Chapter 2

The bay door was going up as Roy jumped into the cab, only seconds before his partner opened the passenger door and slid in, work boots clutched in his right hand. The captain leaned in the open window, handing the call slip to the driver before making a move toward the engine. Roy slapped his helmet on his head, handed over the paper to Gage, and started the squad in well-practiced moves. The squad moved forward, lights and sirens flashing and blaring as they led the way onto 223rd Street, the engine seconds behind them.

"Take the first left coming up here, then right onto the entrance ramp. Should be about a quarter of a mile beyond that," Gage instructed, pushing his helmet back in annoyance, the chin strap dangling loosely under his chin. He had his left foot up on the seat pulling his boot on; nimble fingers quickly tied the lace and the right socked foot replaced the booted foot.

"Ok…"Desoto replied, glancing over and trying not to wince at the vividly hued bruising on his partner's face. He risked a quick second look at the perspiration beading John's brow and upper lip; a single drip was slowly running down the bruise. Roy opened his mouth to make a comment and thought better of it as he felt the sweat starting to slowly make its way down his own back.

"There!" Johnny pointed ahead of them as they made their way slowly down the left side of the freeway, the side of the squad inches away from the dividing concrete barrier. Roy swung the wheel hard to the right and parked the squad long ways in front of the two lanes of traffic that was stopped; the harried motorists in those two lanes trying to merge into the lanes slowly moving forward to the right of them.

Both paramedics looked for a second at the lone car facing forward in front of them; the left back bumper was about six inches away from the concrete divider with the car slightly angled off to the right. There was no evident damage to the car, and no sign of leakage or fire.

"I'll go see what we got, get the gear, will ya?" Gage asked, already in motion around the front of the cab, pulling on his gloves. Desoto didn't reply as he had already moved around the back of the squad, unlocked the compartment, and pulled out the biophone and drug box. He looked up in time to see his partner stop at the front of the car, pause, then lean forward to look towards the windshield, gloved hands resting on the hood. Gage took a startled step back and shot a questioning look at his approaching crewmate before trotting rapidly over to the driver's door.

Roy had just made the back bumper of the car when he noticed out of the corner of his eye the engine finally weaving its way through the honking line of cars on his right. A motorcycle officer was leading the way. He paused as he saw Gage move backwards from the car and lift the handi talki to his mouth.

"HT 51 to Engine 51…we have a Code F here…no fuel leak…" Johnny waved Roy back, shaking his head at him so hard that he dislodged his loosely strapped helmet, knocking it to the pavement. Roy stopped, trying to quell the inappropriately timed thought that entered his head about the jokes that had preceded the younger man to Station 51 – Gage was always losing his helmet; he watched his partner bend over to pick up his helmet, then abruptly stride forward 4 or 5 huge steps. Johnny leaned over, left hand resting on the wall, his back to Roy, and started vomiting.

"Johnny!" Roy yelled, dropping the boxes and trying to maneuver between the freeway divider and the car. He grunted in annoyance as he caught his pant leg on the edge of the bumper and reached down to pull it free. Gage straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, and turned toward the older man, putting his hand forward in the now oddly familiar "stop" gesture Roy had been given earlier at the station.

"Just…just give me a minute, ok? And Roy, don't look in there, ok?" He didn't wait for an answer, but jammed his helmet back on his head and turned to face the westbound lanes of moving vehicles, resting his hands on the concrete barrier.

Roy studied his partner's profile for a second, noticing the clenched jaw, hell – even from here he could see the jumping muscle, and the slitted eye. He wondered what emotions were causing that tense look – disgust, revulsion, anger? There was a lot of things he didn't know about this young man, but the one thing that he was absolute sure of was that John Gage was 100% professional on the job. He trusted his judgment and instincts. Roy sighed and backed up, picked up the hastily dropped boxes, and made a slow retreat back towards the flashing lights of the squad.

He was still standing in front of the opened compartment on the passenger side, gazing within, when he heard the slow footsteps coming towards him and the door opening. He looked up in time to see Gage fling his gloves in disgust to the floorboard, and flip his helmet to the seat. He watched, trying to keep his face expressionless, as the obviously annoyed paramedic slumped onto the seat, head bent and twitching hands dangling between his legs as he planted his feet on the pavement.

Desoto gently closed the compartment door and turned the key. He leaned against the squad, his left arm and hand braced against the gleaming, red paint as he waited patiently for John.

"Ya know, Roy, I've been a rescue man for, what, over two years now? And I've never seen anything like that….hell, I hope I never see it again!" John raised his head and squinted over at Roy, scrubbing the palm of his hand across his forehead, down the side of his nose, and across his cheekbone in an irritated gesture that Roy instantly recognized, from his own experiences, as the symptoms of a pounding headache.

"What was it?"

"A huge rock, no, a boulder, smashed right through the windshield and hit the guy dead on…..at least I think it was a guy, there isn't enough….ahh Roy…man…...he was wearing a tux….where do you think he was going at almost 11 in the morning, on a Saturday? Had to be something big…" his voice trailed off in abject misery as he sighed and lowered his head to stare at his scuffed boots, hands now tapping a mindless rhythm against his pants.

"Johnny…" Roy nudged his distraught friend with the canteen, not quite sure what to say. "Thanks for warning me…."

He looked up and flashed Roy a tight smile, taking the proffered canteen. "Well, that's what partners do, right?"

Roy shrugged and smiled back, jumping slightly when a hand came down on his shoulder. Their captain stood there, looking at both men with concern. He motioned towards Gage, who, eyes closed and one hand pressed against his head, was downing the contents of the canteen.

"He's ok, got a killer of a headache though…." John jumped, as startled as Roy had been, and sprayed a mouthful of water out narrowly missing his captain. He started coughing and both men reached in and pulled him forward and out of the seat.

"I'm….I'm good, ok…" Gage choked out, finally standing upright and swiping at his tearing eyes. "Just didn't hear ya…"

Hammer nodded, releasing his hold on the younger man. "Why don't you head the squad back to the barn, we shouldn't be far behind."

"Right, Captain," Desoto replied, taking the emptied canteen out of his partner's hand. He pushed him gently back toward the seat before making his own way back to the driver's side and jumping in, laying the canteen down on the seat between them. Gage looked over at him and then picked up his helmet from the seat and hung it up; he leaned back wearily with a sigh and closed his eyes once again as Roy slowly merged into the one lane left open on the freeway.

Both men were silent on the way back to the station, even though Roy had a thousand questions running through his mind. As they backed into the apparatus bay, John picked up the mike and reported them back in quarters.

"Squad 51, stand by for response…." It was Roy who sighed this time, stopping and shifting the squad into park, the front of the truck sticking out of the bay.

"Squad 51, unknown type rescue, 1022 N Avalon Blvd, 1-0-2-2 N Avalon Blvd, cross street Anaheim, time out 11:18."

"Squad 51, 10-4…" John acknowledged, writing down the info on a slip of paper and slapping his helmet back on his head. Roy pulled back out, the doors closing behind them as they turned and headed west.