Chapter 10

Roy dropped down onto the bench, straddling it and facing his colleague. He tossed his shaving kit next to the now tepid cup of coffee and leaned back against the brick wall that separated the room from the apparatus bay. He waited patiently as the towel was distorted and stretched between Johnny's hands; Gage was obviously having a hard time of putting whatever was bothering him into words.

"You've been a paramedic, well, I guess the same amount of time I have, but….I mean, you've had more training…" John stopped, turning his head to look at Roy, who nodded in affirmation and encouragement. "Do you ever have dou.…?"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the tones, calling the whole station to a motor vehicle accident less than two miles away. Roy bit off the angry word that almost escaped him and followed his visibly relieved partner out into the bay. Johnny paused, looked at him, and then stabbed a finger in the direction of Roy's ankle.

"You ok with that?"

"I'm fine," Roy answered, unable to contain the irritation lacing his voice at the dispatcher's ill-timed interruption.

He winced at the effect his words had on Gage as the concerned look on the other man's face immediately slid into a blank mask of professionalism. It was the same expression that he used with the victims and their families; an emotionless veneer that he plastered on and with which he seemed to be getting better at each day. Roy was very familiar with that blank look, for he had slyly practiced it himself in front of the bathroom mirror at home. Roy knew it was a necessary defense mechanism, both for Gage and himself, but it pained him to see the other man using it with him, especially when it had seemed that his new partner had been tentatively reaching out. So great, just great, whatever question or confidence the younger man had been about to let loose with had just been drowned with the monotone voice of the county employee, right along with his own misinterpreted tone.

Yanking his turnout from its perch on the mirror, Roy plopped hard into the seat of the squad, grabbing at his helmet and accepting the call slip handed to him by Captain Hammer. He heard the slam of the door on the other side and without looking, held out the slip of paper and turned the key in the ignition. The paper was pulled from his fingers; Roy barely heard John's terse, coughed out direction to go right over the sudden onset of water pounding on the roof as they left the dry shelter of the garage. Even the wail of the siren, firing up on the Crown easing out behind them, was muted and sounded strangely distorted.

He switched the wipers to high and turned right onto the street after a cautious pause. He felt the seat shift slightly as his partner leaned forward and braced a hand against the dash, tense and alert. As they turned right onto Wilmington Avenue and crossed over the Dominguez Channel, both men shot quick and nervous glances at the dark, churning water contained within its cement walls.

"Sure hope they finished that Alameda flood control tunnel," Roy muttered, the rapidly moving water immediately bringing back memories of the explosion and subsequent collapse of part of the underground tunnel that had resulted in fatalities and injuries for both workers and rescuers. While the medics had performed the first solo, official medical procedure of the paramedic program, the bill being passed only hours before in Sacramento, that whole disaster gave Roy shivers whenever he thought about it. They had come perilously close to terminating their fledgling partnership while working to dig out the trapped man from under the trencher. Fortunately, they and the two firefighters from 82s had escaped unharmed from the whole ordeal except for several pounds of mud cemented to their turnouts.

But had they really? Glancing over at Johnny, Roy took note of the funny look that flashed over his face. Now, looking back at that calamity several months later, he realized that as they had trailed wearily out of that tunnel they had both been on an adrenaline high, at least mentally anyways. That was, until Brackett had shown up. Gage's stumbling attempt at an apology and Kel's rather brusque reply, which at the time DeSoto had interpreted as being jokingly meant, had instantly deflated Johnny's mood. This meant, in hindsight, that Gage had not seen any humor in Brackett's words. More than likely he had found them to be insulting and sarcastic, and, probably confusing coming hard on the heels of Brackett's compliment of "My highest congratulations, doctors" (1); the praise was delivered to them after the successful treatment of the victim in the flickering lights of the tunnel.

John's barely suppressed excitement about the agonizing slow but eventual successful rescue and the unsupervised use of the defibrillator had disappeared, to be replaced by a brooding silence that Roy had not even noticed. He had been so caught up in his own churning thoughts, and they had been so tired…..Come to think of it, John had left the station immediately, not pausing to shower and dress in his civilian clothes; he had grabbed his bag, stuffed his clothes in, and departed after a terse farewell to his crewmates. The rest of the A shift had lingered in the locker room, their weariness temporarily forgotten as they discussed the tunnel collapse and listened to Roy's account of the paramedics' training finally being put to the test.

Roy gripped the steering wheel tightly to keep himself from smacking it as realization set in. They had finally been released from the shackles binding them to the presence of a nurse, or even worse, not being allowed to render anything except basic first aid. Unfortunately, it was also at that moment that Johnny's already awkward and strained relationship with Kelly Brackett had worsened to the point where the new medic simply accompanied his patients into the exam room, answered any questions put to him by the dark haired doctor, and then immediately departed. If it was Joe Early waiting, however, the abrupt but professional demeanor changed to one of lively curiosity and offered help that was always accepted.

Here was Gage at his best, and definitely displaying some of the qualities that Roy had known he was capable of. It was also one of the reasons he had asked him to be his partner. Whether it was darting about the room hanging an IV, taking a BP reading, or simply watching and learning as the older doctor sutured a wound or performed a procedure that they were not authorized to do in the field, Johnny was attentive, calm, friendly, and decidedly a willing participant in anything that needed to be done. If the situation wasn't critical, he also asked questions that gave Roy an indication that his partner might have a growing interest in the field of medicine beyond being a paramedic with the fire department.

He glanced again at Johnny, who hadn't responded with any words to his comment. His odd expression had, however, morphed into a smirk. When he let loose a snort of amusement Roy couldn't help but smile. His partner was more than likely thinking about that story in the newspaper. They were standing that rainy night at the base station in Rampart chatting with Dixie McCall. John had told them about the article when the tones on their HT first sounded, summoning multiple stations to the tunnel collapse. If they hadn't finished the flood control tunnel at the scheduled time "before the rainy season" a month ago as mentioned in that newspaper quote, then the odds were pretty high that they were still working on it now.

John had also risen a little in his seat to glance back at the churning water. The flash of amusement that had appeared for a moment had been replaced with a pensive look and Roy wondered if he was recalling that particular rescue, or simply looking ahead to their current call. DeSoto decided that it was going to be an uphill battle to keep up with the lightning quick mood and thought changes of the other man.

Johnny was indeed thinking back on that night that had turned into a long, arduous slide into morning. His musings involved Doctor Brackett all right, but had traveled down a completely different path. He couldn't help but play with the idea that when Kelly Brackett had vehemently ordered them several times to perform that defibrillation on the heart victim, which he had done successfully on the second try, they had not been legally authorized to do so. Brackett had glibly told them that the bill had passed, but had it been approved at that moment he pushed them to give the man that lifesaving jolt of electricity?

John didn't think so, which meant that the "by the book" doctor had boldly jumped over the legal and moral line. He had done exactly what he had accused the paramedics of doing, jeopardizing their precious program to save one life, but why? He knew he could do some research and verify the time that the bill had been passed and signed, but it was over and done with and nothing would be gained by it, except maybe gaining a little peace in his own mind. If the bill had indeed slid unimpeded through the hallways of the State Capitol, then Brackett had just been doing a good job in guiding the new paramedics through the procedure. But if it hadn't been… it didn't make sense.

It just gnawed at him, that little, well actually that "big" detail. If Brackett had been willing to risk his reputation and his career on a spur of the moment decision to save the life of a man he didn't even know, then Johnny seriously needed to rethink his opinion of the man. Kelly Brackett must have a heart beating somewhere in his chest to be willing to risk that much. John snorted, and wiped a hand over his damp face. The good doctor had a heart, a caring heart at that, what a concept. Okay, he had been wrong before and would be wrong again, and this was definitely a line of thought that needed to be pursued. He really did need a better working relationship with the man – one, the most obvious reason was that he was his boss, and two – because he really did like people in general and so it was hard to keep dwelling on the negatives when he knew Brackett had good qualities within him. He just had to get over his initial impression of instant dislike and subsequent aversion to the way the often brusque and surly doctor handled some of his patients and the people that worked for him.

He could feel his partner's eyes on him; he shot a fast smile at him before turning his attention back to the road in front of them. He clearly heard the sharp inhale of breath from Roy and threw him another quick but puzzled look, wondering what that was about. He had a feeling that it was going to take several more months to figure out some of DeSoto's reactions to things and people around him, or maybe he should just call them idiosyncrasies and let it go. He would probably never figure this guy out completely, but it would be nice to be able to understand his new partner to some degree. That eye rolling thing that Roy liked to do - didn't really take a genius to figure out what that one was all about. And those couple of snarky little comments that had come firing out of his colleague's mouth like balls out of a cannon, usually when you least expected them; those were pretty self-explanatory too. His partner had a sarcastic wit that he used sparingly and Johnny liked it. He didn't even care if some of those double edged words had been directed at him because he knew they weren't cruelly meant. Roy was a serious, dedicated guy and he just needed a way to vent.

It was the odd things like that sigh directed straight at him, what the heck did that mean? Or his tone of voice when they had got the call they were on right now. The guy sounded like he was ready to blow a gasket when all he had done was ask him if he was ok to drive. And the way he had dropped into the squad seat, Johnny had thought that he was going to split the seam of his pants open. Maybe Roy was just a sensitive guy and responded with over exaggeration to everything. John's lips quirked at the corners as he pondered his hasty conclusion; he decided that he was right, at least for the moment. Lips still curled in mirth, he stared out the rain blurred window, straining for signs of the accident.

Roy narrowed his eyes and rolled down his window a few inches, his visibility not at its best. He didn't know what strange thoughts had prompted the little noises and unsolicited facial expressions emitting from the fireman next to him, but he found it hard to believe that his straightforward comment about that Alameda flood channel had brought on all those reactions. Gage looked like he was riding that emotional roller coaster again with all those grimaces and smirks that were bounding across his face in rapid motion. If only he could get him to open up verbally…..

"There." Minutes later, John's one word directive and pointing finger brought DeSoto out of his confused thoughts and slid them to an unintentional, fishtailing skid on the saturated, oily pavement; Roy grimly corrected his too sudden braking and brought the vehicle to a controlled stop on the road. He pulled the squad off the thoroughfare and into the gravel on the side, leaving room for the engine but still directly behind the car that was skewed sideways into a pole, driver's side door wedged tight against it. A yellow slickered sheriff's deputy was pulling at the door on the opposite side, to no avail.

"I'll get the pry bar," John said, a second before his feet hit the dirt and he disappeared from view. Roy cast a doubting look at the torrential downpour, tugged up the collar of his turnout coat, and followed.

Bar tucked securely under his arm, Johnny yanked on his gloves, brushing in irritation at the pelting, slanting rain that was nailing his face at just the right angle. He stifled a cough as he moved up behind the deputy, laying a warning hand on the man's shoulder to alert him to his presence.

"What do we have?" He queried, stepping up to the pinched door and angling sideways and downwards to look into the Ford Pinto.

"Looks like one occupant, out cold. I called for an ambulance already. If you've got it, Johnny, I need to take a look for what caused that. There's gotta be another car around here somewhere." Bob Pauling stepped back and motioned towards the front of the vehicle, which showed extensive damage.

Johnny turned his head to look at the crumpled metal and then swept his glance left towards the road. Not seeing anything obvious, his eyes moved briefly to scan the wide ribbon of gravel and weeds in front of them and the pole, and then slid right again to the wire fence several feet in front of the nose of the vehicle. The chain link provided a flimsy barrier against people and cars entering the wide, deep flood control channel beyond. Usually dry or littered with stagnant pools of water caught in the dips of the bottom, today the sloping, cement sides of this particular channel were doing their intended job of funneling and rushing the gallons of water towards the ocean.

"Yeah, see what you mean," he acknowledged, stepping forward and sliding the bar into place. He grunted with the effort but the door obliged him and popped open. He dropped the clawed bar with a clang, feeling the presence of his partner as the extra hands helped him force the door open and back. Johnny knelt on the passenger seat with his left knee, braced his right foot on the floor, and leaned forward. He turned the key off in the ignition after throwing the floor shifter into park.

"Stupid sub compact cars," he muttered into his coat as he hastily pulled off a glove. He promptly smacked his helmeted head on the cloth covered ceiling when he leaned forward and inadvertently rose up at the same time. He yanked the helmet off and tossed it on the litter strewn floor mat. He had just started the visual assessment when he heard DeSoto's steady voice over his right shoulder.

"What do you need?"

"Definitely a cervical collar, backboard…" he hesitated for a brief second, than with his right hand did a cross draw, drawing out his pen light from the paramedic pouch on his left hip. "Hold on a minute and I'll let you know what else…."

He gently leaned the victim back against the seat, penlight clenched between his teeth. After checking for pupil response, he checked the still unconscious young man, probably around his own age, for signs of trauma. The steady pulse, normal respirations, and the response to the light calmed and slightly slowed his own nervous movements; for the first time in hours John felt his confidence growing instead of eroding away. Not detecting any signs of fractures or internal injuries, he turned his head towards Roy and finished his sentence.

"Responds strong to pain stimuli, but only slightly towards verbal. Respirations and pulse both normal. Possible concussion, he has a laceration, here," Johnny tapped a forefinger on his own forehead. Roy nodded and withdrew without another word, his head down and shoulders hunched as he sloshed towards the needed equipment.

Gage lifted and turned his head and stared out of the spider webbed windshield, contemplating the fence and the fast flowing water beyond. He felt the car rock slightly as the engine crew forced the hood open. Another siren approaching intermingled with the sounds occurring around him; the ambulance no doubt, he thought as he focused his attention back on the man in front of him. He cut the lap belt with his scissors and checked the victim's stomach again for any signs of tenderness or guarding. Nothing, again, and extraction seemed to be a simple thing; well simple if you considered pulling a two hundred pound man out of a sardine can. Even though the front of the car was damaged, the destruction had not intruded too far into the interior of the vehicle. The man's legs and feet were, thankfully, clear.

Five minutes later the victim was properly collared, back boarded, and slid out the passenger side of the little blue Pinto. Johnny wormed his way out of the back seat; somehow he had ended up there during the odd maneuvering they had had to do to get the guy out. He glanced towards the trunk of the car, thinking that the whole scenario could have been a lot worse. He hadn't seen it himself, but he had heard several stories of these cars being rear ended and catching on fire. Judging by the way the passenger side door had been crunched shut even though the car sustained no damage on that side, he could only imagine the impossibility of crawling out of this death trap if the poor guy had been hit from behind.

He crawled out of the car and caught himself from falling, just in time, as his feet slid forward on the soupy gravel and dirt mixture. He winced as his sore muscles protested every movement that he made. Grabbing the closed bio-phone box lying abandoned beside the car, he headed for the ambulance. Because of the rain, the medics had agreed to hold off on the transmission to the hospital until they got the victim into the transport. Roy and the two attendants were carrying the backboard towards the ambulance at a fast trot and he followed behind, just in time to grab a back corner of the board with one hand and help them load the now slightly awake but disoriented man.

John handed off the wet, orange box to the closest attendant, who in turn passed it to Roy. Stepping out of way as the driver clambered down and headed for the front of the vehicle, Gage watched while the victim was securely strapped to the gurney, still on the backboard, and covered with a blanket. Only when Roy had strapped on the BP cuff and started the transmission with the hospital, did he step back and prepare to swing the doors shut. He paused as DeSoto peered out of the ambulance at him and gestured with his free hand.

"We ok?" Roy's cryptic question, black phone nestled between his neck and shoulder, was met with a waterlogged and slightly puzzled smile; Johnny raised a bare hand and made the ok sign with his thumb and index finger before closing the two doors and sealing the men in. Two thumps on the door and the driver of the ambulance set the siren and lights and proceeded cautiously down the road.

John stared thoughtfully at the departing ambulance, wondering what that had been about. Okay about what, exactly? He didn't recall anything disagreeable happening between them and since their conversation in the locker room had been interrupted before he had laid bare his soul, it most certainly had nothing to do with his attempted disclosure. There had been no words between them in the truck at all, except that brief comment about the Alameda tunnel, so unless it had to do with their early morning chat in the day room…no, it wasn't that, Roy had seemed cool with their little talk. In fact, he had been very attentive and encouraging, almost like he really cared about Johnny's family and his juvenile exploits. He had been more then open about his own family and the questions John had ricocheted back to him, so that left something else.

He was beginning to believe that maybe they were too much of a mismatched pair to be able to work together effectively. His earlier thoughts about not being able to figure Roy out and it being okay, well, now it didn't seem like a good idea. After all, if he couldn't understand a simple question coming from Roy in the back of an ambulance, how in God's name was he supposed to figure out something when they were hanging two hundred feet down the side of a cliff and time really counted? That was the second thing in less than an hour that had confused him about DeSoto, and while maybe time might increase his understanding he wasn't a hundred percent sure of that. He had enough odd things going on in his personal life without adding work related anxiety to the mix. Plus, there was that time factor thing…Johnny wasn't known for his patience; he had to admit, that one rumor about him was definitely true!

Shrugging his shoulders in some bewilderment over DeSoto's inquiry and wondering what he had missed this time, John yanked his collar up and trudged his way back towards the Pinto, feeling the water slap over his ankle high boots and definitely reaping the unwanted result of soaked pant legs and socks. He retrieved his helmet from the floor of the car and looped the strap through his arm, letting it hang as he checked for any equipment or debris that they might have left behind. He didn't bother slapping the headgear onto his dripping head until he was several feet behind his captain, who stood conversing with one of the deputies.

"Gage." The captain acknowledged his paramedic with the one word but stopped his continued progress with a raised hand, head slightly bent as he listened to something the sergeant was telling him. Conversation concluded he shifted his attention back to his medic. "Follow up to Rampart?"

"Yes, Sir," Johnny answered, pointing his own finger towards the departed ambulance. He dropped his hand and resisted the urge to raise it back up and rub his eyes; the headache that had been lurking in the shadows since he crawled out of his bed that morning after the short nap had returned with a vengeance, threatening to bring back the nausea that had finally dissipated. And to top it all off, his chest was starting to feel tight, no doubt a result of yesterday's two plunges into the Dominguez Channel during that overtime shift and the continual exposure this shift to the precipitation that was enveloping him right now in an envelope of damp, chilling rivulets.

"Go ahead then," Hammer commanded softly, waving fingers again, but this time in dismissal. John nodded and sloshed his way to the squad, observing with detached interest Chet Kelly pulling the reel line back while Marco disappeared around the side of the Crown, no doubt to check with their engineer specialist and finish up their own cleanup.

He slumped into the seat of the squad, leaning forward over the steering wheel and finally allowing himself to cough productively without interruption for several seconds; he wiped his mouth and leaned back, closing his eyes briefly before reaching a hand forward to start the truck. He paused, hand on the gear shift, as he looked out at the view in front of him and again processed what Pauling had said. If he squinted, he could make out through the rain blurred glass the revolving lights and the distorted colors of two black and white patrol cars ahead of him and beyond the smashed Pinto. He switched on the wipers and obtained a clearer view; judging by the movements and the search going on in front of him they had not yet located anything else. He threw the squad into drive and angled it between the engine and the Pinto; after checking for traffic he eased out onto the road.

He had just driven past several of the yellow coated deputies when his HT squawked with a summons; John reached out a questing hand and pulled it from the seat. He depressed the button, slowing down and lifting his eyes to check the mirrors. "HT 51, go ahead Engine 51."

Stoker's voice replied over the channel. "Gage, they've located a second vehicle in the flood control channel about two hundred feet behind that Pinto."

"10-4," Johnny replied, pulling over. He checked for traffic and then made a U-turn. Passing the wrecked car once again, he could see several deputies standing near the fence. He pulled across the road in a wide turn and settled the rescue vehicle ahead of the gathering, facing it. He looked over at the mesh fence that ran parallel along the concrete basin to keep out foot traffic; definitely not designed to keep a spinning out of control vehicle from tearing through it. He sighed and picked up the HT once again, jamming it down into the depths of his turnout pocket. Swinging his legs out of the squad, he stood up and neatly stepped into a puddle of mud with both feet. He took out his frustration with a slam of the door and schlepped his way forward to the men gathered around the now obvious, gaping hole in the wire fence. Funny how none of them, himself included, had noticed the damage when they had passed it.

Two deputies peered through the driving rain at the green Dodge Charger already partly submerged and bobbing perpendicular to the canal walls. There was no sign of movement in the car; Gage knew they only had minutes, if that, to attempt a rescue before whatever was holding the car in its precarious position released its tenuous grip. It was unbelievable that the hot rod had remained snagged for so long; he couldn't even imagine what was keeping it in place. He heard the growl of the Crown as Mike pulled it into position behind him, heard the crunching of gravel under hurrying feet following him as he trod gingerly to the edge of the channel and calculated what needed to be done.

"Cap, shoot a line over to the other side and I'll go across, take some belts with me, not enough time for anything else," Johnny suggested, not turning his head to verify that it was indeed the 51 crew coming up behind. He hoped that whoever was in that car didn't have back or neck injuries; the swift, rough handling that he was going to have to do could cause further, irreversible damage.

Hammer nodded and yelled at Stoker to get the line gun from the engine. He glanced at the bobbing car and stopped John with a hand on his shoulder as he turned around to head towards the squad. "Right. Think you'll have time to get at least one line on it?"

The dark haired paramedic squinted against the rain, which had slowed to an annoying drizzle, and answered the question honestly. "Not sure, I'll give it a try though…."

The captain nodded again and dropped his arm to his side, releasing Gage and silently giving him the okay to go ahead. He studied the canal for another long moment than swung around and made his way back to the engine to contact dispatch, his head swiveling around to locate his men and give orders as needed.

Kelly, bolt cutters tucked under his arm, was already hoofing his way towards the double gate in the fence that allowed access to the private, single lane bridge that crossed the flood control channel. By the time Johnny had returned to the squad and grabbed the belts and ropes that he needed, Chet had cut the lock on the gate, sprinted across the bridge, and rapidly covered the distance from the cement arch to a point directly across from them. He waved a hand and began cutting the fence that also traversed his side; while he did this, the paramedic stripped down to his uniform shirt and cinched the wide belt on. He pulled the spanner from his turnout coat before tossing it and his navy blue jacket into the compartment of the squad and slapping it shut. As he trotted back towards his captain, he slid the spanner into his rear pocket of his pants.

When Kelly was ready, Mike shot the line over and the hemp rope was pulled across and knotted to the steel frame; the frame comprised the outer edge of a grid containing pipes that led back to the refinery behind the lineman. Lopez secured his working end to the engine that had already been moved into position and deftly caught the ends of the two ropes that Gage tossed at him as he moved past. Stoker leapt into the cab and reversed the Crown, pulling the line taut.

Standing at the edge of the channel, Johnny quickly fastened the ends of the ropes in his hand to his carbineer with quick release knots and dropped the coils of rope at his feet. He then clipped the carbineer to the strung out line. For a brief second, his eyes locked with that of his new captain. He nodded in understanding and grabbed the strung out rope with both hands, then swung his legs up and crossed them at the ankles. The rope dipped down with his weight but he was at least a good foot above the water line as he pulled himself along the rope, hand to hand, an extra belt swinging beneath him where it was looped through his own belt. The two ropes attached to his clip played out as he moved and he could see that Captain Hammer and Marco had each grabbed one and were stepping backwards in preparation to tie them off.

Moving swiftly, it took less than a minute for him to draw abreast of the bobbing vehicle. He stared through the opened passenger side window and was amazed but thankful that the floating vehicle appeared to be empty. He rested his right shoulder against the door frame and did a thorough visual search of the front seat before inching forward along the rope several inches and scanning the back seat and floor. He heaved a sigh of relief at the emptiness, but then let loose a shuddering breath as he realized the alternative. He couldn't stop the dark thought from entering his mind that since the car was empty there might very well be a victim somewhere in the water. If that was the case, it was completely out of his control, for now anyways; he had to let that thought go and focus on finishing the job at hand.

As he swung his upper body into the car, letting his back rest on the door frame and his right shoulder lean on the back edge of the passenger seat, the car swayed ominously below him. He could feel the frigid water greedily grabbing at his hips; the water level seemed to have risen at least six inches in the five minutes that he had been straddling the rope. Gripping the headrest with his right hand he quickly checked the car one last time and then pushed himself off the vinyl and out of the car. His right side bumping awkwardly against the green metal, he shimmied forward several more feet towards the waiting group on the bank. He uncrossed his ankles and heaved his body up onto the trunk of the car, unclipping the carbineer as he turned his body sideways to face downstream.

Sitting on the trunk of the car with his legs stretched out in front of him, John pulled the spanner from his pocket and quickly shattered the glass on the back window. With his gloved hand he swiped at the remaining broken shards, than swiftly pulled on the slip knot of one of the ropes tied to his carbineer. Rising on his knees, he turned to face the front of the car. He thrust his left arm through the now vacant space and hugged the window post with both arms. With his right hand, he grabbed the end of the rope dangling from his other hand and pulled the rope through, knotting it quickly. He repeated the process on the other side, thankful that both windows were open. This effectively anchored the car, at least temporarily, with a rope on each side. He felt the slack being taken up on both lines and knew his crewmates were tying off the lines to the engine.

Drawing his legs up under him, he spun around on his rear and inched forward. He pushed down the first rope that he had tied off and sat on it as he reached a hand over to grab his own anchor line. Sitting on the trunk of the car, legs dangling over the side, he pulled the line towards him. He clipped his belt to it and replaced his right hand on the hemp. He pushed carefully off the car, holding his left arm up against the trunk to hold himself in place as he swung his long legs up once again around the line and prepared to start his journey back to the bank. He felt the car lurch against his left shoulder; he grabbed at his rope. He cursed softly as simultaneously his right wet gloved hand slid on the rope, the swipe at the rope with his left hand missed, and whatever mystery object was holding the vehicle released its grip.

The Charger spun in a counter clockwise direction and stopped with a lurch, held in place by the straining but holding ropes. The violent movement bounced Johnny out and away from the car and then swung him back and slapped him hard against the now angled car; it jarred him enough to dislodge his tenuous, half handed grip on the rope. The line inexplicably sagged and he felt the carbineer slide downhill as his fingers lost their precarious grasp. He dimly heard a muffled shout as his head and shoulders arched backwards and sliced downward into the water. He involuntarily gasped in pain as the belt tightened around his middle and the liquid filled his mouth….

~TBC~

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Dialogue from the premier episode, written by Cinader and Bloom.

A/N – Sorry this took so long…I hadn't realized that it had been so long since I posted Chapter 9. The good news is that the next chapter is pretty much completed - I decided I had better split this one as it was getting very long. Thanks for reading!