"An Equitable Trade"
Chapter Three
Gage and Kelly had just left the fourth floor's stairwell and were about to start scrambling up the long, carpeted hallway, that would lead them to Apartment 418, when the first continuous blast from Engine 51's air-horn came wafting their way.
The panting pair exchanged anxious glances.
McConike was 'closing' the building. Which meant: they needed to get out now—with, or without, their victim.
"Since we're already here," Kelly breathlessly reasoned, "we may as well make it 'with'."
Gage grinned. "I agree, Chester B.!"
And so the two kept right on climbing.
The air-horn's third long blast ended just as they fell against, 'the' door.
Chet reached up and tried the knob. **
Locked.
Both men got carefully to their unsteady feet, and then struggled to stay on them at such a ridiculously steep angle.
"Fire Department!" Kelly called out, all-be-it a bit breathlessly. "Is anybody in there?!"
Silence.
"Fire Department!" he called again.
More silence.
"Stand back!" he advised. "We're coming in!" Kelly pulled a hunk of nylon webbing from his coat pocket, slipped a half-hitch over the door's knob and then passed the end of the strap off to his helper. "Think she's already 'down and out'?"
Gage kept one hand on the nylon strap and the other locked onto Kelly, in an attempt to keep him on his feet. "Nobody brought any broken ankles into Triage."
Kelly whacked the inward-opening wooden portal three times—from top to bottom, with the adze tip of his halligan.* "Then why doesn't she answer?" He assumed a teetering batter's stance and swung at the locked portal with full force, deeply embedding its long, tapered pike tip into the tiny crack between the door and the jamb—just above the knob.
Gage shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe she lost her hearing aid in the kerfuffle?"
Kelly rocked the pike tip until that tiny crack became a big gap. He pulled the pike out of the jamb, flipped his forcible-entry tool around and rammed its forked claw into the gap he'd just created. "I think maybe you lost your mind in the…kerfuffle."
Gage flashed him another grin.
Which went unseen, since Kelly's chest was currently pressed up against the halligan. Chet threw his considerable weight into the bar, being careful to keep his fingers outstretched. The lock gave way and the portal popped open.
Gage used the strap to keep the 'forced' door from flying into the apartment.
One of Chet's shaggy brows suddenly arched in thought. "What's a kerfuffle?" he wondered, as they started sidestepping through the opened doorway.
An elderly woman was seated on the living room floor, beside the sofa. Her broken ankle was already in a cast and they could see that she had been crying.
The old lady did not look happy to see them. "Why did you have to go and do that?"
The paramedic would've liked answers to about a half-dozen questions of his own, but there simply wasn't time. He shoved the inflatable splint back into his coat pocket. "Our orders are to get you 'down and out'.
"I believe you just received new orders. Your firemen friends out there weren't merely 'honking at passing motorists'," she added, upon noting their surprise. "I can't leave without Mister Munson," she further stated, as the taller man stooped to scoop her up into his arms.
"Where is he?"
"Behind the couch."
Her rescuers brows raised again, at that reply.
"But I'm afraid you'll never catch him," she tearfully predicted.
And the firemen finally realized she was referring to her 'pet', and not some guy.
At least, they hoped she was.
The relieved pair glanced at one another and came to an unspoken agreement.
John straightened back up. Well, he got as straightened up as he could in the steeply slanting living room. "Where do you keep your linens?
"In the hall closet. Why?"
Gage retrieved a bed sheet from the hall closet.
Kelly cut a two foot length of cord from the window blind.
John shook the sheet out and used it to form a tent over his end of the sofa.
Chet spooked the feline from his end and it fled into the sheet tent.
John gathered the linen up into a sort of a sack and Chet used the cord to secure it.
Just like that, and in no time flat, they had caught the cat.
The old woman's eyes teared up anew, only this time they were tears of joy. "That sure worked slick!"
"We get an awful lot a' practice," Kelly explained.
Gage set the cat down on the couch and scooped their victim up into his arms.
"How come I get the cat?" Kelly complained, snatching up the noisy satchel. (An unhappy Siamese really knows how to howl.)
"Because you look like you're about to keel over," the paramedic explained as he began sidestepping toward the apartment's exit, "and I don't want to have to carry the both of you down." He took extra care not to bang the victim's broken ankle against the door's jamb.
"Lead the way," Gage urged, as Kelly caught up with them in the carpeted hallway.
Chet obligingly dropped to his butt. He set the sack in his lap and then started a controlled slide toward the stairwell.
John quickly followed suit. 'Maybe Kelly wasn't kidding?' he silently realized, as his backside began to heat up. The wincing fireman leaned further back in the off chance that his canvas coat wouldn't create quite as much friction.
Kelly took full advantage of the staircase's empty 'entry' lane. He held onto the handrail on the high side of the stairs between floors 4 and 2, and John held onto him.
This arrangement kept gravity from pressing the paramedic and their victim into the wall on the low side, speeding up their descent—considerably.
Kelly did the same with the open staircase.
Somewhere between floors 3 and 2, the dying building had begun making horrifyingly loud 'crack'ing and 'creak'ing sounds.
Judging by the chunks of plaster that were pelting their helmets, the lobby's ceiling was about to let go.
They were rapidly running out of time.
"One!" Kelly, who'd been counting down the floors, relievedly exclaimed as the trio finally reached the lobby. His relief was short-lived, however, as he noticed the lobby's terrazzo floor had also begun to 'spider web'.
"Lead the way," Gage breathlessly repeated. "If it supports your weight…it'll probably hold ours."
Chet completely ignored John's jibe and clipped his lifebelt to the 'exit' rope. Why was he always letting Gage talk him into being his guinea pig?
Kelly and the cat finally reached the collapsing apartment complex's front entrance. He unclipped his belt and turned to see how far his annoying friend had progressed. He was pleased to see that Johnny only had about another 30 to 35 feet to go, and he and their victim would be home free, too.
They were gonna make it.
Suddenly, a thunderous roar sounded from somewhere off in the distance. The loud rumbling sound increased steadily in volume, drowning out Kelly's heartfelt plea. "Noooooooo!"
The first aftershock hit with nearly the same force as the original quake.
Chet latched onto the dying building's swaying entryway and watched in horror as the lobby's already fractured floor fell completely away. "John-ny!" he screamed as both his buddy and their victim dropped outta sight.
Moments later, the shaking stopped.
Kelly was about to reenter the building when somebody latched onto the collar of his turnout coat and yanked him back from the brink.
14's Captain kept right on half-pulling and half-dragging Kelly away from the crumbling structure. He didn't release his protesting prisoner until they'd reached the 'collapse distance', roughly, fifty feet, the equivalent of the building's height.
"I gotta get to him!" Chet frantically informed the fire officer.
Cranson spun his clueless captive around.
Kelly watched, in even greater horror, as the still swaying building finally lost its battle with gravity and collapsed—like a house a' cards.
"Everybody accounted for?" 51's captain breathlessly inquired, as he and his engineer came jogging up to the Incident Command Center.
"Two known casualties—so far," the aide solemnly replied. "One civilian and…one firefighter."
Stanley winced at the news and quickly surveyed the scene.
Kelly was standing in front of the debris pile. Lopez was seated on their engine's back running board, and Stoker was standing right there beside him. Thankfully, his crew was all accounted for. Which meant…
Hank turned to 14's Captain and gave him a look of sympathy and support. 51's Captain was confused to find the look mirrored in Dean Cranson's face…and the faces of the other firefighters in the area. Hank's already heavy heart skipped a few beats and his helmeted head swung in the direction of their rescue squad.
His paramedics were nowhere in sight.
The heaviness in Hank's chest increased by a hundred fold. The day that every Captain dreads had arrived. Hank had just lost one of his men.
But…which one?
Stanley directed his stunned gaze at Battalion 14's Chief.
McConike was on the radio, informing headquarters of what had just transpired. He released its 'send' button. "Gage was exiting the building with a victim when the aftershock hit. The lobby's floor and ceiling gave way. Two seconds later, the whole damn building came crashing down. I'm terribly sorry, Hank. Gage was a good man."
'Tell me something I don't already know!' Stanley silently, and insubordinately, fumed. "Have the authorities been notified?"
McConike nodded.
"They'd better find the murdering bastard before I do!" Hank angrily declared. Then, since he couldn't get his hands on the guy responsible for Gage's 'line of duty' death, 51's captain whipped his helmet off and hurled it down at the pavement, instead. Stanley promptly spun on his heels and went storming off.
Mike picked up his p.o.'d C.O.'s helmet and followed him over to their engine.
"Where's Roy?!" the still-fuming fire officer demanded of Lopez.
"I just came from Rehab," Marco quietly replied, the sadness in his voice matching the look on his mustached face. "14's paramedics said that Roy had to accompany a cardiac patient to Rampart. They've requested another ambulance. So he should be making it back here any minute now."
Station 51's Captain exhaled an exasperated gasp and then 'regrouped'.
Dealing with an LOD death was an aspect of his fire officer training that Hank had hoped—and prayed—he would never have to draw on. He did a quick mental review and realized he'd skipped the denial and isolation stages and gone right into the anger phase—displaced aggression—to be more precise.
'Displaced…Like taking your anger out on inanimate objects, complete strangers and…your own crew.' Hank rested a hand on his lineman's slumped shoulder. "Sorry, Marco. I didn't mean to shout."
"No problem, Cap. I chewed out the guys in Rehab…and my helmet bounced under the truck."
The no longer fuming fire officer gave Lopez's shoulder and appreciative pat and then directed his sorrowful gaze toward the other mustached member of his crew.
Kelly was still just standing there across the avenue from them, staring at the remains of the building that had just swallowed up their young friend.
'The isolation stage,' Stanley sadly and silently surmised.
For the moment, all Chet was feeling was frustration. He desperately wanted to reach his friend. Whether Johnny was alive…or dead, he just wanted to reach him. He'd come up with the quickest way to accomplish his mission, and he was frustrated because McConike's aides wouldn't let him 'bother' the Chief until he was off the radio.
An elderly gentleman suddenly stepped up beside him and pointed to the fireman's make-shift satchel. "Is Mister Munson in there?" he sadly inquired.
"Hu-uh? Uhhh. Yeah." Kelly had been so busy planning and plotting, he'd forgotten all about the cat.
The grief-stricken guy extended his arm. "May I take him?"
"Who are you?"
"Edward Greenbough…the III. Eleanor, the woman you were sent in to save, lives…lived across the hall from me. The two of us were very…close. She would want me to take him."
"Where will you go?" Kelly inquired, keeping a tight grip on the bag.
"Home."
"I thought this was your home."
"If it is true, that 'home is where your heart is'…Then I guess you are right. This was my home. I just have five other 'places in which to live'. Six, if you count the flat in Paris."
Kelly's brows arched in disbelief. But he finally, reluctantly, relinquished custody of the cat.
"Thank you. I can assure you that 'M' will be well taken care of."
That said, Chet went back to staring at the story-and-a-half high mound of rubble.
The elderly gentleman stayed and stared, right along with him. "Thank you for trying to save her."
Kelly nodded his appreciation of the guy's gratitude. "I'm…sorry for your loss."
"I am equally sorry for your loss. The other young man was clearly a close friend of yours."
Speaking of the other young man's close friends…
Chet's mustached face suddenly filled with a grimace. "Ahhh…man…Roy."
The incident scene suddenly grew very quiet.
McConike had finally finished shouting into his radio.
Kelly's concern for John Gage's partner was immediately put on hold. "Excuse me, Mr. Greenbough," he begged off, and went bolting over to where the Battalion Chief's car was parked.
Speaking of John Gage's partner…
The returning paramedic popped his ride's back doors open and hopped out onto the pavement. DeSoto removed their equipment cases from the back of the ambulance, as well, and then had a long look around.
The first thing Roy noticed was that the already dangerously slanting apartment complex had finally nosedived—completely—into the ground. Judging by the amount of dust that was still hanging in the air, he'd just missed seeing its collapse.
The second thing was that Triage had been turned into a Rehab Area.
The Red Cross had apparently kept its promise to return and transport the quake victims to the closest community shelter, because the bright yellow drop sheets were now occupied by his fellow firefighters.
Judging by all the IVs, cold compresses, hanging heads and sagging shoulders, the evacuators were suffering from dehydration, heat exhaustion, and over-exertion.
The third thing that came to his attention, after stowing their cardiac monitoring equipment away, was that Johnny was nowhere in sight. "Anybody seen my partner?" he inquired, of all who were within earshot.
His fellow firefighters exchanged solemn glances.
Seconds passed, but nobody said a word.
Cal' Brinkman finally raised his right arm and motioned toward the Chief's car.
The puzzled paramedic gave the engineer a grateful nod and then headed off in that direction.
An uncomfortable feeling came over Roy as his fellow firefighters refused to make eye contact with him. He spotted 51's engine crew and froze.
The look—on all four of his friends' faces—was one of profound sadness.
'No Johnny…everybody acting as though someone has just died…' Roy's lungs suddenly stopped functioning and he staggered back a step, as though he'd just been sucker punched in the gut. He had! The implications—how people were reacting to his presence, and the looks on the guys' grief-stricken faces—were truly gut-wrenching.
DeSoto just stood there, stunned—beyond belief.
51's Captain came forward and steered his stunned crewman over to their engine. Hank sat John's partner down on the truck's back running board and locked a supportive hand onto his sagging left shoulder.
It was a full five minutes before Roy recovered enough to speak. "Whe—" the paramedic had to clear his tightened throat, in order to complete his question. "Where…is he?"
His crewmates shifted their solemn gazes toward the enormous mound of still-settling rubble, directly across the avenue from them.
So, not only was his best friend dead, he was also buried beneath a thousand tons of debris.
'Nah-ahhhh…' Roy's reeling brain could not—would not—wrap itself around that gruesome scenario.
Besides, just because Johnny had been buried didn't necessarily mean he'd been crushed to death. Hell, Chet was always calling Johnny scrawny. His partner had fit into some pretty tight spaces in the past seven years.
Hopefully, he'd found one more to fit into.
So…there was a slim chance that Johnny had just been entombed—and not crushed. His partner was just 'supposedly' dead. Roy's head—er, heart chose to wrap itself around that scenario, instead.
The visible half of Squad 51 suddenly leapt to his feet and went racing over to the department's 'powers that be' "Gage could still be alive!" he exclaimed, giving voice to his wishful thinking.
The Chief's aides just gazed silently back at him with a mixture of sadness and sympathy in their faces.
DeSoto was, understandably, still in the early stages of grief. The first, of which, was denial.
"The department is acting under that premise," McConike assured him.
The now confused paramedic's puzzled blue eyes re-scanned the incident scene.
There was a complete absence of any fire department 'activity'.
"Then, why isn't anybody doing anything?"
"These crews are completely exhausted," the Chief patiently explained. "More manpower and equipment is on the way. We can't do anything until it gets here."
"What happens when it does get here?"
"Well, Kelly's come up with a pretty good plan. I think maybe he should be the one to answer that. " McConike motioned for 51's lineman to take over.
"Since the shortest distance between two points is a straight line," Chet obligingly began, "and since it would take too long—and be too dangerous—to try to dig down to them through all that debris, we're gonna tear up the walkway and front step, and then tunnel through what's left of the basement, shoring things up along the way. Thirty, maybe thirty-five feet straight in, we'll find them."
As to whether the daunting task would end in a 'rescue'…or a 'retrieval'?
Well, either way, they would reach them.
'Gage is awfully scrawny,' Kelly reminded himself for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes. 'And Eleanor was—is really thin, too.'
Battalion 14's Chief stepped up to Station 51's Captain. "Hank, I'm ordering you and your crew to return to quarters."
John Gage's shiftmates—and friends—exchanged mutinous glances.
"I need you guys to be well rested," McConike quickly continued, before 51's Captain and crew could voice their vehement protests, "when I send you in there tomorrow…to bring them out."
51's five remaining 'guys' gave their benevolent boss looks of undying gratitude and then reluctantly began taking their leave.
The Chief heaved a sigh of relief, which was short-lived.
One of Stanley's men wasn't moving.
"Hank!" McConike called out.
'Hank' obligingly turned back and the stationary paramedic was promptly pointed out to him.
DeSoto was just standing there, staring at that enormous mound of rubble.
Stanley stepped up beside him. "Roy?"
Roy was trying to recall the last thing he and his partner had said to one another.
"Try not to cause any kerfuffles while I'm gone," he'd teased, following his friend's amusing inquiry.
"I can't make any guarantees," Johnny had joked right back.
"Ro-oy?!" the Captain repeated, and finally succeeded in getting the day-dreaming paramedic's attention. "You okay to drive?"
"Huh? Uh…Yeah…yeah," Roy numbly replied, without breaking eye contact with the four compressed floors of wood and concrete that were keeping his partner entombed. He rested his right hand on the radio that was clipped to his hip. "I just wish there was a way to let him know that we're coming back…that we haven't given up on him."
"Believe me, pal…" Hank paused to pat the paramedic's chest a couple a' times, right about at the level of his hurting heart. "He knows."
Roy gave his Captain an appreciative nod and his partner's temporary grave one last, lingering gaze. Then he turned and started trudging toward their squad.
The remaining members of Station 51's A-Shift were halfway home* when their trucks' dash-mounted radios began to 'bleep'.
"Squad 51…What is your status?"
Hank and his engine crew exchanged exceedingly grim glances.
Talk about a reality check.
"LA," Roy quietly replied, without even bothering to reach for their radio's mic', "Squad 51 is…not…available…at this time." The shock was beginning to wear off, and so was the ensuing numbness. He swallowed hard and forced himself to continue. "One half is returning to quarters…" he paused, like he always did, to allow his partner to chime in.
"And the other half is still on scene."
Gage's cheery reply resonated through DeSoto's memory with such crystal clarity, that he could actually hear the smile in Johnny's voice. Roy glanced to his right, half-expecting to find his lanky-legged friend seated right there, beside him.
But he wasn't.
And there were no guarantees that he ever would be…again.
Roy's vision began to blur, as the emptiness of that black leather seat became unbearable. He blinked, to clear it. But it was blurring faster than he could blink. So he was forced to pull the Squad over.
Following a wordless exchange with his front-seat passenger, Mike pulled over and parked Big Red, right in back of Roy.
Hank and his engine crew just sat there, in a silent—yet visible—show of support for their grieving shiftmate.
They would need each other's support. They had just lost their brother.
Roy would require the most support of all, for he had lost, not only his brother, but his best friend.
"Squad 51—"
Stanley made a frantic grab for their radio's mic'. "—L.A.," he interceded, before the dispatcher's disconcerting question could be repeated, "Squad 51 is…unavailable. At. This. Time," the Captain quickly, and confidently, tacked on.
"Copy that, 51…"
TBC
* A halligan is one of the most useful tools a firefighter has because it allows him to smash, poke, pry, push & pull. It's a long steel bar with several different tips on it: one end has a fork/claw, the other end has both a pike and an adze/duck-bill.
**Explanation of forcible entry procedure on an inward opening wooden door with a wooden jamb: (Note: This is the way I was trained to do it in our department.)
1. Always try before you pry.
2. Secure/Control the door: Someone may be lying unconscious on the floor behind the door and you don't want it to go flying open when it's forced, and hit that someone in the head. So you secure it with a drained hose or nylon strap, or even another halligan.
3. Shock: hit the door hard top center and bottom, to both weaken it and check for additional locks.
4. Gap: drive the pike in between the door and the jamb, just above the knob, and then rock it to create room for the fork/claw.
5. Force: Ram the fork/claw end of the halligan into the gap and then pry, by pushing the bar forward, to pop the door open. Keep your hands open-palmed on the bar, to keep from cracking your knuckles against the door, or smashing your fingers.
Hope these explanations help you to picture what is taking place and why it is being done. : )
***Firefighters don't refer to their quarters as Stationhouses for nothing. ; )
AN: Thanks to the 700+ readers who took the time to view "An Equitable Trade" Chapter Two, and thanks for all the Follows. : )
Special thanks to the 5 readers who were thoughtful enough to feed this old E! writer's arthritic typing fingers, by taking another moment or two to post a comment back. : D
: ) Ross7