"Godzilla and The Smog Monster"
Chapter Twenty-One
Craig's gaze remained fixed upon his patient's cardiac monitor. He was afraid to look away…afraid that when his gaze returned that damn flat line would be back.
Everyone jerked, startled, as John's chest suddenly heaved with a labored breath.
"Respirations are spontaneous, Doctor!" the nurse who'd been ventilating him relievedly declared and continued to assist his now labored breathing.
Upon hearing this latest bit of good news, Brice chanced a glance at Gage.
Inhaling all that pure oxygen had done wonders for John's appearance. His skin was no longer such a deep hue of blue, so he didn't look quite so…well…dead.
Tyler turned to the other nurse. "All right, Fran, go find out if Dr. Herron and Dr. O'Neil need anymore help with that creep's 'other' victims. Oh…and see if you can do something about those damn alarms, would you?"
"Right away, Doctor!"
The doctor addressed the paramedic next. "Craig, can you take over for Nancy?"
Brice nodded and immediately took over Gage's oxygen management.
"Nance, draw some blood and then get it to the lab—right away! I want a complete work-up, blood gases, cardiac enzymes—the works!"
Nance nodded and went to work. She took the requested samples and quickly left the room.
Tyler crossed over to the wall phone and began making calls. He ordered someone to summon both the ER's and the ICU's next shifts in to work. He placed a page for Dr. Kurtz and Dr. Gerard, and reserved an O.R., just in case.
The doctor completed his phone calls and then crossed back over to give their recently revived patient a thorough medical examination. "I don't suppose you could stick around for awhile?" he inquired of the vertical paramedic. "We're a little short-handed at the moment."
"I'll stay as long as you need me," Brice quickly came back.
The paramedic was staring directly at his fellow fireman's still form as he spoke.
So Tyler couldn't tell if Craig was addressing him…or Gage.
Dave Bellingham cautiously poked his head into ICU's Room 604. "You okay, Brice?"
Brice nodded and motioned him into the room. "You can put us Code 8, here at Rampart. We're going to be assisting with an emergency shortage of hospital personnel."
After seeing the four unconscious nurses, Dave was so relieved to find his partner in one healthy piece, that he was willing to curb his curiosity—for the moment. "That's nice." He raised the HT and thumbed its call button.
"Yes it is!" Tyler heartily agreed.
"Take over ventilations for me," Craig requested, once the call to HQ had been made. "So I can get a set of vitals." The ambu-bag was transferred into Bellingham's hands. "He's breathing on his own. He just needs a little assistance."
Dave nodded and took over 'assisted' ventilations.
Brice began gathering vital signs.
Everybody jerked, startled, as the head of hospital security suddenly burst into the room with his gun drawn.
"Everything under control in here?" the security guard anxiously inquired.
"No, Mr. Storey," Tyler smartly replied. "Everything is not under control in here. But we're working on it…"
Mr. Storey lowered his weapon and his gaze. His wide eyes moved from the bloody pillow at his feet…to the crash cart…and then over to the motionless body. "What happened?"
"Oh-oh, nothing much," Tyler told him. "Someone just waltzed in here and suffocated this critically injured patient as he was lying heavily sedated in his hospital bed." The physician glanced up from his examination. "I don't suppose you caught the creep that did it?"
The head of hospital security quickly regained his composure. "What did he look like? Did anybody get a good look at him?"
"The four nurses who were on duty in this ward were all knocked out cold," the doctor regrettably replied. "It may be some time before they'll be feeling up to answering any questions. And he was long gone, by the time I got here."
Storey turned to Brice.
"I saw him," Craig confessed. "But I'm afraid I didn't get a very good look at him. He had his back to me most of the time. All I actually saw were the backs of his head and his coveralls."
Storey stiffened. "You say he was wearing coveralls?"
Brice nodded. "Bright blue…with a large, embroidered emblem sewn on the back. The emblem was white and it had 'Shaefer Vending, Inc.' printed across the center of it in big blue letters. I'm guessing he's already shed the coveralls, though. So you might try just looking for any suspicious acting man about 5'10" or 5'11", with a medium build and dark brown, shoulder-length hair. Though he may have been wearing a wig and phony beard, as well. Like I said, I didn't get a very good look at him—from the front."
The guard unclipped a handy-talky from his gunbelt and passed the assailant's description on to the rest of his security team.
"Don't send everyone off looking for the suspect," Tyler urged. "I want someone posted outside this door—in case that guy decides to go for a third try!"
"Bu-ut," the head of hospital security was completely confused, "I thought you just said he was dead?"
Tyler exchanged a solemn glance with Brice. "He was!"
Mr. Storey gave both medical men—and their sophisticated-looking crash cart contraption—deeply respectful stares. Then he re-thumbed the call button on his handheld radio. "Kelsey! I want you and Branoff to report to ICU Room 604, on the double!"
Tyler swapped glances with Brice again. "Better late than never," he grumbled and returned to his medical exam.
Roy DeSoto drove up to Rampart General Hospital and parked in the lot, directly across from the entrance to Emergency Receiving.
A police squad car pulled up and parked alongside of him.
Roy stared at the patrol car's flashing dome lights, and figured he was going to be getting a speeding ticket. When the vehicle's two occupants exited and began jogging towards the ER's doors, he went racing after them. "What's goin' on?"
"We don't know what, yet!" one of the officers confessed. "We just know where! ICU! Do you work here? Can you tell us the quickest way to get there?"
"I can show you the way! I was just heading up there, myself!" the fireman informed them and fought back the fear that was now gripping his gut. "I'm a paramedic with the Los Angeles County Fire Department. My partner's in Room 604," he went on to breathlessly explain, as the three of them entered the ER at a run.
The two officers followed their escort out of the elevator and onto the sixth floor's ICU Ward.
Dr. O'Neil was standing in the open doorway to the Visitors' Lounge. He spotted the policemen and pointed down the corridor. "Room 604!"
Fear tightened its grip on Roy's gut. One of the police officers gripped his right arm and he was pulled to stop.
"You'd better stay here, til we see what we've got!" the officer ordered. Then he and his partner drew their revolvers and cautiously proceeded down the corridor—minus their police escort.
DeSoto exhaled an exasperated gasp and glanced over at the ER doc, who was now kneeling beside one of the three barely moving nurses lying on the soggy floor of the lounge. "They gonna be okay?" he anxiously inquired and crossed over to the room, to see if he could offer some assistance.
O'Neil saw DeSoto's terror-stricken expression and felt obligated to set the paramedic's understandably troubled mind at ease. "They're okay—and he's okay. At least, for now. Craig Brice ran the guy off and they got his heart going again. How on earth did you get here so fast? Did somebody call you about it?"
The paramedic's mouth dropped open and he staggered back a step or two. 'Got his heart going again?' Roy mentally repeated and managed a numb nod. "A friend," he mysteriously replied and went running down the hall toward Room 604—and his 'friend'.
"It's okay!" one of the cops told the two guards who were denying DeSoto access to the room. "He's with us!"
The two hospital security men, who were now guarding the door to 604, stepped aside and allowed the breathless blond guy to enter.
Brice was keeping the palm of his right hand upon their patient's heaving chest and his gaze fixed upon the dial of the watch on his left wrist. "Respirations are becoming more rapid, shallow and irregular," he informed the only physician in the room.
The doctor, who now had his eyes re-glued to the cardiac monitor, cursed beneath his breath. "What's the rate?"
"32."
Roy crossed quietly over to his unconscious friend and stood silently at his side.
Tyler took his eyes away from the monitor screen for a moment to see who had just entered the room. "I don't know how you managed to get here so soon, but you couldn't have picked a better time to show up!" he truthfully told John Gage's partner. "What? Did you get a call from someone here at the hospital?"
"You might say that," Roy solemnly replied. The paramedic placed his right hand over his partner's. "I'm here, Johnny. I got here just as soon as I could…"
The people within earshot of the fireman's quiet comment arched their eyebrows. Well, all vertical listeners, that is.
The rapid, erratic 'beeping' that was coming from the patient's cardiac monitor gradually began to slow and grow more regular and rhythmic.
"Respiration rate is down to 24," Craig commented and exchanged an anxious glance with the doctor. It was too soon to tell if the sudden, drastic changes were for the better…or for the worse.
"Better get the cart ready," the doctor decided. "Just in case…"
Brice nodded and started preparing for another possible full arrest.
All eyes suddenly riveted upon the hospital bed, as the body in it began to toss and turn.
Tyler cursed again. Those two large doses of epinephrine were obviously overriding the patient's sedatives.
Gage began gagging on his airway and it was expertly removed. The patient exhaled a rather pitiful, deep-throated moan and then started groaning. One low groan with each labored exhalation—18 groans per minute.
DeSoto cradled his partner's injured head in his hands and prevented him from tossing it from side to side. "Johnny, I need you to lie very still for me. Okay?"
Gage responded to the request and immediately stopped struggling.
He didn't stop groaning, however and Roy gave Tyler a rather desperate, pleading glance.
The doctor was about to prescribe something for pain, when two of his colleagues came charging into the room. Ben knew Kurtz would come. Paul always stuck close to the hospital for the first 48 hours following a 'traumatic brain injury' patient's surgery. Fortunately, Lee Gerard had done likewise.
"Okay, someone fill me in!" Dr. Kurtz requested and quickly assumed a position directly across from one of his groaning patient's 'brothers'. The surgeon stared down at his distraught patient in disbelief. The young man's surgical dressing was soaked with blood! "What the hell happened?" he angrily demanded. "Where's his drainage tube? Why isn't he sedated?"
"A man came in here, stuck a pillow over his face and kept it there until he went into full arrest," Craig unthinkingly answered. "We counter-shocked three times and were finally able to get a conversion."
DeSoto's hands immediately shifted to Gage's shoulders, as the patient suddenly attempted to sit bolt upright in his hospital bed.
Apparently, his partner's voice was not the only voice that John Gage was capable of hearing.
"Relax, Johnny! Relax!" Roy urged, and his alarmed friend obediently settled back down on his bed. DeSoto gave Brice a 'Way to go!' glare.
The paramedic appeared appropriately apologetic. "Sorry. I forgot he could be listening…"
Kurtz regained his composure—somewhat. "What are his vitals no-ow?"
Tyler silently passed the pissed off surgeon their alert patient's medical chart.
Lee Gerard read over his colleague's shoulder. "I'm gonna go scrub," he whispered into his associate's ear. "I'll see you in the O.R."
Kurtz nodded and directed his gaze to the guy who was still firmly gripping his still groaning patient's shoulders. The bond between the two men was apparent, as well as the sedative effect the blond fireman's presence seemed to have on his recently revived patient. "If you would care to accompany your 'brother' into surgery, you certainly won't get any objections from me…"
"I most certainly would!" Roy's eyes glistened and he gave Johnny's understanding surgeon a look of undying gratitude. "Thank you."
Paul flashed the fireman a sympathetic smile. "Thank you-ou!" That said, the surgeon turned and hurried off to scrub.
There was something terribly scary about a world where people went around trying to kill firemen.
TBC