Chapter Three—You Will Know that I am Gone

Johnny's POV

I am driving like a maniac. I know this. I get it. I really do. So sue me. I'm careful; I won't hit anyone. If I pile myself into a damned tree—well, right now, that's just fine with me. I killed him. I just killed one of my best friends. I heard them call the time as I walked out of Treatment 3. How is it I only got banged up again, and a sprained ankle, and Mike is dead?! I mean, because of my boots, I can even walk okay. Doesn't even hurt much. The scrapes and bruises on my ribs hurt like hell, though. And that's good. They should. I hope the pain never stops. Because one of us needs to hurt. Forever.

And then I did something I have never done before in my life. I walked out. I mean it. I just—left. I freaked out, I guess. I grabbed a cab at the stand and got back to the station in about eight minutes. Changed in about two minutes. And I drove away…and here I am. Driving like a maniac…because I am a murderer. I killed Stoker. Images run through my mind as I drive, mostly of Mike and Big Red. Hell, he probably would have slept with that damned engine if he could have figured a way. He is—was—so quiet, I don't know if he ever got any action. He never talks—damnit!—talked about it. Course, not that I can brag much, but I do anyway. That's what made him so much better than me…he didn't always hafta make himself the center of attention. He was just…the best. Him and Roy. And me, always just the "kid." The one everybody has to look out for, the clumsy one, the one who's still growing, for God's sake! Here I am, barely 21, 6'2" and Brackett says maybe 2 or 3 more inches to go! Are you kidding me?! When schoolkids walk up to me and say, "Hey, mister, I wanna be a fireman when I grow up," half the time I wanna tell 'em, "Me, too, kid!"

Roy's POV

They told me later Junior bolted from the hospital. I didn't see it, because I had ridden in with Mike and was still in with him at the time. God, Mike fought! He fought hard, but time just wasn't on our side. I couldn't believe it when Brackett looked up and shook his head. Dixie, with tears ruining her mascara, started turning off the monitors, and Brackett called the time. It got eerily silent for a few seconds, and I heard feet running up the hall. God help me, I did something real unprofessional then. I lost it.

I started yelling at them to turn 'em back on, that no way in hell was he dead! I even started chest compressions on him. I guess Brackett was afraid I'd blow a gasket if anyone tried to stop me, because nobody did. I guess they decided "What the hell, humor the lunatic; because Dixie even bagged him for me. I guess Brackett had them turn the monitors back on, because Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee— "Damn you, Mike! Michael Stoker!" I yelled "Wake the hell up!" –eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—Inspiration suddenly hit. "Mike, come quick! Some asshole just t-boned Big Red!"—eeeep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Brackett's mouth dropped open, but only for a second as he began to act.

"Okay, people , we've got him back…"

The room was a flurry of activity after that, getting him hooked up to the respirator, and making sure he was ready to move to the ICU. That's when I left to go find Juniorand the guys. That's when we discovered my partner had gone AWOL. And he has no clue Mike Stoker is alive.

Mike's POV

Okay, Roy just said WHAT?! OWWWWW! Damnit, my chest feels like a gorilla's been slinging luggage all over it!** What's everybody so excited about? Wait a minute…Big Red? T-boned? I gotta get outta here! Only—Where is, where am I…why—uh-oh—I know that smell—Rampart! I'm in a room and I can't talk, I can't move…must be some damn good drugs they've got me on. Besides, I realize after a minute that Roy is a terrible liar. Always has been. If Big Red was hurt, I'd know it. Oh, he's gonna pay for that one, believe me! I don't even wanna try opening my eyes. No way, nuh-uh. I had a weird-ass dream about…What? A giant table? And smelling coffee? Really, really great coffee! And lotsa guys like me sitting around shootin' the breeze, tellin' stories. In uniform. All kinds of uniforms—fire department uniforms. From all over the world. And I suddenly realize something…there are guys here in uniform from way in past history clear to the present. San Francisco, Chicago, Hiroshima, London, Galveston, Mexico City, everywhere! Oh, my God, there's Chief Dennis Sullivan!*** I recognize him from his picture at the Fire Academy! And these guys are exchanging stories about fighting The Beast, and about their families, and speculating about the boot—boot? Me? Me. Oh, crap!

That's about the time my old Chief, Chief Scarsdale, gets up from his seat and introduces me to the guys at the table. I look around, and spot four very familiar faces…the guys who had been closer than brothers at my old station…the reason I try real hard not to get too close to anyone. It still hurts that we lost them in that fire. At least with Big Red, I know if she gets banged up, Charlie and his guys can fix her back up. Nothing can easily take her away from me. So, I guess I do feel it's safer to love her instead of people. That's when the gorilla starts stomping around, and I hear Roy DeSoto losing his mind. DeSoto? Huh. Who'da thunk? OUCH!

Johnny's POV

After awhile I slow down and take stock of where I am. Some rinky dink town in the middle of nowhere. Judging by the gas tank, I've been driving a couple of hours. The only thing of significance in town seems to be a truck stop and a train depot. I'm not at all hungry, but—a train? A plan forms quickly. I can't go back now. I bought a one way ticket as far as it would take me… for some reason I pick Miami. Don't wanna go north… Had enough of the cold.

Besides, maybe I can reconnect with who my people really are down that way. Just because I lived on the res in Montana didn't mean that's where my people were originally from…besides, it's kind of fitting to go back where I really come from, for what I have in mind.

I spotted a liquor store not far from the truck stop. I considered my options, and decided to smuggle a bottle on board the train. Fortunately, I always carry a duffle with a change of clothes with me, so hiding it wasn't a problem. I figured it was gonna be a long, boring trip, and I'd much rather face it hammered. Besides, who really gave a damn anymore? If they threw me off someplace before Florida, I'd just hitch a ride. Yup, just me and old Jack…what a pair. That mission accomplished; I sat down to wait for the 8pm arrival. I must've dozed off, because the next thing I knew, the arrival was being announced, and it was time to head up to the track.

I have to admit, the size of the train kind of threw me at first. I hadn't been on a cross-country train before, and didn't really know what to expect. That sucker was BIG! Two levels…the conductor looked at my ticket and sent me upstairs. It took a bit to get oriented, but the lights were low, and it wasn't crowded. I found a seat at the back. No one was around me, which was good. The conductor took my ticket and placed a green slip of paper above my seat. Guess that makes it mine. The conductor was busy elsewhere, and he had mentioned our next stop was three hours away…guess me and Jack can get down to business…I pull out the bottle and take a healthy slug.

Aloud I say, "Adios, amigo! Mike Stoker, you were a helluva guy! The only guy I know whose love life actually stunk worse than mine."

I slammed back another couple swallows, then realize I have a problem. How the hell am I supposed to get hammered when I'm crying so hard I may choke on the damned booze?

Febuary 10

Chicago, IL

Johnny's POV

Chicago?! Really? Huh. Didn't know you had to go that far to go to Florida. Weird. Ah, well. Might as well hunt down another bottle while I'm here. Got a long wait for the next train. City of New Orleans…cool name for a train. I just thought it was a song…Still can't believe we got hung up for nearly nine hours yesterday because of a mechanical failure. Hadda wander around a while before I found what I was looking for. This time Mr. Jim Beam joined the team 'steada Mr. Jack Daniels, but it's all good. Whoa, my plan of stayin' kinda hammered musta worked, 'cause it's a little hard to focus.

Fortunately, unlike yesterday, my body is cooperating pretty well. I can't vouch for my mind. Not going there. The next train is announced. Same routine as before, and I soon find myself in a seat in the back corner of the car. This one is a bit more crowded, though. After a while, I realize nobody cares what anyone else is doing, so I manage a few pulls off the bottle and manage to relax…to forget for a little while what I'm doing heading south on a train…heading nowhere at all. A couple of hours later, I decided to stretch my legs, so I wandered down to the Observation Car. Not surprisingly for this time of day, it was empty—almost—except for a big, scraggly, blond guy, with a long ponytail. He was sitting on the floor towards the back of the car, holding a guitar strapped over his shoulder. He looked up, staring closely at me for a moment. It was what he held in his right hand that held my primary interest at the moment. Don't ask me why I did it…recklessness, stupidity, don't know, don't care…I sank down across from the blond guy, grabbed the joint from him, inhaled deeply…and promptly started babbling like an idiot. I should know better. It's why I generally don't do this…well, that and losing my job—yeah…my—and everything sot of faded out; and I am gone.