C is For Choices
The Crew
Emergency and its characters are the property of Universal Studios and Mark VII – just borrowing them!
Warning – this story contains mention, nothing graphic or detailed, of the deaths of adults and children – if this will bother you, don't read further.
An uncanny silence settled over the station, broken only by the sound of the front bay door rolling down, the ticking sound of two engines cooling down, and the almost gentle, soft closing of two metal doors that belonged to the brilliant red Crown Engine. Her usually polished skin was dirty and black with the obvious evidence of their run. The three sounds faded away to be replaced by the shuffling of weary boots across cold, grey cement and the slapping sound of hands pushing open doors.
Captain Richard Hammer leaned against the door frame of his office, rubbing a dirty hand across his face and then through his dark hair; he was waiting for and watching the movements of his crew of five men. He observed as one entered the day room, feet dragging and head down. Another one had dragged himself into the locker room, shoulders bent and hand moving over his face in a gesture similar to his own. The tallest man of the crew had trudged around to the back of his engine, where the Captain could no longer see or hear what he was doing. Standing there, maybe, arms braced against the sooty finish, staring at something that only he could see.
The silence echoed hauntingly through the apparatus bay and the captain shifted his focus to the small truck in front of him. The final two members of his crew had not stirred from their slumped postures in the dull beige seat of the equally dirty rescue squad. In the driver's seat, the man had both arms draped over the steering wheel, motionless hands palm down and thumbs touching, hanging loosely from limp wrists over the steering wheel. His head rested on his turnout encased upper arms; even through the closed window Hammer could see the streaks of black striping his face and the sweat darkened hair plastered against his skull.
Several feet across the seat his paramedic partner had his own head bowed, left hand splayed across his face, shielding the side of his face effectively from Dick's view. Only the taut line of his dirty jaw was visible. His right arm rested on the frame of the strangely opened window, his long fingers clenching and unclenching the only sign of movement emanating from the cab.
As if feeling the concerned gaze of their captain piercing through the glass, both men suddenly stirred and clumsily stumbled out in an almost synchronized movement. Turnout coats haltingly pulled off, hung over side mirrors in anticipation of another run, but only after two doors were gently, softly clicked shut. The driver moved past Hammer, nodding briefly to him, before trodding past the fronts of both vehicles and disappearing into the dorm room. Intent on his progress, Hammer startled slightly as the other man materialized from around the back of the truck and vanished just as quietly through the door to the day room. The captain moved over to the still swinging door just in time to catch a glimpse of a blue jacketed figure ducking out the side door to the parking lot.
Letting loose a heavy sigh, Hammer returned to his office. This time he entered the small room and settled down heavily in the chair in front of his desk, propping his elbows on the desk and finally allowing the weight of his thoughts to drop on his hands. He felt slightly relieved that he at least knew the physical whereabouts of his men and that they all had come thru the harrowing ordeal intact; the relief quickly dissipated as he realized he had no idea of their emotional or mental states.
That last run, the one before this gut wrenching, soul stealing inferno, had been a simple, injury free vehicle accident, if there was really such a thing. His men, all capable and experienced, working together smoothly, looking towards him for guidance and orders, but not really needing it. Pulling battery cables, hosing down pavement, using a pry bar to pop open a bent door, just instinctive movements from all of them, really, a good sign of things to come. At least it had seemed that way then, within that brief span of time. Now, Hammer wondered, was it really true? It wasn't his first crew, and God willing, wouldn't be his last, but what had happened only several hours ago was surely going to test his theory that the MVA had been a positive indicator of the strength and cohesive bond beginning to form between his men.
He was the leader of a group of men that had only been together for barely over a month; he could dig through their personnel files for all of eternity and still not anticipate what their reactions were going to be to this, this horrible calamity that had befallen that family of six. Their first major disaster together as the A shift crew – how would each man individually handle their grief; how would the crew as a whole stand together? Would they merge together like the tightly woven pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, or would they splinter into a thousand sorrowful pieces? How would this night, this shift end, with the haunting ghosts and icy, bony fingers of madness greedily grasping for the souls of his men?
~TBC~