A.N.: As this chapter began to take shape in my mind, wildfires across the US made the news. On August 19, three firefighters—Andrew Zajac, Tom Zbyszewski, and Richard Wheeler—died in Washington when the wind shifted and their vehicle went down a 40-foot embankment. I decided to name my next minor character in their honor. So, I give you Andrew Thomas Wheeler, otherwise known as Andy. I ask that my readers who are of a mind to pray please join me in praying for the families and friends of these (and all other) fallen heroes.
Any errors regarding fire fighting, paramedic work, or boating are my own. I have attempted to research what I write, but I recognize that I am hampered by a lack of experience. Those who would point out my errors in a kind but constructive way are much appreciated. On that note, I hope you all enjoy the story!
When Billy and Grady arrived at Station 110, they found the crew already gone on a call. Billy decided to try phoning Nita at the Taylors. Roberta Taylor answered, and when Billy asked for his sister, she launched into a tirade about how she couldn't believe that 'squaw' had left her in the lurch, quitting without notice. The woman wouldn't slow down to let Billy ask any questions, and finally he hung up the phone and turned to Grady, a bewildered frown darkening his face. "She quit her job… and didn't say anything to me about it." After trying again to reach her at home, he sighed and hung up the phone, then stood there with his hand still on the receiver, staring at it as if he could will it to ring.
Grady slapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon—let's get started on the dorm. Ten to one, Nita'll call you within the hour with an apology and an explanation."
Billy nodded and followed his friend to the dormitory. They changed the bed linens, then Grady swept and mopped the floor while Billy started on the latrine. An hour later, the crew returned. Billy easily slipped back into life at 110's, scrambling for the engine as soon as the klaxons sounded and taking his seat beside Andy Wheeler.
Chet arrived at Johnny's apartment promptly at 4:30 that afternoon. The curly-headed Irishman had wanted to drive his old station wagon to pick up the ladies, but Johnny firmly nixed that idea. "No way!" the fire captain told his one-time nemesis. "Remember when we had to push it to the gym for that basketball game? I'm not doing that again. We'll take the Rover. It's a classier ride than your boat any day."
At 5:30, after a short stop at the florist to buy two bouquets of pink roses, Johnny turned the key in the ignition, his efforts rewarded by nothing more than a click. He tried again to start the vehicle, growling at Chet as he did so. "Not one word! Don't you dare say a word!"
After a third unsuccessful attempt to start the Rover, Johnny sighed, got out, and opened the hood. About the same time that he diagnosed the problem, he heard Chet guffaw from inside the vehicle—the Phantom had disconnected the battery. "I shoulda guessed when he said he trusted me to pick out the flowers," he muttered. He reconnected the wires and slammed the hood shut.
"Better be careful, Chester B.," Johnny warned as he climbed back in the driver's side door. The engine started up smoothly this time and he pulled out of the parking lot, heading towards the 110. "I've got all sorts of stories to tell your girl about you."
"Ha… and I've got at least as many to tell about you," Chet countered, "like the time you got all frozen up in front of the t.v. cameras, or the time you were so bashful about the girl whose toe was stuck in the bathtub faucet that you had to run out of the room. I brought pictures, too… how about this one of you and Roy in those ridiculous old-fashioned get ups, the day you tried to drive that restored engine in the parade but you never managed to get there?" He pulled out the photo and gave a scoffing grunt as he displayed it.
"Gimme that!" Johnny took advantage of a red light to snatch the photo out of Chet's hand. He crumpled it and stuck it in a pocket. "You go right ahead and tell any stories you like, because I don't care. You're the one who wants to make time with this girl. I'm just going along to help you out. As it so happens, I'm not the least bit interested in the sister." The light changed to green and he turned onto the on-ramp.
"Yeah, right… like I believe that." Chet rolled his eyes. "When are you not interested in a pretty girl?"
The thought, I am interested in a pretty girl… Nita, flashed through Johnny's mind, but he fought it back with a groan of frustration. He might discuss the past with Roy, sitting by the campfire tomorrow night after the kids were tucked in their sleeping bags, but no way would he ever mention Nita to Chet. He sure hoped he could get through the evening without his parting sight of her invading his thoughts.
Chet laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, you can't fool me, Gage. You're as interested as I am in getting some action tonight!"
Johnny said nothing, turning his head to check for traffic before merging into the left lane. As much as he liked girls, he had never actually been able to bring himself to go all the way with one. Of course, he was content to let Chet think he had—he wasn't about to provide the Irishman with another reason to torment him! He was not a prude by any means. Several times in the past, he had been sorely tempted, and a few times he probably would have gone all the way, if Nita's deep chocolate eyes and shy smile hadn't risen up in his mind's eye whenever he started getting close to another girl. Then D.J. was born and Johnny became a godfather. The weight of responsibility he felt made him look at everything differently. Sometimes he wondered if Joanne had an ulterior motive when she suggested to Roy that his partner should play such an important role in their youngest son's life. Ever since he stood up with the DeSoto family as a witness to the boy's baptism, he frequently attended church with them, and eventually discovered that the faith that had taken root in him during his childhood had not withered and died after all. With the revival of that faith, the decision to wait for intimacy until marriage, drummed into him first by his father and then his aunt and uncle, became his own, a gift of love to the woman he would one day marry.
"Ya missed the exit, ya dummy!" Chet's insult jerked Johnny unceremoniously from his musing.
"I'll take the next one. We're running early anyway," Johnny retorted. He changed lanes, preparing to get off at Lomita. He didn't mind the extra time it would add to the drive—he was dreading this date anyway. About fifteen minutes later, they pulled up in front of a small white split-level on Marigold Ave. Together the two firemen, each carrying a bouquet, walked to the front door. Johnny rang the bell and they waited for a response.
"Marcy! Good to see you!" Chet grinned widely as the door opened and the young lady peered out at him.
"I'm Penelope. Marcy will be down in a minute."
Her response was so soft Johnny could barely hear it. He suppressed a laugh at Chet's expense. Through the mesh of the screen door, the young lady did look just like the one in the picture Chet had shown him. He stepped forward, nudging a red-faced Chet out of the way. "Penelope, I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Johnny Gage."
She did not open the door, and her gaze settled not on Johnny's face, but on the bouquet he held in his hands. "Oh no… n… not roses," she stammered. "Marcy must have—ahchoo!—forgotten to tell you… I am dreadfully aller—ahchoo!" Though she could not finish her sentence, a series of sneezes made her point for her.
Now it was Johnny's turn to blush. He grabbed the flowers Chet held and quickly tossed the offending bouquets into the yard. "I'm so sorry, Penelope. Next time we'll bring chocolates instead of flowers."
She frowned through the door. "I'm allergic to chocolate as well."
Johnny shrugged, tossing her a crooked smile that would melt a glacier. "Well, we'll figure something out. I apologize for the flowers… and for the chocolate cake in the picnic basket. Since you can't eat it, we can do something else for dessert… your choice." Despite his lack of interest, the famous Gage charm was kicking in, but it seemed to have no effect on Penelope, who still had not opened the door.
An awkward silence descended upon the three, interrupted only when Marcy came bustling down the stairs. "Penny, what are you doing just standing there?!" she scolded gently. "Let them in, for goodness' sake!" At last the door was opened and Penelope stood back, allowing Chet and Johnny to enter. Marcy stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against Chet's. "Chet, I'd like you to meet my sister Penny. I suppose this is your friend Johnny?"
While Chet greeted Marcy and made formal introductions, Johnny took a moment to observe the two sisters side by side. To the casual onlooker, they would be difficult to distinguish, but his eye was well-trained to see details others might miss, a skill that had served him well in his long years with the fire department. He could easily see why Chet was so eager to date the bubbly Marcy, and he also understood why Marcy had gone to such lengths to secure a date for her sister. They were both beautiful young ladies, of that there was no doubt. Marcy's hair was a slightly darker shade of brown than Penelope's, but their eyes were the same shade of emerald green and each sported an endearing splatter of freckles across nose and cheeks. Johnny could have sworn, though, that Marcy's eyes possessed a liveliness Penelope's lacked. When he looked at Penelope—he thought the formal name suited her better than Penny, in spite of Marcy's use of the nickname—he saw a young woman who lived her life in her sister's shadow, afraid to step into the light and be seen for herself, while Marcy was ready to meet the world with her head held high and her arms open wide. He wondered whether Penelope had always been this way, or if something had happened to cause the distant look in her eyes. Johnny's words to Chet had been true—he had no interest in wooing Marcy's sister and had only come on the date as a favor to his friend—but even so, he felt a surge of protectiveness for Penelope come over him, along with the hope that by the end of the evening he might find a way to bring a smile to the young woman's face and perhaps lift the shadow that hung over her. He offered her his arm. "My ladies, your chariot awaits," he said, tossing them both a jaunty grin. At a nudge from her sister, Penelope gingerly gripped his elbow and the two couples made their way out to the Rover.
Before they ever reached their destination, the guys had determined that the lemon-garlic shrimp in Chet's picnic basket would be pretty much inedible for Penelope, who claimed allergies to shellfish in addition to chocolate and roses. Instead of crossing the Los Angeles River on Ocean Boulevard, Johnny turned south towards the Queen Mary, a retired British ocean liner that had been a popular destination in Long Beach for over a decade now. "Why don't we eat at the Promenade Café?" he asked, swallowing back his hesitation at the cost he knew he was about to incur. "Sunset won't be till just before 8:00—we'll be done in plenty of time to drive over to the marina." His wallet could ill-afford a restaurant dinner, not to mention the cost simply to board the giant tourist-trap, but at least the Promenade Café wasn't as expensive as the swanky Sir Winston's. Johnny had come a long way in the years since he got away with spending $8.42 to feed himself and Evelyn Collins, but the poverty of his childhood had instilled in him an enduring sense of frugality.
Chet was willing and the sisters quickly agreed to the change in plans. A glance over at his date convinced Johnny he had made the right decision. He could see the relief wash over and soften Penelope's features. As he parked, she began talking with Marcy about the sunset yacht cruise they had planned for later in the evening. He thought he could actually see a trace of excitement sparking in her eyes when he opened the door and offered to help her down from the Rover. He eyed the Queen Mary suspiciously. Perhaps I should take that Dramamine now, he thought, considering his tendency towards seasickness. His free hand snaked into his inside jacket pocket and he froze suddenly. The pocket was empty. He had left the Dramamine, which he carried with him all the time at work in case a call took them out on the water, in the pocket of his uniform shirt.
"Is everything all right, Johnny?" Penelope's soft voice asked.
"It's fine… I just forgot something at home is all. Nothing to worry about." Nothing indeed… It's a good thing I'm not interested in a lasting relationship because after tonight's cruise, she's never going to want to see me again. At least I shouldn't feel the motion much on the Queen Mary, but on Toby's yacht I'm going to be miserable! Well, there was nothing to do about it now, unless they passed by a pharmacy and he could duck in and buy some. He wasn't about to beg out of the cruise when it was the one thing about their plans that really seemed to please Penelope, who had turned back to Marcy and was inquiring whether she thought they would see dolphins while out on the water.
Dinner at the Promenade Café had passed pleasantly, if unremarkably. Johnny intentionally ate very little, in hopes of diminishing the effects of sea-sickness later in the evening. He had tried several times during the meal to draw Penelope further out of her shell, but she proved resistant. Finally, he had given up, accepting her desire simply to listen and observe, and Marcy and Chet ended up dominating the conversation. After a short walk along the deck of the Queen Mary, admiring the ocean view, Johnny found himself driving Chet and the ladies across the Queensway Bay Bridge, headed for the Belmont Pier. He was more than ready now for the date to end, not because he disliked Penelope—she was sweet in her quiet, bashful way—but because he was already getting queasy just thinking about the cruise without his Dramamine. He kept an eye out on the short drive for a pharmacy, but never saw one.
When they arrived at the marina, they found Toby standing in the bow of a small yacht, stowing drinks in a cooler. At the sight of his passengers, he stood up. "Johnny!" he called in greeting, and jumped over the side of the yacht to land on the dock. "I hope you don't mind taking the small yacht tonight. I figure since it's just the four of you, it doesn't make sense going out on Phoebe."
"Phoebe?" Marcy asked, her brow wrinkling slightly.
"Toby's 75-foot yacht, his best girl," Johnny explained. "Or at least, she used to be. I didn't know you got another one, Tob."
The sailor gave the side of the small yacht a gentle pat. "Meet Juliette. She's a Beneteau First 42. Brand new, all the way from France. Phoebe's jealous, that's for sure. Juliette here has stolen my heart."
Johnny grinned. "Well, now, let me introduce you to Penelope and Marcy… and this here is Chet Kelly."
"So, I finally get to meet the infamous Phantom?!" Toby quipped, his eyes twinkling with good humor. Bending forward in a slight bow, he extended a hand to Penelope and Marcy in turn. "Ladies, Chet—I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. Toby Meyer, at your service." He fixed the boarding ramp in place and then offered a hand to assist the ladies as they stepped into the yacht. Chet followed, and then a reluctant Johnny. Finally, Toby joined them, stowed the ramp, and distributed life vests. After he had given the brief but required safety instructions, he pointed the two couples to the benches on either side of the cockpit. They settled in, leaving the seat closest to the wheel for their host. Toby cast off the mooring hawser and started the engine. "Anchors aweigh!" he announced with a wide grin, and they were underway.
Johnny sat next to Penelope, her body pressed close against his side as she watched everything around her with an expression the fire captain interpreted as a mixture of awe and excitement. The glow in her eyes worked wonders for her appearance. Suddenly the mousy, frightened girl who lived in the shadows had sprung to life. Like that scene in The Wizard of Oz when everything goes from sepia to technicolor, he thought. Maybe I should get to know her bet— He never finished the thought. A light swell rocked the small boat and Johnny felt his stomach churn. Swallowing hard, he fought the nausea.
"Looking a little green there, Johnny," Toby commented. "Dramamine not doing the trick?"
Johnny shook his head. "Forgot it at home," he admitted. "Didn't get a chance—" Another swell cut him off. After a deep breath, he continued. "Didn't get a chance to buy any."
"You get seasick?" Marcy asked.
"Oh yeah," Johnny confirmed. Juliette rocked again and at last it was too much for him. He pulled away from Penelope and lurched the upper half of his body over the rail of the ship. Vaguely, he heard Chet's disdainful snort from behind him.
"Vintage Gage… I'm tellin' ya, once a disaster magnet, always a disaster magnet. Who schedules a cruise when he gets seasick?!"
Johnny straightened up now. Droplets of sea spray clung to his dark hair and dripped down his cheeks, which had taken on an unnatural pallor. Shut up, Chet, he thought, glaring in his friend's direction. If it weren't for the two ladies, watching him with concern, he would have said it aloud and added the instruction to "Go play on the freeway," but the Phantom would have to do a lot worse to get him to talk that way in front of Marcy and Penelope. "I'm all right," he muttered. "Sorry about that."
"Should we go back?" Penelope asked. Johnny could hear the disappointment in her voice.
"No, no," he assured her. "We can't go back without watching for dolphins, and you can't miss the sunset. My stomach will settle in a bit." At least, I hope it will, he thought.
Toby chuckled. As one hand turned the wheel slightly to the left, the other pointed to the cooler. "Penelope, open that up and grab one of the green bottles you'll see. My sister brewed up a fresh batch of her homemade ginger ale last week, and it should be just what Johnny needs. There's a bottle opener built into the lid. It's good stuff—you can all help yourselves."
Penelope abstained, but she did open a bottle and pass it to Johnny, who accepted it gratefully. He sipped at it and, thankfully, his nausea gradually abated. Ignoring Chet and Marcy, who were fully engrossed with one another, the pair settled in to watch for dolphins as they waited for the sun to set.
About 7:15, as tendrils of pink and yellow clouds stretched across a carnelian sky, Penelope sat suddenly straight up. "Look!" she said, and a bright smile graced her face. Johnny thought for a moment that maybe she was the prettier sister after all. Out on the water, two dolphins chased after the boat, playing in its wake. They skimmed along, barely visible under the surface of the water, and then one burst into the air in a graceful arc, followed by its cohort. Twisting in mid-air, the dolphins bared their silver bellies to the sinking sun and then dove back under the waves. Penelope shivered under Johnny's arm. "So lovely!" she breathed out in an awestruck whisper.
As beautiful as the California sunset was, the dolphins provided the most enjoyment for Johnny and his date that evening. They followed the boat for at least thirty minutes, and then, just as the sun sank fully beneath the horizon, they disappeared as quickly as they had come.
Johnny was glad Toby waited until it was fully dark to turn back to the marina, allowing the two couples to enjoy the lights of Long Beach. The Queen Mary, lit up from stem to stern, was a spectacular sight. Feeling the slight niggle of returning nausea in his gut, he opened the cooler for another bottle of ginger ale and was disappointed to find it empty. He sighed, resigning himself to another bout with misery.
"What the h—" Toby exclaimed suddenly, jerking the wheel. Penelope screeched in surprise, and Chet lurched to grab for Marcy, who was thrown off balance by the sharp movement. Johnny, meanwhile, stumbled from the cooler to the rail, doubling over it and losing what little he had left in his stomach. When he looked up again, he saw what had prompted Toby's action. A motorboat about twice the size of Juliette, was heading out to sea, but the captain had neglected to turn on the required lights. Toby couldn't have seen the vessel until it was almost right on top of them, but with some skillful maneuvering, he had avoided a collision.
"The idiot wasn't even paying attention!" Toby complained. "And there's no name visible on that craft!"
"Is everyone all right?" Johnny asked.
"Marcy banged her head pretty hard," Chet answered. "You should take a look, Johnny."
Paramedic mode kicked in and Johnny took charge, fighting back the nausea as best he could. "Toby, where's your first aid kit? Hand it over here and then get us back to shore as quick as you can. Can you radio ahead for a squad to meet us?" He knelt next to Marcy and helped her lie down on the bench so he could examine her as best he could without the usual equipment. Thankfully, she was alert and oriented. "You're going to be just fine, Marcy," he reassured her. "You might have a concussion, but this cut is pretty clean. A butterfly bandage should do the trick." He searched through the first aid kit that Toby had passed to him and found what he needed. A glance up at Penelope sent a chill through him. She sat staring into the distance, her eyes wide and her face ashen. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead in spite of the cool ocean breeze.
"Stay with Marcy, Chet," he barked, and hurried back to Penelope's side. Lightly grasping her wrist, he determined that her pulse was racing. Working quickly, he got her lying down with her feet elevated, all the while crooning to her as he'd often done to help the younger DeSoto kids fall asleep. "Marcy's ok, Penelope," he said softly. "You don't need to worry. She got a knock to the head, but the docs over at Rampart will patch her up good as new." He looked her over carefully, but didn't find any physical injury in need of tending.
"Penny?" Marcy asked weakly. She was trying to sit up, but Chet wouldn't let her.
"Stay calm, Marcy," Johnny instructed. "Penny'll be just fine, and you need to stay where you are till we get back to shore." He pulled off his jacket and placed it over Penelope, who had begun shivering. She gulped in air in shallow breaths. "Come on now, Penny. Breathe slow and deep for me, all right? In through the nose and out through the mouth. Like this…" He held her hands and took a deep breath in through his nose. His slow, quiet encouragement had the hoped-for effect and soon she was breathing normally again and her color began to improve.
"I… I'm sorry," she said softly. "It's just… I… I didn't mean—"
"Now, Penelope, you have nothing to be sorry about," Johnny reassured her. "What happened kind of scared me, too, but we're all ok. Marcy might have to spend a night at the hospital, but they'll take good care of her, and I'll make sure they check you over too. We'll be back to the dock soon, right Toby?"
Penelope clutched Johnny's hand, holding it tightly all the way back to the marina.
In between knocking down a fire in a packing factory and accompanying the Coast Guard to rescue party-goers and extinguish a yacht fire, Billy tried a few more times to call his sister, but she never answered. A quick phone call to the trailer park manager, who lived just one trailer over from the Folsom siblings, confirmed for him that Nita had left early that morning and never returned. By early evening, worry had settled like a rock in the young man's gut. He and Captain Thomas began calling around to local hospitals to see if perhaps Nita had been admitted, but with no success. About 9:00, the klaxons sounded, forcing them away from their efforts once again. "Station 110, respond in place of Station 51. House fire, fully involved, 722 E. 222nd Street. 7-2-2 E. 222nd Street. Cross street, Avalon. Time out, 21:13." Fighting to keep a professional frame of mind, Billy ran for the engine and climbed in.
"Folsom! Wheeler! Take an inch and a half and get the wet stuff on the red stuff!" Captain Matthew Thomas surveyed the scene, making a quick decision to contact Dispatch and request another engine to assist. All the stations in the vicinity had been otherwise occupied when the fire was first reported, which was why 110's had gotten the call, but thankfully Station 105 had just finished with a nearby MVA. Hopeful that backup would arrive in good time, Captain Thomas approached the two men who stood staring at the house as smoke and flames burst through the front bay window. He could hear the smaller man—an elderly white-haired fellow—repeating over and over, "She's in there. Please, God… get her out!" As Matt drew close, he could see that the man had blood trickling from a gash on his head. The captain frowned and called for his senior paramedic. "Kody, we have a victim here!" He turned his attention back to the two men. "They'll help you, sir, and I'll let my other men know to look for—"
"Don't risk anyone's lives, Captain." The taller man, younger than the first and so like him in appearance that Thomas guessed they must be father and son, shook his head as he interrupted. "There's no one else in the house. I'm Jerome Lansing and this is my father Edgar. Mom died several months ago and Dad's memory is going. Sometimes he insists she's just in bed sleeping or in the kitchen, cooking. I had to leave him alone briefly today because of work. It's lucky I came home when I did—I'm not sure how it happened, but when I came inside, I found him in the doorway to the kitchen, watching the cabinets burn. When I tried getting him out, he fought me at first—that's how he fell and hit his head. It's settled—he doesn't want to move into a nursing home, but he has to now."
Matt listened and nodded, his heart welling up in sympathy. His own father had suffered dementia in the last few years of his life, so he knew well what Jerome was dealing with. He patted the elderly man on the back. "Why don't you let my paramedics take a look at you, Mr. Lansing?" he asked, his voice gentle and kind as Kody James stepped closer.
"No... please… help her. She… she was in the pantry…"
The fire captain shot Jerome a look of understanding, his eyes actually meeting the younger man's for the first time. What he saw there froze his blood. Jerome Lansing's eyes were like ice, and Captain Thomas began to wonder whether he should give more credence to the senior Lansing instead. He gave Edgar Lansing's arm a comforting squeeze. "Don't you worry," he soothed. "My men are some of the best in the rescue business. Two of them are in there right now, and they'll make sure anyone inside gets out safe. Meanwhile, Kody here is going to check you out." He pulled his junior paramedic, Jake Benson, aside and spoke quietly to him. "There may be another victim in the house. Check the kitchen area first… look in the pantry. And hurry—it's bad in there." Jake pulled on his mask and headed inside, and Captain Thomas moved to where he could communicate with his linemen by handy talkie without being overheard by the younger Lansing. "Engine 110 to HT 110. Fellows, we may have a victim trapped inside the house. Jake is on his way in and needs you to back him up."
Officer Vince Howard arrived just as Jake entered the burning house. Captain Thomas waved the veteran sheriff's deputy over and quietly shared his concerns, carefully resisting the temptation to attract Jerome Lansing's attention by casting a glance in his direction.
Inside the house, Billy and Andy cleared the way to the kitchen for Jake. In the haze of smoke, it was difficult to see, but soon Jake managed to find his way to the walk-in pantry, which had once been a small porch on the back of the house until it was enclosed and repurposed. The door stood wide open. Jake felt around, then stepped out into the kitchen. "Nothing," he said, frustrated. "I'll check the other rooms. Keep that water—"
"Watch out!" Billy shouted, dropping the hose and lunging forward suddenly to push Jake out of the way just as the first bits of debris began to rain down from the ceiling. Before Billy could get himself to safety, the heavy lintel beam fell, knocking him off his feet and pinning him to the ground at the pantry door. His helmet flew off and the side of his head impacted a metal shelf in the pantry as he went down. Blinking hard, Billy fought to remain conscious. He could hear the guys scrambling to help him, could feel them pulling at the beam. Though grey spots danced on the edges of his vision, he also had the strangest sensation of being hyper-aware of everything around him. Just before he blacked out completely, he glimpsed something familiar, nestled against the base of the metal shelving. When was Nita here? was his last conscious thought as his gloved hand closed firmly around a small pendant in the shape of a wolf.
Station 105 arrived just in time to assist Jake and Andy in getting an unconscious Billy Folsom on a backboard and outside for treatment, his neck immobilized with a c-collar. By then, Kody was already on the way to Rampart ER with the first victim, and Jerome was with Vince, answering questions about the incident. Captain Thomas had briefed Vince about his concerns before introducing him to Jerome, but since Jake hadn't found a second victim trapped in the house, there was no evidence to corroborate his suspicions. As soon as Jerome had given the policeman the necessary information, he was free to take his car and join his father at the hospital.
"Hey, Billy," Jake encouraged, patting his friend's face. "You gotta wake up for me. C'mon, Billy." His eyes frantically scanned the young lineman's body, making an initial assessment of his injuries. He had never had to take care of a patient all alone—always in the past his senior partner had been beside him, but Kody was gone and he felt the weight of responsibility pressing on him, all the more because he figured Billy had very likely saved his life. "Possible C-spine injury," he murmured. "Airway clear… breathing shallow. Pulse… rapid and thready. Unconscious… non… nonresponsive to… to verbal stimuli…" A wave of dizziness passed over him and he squeezed his eyes shut briefly in hopes that the sensation would pass.
A hand on his shoulder pulled him away and he recognized the voice of his captain. "Jake… you're bleeding. Let 105's men take over."
"Bleeding?" Jake hadn't felt any pain.
Cap knelt next to him and took hold of his left hand, gently lifting the arm and directing the paramedic's attention to just above the elbow. Blood stained the ragged edges of a long gash in the sleeve of his turnout coat. "You've got a pretty deep cut on your cheek, too. Come on now. Make room for Crosby. Davis is ready for you over here."
"I shoulda known that ceiling was about to go, Cap," Jake said softly as he let Captain Thomas move him back from Billy's side so Crosby could take over. "He heard it first and pushed me clear."
"He's got good instincts," Captain Thomas agreed. "He'll make a hell of a rescue man someday. He's going to be all right, Jake. I'm sure of it."
Jake only nodded. He submitted in silence to Davis' ministrations. Soon, both injured men were loaded on the ambulance, Billy on a gurney while Jake was settled on the bench seat. Captain Thomas patted Davis on the back as he climbed in and sat next to Jake. "I've handed command of the scene over to your captain," he said. "We'll head over to the hospital after you."
"Yessir," Davis agreed. "See you there."
Captain Thomas closed the door of the ambulance and gave it two sharp raps. As it pulled away, he stepped back and watched, crossing himself as he whispered a prayer for Billy Folsom.