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The Long Road Home

Written by: Kianda

Chapter One


The peaceful slumber and quiet night of LA County's Fire Station 51 came to an abrupt noisy end. Simultaneously, the bright overhead lights and the shrill klaxon alarm intruded rudely. As one unit, six men threw off warm covers, stepped into boots, and pulled up their turnout pants. This accomplished within seconds each man ran toward the engine or rescue squad, even before the dispatcher finished speaking.

"Station 51 MVA with injuries W 225th Street and Normandie Ave. West, 2-2-5 and Normandie Ave. Police and ambulance are responding. Time out 01:43"

"Station 51 KMG-365," Captain Hank Stanley's weary voice responded into the microphone. Hank handed over the call slip to paramedic Roy DeSoto, now seated in the driver's side of the squad. Roy in turn handed it to his partner John Gage.

Noting the call in the log, placing his helmet on his head and adjusting the strap Johnny groused, "I told ya Roy this night wouldn't be peaceful."

His partner slipped his own helmet on, put key to ignition, switched on lights and siren and rolled the squad out moments ahead of the engine. Roy thinking it better not to encourage his junior partner with an answer, kept his mouth closed and eyes on the road.

When they arrived on scene adrenaline kicked in as each man visualized the severity of the accident. No bystander's were present this early in the morning so whoever called in the accident hadn't hung around.

Captain Stanley instantly surveyed the surrounding area while picking up the engine mic. "LA Station 51 at scene."

"10-4 51."

Lying face down in the middle of the glass strewn roadway a woman's body lay motionless, the mangled wreck of a four-door sedan not far from where she lay. A rather sizable, blood stained hole in the windshield told the sad story. The woman had been ejected from the vehicle.

Ten feet from the car and still running sat a badly wrecked truck. Steam could be seen and heard hissing from under the damaged hood. The smell of gasoline hung heavy in the air from the trucks ruptured gas tank. Stepping out of the vehicle with practiced ease both paramedics put on turncoats and efficiently gathered the equipment needed from various compartments on the squad.

"I'll check the woman." Johnny grimly stated. Roy nodded.

"Kelly, check the car for other victims. Lopez, take the reel line and hose down the roadway in and around the truck. Hose down the engine too. We don't need any surprises."

"Right Cap." Marco acknowledged grabbing the nozzle of the reel line and running out the hose.

Roy and Hank went toward the truck.

Reaching the unconscious woman Johnny checked for a pulse. "Ma'am can you hear me?" No response. The woman had a rapid pulse. Johnny ran a practiced hand down her arms, legs and spine checking for fractures and or bleeding. The victim had various deep lacerations on her face head and neck, one such laceration barely missing her carotid artery. Johnny quickly bandaged what he could to control the worst of the bleeding.

The paramedic told the quiet engineer who hovered nearby, "Mike she's got a broken right femur. Get me a traction splint and a backboard would ya?" Once he'd placed a c-collar around the unconscious woman's neck, he tried once again to rouse her with little success.

Mike returned with the splint and backboard. Placing the backboard next to her still form both Mike and Johnny log rolled her onto her back. He next checked her pupils for reaction to light. The right pupil was blown the left sluggish. The paramedic frowned. His fingers gently felt for abnormalities on her head. Finding a depression in her skull Johnny's stomach clenched. Another dose of adrenaline rushed through him at the implication. He checked the young woman's nose and ears for fluid drainage. He discovered fluid leaking from her right ear.

"She has a depressed skull fracture." The black-haired paramedic took her blood pressure and respiration's. Mike splinted her broken leg. Before contacting Rampart Johnny grabbed a blanket from the squad and covered her with it. Mike retrieved the necessary IV supplies knowing one would be authorized.

Meanwhile, Chet Kelly discovered the woman had been the sole occupant of the car. He went toward the truck. Marco reel line in hand was methodically washing down the roadway. As Captain Stanley force-lifted the damaged hood of the truck and pulled the battery cables, Marco hosed down the engine.

Going to the driver's side Roy peered into the window, which remarkably had only a slight crack. A male sitting in the driver's seat, eyes closed, the steering column pressed into his chest which showed an abnormal curve lay slumped over the wheel. The crack and the blood spatter present on the driver's side window suggested to Roy the man's head impacted it there. Blood stained his clothing from a sizable head laceration. He wasn't wearing a seat belt.

"Sir, can you hear me?" Roy called. The man's face exhibited a dusky tinge. Upon receiving no response Roy tried to force the damaged door open. When it didn't budge, he ran around to the passenger's side door only to find it locked.

Hank with pry bar in hand popped the driver's side door open. As soon as he did the strong stench of alcohol made his nose turn up. Reaching in Roy checked for a pulse at the man's neck. No life thumped under his fingers. With a sinking heart he readjusted his fingers and felt for a pulse again. Nothing! Sadly Roy backed away from the truck. "He's dead, Cap."

Johnny opened the bright orange box that housed the bio-phone, connecting the antennae; he picked up the black-hand transmitter depressing the button to speak. As he did so the ambulance arrived. Roy joined him.

"Rampart this is Squad 51 How do you read me?" He waited for a response.

Before Roy even asked, Johnny told him, "A depressed skull fracture."

Chet went for a blanket. Johnny happened to look at the driver of the truck just before Chet draped the blanket over the lifeless form and stilled. Color drained from his face. He made a wild grab for the bio-phone receiver as it slipped out of his hand.

Mike watched his shift-mates odd reaction alarmed at his sudden white appearance, "Johnny you alright? Do you know the individual in the truck?"

Roy also eyed his friend. "Johnny?" Whatever held his attention clearly rattled him.

"I'm okay, for a minute I…," shaking his head as if to clear it, "'No- no I don't know the person Mike."

The individual Johnny thought of would be years older then the man in the truck. Trying to put the moment behind him he once again focused on the job at hand. Realizing an answer hadn't been forthcoming from Rampart repeated, "Rampart base this is rescue five one."

A long pause later a Johnny received an answer, "Go ahead 51." He didn't recognized the voice at the other end.

Rampart we are at the scene of an MVA. We have two victims. Victim one is a female approximately 22 to 25 years of age, ejected through the windshield of her vehicle. She is unconscious at this time. Victim has a serious wound to her head in the form of a depressed skull fracture. Drainage is evident from right ear. She also has a broken right femur. There are various deep lacerations and abrasions about the head, face and neck. Vitals are, BP 100/80, pulse 110, respiration's 15. The right pupil is blown and the left is sluggish Rampart. Spinal precautions have been taken.

"LA Engine 51 Notify Coroner we have a Code F at our location." Hank spoke into the HT.

"10-4 51"

"51 start IV LR TKO; keep head and shoulders slightly elevated. Place her on 8 liters of 02. Immobilize fracture. Cover and keep warm. Watch for changes in breathing. Transport immediately. What about the second victim 51?"

"Uh, Rampart second victim is Code F."

"10-4."

A black and white patrol car pulled up. A young officer exited and walked over to Captain Stanley.

Roy and Johnny loaded the woman into the ambulance. Roy hopped into the back. Johnny gave the window two slaps and the ambulance took off. The tired paramedic picked up the medical trash, and headed to Rampart in the squad. The rest of 51 headed back to the station. The police officer would wait for the coroner and tow trucks. The call took less the thirty minutes. One dead and one seriously injured because someone didn't think.


Less than an hour later 51's paramedics returned to the station. Johnny headed for the kitchen and a cold glass of milk. Roy followed if only to be sure his disturbed partner would be okay.

Physically beat, Roy wanted nothing more than to head for his bunk, though tuned in as he was to Johnny's moods, knew something nagged at his friend not to mention Johnny's reaction at the scene. "Junior what's bugging you?"

After pouring himself a glass of cold milk the wound up paramedic sat at the kitchen table. "Yah know Roy, both of those people were at fault. The man got behind the wheel after he'd been drinking, a tragedy waiting to happen. If the young woman had been wearing her seat belt she wouldn't have been ejected through the windshield winding up with a serious head injury she may never recover from."

Lately they'd had their share of drinking related accidents and not once had Johnny voiced his opinion. Something else bugged his friend.

"Maybe so Johnny," he quietly tried stifling a yawn, "You can't let it eat you like this. What's got you so twisted about this one?"

Johnny kept his silence. The fact the man in the truck looked like his father had thrown him. No more than thrown him; it almost sent him into a panic. He hadn't had contact with the man in twelve years. Then out of the blue a stranger resembles him and memories time hadn't blunted, resurfaced.

Seeing people drink wasn't foreign to him. As a youngster growing up on the reservation he'd seen plenty of it. With little hope of improving the below standard living conditions, depression, poverty and anger, ran high. His father fell to the darkness of drink never considering the impact it left on his son.

Knowing Roy waited on an answer Johnny decided to let the conversation slide. He was keeping his friend from his bed and what could he tell him anyway? What happened in the past would stay there.

"It's nuthin Roy."

Over the years Roy learned you never pushed Johnny since he'd just clam up. When his friend was ready to talk nobody could stop him. His best friend could talk a blue streak, but he could be equally evasive. Once in a great while like now, Roy would catch a rare glimpse into Johnny's psyche. His partner kept a small part of himself hidden away from everyone, but instinctively he knew something about this run triggered a painful memory for him.

"I'll be around if ya need an ear."

"I know Roy, thanks." Johnny washed his glass out and placed it in the drain board. Both men quietly made their way to their bunks. Soon, Roy's even breathing told Johnny his friend had fallen asleep. It took Johnny much longer to relax, as his mind dredged up memories best forgotten.


His mother's funeral took place two days ago. The confused, boy watched sadly as his father sat at the kitchen table, a half bottle of whiskey in front of him staring into the full glass of amber liquid. Tears ran down his cheeks seemingly aged overnight, and dripped unnoticed onto his shirt joining an ever widening stain of grief. Twelve year old John Roderick Gage watched as his father tilted the glass and downed its contents in one gulp reaching for the bottle to refill his glass. The strongest man he'd ever known, and looked up to in his short twelve years, had been reduced to this brooding, angry, unfamiliar person.

All John wanted at the moment was for someone to tell him everything would be okay. Tired, still recovering from the illness that almost claimed his life, he felt lost, and although he sat next to his father, totally alone. No relatives from his father's side came to offer comfort, having disowned their son long ago. Prejudices ran deep. He did have an aunt, his mother's single older sister Rose, but she no longer lived on the reservation. She came for the funeral. She'd left yesterday. There was no family left and his father all but threw the neighbors out of the house.

He missed his mother so much it physically hurt. Wrapping skinny arms around equally skinny legs he continued to keep a silent presence, not willing to leave his father alone afraid of what he might do. As if his father read his mind, he angrily informed the youngster. "She's gone. Nothing is ever going to be the same again. You will have to learn to care for yourself."

Something he viewed on John's face angered his father, because his parent suddenly stood, sending his chair crashing backwards. He grabbed John in a crushing grip, shaking him hard. "Don't look at me boy. Do you understand me? It's because of you she's gone. I can't be your mother! I won't be your mother! You will have to take care of yourself."

With those harsh words he'd flung his young son away, the force of the push sent him sprawling onto the floor were his head impacted the hard wooden surface. Johnny saw stars and felt instant pain. He lay there for a moment tears falling in stunned surprise. His father became a total stranger to him in that moment. Slowly he picked himself off the floor, rubbing the back of his head to find a knot forming. "I'm so sorry Poppy," He pleaded. His father rejected him, and his biting words proved accurate, Johnny's life never again would be the same.


Moving restlessly beneath the covers, unable to maintain a comfortable position Johnny crossed an arm over his eyes in an automatic response of a long held habit. He wanted to sleep but his mind would not let him relax.


"John what happened to your face?" his friend Shannon Foster asked in concern. Both were sitting on the corral fence on Shannon's property talking and watching as Shannon's own horse Gray Mist, a white and gray appaloosa romped around the corral. He and Shannon had been friends for many years practically growing up next door to one another. The Foster's owned a small horse ranch bordering the Gage property. Before his mother died Johnny spent countless hours on the ranch where he developed his love of horses. The children's mothers had been close friends. Two years apart in age, he being the younger, Shannon at sixteen treated him like a kid brother.

"Nuthin, Shan I fell out of the tire swing."

"Maybe I should re-nickname you, 'Many Accidents, instead of Firefly." She teased. She'd graced him with the nickname after his mother died. She told him he reminded her of a firefly, never still for long, and on the rare occasions he chose to smile it would light up the darkest of places.

Johnny hung his head and said nothing. He usually hid the marks, but when they were on his face, what could be done? He continued to watch Gray Mist as the horse now came to where the two youths sat. Johnny pulled out the remainder of a carrot from his jean pocket and offered it to the animal. Gray Mist quickly gobbled the treat and trotted off.

"Firefly you spoil him."

"I know Shan can't seem to help it." The grand creatures held a special place in his life. Unlike people, horses weren't spiteful, nor did they taunt or shun him because of the color of his skin. He lived in two worlds, one white and one red, but neither one offered him a place of security.

Shannon too had mixed blood, her mother being of the Crow tribe but unlike his family situation both sides of her family embraced the marriage.

Sudden movement from the far side of the corral caught their attention. Gray Mist gave an angry snort as one of the ranch hands entered the corral. The appaloosa being high strung and temperamental didn't enjoy anyone on his back with the exception of Shannon. Johnny could tell the man had been drinking as he had staggered toward the horse. He succeeded in mounting him bare back. What're you doin' Bill!" Shannon exclaimed.

Johnny knew of Bill Coleman, he had a nasty reputation for being a bully.

"What are you doing?" Shannon screamed again. The man gave little heed to Shannon or the state of the horse. The horse wanted nothing to do with the intruder. Twisting this way and that, the appaloosa tried with little success to throw its rider. Bucking over and over, snorting with crazed anger the horse finally twisted to far. Both horse and rider hit the dirt. Both horse and rider screamed in pain. The man landed under the frightened animal. The appaloosa desperately tried to gain its feet. Johnny quickly jumped into the corral determined to help the horse.

"John! Be careful" Shannon screamed.

As Johnny closed the gap between them, the animal regained his feet avoiding the use of its front foreleg altogether. The animal stood shaking and rolling its head. Bill rolled unsteadily to his feet clutching his arm. "Damn horse broke my arm!"

"Look at what you did!" Johnny yelled trying to calm the horse enough to determine its injury.

"Stay out of it half-breed," the belligerent man sneered.

"John!" Shannon desperately tried to gain his attention. She didn't like this man and didn't understand why he worked here.

"You hurt the animal." Johnny said coldly. "You're drunk and shouldn't have been in here."

"You need to be taught how to talk to your elders' boy!" The man slurred his words but advanced on Johnny before he could prepare himself. A vicious kick landing in the fourteen year olds midsection sending him sprawling to the ground. Retching and trying to catch his breath Johnny curled up into a tight ball. Another kick landed in his ribs and Johnny cried out from the intense pain.

"Stop it!" Shannon screamed.

"What in the hell is going on over there!" Shannon's father could be heard yelling.

"The ignorant half--breed is causing trouble but I took care of um." The drunken man said.

"Bill you been tipping a few? Shannon's father questioned." You know better than to come into the corral when you've been drinking. Turning his attention to the prone boy on the ground he said, "John you best go on home."

"Dad Bill hurt Gray Mist! John tried to stop him!" Shannon defended her friend.

"Bill we talked about you drinking while on the job. Since you can't seem to control yourself I won't have you working here. I'll give you what pay you have coming and a ride to the clinic for the arm, but then its best you to find other employment."

"Don't want any help from you, I'll find my own way to the clinic," Bill informed the upset ranch owner.

Drunkenly he threatened the pale boy, "Half-breed, you ain't heard the last of me." Kicking up dirt as he walked past, it showered the prone form on the ground; Johnny coughed as some dirt found its way inside his mouth.

"John, can you walk?" Shannon questioned.

Embarrassed at being the center of attention Johnny didn't wait for Shannon's help. "I'm okay Shan." He stood feeling a little woozy and she reached to help steady him. "I need to get going before dad comes home." Taking a deep breath hurt. He just wanted to lie down.

Shannon concerned for her hurting friend tried to help him but Johnny wouldn't let her.

"Son of a..." Shannon's father cursed. Johnny glanced over to see him checking the leg of the injured horse. "His leg is broken honey, I'm sorry." Grimly he ordered, "John, take Shannon into the house."

"Oh Gray!" Shannon exclaimed knowing what would happen. She ran into the corral despite her fathers orders. Hugging the gray's neck she held on for dear life. She wouldn't leave. She stroked the gray's neck smoothly as large tears fell continuously down her cheeks. "I'm sorry this happened to you." She spoke to the animal. Johnny stood helplessly by watching the grief pour from his friend.

The hurting sad boy tried to comfort the distraught girl. He gently steered her toward the house when her father returned, rifle in hand. A single shot echoed its deadly function. Shannon all but collapsed into his arms.

"I'm so sorry." He offered knowing it sounded empty but anything he said would be pointless. Because Bill drank too much a beloved horse was dead and his friend heartbroken.

Sobbing into his shirt Shannon cried, "Firefly what makes people so cruel!"