Chapter Three

From what she understood from the radio chatter, she gathered there was a kitchen fire that started and spread from the fourth floor. She knew that floors one through four were clear, and was waiting to hear about number five. Six other fire department vehicles had arrived and were working with 51. What she saw was chaos, not the organized purpose behind every move. Suddenly, Roy's voice came through the radio, "We have two patients in apartment-" his voice paused, "-In apartment 530, we need some hands up here." Sharon frowned, he sounded out of breath. A new voice had replaced Captain Stanley's on the radio, copying the information. She heard someone open a compartment on the passenger side of the squad. Before she could turn to look, Captain Stanley's face appeared in the passenger window. He had an air tank hanging off one shoulder and was holding two yellow sheets, his face mask tucked under his arm.

"Unfold these sheets and lay them out, on this side of the squad." he directed, opening the door for her and handing her the yellow packaged sheets. After she took them, he grabbed the other shoulder strap to the air tank, wearing it like a backpack. "Then pull out all of the equipment you think they'll need." he continued, while buckling his tank simultaneously. Sharon slowly got out of the squad, looking at him. "Can you do it?" he asked, clearly impatient to be off. Sharon nodded. As soon as she did, he ran to the building, easily pulling on his face piece and helmet as he ran.

Now with a task, an important one, she felt shaky. She took a quick breath and told herself to breath. She was not going to embarrass Ms. McCall like this. She ripped the plastic packaging and spread the sheets out on the passenger side of the squad, away from the apartment building, as directed. Then she looked at the opened compartments. "They'll need this." she said, retrieving the black drug box from it's cubby. "And this." She carefully pulled the oxygen out of it's brace, trying not to drop it. Next, she grabbed the biophone, surprised at how heavy it was. Johnny and Roy lifted it with no problem. Thinking ahead, she opened the drugbox and pulled the stethoscope out, draping it around her neck. She bounced on her heels and waited. Never had she needed to care for two, presumably critical, patients at the same time. If that happened at Rampart, two separate teams would handle it, not three people. Frankly, she was worried. "How do you know which patient to take care of first?" she thought, biting her lip in worry. She didn't have long to think about it, three firefighters appeared. One was carrying a patient by himself, while the other two worked together to carry the second. Even from the distance, she could tell two of them were coughing. Those two didn't have their masks on, choosing to cover the patient's faces over their own. She finally recognized the sweaty, soot covered, and coughing firefighters as John, Roy, and Kelly. Roy's patient, the one he was carrying solo, didn't seem visibly injured, but John's was burned, almost beyond recognition. Sharon paused, gasping slightly at the sight. John ripped his helmet, gloves, air tank, and coat off. Roy did the same, freeing themselves. Kelly immediately grabbed the oxygen Sharon set up and began administering it to Gage's patient, tank, mask, helmet, and gloves all still on. But Sharon didn't notice these things. She was frozen, not even her will or embarrassment could move her. She was overwhelmed, her senses working overdrive. The acrid smell of the smoke filled her nose, the sounds of shouts, sirens, radios, and water spraying assaulted her ears. Eyes filled with bright lights, smoke, which caused them to water, filled with the images of fire, and burnt patients. Her hands were sticky in the heat, she even tasted the fire in the air, drying out her mouth and throat.

Someone pulled the stethoscope from her neck. She jumped, the movement pulling her out of her shock. She shook herself and looked over at what was being done. Kelly, who was now free of his tank, face piece, helmet, and gloves, was using the stethoscope to take a blood pressure. Roy was pouring saline water over the patient's burns and Johnny was intubating him. She shook herself again and went over to the patient who was being seemingly ignored. The other patient was breathing well on her own, someone had attached an oxygen mask to her face, nothing else could be done except wait. Hearing the hiss of the BP cuff, she looked back. Kelly had left the cuff on the patient's arm and was now hooking the biophone up and calling Rampart, obviously familiar with it.

"Got it." Johnny announced, securing his ET tube with tape and clearing his throat. He looked pleased. Noticing Sharon's 'thousand yard stare' had disappeared, he cautiously, but not impolitely, asked "Sharon, can you bag 'im?" He coughed again.

"Yes." Sharon said with newfound confidence. If a non-medically trained firefighter could provide care in a stressful situation, she, a registered nurse, surely could. Roy moved back to the other patient, now that she was helping Johnny. She squatted down and switched the oxygen tubing, setting it up for the ET tube, freeing Johnny's hands. Looking at the patient, she noticed burns around the nose and mouth, a clear indicator of airway burns. Johnny coughed and she looked up. It was a heavy, painful sounding cough. He shook his head in concentration. Even Roy looked over his shoulder, swallowing his own cough.

Before any of them could ask, he rasped, "I'm fine." not looking up from his attempt at an IV. "Just like you Roy." he added, clearly stating Roy's own cough had not gone unnoticed.

"Rampart finally decided to get on the line." Kelly interrupted, his hand covering the receiver of the phone. He briefly looked at Sharon, almost apologetically.

"Took them long enough." Roy muttered, not caring if she heard. "Pass it to me, I got everything they want ready." Roy took the biophone from Chet, talking into it and not having any problems filtering out the chaotic background noise.

"Anything else I can do?" Sharon asked, raising her voice around the loud scene. She felt helpless. She knew what she was doing was important, but still felt she could be doing more. Johnny needed a break, he just ran out of a burning building and his lungs were reminding him.

"That's important enough." he said, clearing his throat again. Humming, more rasping, in satisfaction, he taped his IV down. "Chet, can you set up a saline drip?" His hoarse voice ordered the air, not looking up. Kelly didn't need prompting and echoed the request, just like in a hospital setting she noticed. Sitting on his haunches, he pulled out a bag of saline, adeptly hooking up the tubing, even flushing the line. Sharon couldn't help but be impressed. A firefighter working with medical equipment. She saw no sign of the flour pranking man.

"Hey Roy," Chet said when he finished, getting the attention of the less busy medic. Roy turned, the biophone draped across his shoulder. "Will you need someone to drive the squad in?" Roy nodded, passing the biophone to Johnny whose hand had raised into the air, silently waiting for Rampart.

"We got two ambulances coming?" Roy asked, his face turned again to his patient.

"Yep." Chet confirmed, "I'll let Cap know." Roy nodded, his concentration focused on his patient, who was slowly starting to wake up.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Soon, Gage and DeSoto were loaded into their own ambulances and on their way to the hospital. Sharon was told to stay back with the squad. She hoped it wasn't because they were mad, or thought her incapable. The ride to the hospital was silent. Chet chewed on his lip as he drove, clearly in thought. She had only ridden with 51 for a short amount of time, but she thought him driving looked wrong. "He was pretty bad." Chet said sympathetically, not mentioning Sharon's lapse of action, but treading softly around it. He didn't look at her and focused on the traffic. Something Sharon was incredibly thankful for.

"He was." was her only response. Not coming to terms with her lapse yet. "Could that be a factor in him living or dying?" she thought.

"Don't worry," Chet said, as if reading her mind. "Happens to everyone, even Johnny and Roy. He was never without care, not even for a moment." He advised her, allowing her to let go of her fear and anxiety with those few words. In that moment, Sharon had a newfound respect for this firefighter. He was able to act and do what needed to be done, despite wearing his cumbersome gear, or his lack of medical training. He was even able to ignore the gore of the burns. The prankster that resided at the station was not evident in this version of the man. Only professionalism, training, thoughtful actions, wisdom, and worry remained. In this moment, she knew she happened to be riding with the best firefighters and paramedics the county had hired. The thought humbled her and she took a deep breath. Grimacing, she licked her lips, tasting the acrid smoke even now. She noticed Chet cleared his throat, a brief cough on his lips.

"You alright?" she asked cautiously, hoping she didn't overstep a boundary.

At a red light, Chet paused and looked at her. He opened his mouth then closed it, debating on what to say. He settled with, "I'm more worried about them." Sharon's thought went flying back to the coughing medics, crouching over their patients.

"Do they normally take off their masks like that?" she asked.

Chet knew what she meant and curtly nodded, "Don't like it, but can't say I blame them. I do the same." Chet sniffed and scratched his nose. "Oxygen is important." he added seriously.