Disclaimer: I don't know any of the cast or crew of Third Watch. Nor do I eat with them, talk casually on the phone with them, and I certainly don't sleep with any of them. All rights, and some of the lefts, belong to whomever owns them. And if I forgot to mention something that should be in this disclaimer, pretend you read it and go read the story all ready.
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Ground Zero
Chapter One
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August 15. 1336h.
"You're taking the corner too sharp!"
"Would you shut up and let me drive!"
"We're gonna roll!........Shiiiiiiiiiiit!"
The unmarked tanker pitched out of control, bouncing the occupants about the cab. It skidded down the onramp sparks flaring, finally coming to a stop on it's side.
The driver tried frantically to free himself from the carnage. A jarring pain in his head and shoulders prevented him from getting very far. "Dave," he choked, noticing his partner scrambling for the passenger door. "Where are you going?"
"I'm getting the hell outta Dodge!" he called over his shoulder, before jumping to the ground. "And I hope you do to."
Then he started running; leaving the driver to his own demise.
*** *** ***
*Station 55, Station 24, Squad 45. MVA on 405 at Clarkeson Avenue onramp. 4-oh-5 onramp at Clarkeson Avenue. Tanker-truck overturned. Police have been dispatched. Time out 1346hours.*
It was the third response of the day for the third watch at Station 55. The firefighters and paramedics had been trying to fill the last three hours with mind numbing, tedious cleaning when the tones had gone off again. They were more than eager to get out and do something else.
Sirens blasting, the rescue vehicles raced toward the scene. As they neared the site, dispatch came back over the radio. "All stations responding with 24, be advised, possible spill. Cargo unknown."
"Engine 55, 10-4," the Captain acknowledged. He turned back to Jimmy and the others riding behind the cab. "All right, girls," he called through the open window. "God has spoken. Suit up."
In the ambulance responding, the Almighty had also been heard. Carlos looked at his partner with a grimace. "It never fails," he sighed. "Whenever it's hot and muggy, we get the worst calls."
Doc understood all too well and threw his partner a not-so-amused look. Then he turned his attention back to driving. They were edging onto the Clarkeson onramp, and it didn't look pretty. Doc had to stop the squad mid-way, due to traffic congestion. Cars were gridlocked from one shoulder to the other. And the arriving media trucks weren't helping either.
Doc sighed and shook his head. "Figures," he mumbled, pulling the keys from the ignition. Glancing through the windshield he saw, officer Davis weaving through the tangle of cars. He was wearing a mask, and didn't seem too happy about it.
"Hey, guys," Davis called, removing his mask with obvious relief.
Doc climbed out and waved. "What have we got down there?" he asked, hurrying to the side compartment on the squad.
"The tanker's blocking all lanes onto the highway," explained Davis, helping to unload the equipment. "But of course all these morons figured they could squeeze through anyway. It's the same down there. The squad from 45 had to park about half a mile back on the road and walk in."
Carlos came around the front of the squad ready to go. "What about the engines?" he asked. "How the hell are they supposed to get there?"
"Hey, guys! We're gonna bring the engine 'round from the other side," the fire Captain interrupted, inadvertently answering Carlos' question as he approached the squad. "We're no good up here, so we're gonna go down and cross the boulevard. 24's already down there, so we better hurry."
Doc swung the medkit onto his back and picked up a board. Carlos picked up his share and followed him down the road. Davis fell into step beside them, mumbling about it being a real mystery down at the scene.
"How do you mean?" asked Carlos.
"They have no idea what that tanker was carrying. They don't want us to take any chances, so they ordered the masks," replied the officer, placing the mask back up to his mouth. Then he quickly dropped it to his side in frustration. "I don't see why we have to wear them. I think the tanker was empty. They're just being overly cautious."
"Did they check the manifest?" Doc asked.
"They were trying to make sense of it, but I dunno. It says the tank is full, but there's nothing coming out the expulsion port that was damaged. They're calling the company to double check everything, but that's another bag of worms all together. Aside from the company name, the manifest was blank. The driver's name wasn't even on it."
Carlos stopped in his tracks. "That can't be a good sign," he observed anxiously. "Maybe it was carrying a gas or something we just can't detect?"
"Possibly. That's probably why HazMat ordered the masks. I guess I shouldn't complain, it might be saving my life," Davis laughed, examining the mask in his hands. "But I still think the tank was empty. Even gases have some sort of odour or something."
"Not always," Doc replied under his breath. He didn't see the need to upset the officer with the ins and outs of dangerous chemicals. He and Carlos knew there were plenty of nasty, evil gases out there that could wreak havoc on a body without ever being detected. Doc decided it was time to don his own mask. So did Carlos.
*** *** ***
Station 24 had arrived first. They were busy dousing the large, silver tanker when Engine 55 joined them. So far no explosion had occurred. There were no signs of fire either, but with unknown cargo training dictated they proceed with caution.
Phil and John, paramedics from 45, had already extricated the driver of the tanker and were diligently at work. Knowing they could handle it on their own, Doc and Carlos started looking in on the other cars. As they made their way closer to ground zero, the injuries degenerated.
Doc stopped at a vehicle with a young man slumped over his wheel. The driver came to as he checked his vitals. He wasn't too badly injured, so he indicated to his partner to continue on through the wreckage.
Carlos grabbed the radio heading off to the next vehicle. He met up with firefighter, Dave Sutters from 24, trying to calm a fragile old woman trapped in her car.
"Hey, Dave, how's she doing?" asked Carlos, dropping the gear and leaning into the car.
Sutter switched places with the paramedic, sharing a grim expression as he did. "She looks pretty bad, but she's trying to brave," he added with a whisper and nod. Then he noticed the mask still on Carlos' face. "We're pretty sure the tanker was empty, you can lose the mask now," he smiled.
Carlos happily unstrapped his mask. He let it hang around his neck. "Did you find out what it was carrying?" he asked over his shoulder.
"No, man," Sutters replied. "But there's still no evident leak. I think the worst of our problems is the car accident victims."
"All right," responded Carlos, continuing with his examination. The victim was steeling herself not to cry, but it was painfully obvious that she was nervous. She was alone and trapped behind the steering wheel of her car.
Carlos put a hand on her shoulder and related his deadpan greeting. "It's going to be all right. We're gonna get you outta here in a sec. Are you hurt anywhere? Can you move at all?"
"My neck hurts," she replied, biting back tears and grabbing for Carlos' hand. "And my stomach. I can move, but it hurts so much.
Noticing the approaching firefighters, Carlos started to pull away. They would need to get in there to hook up the Hurst, but the woman would have no part of it. He gently tried to free his hand, but the woman resisted. "Ma'am," he pleaded, rolling his eyes. "These men here are gonna get this steering wheel off you while I talk to the hospital, okay? I'm not going far."
"Are you sure?" she asked, still not letting go. "You won't leave me here?"
"Not going to happen, ma'am," he replied. Slowly the woman began to release her grip.
Once the dashboard was peeled back, and Carlos had spoken to Morales at base, he returned to the car with the trauma box. The woman was anxiously awaiting his return. "You see," he said popping open the box. "I told you I wouldn't be gone long.".
By the time she was ready to be extricated, Doc had arrived. Carlos had expected to ride in with his patient, but Doc and his were already waiting in the ambulance. Carlos arranged transport of his patient by another crew with a ambulatory, and decided to survey the scene more thoroughly for other victims. His elderly patient was stable, and although passing the buck to another crew wasn't exactly protocol, the scene seemed to be hopping, and he liked to be where things were hopping. Carlos liked to be in the heat of things, especially when young females could be around looking for a hero.
Knowing where all the young femmes seemed to gather, he headed over to where Jimmy Doherty was examining the underside of the tanker truck.
"Hey, check this out!" called the firefighter when he noticed the paramedic approaching.
Carlos hurried over and crouched beside him. "So, it's a cable," he replied, disappointed by the less than substantial discovery. "There's lots of them on tankers like this. And as long as it's not leaking, I'm not too interested."
"What? Are you like a girl or something? Don't you know anything about trucks?" Jimmy retorted, shaking his head. "This whole setup is weird. I've never seen cables coming from this part of a tanker before. And these extra tanks are questionable." He looked at Carlos with a frown, indicating a row of five large black tanks attached to the tanker's belly.
Carlos, not being an expert in tankers, shrugged. "Maybe it's a new type?" he suggested, reaching over to touch the nozzle where the cable attached to one of the extra tanks. It was loose, and slid down the cable at his touch. He quickly retracted his hand and shot it under his armpit. It was a reflex action, like a child touching a hot stove. "Oops."
Jimmy's breath caught in his throat. Then, realizing it hadn't caused any major catastrophe, he gave the paramedic a playful backhand. "Now look what you've gone and done."
Carlos, bored by the lack of heroism in the situation, shrugged and sauntered off towards another car. This left Jimmy to examine the rig alone. He leaned in close and tried to put the piece Carlos had dislodged back in place.
A few minutes later, a voice boomed behind him. "Doherty! Get over here!"
The voice sent shivers down Jimmy's spine. He could recognize the District Chief's voice anywhere- he had the ability to turn the bravest man into a trembling child with a mere stare. And he was standing with his Captain over by 55's engine, and didn't look pleased.
"Doherty?! What the hell are you doing over there without your mask?!" Harris, the Chief, reprimanded, as Jimmy closed the gap.
.
Jimmy stopped, did a double take back at the tanker. "I thought it was all clear?" he confessed, feeling a knot form in his stomach.
"The all clear was given for the general area," interjected his Captain, calmly. "But we just want to be careful. There's still a bit of confusion here."
"Um," Jimmy continued, the knot tightening. "Is there something I should be worried about?"
"No, no. The tanker is empty; as far as we can tell. But the manifest says something different." His Captain showed Jimmy the clipboard. "According to this it should be full."
"But it would be nice to have confirmation," replied Harris. "When dispatch called the company, they said it was a wrong number. There isn't even a damn record of a Charlie's Chemicals registered anywhere."
Jimmy frowned. "Charlie's Chemicals? What kind of lame-ass name is that?"
"You're guess is as good as mine," replied his Captain. "But I'd also like to know why the cab was so clean. No papers, no business cards; not even fast food containers or a coffee cup. The driver didn't even have identification on him. The police are all over this. You see Bosco? I think he has an erection."
*** *** ***
When engine 55 arrived back at the station, Jimmy found two of the paramedics sitting around the TV drinking coffee. He sauntered over and swung at the back of Carlos' recliner, playfully knocking forward. "Any left?" he asked, heading to the coffee maker.
"Nope," replied Doc, answering for his recovering partner, and smiling as he took a sip from his own cup. "All gone. You gotta be fast around here."
Jimmy, mid stride, swung his leg around and headed back to the living room. "Some of us actually work around here," he replied sardonically. "Kind of busy with a situation."
"That's what you get for taking so long," grinned Carlos, putting his mug on the table so he could wipe at the spill on his uniform. "So, what did take you so long? You guys stop for lunch or something?"
The remark grated Jimmy the wrong way. A sudden inexplicable animosity towards Carlos coursed through his veins. "Yeah, whatever, buddy! There's no load and go with us, we actually have to finish the scene. Is that a problem?!" .
The station was used to Jimmy's taunting towards the paramedics, but this time it seemed different. They had been around long enough to distinguish his innuendoes from jokes, but right now, Jimmy apparently didn't recognize the difference. He was genuinely angry. No one wanted to spark it further, so they kept their mouths closed.
Jimmy drew in a deep breath, looked around the room. "Are the showers free?"
Before Doc replied, he glanced at the others in the room apprehensively. "All clear," he informed slowly, turning his gaze to Jimmy. "Some of us apparently don't work hard enough to require a shower."
Jimmy laughed and turned away. At the base of the stairs, he turned back and pointed at Doc on the couch. "I'm going to clean up. And hey, dinner's on me tonight. Making my specialty- Pizza a la Doherty."
"What the hell was that ?" asked Carlos, when Jimmy disappeared.
"I have no idea," replied Doc. "Talk about your non-sequitors."
*** *** ***
Kim and Bobby, the last of replacement crews to leave the scene, arrived at the station just before dinner. With the work load being so overwhelming, the earlier crews had been relieved and cleared. They re-stocked the rig and caught up with everyone in the kitchen. "Did you guys hear what happened?" Bobby asked excitedly, interrupting Jimmy at the stove and throwing his stethoscope on the table.
"When?" prompted Carlos, cutting into the conversation from the recliner.
"At that MVA on the onramp," Bobby replied, directing his attention to Jimmy and the other firefighters. "After you guys left, these huge trucks arrived to remove the tanker."
"What's so special about that?" asked Jimmy, trying to push past Bobby to get to his ingredients for pizza.
Bobby grabbed his shoulder and gently spun him around. "No, man. These weren't just any trucks." He leaned back against the counter with a grin. He told them, in great detail, about the two trucks that arrived after the other crews had been cleared. About the eery *carbon copied* men who accompanied these strange trucks. He paused only to pose, and flex his muscles in order to stress the shear size of the men.
"So they were big," shrugged Jimmy, not easily impressed.
"Seriously, Jimmy, these guys were intimidating," added Kim, picking at the pizza ready to go into the oven. "Even Chief Harris had a hard time dealing with them."
Jimmy shuddered at the image. "So, what happened?" he asked, finally intrigued
"I don't know specifics, but apparently they had orders to take over clean up. We were ordered to vacate the area immediately. Even the engines that came in after you had to leave."
"And?!" pushed Carlos, when Bobby and Kim were no longer forthcoming with information.
"And- we left."
"That's it? You just left?" repeated Carlos, shaking his head.
Bobby nodded. Kim popped a left over mushroom into her mouth.
Carlos sagged, took in a deep breath. "You build up this great story and you just end it with, we left? Great story, guys. Glad I caught it."
"Hey," Kim replied. "Don't you think it's weird they told us to leave?" She raised her eyebrows, playing it up like an espionage game. "Oooh, strange men and their toys. Let's clear away the rescue workers." She wiggled her fingers before her face like she was entering the Twilight Zone.
The fire Captain, sitting at the table, caught Kim's comment. He glanced at her over his newspaper. "They had authorization from Headquarters to clean up. That's why you were told to leave." He returned his gaze to his paper, but kept talking. "Harris called it into dispatch and got their papers confirmed, so it doesn't really matter now. No harm was done. He called me afterwards."
"I don't know, Cap. That whole scene seemed pretty fishy to me," Bobby said.
The Captain threw everyone a warning glance. "Would ya just drop it. I already heard enough about it from Harris. And he was pissed off enough for everyone."
*** *** ***
August 16 0516h. Clarkeson onramp.
The street lights, one mile east and west of the ramp on the 405, flickered out simultaneously. A large convoy of trucks, jeeps, and other vehicles hidden in the darkness, inched their way forward. They did not want to be seen. They did not want to be heard. Their job was to rectify a situation that should not have happened. It was to be another catastrophe swept under the rug.
The first vehicle of the convoy, a LAV 25 Reconnaisance, slowed to a stop half a mile into it's perimeter on the darkened highway. All other vehicles, in a centipede fashion, did like wise.
The crew commander of the LAV, and Officer in Command of the clean-up, gazed out over the horizon. He nodded to his driver, and they disembarked from the light armored vehicle. Together they walked a few steps ahead of the LAV. The OC conducted the situation assessment, while his driver watched him worriedly.
The sun had started to rise, casting dim light on the semi-deserted highway; ominous shadows giving away their position.
"Damn," the crew commander muttered under his breath. "We're too late."
"Sir, we can't leave this like-" started the driver, his face paling.
"We have no choice, private," the crew commander said, brusquely turning back to the LAV. When he reached the armored vehicle he paused and closed his eyes in prayer. "The poor bastards."
Ten minutes later, the convoy was moving at a regular pace down the highway. Radio silence had been ordered. The mission postponed.
The street lights came back on. The convoy broke up so it didn't seem so suspicious, just a jeep or tank transferring from one base to another. Nothing spectacular. It was as if they had never been there.
*** *** ***
*Author's Note: No mushrooms were injured during the making of this segment. Well, some did, but they deserved it- they were really nasty to the pepperoni and had it coming.