Worse Than It Was, an emergency fanfic

WORSE THAN IT WAS

by ardavenport

John Gage stowed the paramedic equipment back into the usual compartments in the side of the squad. Next to him, Roy DeSoto did the same. Drug box, biophone, the paraphernalia of life-saving that had failed this time. It wasn't much and only one of them could have this minor chore, but they both did.

Roy closed one compartment and turned away, going around the back of Squad Fifty-One, parked in front of Rampart Emergency. John closed the other and secured it, his hand lingering on the silver handle, fingertips brushing past his faint reflection on the shiny red plate. He got inside and slammed the door shut. Roy started the engine.

Roy's driving was regulation, full stops at signs, looking both ways, 5 miles per hour below the speed limit, the usual gray LA landmarks going by on their way back to the station. In the corner of his eye John caught his partner stealing a glance toward him. John did the same when Roy was making a turn, the light and shadow cast by the bright midday sun above shifting in the cab.

The boy died.

They had abandoned his mother, still insisting to the end that he was just trying to get attention, that he really did not ingest ant poison, in the hallway of Rampart Emergency. Nurse Dixie McCall had stepped in, letting them escape. Both of them had been furious with the misguided woman; she had practically stood in the doorway, keeping them out, claiming that they would just encourage her son to do more outrageous things to get attention. Officer Vince Howard had to threaten to arrest her to get her to move aside.

Maybe her son had just wanted attention, but it was not his mother who phoned the Fire Department. It had been the boy. After he realized what a horrible mistake he had made. Doctor Kelly Brackett did his best to save him. There was nobody better to try. But he died.

The squad made a last turn onto the wide street leading to the station, industrial buildings on either side. John could not feel sorry for the boy's mother. She had tried to keep them out while her son writhing in pain behind her. But he was not angry with her anymore, either. He exhaled.

"It doesn't get any worse than this."

"Yeah." Roy nodded, his eyes forward on the road. He turned the squad into Station Fifty-One.

== 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 ==

The Chief gave Molly the folded flag. Under her black veil, the newly-made Fire Department widow couldn't stop crying. She had silently wept during the graveside service. Captain Hookrader took it for her, his back ramrod straight. Hookrader always stood that way, but today his posture had the brittleness of rigid control, his face tense and old.

Standing in dress uniform both Roy and John discretely wiped their eyes. The others from Station Fifty-One's A-shift did as well, just a few times. But Dick's own Captain seemed determined to hold in whatever his cold heart was capable of feeling.

B-Shift was on duty back at the station. They would talk about the service with them later.

When it was done, Molly walked away, leaning on the arm of a female relative and clutching the tightly folded flag triangle. Dick's little girl followed them, her eyes dry but afraid.

With a few fumbled words of condolences, the A-shift broke up. There had been talk about getting together afterward, but it never went anywhere. They did not know if C-shift was getting together.

Roy and John had come together to save on gas since John's apartment was on the way. And Roy's little convertible had good mileage. Gas was a lot more expensive than it used to be these days. The car doors slammed shut.

"Hey, Johnny, you want to come to dinner?"

"Oh, I don't know, Roy. I mean, you've got family."

Roy looked at him, his blue eyes intense. "Yeah, I do." He started the engine. "But I don't think Joanne will mind. And if you're there, we don't have to talk too much about the funeral. I mean, Joanne didn't really know Molly that well. And she doesn't really think the kids are old enough to talk about, y'know, things like that yet."

"Yeah." John nodded. Jeanine, Dick's only child, was not any older than Roy kids. But she no longer had the luxury of putting off the talk about what could happen to Daddy and why Firemen with families had life insurance. Captain Stanley's wife hadn't really known Molly very well and did not come to the service with her children, either.

Roy started the car and they drove off, leaving the green cemetery lawns behind.

== 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 ==

A lot of people came to the service. Doctor Brackett, Doctor Early, Doctor Morton, Dixie McCall and many others. John wondered who was still on duty back at Rampart Emergency. The casket was closed. Ernie Brown had looked pretty bad at the end. There wasn't enough mortician's wax to make him look presentable. His widow, Martha, wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, but otherwise remained composed. She'd had a lot of time to prepare, or at least a lot longer than usual. Ernie's death had been different.

It hadn't been fire or flood or any of the other expected hazards that Firemen faced, as if there weren't enough of those already. This was new, a disease, acquired immunodeficiency syndrome AIDS. They thought he got it from a needle-stick on a run for a drug addict, but the CDC wasn't sure.

When the service was done, Martha thanked everyone. Roy and Johnny got in the line to pay their respects. Doctor Brackett, in black suit and tie, was just ahead of them. He clasped both her hands and gave her his regrets one last time. One of the best doctors in the county, backed up by the top medical researchers in the country, had tried everything he could to stop one of his paramedics from wasting away from every disease that his destroyed immune system could no longer fight. No miracle cure had presented itself for Brackett weild to vanquish this new menace. Everything he tried failed.

When it was Roy and Johnny's turn, they said the usual 'sorrys' and 'Ernie was a great guy'. They went outside, strolling together on a walkway with perfectly trimmed grass and bushes on one side, the brick wall of the funeral home on the other.

"Man, that was rough." Squinting in the sunlight, John took his hat off. It was white. They were both captains now. John had Station Eighty-Six, practically in the county with beautiful green hills and trees all around that turned treacherously dry during brush fire season. Roy was in the city, closer to the action.

"Yeah." Roy stopped and turned, looking back to where others were coming out. "But you know it'll get worse."

"Yeah."

Neither one of them worked as paramedics day-to-day anymore, but they were both still certified and did some advisory work for the Department. Things were different now and this new disease was a twelve alarm fire for all EMTs and paramedics. Gloves, masks, whatever protection they could wear was standard issue now. There was no cure. They'd just barely pinned down the virus that caused AIDS. It could only be transmitted through blood or bodily fluids and the public seemed to be callously ignoring the embers of what could be a future inferno since only low-lifes like drug-users and homosexuals seemed to get it. But a virus was a virus and it would infect 'right' and 'wrong' people alike. Infection control had become fierce.

John looked at his former partner. "It's going to get a lot worse."

== 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 ==

John waited for Roy after the end of the inquiry.

"Hey, Chief."

Roy sneered back at his former partner's use of his new title, but a smile quirked on one side of his mouth. They went outside Headquarters onto a walkway and leaned on a low wall, the county and city below them.

"Not one of your better days as Battalion Chief, I guess." John gazed out at the blue sky, cloudless unless you counted the perpetual haze of smog.

"No. Not the best. Things like that; they look even worse from higher up in the ranks, too."

"Yeah, I can imagine."

The inquiry was brief. The accident had been no one's fault. Everyone had followed safety procedures. Except for the roof of the building that collapsed, taking three firefighter lives with it. And it happened two weeks after Roy took command.

"I saw you in the back there." Roy waved a hand back toward the building.

"Well, I thought you could used some moral support, and . . . " John stretched out the terrible moment of admission, " . . . I had to bring in some paperwork."

Roy's expression turned into a question.

"I'm putting in for retirement."

"What? You're not even fifty, Johnny." His eyes flicked upward. "And you've still got all your hair."

"Yeah, well, it's gotten a little gray." He turned back toward that smudged sky, hat in hand. "And my knee seems to be a little older than the rest of me." He sighed. "I wanted to hand in my paperwork before I failed my next physical."

Roy stood there a moment, then took his place back beside his former partner, elbows on the wall. "Sorry to hear that. You got any plans?"

"Nothing much yet. Talked to my aunt and it looks like they could use paramedics back on the reservation. They don't require physicals."

"You'll have to get certified in another state."

"Shouldn't be too hard. And at least one of us kept up his certification." John narrowed his eyes toward Roy, who had to choose between paramedic recertification and studying for the Chief's exam. The potential promotion won out.

"Yeah, well, there are only so many hours in the day."

"Yeah, I get that." Where had all the time gone? It was too soon to retire. "But, y'know, I gotta tell you. I don't want to live in the city anymore. I think I'm a country boy now. Station Eighty-Six has been pretty good to me."

"Not during fire season."

"Yeah, I won't miss that. But the rest of it's been good." He caught Roy giving him a sad smile. "Don't think I won't be back to keep you on your toes, Chief." Roy's smile shifted into something a little more cheerful.

John shrugged. "I've still got a little bit of a pension coming to me and it's a hell of a lot cheaper to live back home than here than in LA." He looked back at that LA County landscape and wondered how much he might miss it.

"I've had a lot worse things happen to me than this."

== 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 == 51 ==

Rrrriiinnngggg-iinnngg-iinnngg-iinnngg.

Roy fumbled for the phone next to the bed.

"Hello?"

"Roy! Roy! Turn on the TV set, now!"

"Hunh?" He rubbed his eyes. His wife, Joanne stirred next to him.

"Roy! Turn on the TV, NOW!"

"Johnny?" He looked at the clock. It wasn't even six AM. "Johnny are you in town?" He'd come to visit LA only a couple months ago.

"No, Roy! I'm back home. Turn on the TV! Now, Roy, now!"

Roy pushed himself up. Joanne didn't open her eyes. As battalion chief, he got called into Headquarters at all hours. She was used to it. But age fifty-five, retirement and the end of his firefighting career were coming at him far too soon.

"Okay, okay." Feeling that age, he got up, taking the cordless phone with him.

Yawning, he went down the hall.

"Have you turned it yet, Roy?"

"No. I'm going to the den. I don't want to wake Joanne."

"You want to wake Joanne up for this, Roy."

It wasn't even light yet, barely pre-dawn. Flicking on a lamp he spotted the remote and aimed it at the big-screen TV.

A few seconds passed as it warmed up, the screen brightening.

"What am I looking at?"

"The worst fire ever, Roy."

It was news. Not happy, morning news fluff; it was breaking news. Roy recognized the New York city skyline. Black smoke hung next to one of the World Trade Center Towers.

"What's going on?" He turned up the sound and the announcer talked about a plane hitting the World Trade Center. Immediately Roy's brain rushed through the nightmare of fighting a fire in a building that tall, a hundred stories. And the smoke was pretty high up. They would have to haul hose up dozens of flights of stairs before they even got to the fire. And what about rescuing the people on those floors and above it? There would be hundreds of men, engines, trucks, everything they had. But it was New York. They were supposed to be able to handle fires like this.

Johnny's voice stayed in his ear. "Man, this is bad. I don't know how it can get any worse than this."

Roy heard his wife in the hallway. "Roy, what's going on?"

On the left of the screen, Roy saw something . . . a jet? . . . flying low, toward the second tower of the World Trade Center.

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