From the time the band of firemen heard the tapping until they started digging a small passageway headed toward it, Roy's emotions ran high. But when they finally broke through to the small cavern that held John, his jubilation crashed to despair when he realized his partner was no longer tapping or answering their calls.
And once he stood on the ramp and peered into the little entry into the debris, he hit bottom: There was no way he could fit through that narrow opening.
He slowly walked outside. His surging adrenaline made his hands tremble. With an incredible amount of self-control, Roy made himself focus on a white stone in the midst of the dirt and other debris at the garage entrance. He squatted to examine it closer. Just one small rock, so clean and shiny. If he could keep staring at it, he could maybe stop himself from screaming and pushing all the other firefighters out of the way to get through the little tunnel.
"Roy?" Stanley asked. "Are you OK?"
Exhausted and with frayed nerves, Roy's annoyance came through more than he intended. "No, sir, I'm not."
Stanley knew his senior paramedic well. "Listen to me. It doesn't matter who goes in. I need you to be ready at the biophone to talk to Rampart. They'll be relaying John's vitals up via HT. Understood?"
Roy's head jerked up. "I need to get Johnny."
"All that matters is that we rescue him as quickly as possible. It doesn't matter who does it. You know that."
Sinking back on his heels, Roy slowly came to his senses. "Of course, Cap. All that matters is getting Johnny out."
That duty fell to Murray of the 110, a small but powerful man, and Blackburn of the 22, who was nearly as tall and slender as John. In fact Roy thought for a split second it was John squirting through the opening as quick as an eel as Blackburn disappeared into the darkness.
Murray paused before going in. "Don't worry, DeSoto. We'll bring him out."
Roy nodded bleakly as Murray followed Blackburn into the passageway. Thus began the longest few minutes of Roy's life. He, Marco, Chet, Mike, and Cap gathered near the opening, standing rigid and silent as if any movement on their part could risk their friend's life.
Finally the HT crackled. "We've found him! We got a pulse! He's alive!"
"Oh thank God!" Roy exhaled as a loud cheer arose from the crowd.
"What is his condition?" Cap asked.
"He's unconscious, but he's not pinned under anything. He's just slumped over!" Murray responded.
"Only Johnny," Chet said, shaking his head.
Swiftly Roy ran out to the triage area to man the biophone. "Rampart, this is Squad 51."
"Go ahead, 51, this is Rampart." The tension was audible in Brackett's voice.
Fellow paramedic Pete Lanfer, Murray's partner, listened to Blackburn on the HT. He then relayed Johnny's vital signs. Roy mechanically repeated them into the phone while analyzing them silently.
"Unconscious and unresponsive. Several contusions on the head."
How did he lose his helmet again? Oh God, he has another head injury.
"Dyspnea."
He needs O2.
"Multiple scratches and scrapes."
That's to be expected.
"Unstable fracture of the ulna."
Surgery.
"Bleeding from the nose and ears."
Shit.
It was all Roy could do to not rush back into the garage and dig his way through to where Johnny was. Instead he repeated Brackett's instructions to Pete, who relayed them to Murray and Blackburn.
"They're sending down the stokes now," Pete reported. "Why don't you go wait over there? I'll take over on the phone."
"Thanks!"
The other firefighters cleared a path for Roy as he ran pell-mell toward the entryway. An eternity later, he heard a commotion as Murray, Blackburn, Chet, and Marco emerged from the ramp bearing John on the stokes. They quickly rushed him to the triage area where Roy knelt down and visually assessed his best friend with the calmness of a paramedic and the concern of a parent.
A ghastly white face with blood streaking down the left side. Labored breathing under the oxygen mask. Head and neck held steady by a C-collar. Dark hair matted with blood and covered in concrete dust. Eyes closed and lightly ringed in purple. Left arm splinted. And quiet, so very quiet.
It was then that Roy entered the small tomb in which John had been trapped. People moved quickly around him, but he didn't see them. He could hear the other paramedics speaking to one another and to Rampart, but it was like white noise buzzing in his ears. All he could do was focus on his partner. It wasn't until Murray tapped him on the shoulder that his senses came back into focus.
"Ride with me in the ambulance, OK?"
"Yes," Roy said simply and stood out of the way as John was placed on the gurney. Quickly he and Murray climbed in the waiting bus; its doors shut and two taps released it on a fast trip to Rampart.
Roy paced the same worn path in the lounge that he usually followed when John was in the ER, but this time his steps shuffled tiredly. The arrival in the emergency room, the blur of activity surrounding John, and Dixie's firm hand pushing him out of the treatment room had all happened so fast that how and when he ended up in the lounge was a mystery. He had recognized the faded path on the floor and began to follow it.
"How is he?" Chet asked as he and the rest of the crew burst through the door.
"I don't know anything yet," Roy replied. "He didn't wake up on the trip over."
The guys looked at one another at a loss as to what to do next.
"Did you find the missing worker?" Roy asked.
"Not yet. The crews are still working. Chief stood us down," Cap replied.
The lounge door opened and Dr. Brackett and Dixie entered.
"How is he?" Marco asked.
"He has a linear skull fracture, but there are no signs of a subdural hematoma. He also has a fracture of his left ulna, which is unstable," Brackett explained.
"English, please," said an exasperated Chet.
Roy stepped in. "The skull fracture is straight and the bones aren't depressed or displaced. If he has to have a skull fracture, this is the best kind. There's nothing but time and rest needed to heal that. And no subdural hematoma means there's no sign of bleeding."
"Of course, we'll continue to watch closely for any clots," Brackett said, a familiar twitch firing near his eye. "But so far, it is very promising."
"What about the broken arm?" Marco asked.
"He has to have an open reduction internal fixation..." Brackett stopped after noticing the aggravation and confusion written across the faces of Stanley's crew. "Basically, he has to have an operation that will insert a plate and screws into the bone to stabilize it. I called in Harry Fisher. He's the best orthopedic surgeon on staff."
"When will Johnny be going into surgery?" Mike asked.
"As soon as possible. There's one more thing." Brackett held up his hand. "John inhaled a lot of concrete dust, which has inflamed his lungs. We have him on oxygen, and we'll monitor this closely. It could lead to other respiratory problems."
"Can we see him?" Cap asked.
"I'm sorry, not until maybe after surgery. But I'll let you know when you can."
Dixie placed her hand on Cap's elbow. "I know a place that serves some pretty good coffee and sandwiches. Why don't you boys let me buy you some?"
She smiled as she led the men out to the cafeteria, but Roy hung back. "Can I see him? I'm listed as his next of kin," he reminded the doctor.
Brackett nodded. "Come on. You can slip in there before he heads upstairs."