Twenty-two, twenty. Three more to go, Chet, ol' buddy, three more."
"Okay, okay, but don't get ahead of yourself, Johnny boy. On three." He counted up and, on three, each flung out a hand, Johnny's in a fist and Chet's open, palm out.
Johnny muttered to himself and marked the floor again.
"Hey, hey!" Chet admonished him. "I won that round. Paper covers rock. You marked the score in your column!"
Johnny stared at the mark in the gloom. "Oh, yeah. Sorry." He wiped off the mark and put one in the correct column. "But, I'm still ahead," he added confidently.
"Not for long, pal, not for long."
It was over quickly. Johnny leaned back against the wall, a smug look on his face. "Gotcha again, Chet." He grinned wickedly.
"Yeah, yeah, okay." Chet sighed. "Whaddya wanna know this time?"
Johnny mulled that one over for a minute. He'd already learned from Chet the meanest thing he had ever done as a kid (telling his sister she was a human being, which she took to be the epitome of insults), when and how Chet had lost his virginity (and, upon losing the next round, had been forced to exchange the same information), and Chet's greatest phobia (tall women--or so he said). Johnny didn't feel too guilty acquiring this knowledge, since he, too, had parted with several secrets of his own during the course of their game. "Okay," he said finally, "I wanna know what started you being a practical joker."
"Easy," Chet grinned. "Being short."
"Being short?" Johnny was incredulous.
Chet nodded. "You have no idea what it's like to be teased about being short, Gage."
Maybe not, but there were plenty of other things.... "So, what does that have to do with practical jokes?"
Chet shrugged. "You try to find ways of getting back. I wasn't the smartest cookie in the jar, either. So, I just started joking around as a way of getting some attention, of deflecting some of the hurt."
Johnny was silent a minute, then said, "You got to be pretty good at it, I guess."
"Oh, after a while I started getting pretty clever, yeah."
"It's kinda sadistic, though, don't you think?"
Chet's most sinister laugh echoed through the shaft, and Johnny laughed along. "Just keeps me from thinking about how much better other people are at things than I am," Chet explained.
Johnny nodded, thinking for a moment. "Why me?" he asked at last. His eyes flickered over toward Chet from under hooded eyes.
Chet looked up, lips parted for a smart remark, but something in Johnny's expression changed the words. "The truth?"
Johnny just stared, a peculiar expression on his face.
"You're a nice guy," Chet said simply.
Johnny's eyebrow did its little lift.
"You almost always see the good in people, the positive side of the issue." He shrugged. "You're a pretty optimistic, happy-go-lucky kind of guy."
"Meaning?" Johnny pressed.
"You don't expect anyone to be mean to you. Or to play tricks on you. Makes you easy to target." Chet's face split in a wide smile. "The perfect pigeon."
Johnny pondered that for a minute. "Huh."
"Plus the fact that you're not much brighter than me."
"And just when I was starting to think you weren't such a bad guy after all...."
"The perfect pigeon...." Chet whispered.
Johnny shook his head in chagrin. How does he do that?
Chet stretched out on his coat, his head propped on his hands, his legs hanging off the edge of his turnout coat. "How long have we been down here?"
Johnny spared a quick glance at his watch. "Just over nineteen hours, not counting the time we spent in here before we got that guy out." Wonder if he's still in this place somewhere? Johnny suddenly flung the rock in his hand across the room. It clattered against the wall and dropped to the floor, the noise echoing emptily around their cell.
"They'll get us out of here," Chet said quietly.
Johnny made no reply.
**********
Wednesday, 15:10"Yeah, Doc, I'll pass that along. Thanks." Jeff Grady set down the radio mike and smiled at Pete Daniels. "Dutch is out of surgery, and Brackett says he's doing great. He'll be on his back for a coupla weeks in traction, but there wasn't any nerve damage in the ankle or shoulder."
"Nice to hear a bit of good news for a change," Daniels said happily.
Grady nodded. "Brackett said he came out of the anesthesia demanding to see Gage and claiming Johnny owes him a lobster dinner."
"Well, I imagine when we get Gage out he'll be ready to eat just about anything," Daniels murmured dryly.
Grady blinked. When. Not if. His appreciation for his captain rose another notch.
**********
Wednesday, 16:17
Mike Stoker climbed over the slab of concrete that blocked the center of the passage the firefighters had spent the past two hours creating around the collapsed walls. He hadn't thought it possible for anything else to fall, yet just a few minutes before had come another thundering crash that scattered men like pixie sticks. At least it's not that bad. No one had been hurt or trapped, and they could still move among the wreckage.
For how much longer was anybody's guess. They were going on twenty-four hours now, and Mike felt certain that Chief Dirksen would soon pull the plug and evacuate all personnel. And, this had been a minor quake. Stoker could only imagine what effect a major quake would have had on this mission.
"How much farther?" he asked Will Sanders.
The easy-going engineer from 10 didn't bother to turn around. "Can't be much farther," he guessed, pointing. "I recognized that timber back there. Carved my initials into it."
Stoker smiled grimly, hoping Sanders was right. Exhausted as he was, it would be impossible for him to go home not knowing the fate of his friends. Glancing over his shoulder at Bill Dwyer behind him, he knew that every man on this job understood. It's why Sanders is back here.
The men moved the shoring timber into place and moved on.
**********
Wednesday, 17:45
Roy watched the thunderheads building up to the west and hoped they would bring relief from the oppressive heat. He swiveled his head to remove the kinks from his neck: I'm getting too old to nap on my feet anymore. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep until he woke up, still leaning in the small patch of shade the squad provided.
Twenty-four hours. None of them golden.
Roy pounded a fist against the side of the squad, turned, and headed back toward the command post.
**********
Wednesday, 18:23"Okay, your turn."
Johnny was quiet a moment, then his face brightened tiredly. "Okay, here goes: Time it was, and what a time it was, it was a time of innocence, a time of confidences, long ago it must be, I have a photograph, preserve your memories, they're all that's left you."
"Man, Gage, who ever told you you could sing?"
Johnny made a face. "No one that I recall," he croaked. His throat burned with thirst, and his lips were dry and cracking. And, he had never really been able to carry a tune, much as he enjoyed music. "Come on, name the song."
Chet finally shook his head. If possible, his throat must have hurt more than Gage's; he'd done far more talking than Johnny. On the other hand, Johnny had done far more pacing. Maybe it was a toss-up. "I give up," he said wearily.
"Simon and Garfunkel, 'Bookends.' Think that puts me one up on you."
"Simon and Garfunkel? I thought we were doing musicals," Chet complained.
"No," Johnny shook his head, "that was before folk songs."
"What happened to swing tunes?"
"We stopped those before television theme songs."
"Oh."
"And, I'm winning."
"Yeah, I heard you. So, it's my turn?"
Johnny shut his eyes and nodded. His head pounded--had been pounding for the last hour or so. Barometer's dropping. Bet it's gonna storm. He felt a kick on his foot.
"Did you hear that?"
He lifted himself from the fog into which he'd drifted. "What?"
"Did you hear that?" Chet was on his feet, heading toward the opposite side of the shaft, peering upwards toward the opening.
"Knock it off, Chet."
"I'm serious. I heard voices. Hey! Anybody up there?"
"You sure it wasn't the walls falling down again?" Johnny didn't even have the energy to get up. That last rumble two hours ago had finally sapped his optimism.
"Hey! We're down here!"
There was only silence.
Chet pounded his fist against the wall.
Johnny blinked slowly. "It's okay, Chet," he told the other. "They say hearing voices is the first step toward insanity."
Eyes closed, he didn't see Chet's response.
**********
Wednesday, 18:28"Straight ahead!"
Oh, my God! Roy scrambled forward in spite of himself, recklessly heedless of danger now that he was this close to discovering the fate of his friends. He slid to the elevator shaft with the spotlight.
"Johnny? Chet?"
As if from a great distance, a far off voice floated up the shaft. "Look, John. The electric company finally got your payment."
**********
Wednesday, 19:00Johnny jerked as the boom echoed through the rubble, his eyes growing wide with sudden apprehension. Roy’s hand dropped to his back reassuringly.
"It’s okay, it’s just thunder." His voice was quiet, soothing. The noise had startled him, too, but he had the benefit of having seen the storm move in. He could only begin to imagine the terror Johnny and Chet experienced, but he fully understood the panic caused by having freedom threatened this close to the exit.
Johnny swallowed and nodded, only partially relieved. "I’ll be all right when I see the sky," he muttered.
"Not far now."
Roy was right. Johnny could see the outline of light—not daylight, but artificial light—in the near distance, and minutes later, climbed slowly to his feet, blinking in the glare of the light truck’s lamps, dazzling camera bulbs, and the occasional flash of lightning. Just ahead of him, Chet was also overwhelmed.
A line of firefighters protected them while they slowly made their way to the waiting ambulance. As Johnny reached the open doors, the skies let loose with a hard rain that began to pelt the crowd, and most began to dash for cover. Johnny stepped away from the ambulance and, raising his head, savored the sensation of cool water flowing over him, ignoring the photographer who snapped his picture as he stood that way.
Beside him, Roy finally touched his elbow gently to steer him to the ambulance, and Johnny turned and took a step. Several pairs of hands grabbed him as his knees buckled and he slid to the pavement.
**********
Thursday, 12:30It was only soup, but for some reason Johnny couldn't bring himself to get any down. He'd been alternately staring at it and pushing it aside for ten minutes already.
"It's just soup, Gage, not a gourmet meal."
Johnny made a face at the figure in the next bed. It's not bad enough I'm trapped in the dark with him for what amounts to an extra shift, they put him in the same room with me. The sight of Chet slurping at the food made him a little nauseous.
"Hey, you up for a visitor?"
He looked up from the lunch tray in front of him, his face brightening. "Sure, Dix," he told her, glancing at Chet, who also nodded.
Dixie smiled mysteriously and disappeared for a moment.
Well, it's not Roy--he'd never be so secretive. Besides, John's partner had already spoken to him earlier--he'd be by in the evening, after he'd had a chance to get some real sleep.
The door popped open again and Dix entered behind a wheelchair containing one very welcome face.
"So, Johnny, where's my lobster?" Dutch Masters grinned up at his friend.
For a moment Johnny thought the nausea was going to win the battle, and then the feeling passed. Catching his expression, Dixie slipped around the wheelchair and quickly removed John's lunch tray.
"It's good to see you, too," Johnny managed, smiling weakly.
Dutch looked at Chet, an impish grin on his face. "So," he wondered, "how was it spending twenty-five straight hours cooped up with this skinny drink of water?"
Chet glanced at Johnny, whose eyes were directed shyly toward his feet. "You know, Johnny, I came up with the perfect song lyric to describe our day together."
Dutch gazed curiously at Johnny's closed eyes. "Jim Croce," whispered Gage, shaking his head slowly. Dutch's eyebrows rose in puzzlement.
"'Time in a Bottle?'" Chet supplied.
Dutch shook his head, frowning, wondering briefly at the mental states of the two in front of him.
"If I could make days last forever...." sang Chet.
Johnny's roll caught him in the side of the head. Guess they were right--I did need some of that food....
**********
Author's note: Much thanks to my reader, Theresa, for her helpful
comments and enthusiastic support for my nonsense, and to Rose for the fun
challenge. And, what a challenge it was. Like so many others, this story took
control, passing out of my hands and developing its own life somewhere along
the way. Too late to take it back now....
February 2004: Thanks to the Celebration! for taking this orphan and
giving it a new home after the closing of Code Red. This story was initially
written in response to one of the many challenges offered on Code Red over the
years.