Ranger is gone again, Stephanie plans to move with Joe elsewhere for a new start except a problem creeps up….Tanks meets his significant other.
I admit, the original premise of Joe moving to another city and the dates came from a FF writer here. I've just taken the idea and run with it.
reposting chapter 1 with a few corrections...sorry
Chapter One: The Explosion
The dark January sky threatened snow. Being close to the ocean the snow could be heavy and wet if the storm was blowing in from the east or lighter, drier if from the west. Personally I wanted neither. Snow doesn't usually bother me, but being awake for 48, no 49 hours has left me grumpy. Thankfully the morning traffic leaving Ft. Dix wasn't anything like the in- bound traffic. I had no humor towards idiot drivers weaving recklessly in and out of traffic to gain 3 car positions in the queue at the front gate.
I chose to live off base. The time spent commuting helped me decompress. I was almost human again by the time I arrived at my apartment. At 0825 the apartment parking lost was nearly empty. I left the closer parking slots for the elderly tenants. With nothing to carry, no groceries or dry cleaning, my only exertion was getting my tired self-up the steps.
The two flights of stairs to my apartment floor passed under my feet without notice. All I wanted was a shower and sleep, hopefully in that order. As I neared my apartment, the odor of chemicals became strong. Was someone cooking meth in their apartment? I turned to retreat when an explosion blew debris and flames into the hall and slamming me into the wall. Instantly I was covered in wall board and wood splinters.
I don't know how long I lay in the hall. I had to move, somehow. As I crawled towards what was left of the exit door, I saw Mrs. Grey's apartment. The 80+ year old was probably in her apartment, she rarely left. On my back, on the third kick the door flew open. The wall separating her unit from the exploded unit was rubble. Smoke and flames were already in her apartment advancing rapidly towards the bedroom. I quick crawled past the kitchen to the living room and was ready to turn into bedroom when a second explosion threw me against the bedroom closet wall. "Damn, this is getting old," I cursed.
Quickly I checked the bedroom, no Mrs. Grey but I did find a kitten hissing and scratching in panic under the bed. Taking a pillow case I crammed the frightened fur ball into the case and crawled to the closet where fire victims often hide. There I found another kitten. Mrs. Grey was in the bathroom shower, naked and unconscious. Lifting her small body onto my shoulder, I winced in pain. We needed to get outside. I half crawled half duck walked out the apartment door as flames licked the walls nearby. The hall was filled with smoke, but fortunately Mrs. Grey was the first apartment inside the door and I only had to turn and exit onto the landing and the stairs beyond.
A fireman coming up the steps took Mrs. Grey from my shoulder; another grabbed me and the pillow case in my hand and led me outside. I fell to the ground gasping for air, my lungs clogged with smoke, my chest screaming in pain with each cough. I felt a mask on my face, "Remasss ug brees," I heard from the EMT. He spoke funny.
I stood with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and watched the action around me. The apartment fire was moving from unit to unit. Water streamed up from the pumpers mixing with the ash or snow that fell from the sky. The pillowcase kittens were being treated with oxygen. Mrs. Grey was being loaded into a waiting ambulance. An EMT came over to me, "Ma'am, we've called for another ambulance for you," said an EMT. At least his speech had cleared up, more likely my hearing.
"No, after I get the cats to the vet I'll go myself," I assured them.
He shook his head, "We can't force you ma'am, please don't delay."
"Are you OK," gasped the receptionist as I limped into the vet clinic. My left shoulder hurt so I kept it in my hand in my pocket, trying to keep the arm stabilized.
"I'll tend myself after the kittens," I mumbled. I wondered just how bad I looked.
The kittens were rushed back to treatment and I found a chair in the waiting room corner where hopefully my smoke stench and appearance would be less offensive. Wincing I sat down carefully, removing my hand from the pocket and carefully cradling my arm in my lap. "Bet my clavicle is broken," I muttered quietly to myself.
Everything on my left slide hurt no doubt from flying into walls...twice. I shut my eyes and tried to breathe evenly; in through the nose, out slowly through the mouth. If I varied even a little I broke into a painful coughing fit.
A cold water bottle was placed into my hands. I opened my eyes. The offeror was a very tall, broad shouldered dark skinned man dressed in black, "Drink, you looked ...barbecued," he said with his deep bass voice. I was going to refuse, but the cold bottle was so welcome in my hands, I accepted it. "Thank you, sir" I croaked before being wracked with painful coughing.
He sat next to me, "Fire?" He asked. The question seemed obvious. Didn't he just say I looked barbecued?
The cold water trickled down my throat setting off more painful coughing. I could only shake my head, yes. Finally I was able to croak, "Apartment building exploded."
"The one on Cutler?"
I shook my head affirmative.
"Have you been seen by a medic?" He asked as he picked a piece of wall board from my shoulder.
Curious choice of words I thought. Medic is more often a military term. I looked over at him. He was dressed all in black, not BDUs but black jacket, black polo underneath and black cargo pants. He wore softer boots. He looked very fit. He might have been military, off duty.
"They wanted to take me to St. Francis. I'll get myself to Ft. Dix after I make arrangements for the kittens."
I shut my eyes and tried to push past the pain, not paying attention to the man speaking on his phone to "Bobby."
The vet tech called for Sher-somebody and the big man excused himself and picked up his cat carrier and went with the tech. I don't know when he returned but when opened my eyes again he was sitting next to me again, "How are you doing?"
All I could do was nod and even that was getting painful. I had a major headache and my neck burned. For the first time I noticed my ACU, my uniform, was scorched and torn. Barbecued. Maybe I should have taken the ambulance offer.
The front door opened and a 6 foot tall man entered, dressed all in black like the big man sitting next to me, but carrying a black back pack. He brushed ash from his hair. Maybe it was snow.
The receptionist welcomed him. He nodded and walked towards the large man sitting next to me. "I'm Bobby Brown, I'm a medic. You've had an interesting morning, Major."
At first I ignored him. The big man was also a Major? I suddenly felt a hand on my left wrist and tried to jerk back my arm, but that brought an explosion of pain and my eyes flew open. I gasped. The medic was the one holding my wrist.
"Excuse me?" I uttered.
"What happened?" He asked gently.
My throat was still dry, but I managed to croak out, "Apartment building explosions; sent me flying into a wall, twice, regular Peter Pan."
"Looks like you got your eyebrows blown off too," he said softly. "Where do you hurt?"
Every single spot I wanted to say but pulled my mind back under control, "Left side; shoulder, ribs, and hip."
"How about your face and hands?"
I looked at my hands, I didn't realize they were burned and then reached for my face with my right arm, but the medic stopped me. I nodded, "Those too. I must be a mess."
The veterinarian stepped out of the hall door. She was short, maybe 5'2", slender with greying blond hair. She stared at me, "Are you alright?"
"I've had better days," I responded. How bad did I look?
"I'm Doctor Spencer. I'm sorry to say your grey kitten didn't make it. The black one is holding on."
"Not mine," I whispered. "Neighbor's."
"How do we contact the owner?"
"St. Francis, Mrs. Grey." Words were getting harder to get out.
"We need to keep the black kitten under oxygen for at least 24 hours."
"I've left a deposit."
"We appreciate it. I'm sorry about the grey kitten. Did she have a name?"
"Delilah, Sampson," I whispered not out of respect, but because I was running out of air.
During the exchange the medic fastened a sling for my left arm, "You don't want that wiggling around."
The big man and the medic helped me to my feet. The medic said, "Now we need to get you to the hospital."
"Ft. Dix."
"That's 20 minutes away; you really should be seen sooner.
"Is St. Francis that much closer? I'm going to Dix even if I have to drive myself."
"It's snowing, the roads are slippery," protested the tall dark man.
"Ft. Dix."
The two exchanged looks, "Where is your car?"
"The black Cherokee."
"Perfect. Tank will drive; I'll be with you in back."
Who is driving the tank? I wondered.
The medic called somebody and asked them get their vehicles. Maybe they drove rentals.
As the big man lead me to my Cherokee, the medic was on the phone talking to a marshal. Were we getting police escort?
Apparently the snow was coming down heavily because the drive to Ft. Dix was unrecognizable. After a while all the dips in the road became excruciating. I began to gasp for air.
