Chapter 6

Marco had been right when he had said that they were lucky with the building they had just searched. This one was a confused jumble of abandoned, heavy machinery along the side of one wall; across the other side ran smaller machines along with a handful of makeshift offices woven between the metal workhorses. Shining his light into the nearest cubicle, Roy could see that the tiny, square shaped space was large enough for a small desk, two uncomfortable chairs, and a filing cabinet. The walls were constructed out of barn siding laid horizontally about two thirds of the way up, with door less entryways. Obviously privacy or soundproofing was not a factor to be considered when the little cubbies were built, simply a division of space. Roy flashed his light away and back towards the center of the structure.

A wide aisle way traversed the length of the entire building, or what had obviously been the main thoroughfare for the once bustling business. The only reason the medic realized this was because there were traces left of a white paint that outlined the walk. Now cardboard boxes, rolls of paper, and what looked like the garbage from all four buildings was strewn about. The wood floors were hardly visible through the mounds of hazardous debris and even as Roy scanned the area, he caught sight of several rats scurrying to safety. He shuddered and looked over his shoulder at Marco, who nodded to confirm that he had just seen the rodents.

Roy indicated with his hand that the lineman go right, while he would check to the left. Lopez nodded again and moved cautiously off, able to see only a few feet within his beam of light. By unspoken agreement, they tried to stay within sight of each other's glow. Even though Roy knew that the men from 36s were at the front of the building, he couldn't see or hear them.

A shiver of apprehension slivered through him and he shook it off, anger at his reaction quickly replacing it. He could feel the unreasonable and completely unwarranted emotion washing over him and he snarled within his mask, his concern for his missing friends and crewmates suddenly taking a back burner. Part of his mind was telling him that he was not being himself, but the jeering, hissing dominant part right now was telling him otherwise. As his body moved mechanically through the forever stilled machinery and the scattered refuse, eyes darting back and forth, his thoughts began a two sided debate….

"Can't believe Kelly and Gage got themselves lost, what kind of firemen are they? And why aren't they communicating?"

"Probably because they can't! The HT from the squad is in your pocket so Johnny doesn't have one, and Kelly's sounded like the batteries were failing or it was running into interference!"

"What do you mean they can't? What kind of partner do you have? Is he hurt again? Or maybe he just can't find his way out of a wet paper bag!"

"Just what do you mean by again? He's only been hurt once, when he slid down that hill, and that was minor! Getting a shot of radiation while he was retrieving a victim from a hot zone just shows he's dedicated to his job. And since he's the one that navigates to our calls, he sure could find his way out of a wet paper bag! You're just jealous because people listen to him!"

"Oh, so now you're bringing in your little fight with your wife! And comparing her to your partner, the guy you've been working with for only a year? Who are you really angry with here, Mr. DeSoto - your wife, Gage, or maybe….yourself?"

Roy slapped a hand to his head, which was beginning to throb once again with a hammer like intensity, and paused for a brief moment in his search. What was wrong with him? There it was again, that "listening" business that had been dogging him all day. A simple verbal argument with his wife that had started out as a tickling breeze, the kind that blew paper plates off the table during a picnic or frisked sand down your shirt on the beach, was rapidly blowing into a category five hurricane. Obviously, his reconciliation attempt with JoAnne had only been the eye of the storm. Otherwise, why would the misunderstanding, fight, argument or whatever it was, keep reappearing in his thoughts? He had always thought that he could separate work from home, which was often imperative in the line of work he did; he had managed it quite successfully for most of his firefighting career. Yet today, today had been something else! Either he had delusions about his mental strength, or today was the beginning of a downward spiral into a desk job that he did not want, at least for another twenty years.

And to top it off, here he was in the middle of a search and rescue for his two crew-mates, and one half of his apparently dried out grey matter was arguing with the other half about the coordination and compass reading skills of his work partner? What an shining example of mental strength! More specifically, the lack of…. Not the fight with JoAnne, not even the whereabouts and physical well-being of guys he was friends with – his stupid brain was fighting with itself over klutziness and paper bags!

So was he angry with himself? Of course he was! At this hazy point in time, wasn't he the only one that he should be angry at? He had no reason to be mad at his wife; she had only been speaking her mind. Arguments were arguments, and there was usually some truth in the things spoken in anger. They really had made up, or at least were heading in the right direction, and would figure out what had gone wrong and try to avoid or fix the same mistakes from happening again.

As for Johnny, well he had just happened to be collateral damage to the whole debacle of the day. Wrong place, wrong time, that kind of thing, was the only rational explanation for the misdirection of his ire towards the guy he worked with. He had made his apology to his easily forgiving friend, or at least tried too, so there was no reason for his brain to keep harping on his poor behavior towards both him and his wife…

Rational…..He expelled a shuddering sigh and knew he was in trouble. His thoughts were shooting in twenty different directions, he was having trouble concentrating, and his bursts of anger and paranoia were both unexpected and frightening. Physically he wasn't in much better shape with the pounding head and the stomach that was beginning to roll up and down. Something was going on, but he just couldn't seem to hold that thought for long enough to figure out what it was.

Swallowing hard, the paramedic dropped his hand from his head and forced himself to move forward and channel all his emotions and attention into what he had to do. He was relieved that at least he seemed to be able to still accomplish that. Recalling the unstable flooring in the building they had just searched, his steps were careful and almost tentative. There was a reason that both Johnny and Chet were not responding to the radio hails and the muffled shouts that Roy could now hear from the north entrance; he had a strong feeling that the slightly spongy feel to the surface under his boots was playing a strong part in it.

"Johnny! Chet!" Sliding his mask to the side, he added his calls to those echoing around him. Less than a minute later, his HT crackled to life within his pocket and he fished it out with a hopeful, slightly shaking grip. Chet Kelly had been located close to the entrance.

Listening to the chatter issue forth, he learned that his colleague appeared to be ok, just a bit disoriented from tapping his hard noggin against an unseen obstacle. Kelly was telling his rescuers that he had lost consciousness for at least five minutes, but Roy surmised it had been for much longer. The crew from 36s obviously agreed with him, as they called for a paramedic. Roy's hand automatically brought the radio up towards his mouth to acknowledge the call but the medic team from 36s immediately responded; they were already outside of the building.

The question remained, however, as to where Gage was. Chet had not seen or heard from him since he had returned to the north entrance to get a fresh tank. Roy slid his mask back in place, having had enough of the dust laden air. He glanced to his right and caught a glimpse of Marco's bobbing light, now ahead of his position. If Johnny had been only minutes from completing his side of the structure, logic would dictate that he had probably been wending his way back towards the out of air lineman. So how far had he made it before something had stopped his forward progress?

The low air alarm on his SCBA interrupted his musings and Roy slapped at the offending noise in irritation; his momentary calm was shattered almost as fast as he had believed the foundation of his marriage was crumbling. He shut off the incessant racket, yanking off the mask once again and letting it dangle. An echoing blare shrilled across the aisle way and he realized that Lopez's tank was emulating his own. Time was running out, both for his missing friend and his own sanity.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Silence seemed to descend upon the cavernous area. Seconds slipped by as Roy's befuddled brain seemed to be idling, unable to shift into gear. He snapped to attention as a faint clanking sound reached his ears. Arguments, indecision, and doubts slid away. Vaulting forward, he played his light across the once pristine floor. Nothing obvious caught his attention - no bass bands were playing, or flags waving, or fans shouting. The sound had dissipated, leaving him to wonder if he had just imagined the tapping…..no, no he had heard it, he had been listening.

He stepped into what looked like the last cubicle, instinctively dodging a falling flash of orange. Quickly he stomped it to oblivion, flashing a piercing gaze upwards. The HT jumped into his hand and he reported the wisps of smoke that were slowly spiraling downward, along with an occasional chunk of tinder seeking fire. His shin bumped into the edge of an exceedingly wide and long metal desk and he grimaced, bringing down a hand to steady himself against the smooth surface. He began to turn and paused as his suddenly sensitive ears picked up the tiniest anomaly in the thick air around him; the faintest whisper of a sound that didn't belong.

He slid his hand along the top of the desk, noting with a curious detachment the downward slant towards the south side of the building. Dropping to his knees, he warily crawled along its side, running his hand along the bottom edge. On this side of the massive, hulking beast the metal ran almost to the floor, obscuring his view of underneath it and beyond.

Coughing as his knees stirred up more dust to add to the airborne particles, his hand found the corner of the desk. He warily snaked his hand around it, finally feeling the leg and continuing beyond it. His fingers encountered scarred flooring, the splintered edges of wood, and then nothingness. He fought the urge to dive around the desk and explore the space; under his knees he could feel the weakness of the once solid, load bearing floor and wondered how long it would be before the hulk of metal descended to the basement below, taking him with it if he was in its path.

He coughed again, but didn't touch the dangling mask to take advantage of the remaining air. The overwhelming feeling, instinct, or whatever it was that was washing over him warned him to leave it off; he needed to be able to hear without the distraction of hissing air. SOP dictated that he get out of the building now, and not breathe in any more of the polluted air that was beginning its choking journey to his lungs. He couldn't bring himself to leave, even though he knew that it was the smart, the safe, the right thing to do. There was a hole in that floor either under part of the desk or in front of it, and he had a strong feeling that somehow Johnny had firsthand knowledge of that gaping maw.

Gingerly he scooted a little to the left of the desk and forward, trying to stay on firmer ground, feeling with his hands as he moved. He jumped when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. Marco was leaning in towards him, arm and hand stretched out to avoid the spray of water that was now cascading down over the area from the roof and creating a dark pattern on the back of Roy's coat. DeSoto hadn't even noticed the flame quenching deluge and felt a surge of panic as he realized the weight of the water was only going to add to the flooring problem.

"Don't move any closer, Marco!" He warned quickly, thrusting out his own arm to block any movement. "The floor is unstable and there's a hole…"

Lopez stepped cautiously backwards, bumping up against the planked wall. He did a strange crab like step sideways until he reached the doorway and stepped out. He leaned back in, planting and keeping his feet on the firmer surface. "Come on Roy, it's gonna take us at least five minutes to get out of here. And between that roof and the floor, I don't think you want to find out which is going first."

"Hold on, hold on," the paramedic muttered, teeth clenched in concentration as he crawled around the desk, scraping his shoulder against the wall of the cubicle. The custom made desk was so large that it took up most of the office space; only several feet separated the right side of the metal giant, where DeSoto was crouched, from the plank walls of the office. He was finally able to make out the outer edge of the jagged opening peeking out from the bottom lip of the desk. Emulating the crab like movement Marco had exercised before, he awkwardly side stepped in a hunched position around to the front of the desk and saw where the hole extended to the kneehole. The whole break in the floor was probably not much bigger then the lid to the fifty gallon metal trash can Chet was always polishing at the station. Incredibly, the desk appeared to have slid across the floor at just enough of an angle to miss plunging its legs into the blackness below.

A wave of doubt flooded over the paramedic as he flashed his light across the dark cavity. Johnny was slim, but even as skinny as he was there was no way he could have fallen through that hole with his bulky coat and SCBA on. Unless he was caught up on the edge of it and dangling over the waiting, gaping jaws of the unyielding crevasse below? His jaw tightened as he considered the possibility. The light wavered in his unsteady hand as he angled it into the hole, trying to see, his outstretched arms pressed firmly against the floor and gauging the stability as the weight as his body followed along behind. And then, there it was again, for a few hopeful seconds, the faint clanking sound that had caught his attention the first time. So no hallucinations…

"Listen, Marco! Can you hear that?" His voice rose in pitch as excitement vibrated through him. Behind the desk and to his left the lineman replied but Roy didn't hear him, only the silence once again filling his ears. He inched the rest of the way to the irregular and shattered lip, now on belly and forearms, trying to distribute his weight evenly. Water was beginning to trickle into the hole and the echoes of it drummed a merciless beat into Roy's head.

Other noises began to intrude on his concentration as he bent over the hole and swung his beam downwards into the dark cavern; he could hear Marco shifting uneasily and then shouting something directed towards the main entrance. The familiar drag of a hose being pulled, thumping of shoes and turnout boots, shouts of men approaching, all these sounds added to the hammering of his heart and the thundering gallop of blood rushing to his head.

He forced himself to focus on the ray of light pooling on the cement floor below and pushed all of the other distractions, imagined and real, aside. Some kind of narrow cabinet caught his attention first, but it was the object it was lying across and pinning firmly to the grayness of the cold concrete that caused him to lean over farther into the hole, balancing precariously. His eyes traced the outline of a hand gripping a flashlight, then followed the outstretched arm to a black helmet…

"There! He's there…..hold on, we're coming….Johnny!" **

~TBC~

A/N ** The last line of this story ties into "Reflections" (yes, shamelessly promoting one of my other stories!) – So if you haven't read that one or want to revisit to read Johnny's POV, this a good time to do it!