BAD GAS
by ardavenport
- - - Part 1
Captain Stanley thought that it smelled like rotted fish and gasoline.
Chet Kelly thought it smelled like burnt garbage.
Marco Lopez thought it smelled like burnt burritos and plastic.
Mike Stoker and Roy DeSoto thought it just smelled bad.
John Gage thought that a ripe and overflowing sewer couldn't do that smell justice.
It hit everyone as soon as the Station Fifty-One crew drove up to the single car accident, a white four-door Ford crashed into a dangerously leaning telephone pole over a tall hedge of dark green bushes and lawn beyond that. It was the first run of the shift and there were only a few gawkers on the sidewalks staying back from the scene, probably the smell keeping them back.
Roy braked and parked the rescue squad on one side of the accident while Mike Stoker stopped the engine just short of it.
"Oooh," John Gage rubbed his nose with the back of his hand as he got out and retrieved his turnout coat and equipment from the squad compartments before hurrying to the wrecked car.
"Uuugh." Roy covered his face with the back of his hand as well as he bent to survey the inside of the car; only a driver, slumped and unmoving over the steering wheel, the windshield a mass of shatter cracks.
"What IS that?" Captain Stanley drew back, hand covering his face. "Where's that coming from?"
John leaned down, looking into the back seat. "Uh, there are some kind of canisters in there." He tried counting, but all he was sure of was that there were more than ten, white and yellow painted metal, a jumble all over the back seat and on the floor. "I don't see any labels on them." He coughed from the nauseating smell, taking a step back.
Stanley came to his own conclusion "All right, Roy, John, Marco, I want you in air masks. Get the oxygen, the jaws and a crowbar for that door. Chet you just stay back, but keep that water on the engine and hose down this gasoline."
There was some minor smoke coming from the engine, oily black and exposed under the hood, popped up and bent from the crash. The doors on both sides were partially crumpled; Roy needed the crowbar to pry open the driver's side.
"Sir? Sir?" Roy had to take his gloves off to check the pulse on the man's neck, rapid and faint, his maybe forty-year old face pale and sweaty, longish straw-colored hair hanging down over the side of his face. A bulging bruise on his forehead, but there was no visible blood. Roy gently probed the bare neck and under the white shirt collar, fingers looking for telltale lumps or contusions, but found nothing irregular.
Arriving beside his partner, John handed Roy a neck collar and then the oxygen mask, unwinding the tubing connecting it to the tank. They carefully pushed him back in the seat. There were three dented yellow canisters on the floor and blue vinyl passenger seat, but none of them looked open or broken; no spills or stains.
"Sir? Sir? Can you hear me, Sir?" John shouted, his face mask close to the victim's ear, but he didn't respond, not even an eye flicker.
"Do you need the backboard?" Blue sky reflected from Captain Stanley's face mask as he looked from tilted phone pole to car to victim to paramedics.
John turned to him. "We'll need the backboard, but he's jammed in here by the steering wheel."
Roy had his hand under the man's shirt, hanging down over his lap. "We might need the anti-shock trousers, too, Cap. He's looking real shocky, but we've got to get him out first."
"Coming right up." Stanley went with Marco to get the equipment.
Setting up the biophone on the pavement next to the car, John called Rampart Emergency and passed on the vital signs that Roy gave him. He had to repeat himself to Dr. Brackett to be understood through his face mask, the noise of the jaws' motor and the ambulance arriving. The smell, crept in under his own breath and the plastic and rubber of his face mask.
Stanley returned with the backboard. The siren of the ambulance arriving added to the noise of motor and crumpling, screeching metal as Marco pulled the steering wheel back. As soon as the man was free Roy and John eased the victim out onto the backboard; Captain Stanley tied the straps down on his legs. They lifted him up, flat on the backboard, and hurried across the wet pavement toward the engine where the two ambulance attendants in white shirts and pants waited with their gurney.
Both paramedics quickly shed tanks, masks, helmets and turnouts.
"Ungh, what is that?" Captain Stanley waved his hand, ineffectively trying to banish that smell.
Roy turned his head to cough as he handed the IV bag to his partner. They were at least fifty feet away from the wreck. Wasn't that far enough? He reached for the anti-shock trousers.
After starting the IV and taping it down to the man's arm, John checked for stains on the man's dark gray pants as he pulled on the anti-shock trousers with Roy, but he felt only ordinary cloth. The victim's black socks and shoes were dry.
The man's vital signs stabilized and they loaded the backboard onto the gurney with the oxygen tank between the man's legs. John held the IV bag, following the gurney up into the ambulance. Roy handed him the drug box and biophone and one of the attendants, a man that both he and Roy knew named Harvey Cleaver.
John couldn't wait to get away from that smell but as soon as the doors closed and the ambulance took off, it just seemed to get worse.
"What is that?" Harvey held his nose.
"I don't know. There were some canisters of something in that car, but there weren't any labels." John futilely checked the man's pants and shirt again, but he didn't find anything. Where could it be coming from now? Both he and Harvey coughed.
"Uuuunh, unnnnh."
Harvey grabbed the man's arm, keeping the IV out of danger. The man tensed, but his head was thoroughly strapped down, the collar snug up under his chin and ears. John grabbed his other arm and braced himself against the gurney as the ambulance took a turn.
"Sir, Sir. You've been in an accident, Sir. Please try to lie still. We're taking you to the hospital." The victim was of average height and weight for his age, and his arms were strong enough. He hooked a finger on a tube and pulled the oxygen mask away, his eyes flickering open.
"Sir, Sir, please lie still. Can you understand me? You've been in an accident." Up close, John saw dilated eyes. The victim opened his mouth wide.
"Aaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaahhhhh."
John's vision clouded, as if the sudden overwhelming stench solidified over him, cutting off his air. His face hit the edge of the backboard, the foam collar brushing by his cheek as he fell . . . . .
. . . . . the lights above him moved. Long bright white florescent lights passing over him, one after another. They turned sideways. The top of a door passed by overhead.
Sound broke over him.
Coughing. " . . . I had to keep my hand on the IV in his arm; he kept trying to get up before he passed out again."
Harvey.
"There weren't any markings on the canisters and it didn't look like any of them broke open in the accident."
Roy.
"One-hundred over fifty-five. Respiration twenty."
An older woman's voice, Nurse Amy.
"I want blood gases, stat." Dr. Brackett. Loud.
John turned his head. Lights flashed before his eyes and he squinted through a sudden headache at a white lab coat, white dress and nurse's cap on top of graying hair, a neck collar, Brackett bending over a patient with a pen light.
The pen light dropped onto the patient's face, Brackett sliding down to the floor.
"Oooh!" Amy whirled around, arm up to her face.
That smell . . .
John lifted his head and lights flashed again, the headache stabbing him through the temples.
"Johnny."
Roy.
Pushed down, his head fell back onto a pillow, his vision going to white before fading into pulsing gray.
"Get a Gurney in here, stat!"
Dixie.
"What the hell happened here!"
Dr. Morton.
Voices and sound collapsed into indecipherable noise and motion. He panted, the pain in his head cresting, drilling him temple to temple before receding. A bit. Not enough.
The gray and the flashes formed into bright lights above. Opening his eyes wide, John blinked and sucked in real, untainted air. There was a mask over his face. Something sharp jabbed his arm.
- - - END Part 1