Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with em.

This chapter update is a long one folks. Leave your reviews!

To Save a Life

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Four


His decision made, Johnny ran a hand down his perspiring face. Every instinct was warning him they were out of time.

The IV was in and 'hanging' from an improvised pole taken from the rubble. "Marco grab the backboard."

Looking over to his grim paramedic, Hank could see him being emotionally drained. "A little longer John and we're home free."

Keeping his doubt to himself Johnny took in a deep breath and slowly released it.

With broken ribs, and difficulty breathing, moving Roy at all would be painful for him and not without risk. The one positive note; sensation in the lower extremities and movement in the upper body, chased away the fear Roy suffered from a broken back. They weren't out of the woods. Since there could be other underlying spinal issues, it became imperative Roy remain immobile.

A buzz of voices brought Roy to awareness. He tried to concentrate, a persistent ringing in his ears made sound difficult. Lucid moments were becoming harder to maintain.

With Roy conscious once again, Johnny found himself wishing he'd stayed out a little while longer. Resigned to what would happen next, he kept his voice low and explained, "We're gonna remove your tank and slip you onto the backboard. Before we can do it I need to exam your back. If I could I'd spare you. It will be painful Roy. I'm sorry."

Speech made by difficult by a throat as dry as a desert, Roy managed, "Not . . . your fault . . . "

Gathering mental strength Johnny instructed the others, "Ready? On my count of three."

Everyone worked in unison. Johnny's scissors sliced through the air tank straps. He cautioned, "Steady, steady, Brice, Marco, keep him still."

A strangled gasp escaped from Roy as the tank's straps came free. There was no other way for Roy to describe what he felt other than he was in hell, and his body was in the flames. He couldn't stem the sob that robbed him of what little energy he had left. "It's almost over," Marco encouraged his heart torn watching his friend suffer.

Hank reached in taking the weight of the tank. As it slid free everyone sighted the red tinge discoloring it's surface. Marco and Brice's steady hands kept Roy from completely falling flat.

Hank scrunched up his nose when Johnny cut through Roy's turnout coat to better view the rod. The odor of blood reached his nostrils.

Concentrating, Johnny's fingers inched their way along the offending rod. As his fingers felt ridges, he recognized with sickening clarity this was a corkscrew rebar, sheered in half. He came into contact with the end as it met his fingers. It rested very close to, but no longer touching flesh. He searched for the other half but found no evidence of it.

"This part is over Roy," Johnny soothed. He probed the point of entry. Nothing protruded indicating Roy's back was clear!

The immense relief he felt lasted only seconds, as slowly, carefully, he withdrew the instrument of his friend's suffering. He held it in his hands . . . hands now red. The enormity of Roy's situation hit him head on. A guttural shout of helpless fury erupted from deep within. He flung the offending rod away with such force it sailed across the room to strike the far wall. It clattered noisily to the floor. Breathing heavily, eyes shut tight fighting the nausea gaining a foothold; he unconsciously ran his hands down his turnout pants. Shocked stillness held everyone in its powerful grip.

Hank watched Gage struggle to maintain control. "Hang tight John we're almost out of here."

The frustrated medic looked to his captain prepared to apologize. Hank softly said, "We all understand."

The moment passed. "Let's roll him on three," Johnny said.

As soon as he moved, Roy's agonized plea reached out to them all. "Please! No . . . more."

Hardly recovered from his last bout with emotion, Johnny flinched as if physically struck.

The disturbed medic hung his head for a brief moment. "I have to do this," Johnny whispered forcing his hands to continue. He sliced through the layers of clothing, hands shaking. "It's almost over Roy." The words sounded hollow.

Hank swallowed hard. These were his men! Johnny was as much a victim as Roy. Hank knew he was losing his objectivity when he asked, "John?" His voice unsteady, "can't you give—"

The question interrupted with a negative shake of the head by his paramedic. "God, Cap, I wish I could . . ."

"Rampart won't authorize it," Brice said stepping in, "not with a head injury. DeSoto's been unconscious, and is drifting in and out."

Johnny shot Brice a grateful look as the intervention gave him time to collect his runaway emotions and focus.

Silently Marco resorted to praying harder. He fought his own sense of helplessness as he watched Johnny work to save their friend. So many injuries! To have this happen to Roy was beyond his understanding.

"There's a puncture wound Brice, no impalement."

As feared, the rod pierced through Roy's turnout coat and punctured his back. It pulled free at some point, leaving in its wake an ugly one inch hole. The penetration ran deep. The wound bled slowly for sometime. The left kidney was in the vicinity of the wound and Johnny's thoughts raced. They had to get him into the anti-shock trousers, before he bottomed out. First, the bleeding needed to be controlled and the wound bandaged.

At every touch, Roy groaned and his coughing grew weaker.

"Johnny, remember. . . ."

"Remember what Roy?" Johnny questioned, at a loss.

"Your promise."

Fear's ice cold finger ran the length of Johnny's spine. God, he remembered the conversation. His promise.

Firmly he replied, "Roy, you're gonna make it." Bile burned his throat as it rose. He swallowed it down.

"Cap, would you update Rampart?"

Hank detected shakiness in John's tone as he reached for the bio-phone. "Rampart this is squad 51."

"Go ahead 51," Dr. Brackett replied immediately.

"Rampart, patient has suffered a puncture wound about an inch in diameter to the left lower region of his back near the kidney. Estimated blood loss is 400cc. Bleeding is being controlled at this—"

"Lopez, look out!"

A loud crashing, choice expletives, and raised voices came through the bio-phone. "Things sound pretty hairy in there," Dix commented to Mike Morton who'd joined them at the base station.

"It sure does," Mike said. "The place sounds like it's coming apart—"

Brackett waved them to silence as Hank resumed his report. "51, has the patient been extricated yet?"

"Negative Rampart. Update is for information only."

"10-4 51, standing by."

After ending the transmission, Hank moved closer to Craig and Marco. "Lopez you get hit?"

"I'm fine Cap," Marco said. "How long have we been in here?"

Looking down at his watch Hank was surprised at what he discovered. "Twenty five minutes," Hank answered. It felt much longer. He turned his attention to Brice to find the usually detached paramedic immersed in deep thought. "How are you holding up Craig?"

Hank watched as Brice blinked, pulling his mind back from some unhappy place. "I'm fine Sir."

Brice wasn't fine. Hell, none of them were! They were in a battle against time to save the life of one of their own. It left everyone reeling.

Brice settled back into his thoughts. Hank wondering how he could do that in the mist of such chaos.


As Craig waited for Gage to finish bandaging the injured man's wound, he concentrated on holding DeSoto steady. By all accounts, DeSoto was on borrowed time. The injured paramedic's lips had a blue tinge to them.

He'd long since trained himself to remain distant, to go by the book, thus enabling him to avoid becoming embroiled in the heightened emotions of those working around him. These two traits earned him the title of World's Perfect Paramedic. When he first became aware of the nickname, he felt disappointment in his colleagues, chalking it up to jealousy. As time wore on, he cared less about what others might think. He did his job and he did it well.

So why then, he argued with himself, am I experiencing such uneasiness, and self-doubt? Tension held him in a tight fist.

As Craig continued to hold the fallen paramedic still, it became clear why this situation stripped him of his disciplined order, making him feel vulnerable. He admired this man who now fought to stay alive. While he endeavored to be the departments best paramedic, Roy DeSoto, actually was that man; respected and well liked. All of 51's men were extremely close.

Craig scowled. To have answered his own question gave him cold comfort.

He turned his head and watched Lopez whose lips moved silently as the man prayed. Religion had no place in Craig's world. The many tragedies he'd experienced some on a personal level, and zero miracles, left him in serious doubt. This day couldn't end soon enough for 36's paramedic.


Bleeding controlled, Brice and Marco gently rolled Roy the rest of the way onto the backboard. Debris dropping all around them heightened nerves already on edge. Stress noises were more frequent. The spidery lines snaking along the walls, widened into furrows. Johnny silently hoped the building wouldn't cave in burying them all.

Without warning, Roy vomited. Hands immediately rolled him to the side. When the vomiting stopped, Johnny watched his friend slip into unconsciousness.

They strapped Roy to the backboard and lowered him into stokes. Tucking the IV bags underneath his shoulders, the oxygen canister to the side, they were ready to move out. Large sections of the ceiling were falling regularly now. Everyone's eyes constantly scanned overhead for incoming projectiles, the water logged and damaged floor above no longer able to handle the weight.

Hank raised the HT to his lips, "HT 51 to engine 51 we're coming out.

"Engine 51, 10-4." Hank heard his engineer's relief.

"HT 16 to squad 16." Bellingham we'll need the shock trousers."

"Copy HT 16."

Hank grabbed the bio-phone and trauma Box, Marco the drug box, both men moving ahead while Johnny and Brice carefully carried each end of the stokes. They hadn't progressed very far when they all heard the slow ominous rumble overhead. Shit. Hank thought, "She's coming down!"

Every firefighter knew what an imminent collapse sounded like. Even before the shouted warning, both men instantly lowered the stokes.

In a desperation move, Johnny reached out and yanked Brice by his arm, forcing the bewildered man face first flat over the stokes, while flinging his body over both. Bracing his arms to either side of the metal basket Johnny formed a loose cover length-wise over them.

Craig wasn't sure what happened. One second he was going into a protective stance. The next, he was lying face down; sandwiched between DeSoto and Gage. All hell broke loose as the ceiling gave way.

Unprotected Johnny's back took multiple hits. Water logged plaster slammed into him from different angles, giving no quarter. He grunted. His helmet was knocked sideway deflecting debris. He caught a glancing blow from something . . . Bright bursts of light danced before his eyes. Pain communicated with his brain. He fell forward into Brice. Johnny's right arm lost its purchase on the side of the stokes basket and slipped into the newly fallen rubble. A sharp stinging pain traveled from his wrist to his elbow. He listed to the side, falling into the rubble, groaning. Dazed and dizzy he lay there coughing, then went still.

"Oh my —God!" Hank the first to recover pushed the light debris from his body. In-between coughing spasms, he forcefully shouting, Brice! Gage! Lopez? Report." How's DeSoto?" Plaster dust was falling everywhere making it difficult to see or breathe. Heart in his throat Hank waited for replies. "HT 51 to Battalion," Hank automatically reported. "We've had another collapse. Assessing. Hold for report."

"Holding Hank," was the instant unorthodox reply.

If fortune smiled, it was in the form of the collapse being a small one.

"Cap I'm fine," Marco called immediately, coughing as he picked his way back toward the paramedics, to render what aid he could. Both he and Captain Stanley were further ahead missing the heavier debris from the main collapse. Hank followed his junior firemen toward the downed men. Hank favored his right leg.

The tension mounted fearing the worst for all three. Roy's body couldn't possibly sustain another injury! Fear settled deep into Hanks gut as seconds ticked by without either man answering. Bringing the HT to his mouth about to call for assistance, he watched with a tremendous sense of relief as Brice stood on his own. Looking shaken, the replacement paramedic realigned his crooked glasses, clutching his left arm against his chest. Face contorted with controlled pain, the by the book paramedic answered, "Cap, I'm unsure about the arm, but not injured otherwise."

"DeSoto, Gage?" Brice automatically turned to check on his colleagues. He took Roy's pulse. Roy's body was insulated from falling debris by both Gage's body and his own. His pulse was weak but steady. Gage saved his life by purposely using his body as a shield! Shaken by what just happened, he looked down to see his protector lying with eyes closed. "Gage?" he called moving in to check him over.

Okay one standing and one to go. Hank looked apprehensively to his prone man.

Almost bowling Brice over in his haste to reach his fallen comrade Marco bent over the supine man.

"Johnny!" Marco anxiously called. "Johnny no tu también!!" (Johnny not you too!)

Lying with eyes closed Johnny muttered, "Marco, I'm okay just making sure I have all of my parts." Johnny's eyes opened, giving Marco a weak grin.

Marco couldn't believe his ears. Was he wisecracking? "Johnny this is no time to joke!" Marco shot back angrily though grateful to the heavenly father for not adding another injured brother to the list.

"Who's joking?" His brain catching up with his surroundings, Johnny almost panicked. "Roy!"

"Pulse weak but steady Gage, his condition hasn't changed."

Hank sent up a prayer of thanks as his paramedic slowly gained his feet. "John you okay?"

"You were out cold for a minute Gage," Brice whispered helping the unsteady man to his feet.

"Keep your trap shut. I'm okay."

Brice didn't believe him. He should report him, but kept his mouth shut.

Keeping his face neutral, Johnny tried shaking off the pain in his side and back. His arm stung like crazy! He flexed it. It wasn't broken. His back was already sore from falling on his air tank earlier. He'd have one whopper of a bruise for sure, along with a stiff neck. Might as well throw in a couple of bruised ribs too he contemplated; he hoped they weren't broken. The side of his head throbbed. He shrugged it off. They didn't have time to stop now.

Hank continued to watch in concern as John wore a slightly dazed expression and hadn't answered his question. He'd taken the brunt of the debris across his back. He was lucky he was standing! Hank caught the momentary grimace as John stood."

"Gage how is DeSoto?" It took a few seconds for Johnny to realize Cap was addressing him.

"DeSoto's vitals remain steady," Brice supplied for his somewhat dazed companion.

Hank asked the question even though he knew what the answer would be, "Do either of you require immediate medical attention?"

"No!" both men said in unison as they looked at each other.

When Johnny bent down for the stokes a bit unsteadily Brice whispered to him urgently, "You maybe concussed. This is not a sound idea Gage."

"No, maybe not," the other agreed then added, "Roy is our number one priority."

Brice couldn't argue with the truth.

Hank didn't hear the whispered exchange of words. He instructed Marco, "Lopez help carry the stokes, Brice take the drug box." Once again, they were heading out.

As the adrenaline started to wear off Johnny began to feel the stirring of discomfort across his body. His arm hurt. His headache was growing behind his eyes. The room moved then steadied. He shook his head trying to clear it and fought the urge to cough. He pushed his panicky feelings deeper down. No time for them. His friend needed him. Just hang on, it was a plea meant for both of them. . . .

Hanks HT sounded. "Battalion 14, to Captain Stanley, Report."

Before speaking into the HT, Hank looked at the two battered paramedics for a long moment. Both reported being okay. Both were walking and talking. Both told him they didn't require immediate medical attention. They didn't seem to be in imminent danger. Roy was their priority first and foremost. "HT 51 Stanley to Battalion, everyone is accounted for chief."

"10-4, 51."

Brice following the conversation snickered. Gage wasn't the only one who could be evasive. He had a choice to make; he could voice his concern over Gage, or say nothing. For the second time in less than a minute Brice chose to say nothing with the intent of breaking silence once they were out of the building.


Multiple thoughts ran through Hanks mind as they made their way to daylight and safety. In the role of captain, it was his job to maintain the safety of his men! When situations went awry, he felt personally responsible. Hell, his head pounded and his insides felt like jelly. Roy was not just any victim, but a member of their 51 family, a husband, father, and a good friend to everyone on A-shift. His two paramedics were best of friends, close as brothers.

Hank rarely second guessed orders he was given or those he gave; he did so now as doubt wore him down. Had he waited too long to give the evacuation order? Only four went in. Was this the right choice? It felt like hours since they started, in actuality they were inside with Roy for thirty-two minutes. It was the longest, adrenaline pumping, thirty-two minutes Hank remembered having in a long time, but they finally had Roy free.

Loud creaking followed them out. Dark spidery lines were appearing everywhere along the walls. Give us a few more minutes' girl.

Hank glanced at all three men.

Marco's face showed immense compassion and worry.

Brice wore his usual stoic expression but it didn't fool Hank. Craig wasn't as unaffected as he'd have everyone believe. He looked worse for wear, but Hank could see, physically, he'd be okay.

Lastly, his eyes shifted to his youngest member.

Gage, while calm, wore the look of a man who'd passed through the seven stages of hell. John didn't come away unscathed from this latest collapse . . . one did not become captain by failing to observe. The man did a find job of covering his discomfort.

"Gage, are you sure you're all right?" He asked

"Yeah, Cap. Let's get outta here."

Hank trusted John to inform him if he were unable to perform his duty. But to play it safe he said, "Gage, I want you medically cleared before reporting back to the station. That's an order."

"Yes sir."

Hank couldn't miss the weariness lacing John's voice. He sighed bone tired himself, 51 still had the rest of the shift to finish. The adrenaline rush which aided him was now gone. Fatigue invaded every part of his body. At times such as this, Hank felt inadequate as a captain. Nothing he said would change what happened. He stayed silent.


Johnny rubbed at his grainy eyes with his free hand as his thoughts wandered to another dark time in his life. They'd been called to the scene of a freeway accident. Of all the scenarios that could have greeted him he wasn't prepared for what did. His heart nearly stopped when he'd discovered a very close friend of his lying injured, and bleeding on the pavement. Despite their best efforts, Drew had died on the operating table.

Losing a good friend and then breaking the devastating news to his wife Pam had changed him. He understood the heartbreak left behind for those expected to carry on.

Stark reality slapped him in the face. Roy could die. If it came down to it, would he be able to tell Joanne?

He struggled to keep positive thoughts flowing.


He squinted as bright sunlight greeted them. They were out.

As soon as they cleared the collapse zone, Mike and Chet silently grasped each side of the stokes helping to carry their injured friend, and brother to the waiting ambulance.

A reverent silence fell across the area as 51's, carried their injured brother to the waiting ambulance.

As soon as the stokes rested on the ground with Bob helping, Johnny wasted no time in getting Roy into the anti-shock suit. The suit and IV's had the desired effect on Roy's blood pressure as it stabilized. They were set to transport. He signaled to the orderlies to place Roy in the ambulance.

"Medically cleared, the both of you." Hank reminded. "Lopez, take the squad in pal."

Marco acknowledged his captain a bit slowly.

"Marco," Hank said, "good job in there."

Hank bent over the stokes. Mike and Chet stood off to one side, watching gravely.

Hanks eyes watered. Would this be the last time they'd all be together as a team? "Hang in there for us, Roy," he said to the unconscious man. Placing a reassuring hand on Johnny's shoulder he gently squeezed, "we'll join you at Rampart just as soon as we can." Blinking hard he turned and limped away.

That leg needs to be examined, Captain Stanley," Brice called after him. "

"I'll get myself cleared at Rampart." His tone left no room for argument. Hank went in search of the battalion chief. Mike and Chet followed behind. Brice shook his head.

"Are you all right?" Bob gave his attention to his temporary co-worker.

"It's obvious. I Injured my arm."

Bob found himself gritting his teeth. Brice could be such an ass. "Want me to look at it?"

Brice shook his head. "No. I don't think it's serious."

"Gage you Okay?" Bob turning his attention to his tired looking friend.

This was Brice's opportunity to voice his concern but after the way Gage shot him a warning look he kept his mouth shut. Have it your way Gage, I'm done.

Johnny's voice laden by fatigue sounded stilted. Placing needed equipment in the ambulance he answered, "I just got the wind knocked outta me."

Bob didn't miss the look that passed between the two men. Something was up.

"Brice you riding in?" Bob asked.

"No, you go; I'll bring in the squad."

Surprised Brice said no. "You okay to drive?"

"I can drive the squad Bellingham; DeSoto doesn't have time for us to argue over it."

To Bob, Brice sounded more like Johnny, than the walking rulebook.' He shrugged.

Bob followed Gage into the ambulance. Brice closed the door thumping the window twice. Lights and sirens immediately came on, as the ambulance drove forward.

Brice breathed a long emotional sigh as the ambulance pulled away followed closely by Marco in the squad. Soon the sirens faded.

At least they'd succeeded in getting DeSoto out alive, he told himself. He slowly walking toward the squad. Craig didn't walk alone; the memory of his sister followed him.

His younger sister—hadn't been as lucky caught in a similar situation when they were children. It was his fault. If he hadn't dared her to enter the shaky building someplace they shouldn't have gone into in the first place. . . .

Being children, the mystery and curiosity of the old building had him daring his sister to enter with him. She hadn't wanted to go in, but he'd teased her until, to shut him up, she gave in. When they fell through the floor of the decrepit building into the basement below, he hadn't been able to help her. Her screams —and cries for him dwindled until only a horrible empty silence remained. . . . Help came of course, but to late to save his sister.

Reaching the squad, he passed up his ritual of locking the side compartment doors and slid his tired body into the driver's seat. He made no move to put the key in the ignition. Instead, he let his head sink down until his forehead rested on the steering wheel. No one bothered him.

He sat this way for a time before lifting his head. A shaking hand placed the key in the ignition. Suspicious bright eyes looked back at him through the rear view mirror.