Chapter Two

Chet soon found a suitable area to make camp that was near the plane, but also offered some cover. He would have preferred a cave, but there was none in the immediate area, and he needed to get Johnny settled. He went back into the plane and carried the footlocker out into the clearing. Quickly, he pulled out the shovel and the Pulaski and cleared the small rocks and the brush out of the way and smoothed the area out. He built a fire ring, gathered some brush for kindling and chopped some small branches for firewood. He got a fire going and set up a crude shelter and laid out blankets and soon had a meal set up. He had found some coffee, for which he was eternally grateful. He had gotten the lanterns out of the plane and ready to turn on once it got dark. He had been keeping track of Johnny throughout his preparations, but the paramedic had shown little sign of regaining consciousness.

Eventually, the camp was as ready as Chet could make it. He had moved all their supplies from inside the plane. He had cut extra wood, so they had plenty. He had moved Ed's body and buried him in a shallow grave and covered it with rocks to protect him from predators. He figured they could move him when they were rescued. And now it was time to move Johnny into the shelter by the fire. Chet really wished his Pigeon would just wake up, because he really was scared to carry him that far. He didn't want to hurt him, but he couldn't drag him out of the shattered fuselage of the plane without risking hurting him even more than he already was.

~51~

Later that night, Johnny had been showing signs of waking up, but seemed as if were becoming delirious and Chet wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He lay back in his blankets staring at the stars in despair. He was scared, and half sick with fear. For some reason, his mind went back to stories his father used to tell when he was a kid of his grandfather's experiences when he served overseas in France during WW1. He had lost an arm in Verdun, and though he had never really told them all the details, Chet remembered the photograph above the mantle that had pride of place of his own father and his grandfather.

The old man had one arm around his son, and one empty sleeve pinned to his shirt. His father was dressed in his uniform and was getting ready to ship out with his unit. His father had served in World War 2. He had come home basically unscathed, for which Chet would always be grateful. But Chet had never really known his grandfather. He had died when Chet was very young. He had vague impressions of him… fleeting impressions only.

Sometimes he envied his older brothers and sisters, who had gotten to spend a lot more time with him, especially because the old man had lived with them during the last five years of his life. Chet had been only three when he died. But he remembered his booming laugh and his bright eyes… green, like his own. And he remembered the smell of cherry pipe tobacco whenever he was nearby. Memories he would always treasure.

Memories. What memories would people have of him if he didn't make it out of this? He could hear it now. Tears had begun to course down Chet's face as his thoughts overwhelmed him. "Kelly? Oh yeah sure, I remember him. He was that guy that was always pullin' pranks on people, right? Yeah. The one who never took anything seriously in his life. He was a good lineman but couldn't settle down enough to even pass the engineer's test. Yeah, I remember him. He was always doin' stupid stuff. He tried to learn to fly and ended up killin' himself and two other people, including the best paramedic the county ever had.

"Bullshit." The voice in the darkness startled Chet. He hadn't realized that he'd voiced his thoughts out loud.

He looked over to see Johnny staring at him. "What?"

Johnny's face was as serious as Chet had ever seen him. "I call bullshit, Chet. We aren't dead yet. And I know you. If we get out of this, it will because you make sure we do. I trust you, Chester B. So shut up and get some sleep, because I gotta tell you, pal, I think I'm in a whole lotta trouble here, an'—" realization seemed to dawn in his eyes and a confused expression settled into his features.

Suddenly frightened, Chet scrambled out of his sleeping bag, and knelt by John. "What is it?"

"I dunno, but—" wide, frightened chocolate eyes stared into his own. "I don't know, Chet. There… there's something really bad happening. My-muh—head—hurts. Ch—I-aahh—aaaaa…" And suddenly John's head turned awkwardly to the side and his body arched into a gran-mal seizure.

Fortunately, this was something Chet knew how to deal with. His training kicked in and he turned John gently onto his side and made sure there was nothing he could hurt himself on. He knew there was nothing else he could do under the circumstances, and he could only pray John would come out of it quickly, and that he would not stop breathing, as sometimes happened with seizures of this type.

He also knew better than to try to force anything into John's mouth to stop him from biting his tongue. It was probable he would have some oral trauma, but it was far more dangerous to John to try to force anything into his mouth. Patients had actually been harmed by the practice. In the past the old wive's tale that people could swallow their tongue during a seizure had given birth to the harmful practice. Chet knew that what likely had happened in those cases was that the patients' throats had swollen, or they had suffered respiratory failure.

Thankfully, the seizing stopped within a few minutes and John lay quiet, though he did not regain consciousness immediately. Chet watched him carefully, noting he had lost bladder control, which was not surprising.

He went into their supplies and gathered what clothing and blankets he could, as well as what he needed to clean John up. He had no direct experience with the aftermath of a seizure, but he understood that what had happened would be hard for John to deal with, and he intended to try to make it as easy on his friend as possible. He was not prepared for the impact of what awaited him when John opened his eyes nearly 45 minutes later.

Chet had managed to get John changed out of his wet jeans, cleaned up and into a pair of sweats. He had also moved John's old sleeping bag outside their shelter and gotten him into a different bag, all without John coming around. In a way it was good. But in a bigger way it scared the hell out of Chet. Because it wasn't right, and Chet knew it.

Finally, John began to stir, as Chet was building up the fire. Chet went over and knelt anxiously next to him. "Johnny, you okay?"

Slowly, brown eyes cracked open and gazed up at him muzzily. He was quiet for a long time, simply watching the man staring down at him. As awareness seeped slowly into his brain, panic began to register in his expression. Because the man behind those chocolate eyes registered absolutely no awareness of who he was or what had happened to him.

Chet frowned at the confusion on John's face. "What's wrong, babe?"

John's brow wrinkled as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He ached all over and he felt as if all the energy had been forcibly sucked out of his body. Worse, he had no idea where he was, or who the man staring at him was. He opened his mouth to ask, and suddenly realized he also had an even bigger problem. He had no clue who the hell he was himself. He shut his eyes as his mind tilted.

Chet panicked when Johnny moaned. "John? Gage! Are you okay, man? What's goin' on? Johhny! Look at me! You're scarin' me, pal! Come on!" He put his hand on his friends shoulder and shook it. He was startled when an iron grip suddenly wrapped around his hand. "Don't. Touch. Me."

Chet looked down into John's dark eyes, which were now so dilated they were almost black. His expression was bleak-almost blank. "John, what is it? What's wrong?"

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "I don't like to be touched by strangers. And I don't know you. And I don't know who this Johnny is. And I have never seen you before in my life."

~TBC~