"Godzilla and The Smog Monster"
Chapter Five
John Gage arrived at Station 16 a full fifteen minutes early and found Greg Garnett waiting for him out in the back parking lot. 'Uh-oh…This can't be good,' he thought. The paramedic opened his car door and started to step out.
"Gage! Thank God!" Garnett grabbed his replacement by the arm and began dragging him toward the building's back entrance. "Squad 36 just put in a request for additional squa—"
"—Wait! I hafta—"
"—They're at a T.A. over on Milbourne. Which means we are gonna be getting the ca—"
"—Greg, let me—"
"—And the response time to a T.A. over on Milbourne, counting treatment on scene, hospital follow up, and the ride back here, will make me over an hour la—"
"—Greg! Will you just—"
"—I can't afford to be an hour late! I mean, I can't just walk in her front door and say: Cindy, will you marry me? I need some time to set the moo—"
They'd reached the brick building's open back entrance and the loud blaring of the Station's tones drowned out the rest his words.
Both the back entryway and the garage were well lit. Which allowed Greg to get a good look at the way his replacement was dressed. The pushy—er, pully paramedic froze in the open doorway and a look of pure panic filled his face.
His upset captive was finally able to plant his feet and pull his arm free. "Don't rush me! I hate being—"
"—Squad 16…Squad 12…" the dispatcher suddenly cut in, "Assist Squad 36 with a multiple injuries traffic accident…in the 1200 block of East Milbourne Avenue…one-one-two-zero East Milbourne…Time out…22:45"
Greg's facial expression changed from pure panic…to shock and horror…and, finally, utter disbelief. Johnny was still in his street clothes! "Where's your uniform?"
Gage gave Garnett an angry glare. "That's what I was trying to tell you! It's out in my car!"
"Squad 16…KMG 393," Captain Mason acknowledged. He passed Craig a copy of the call slip and then aimed a rather annoyed glare of his own at the two statue-like paramedics, standing in the Station's back entrance. "Will one of you kindly get yourself into this squad!" he ordered more than asked.
Greg gave the Captain a desperate, pleading look.
John gave the Captain a confused, questioning look.
Mason, who'd been informed of Garnett's engaging plans for the evening, momentarily allowed compassion to cloud his better judgment. "Keep your turnout coat and helmet on—at all times—Gage! And change into your complete uniform, the instant you get back!"
"Aye, aye, Cap!" John promised and quickly climbed into the passenger's side of the squad. "I'm gonna need your assessment kit!" he shouted out to Greg.
Garnett unclipped his paramedic's assessment kit from his belt and tossed it into the truck's open window, just as it began pulling out of the parking bay. "Thanks, Cap!" the groom-to-be told Mason. "Thanks again, Johnny!" he called after his departing replacement.
"Don't mention it…" Gage grumbled, still sounding somewhat miffed. He hated being rushed. He slid Garnett's helmet on—repeatedly, and was finally able to adjust its band to a comfortable fit. He snugged up its chinstrap and then turned his attention toward his temporary partner. "You know where we gotta go?"
Brice nodded—once.
"Good. Because I sure don't know how to get there."
His temporary partner made no attempt to respond.
The squad's driver seemed pretty intent on completely ignoring its passenger.
In fact, Brice drove the whole entire way to the accident scene without giving Gage so much as a single glance.
Within eight minutes, they'd reached the 1200 block of East Milbourne Avenue. It appeared as though four vehicles were involved in the multiple injuries T.A.
John jumped out, shrugged his leather jacket off and tossed it onto the truck seat. He clipped Garnett's assessment kit to his belt and then went to pull the compartment containing Greg's turnout coat open. "Ah-ah!" he cried out in agony, as something in his right wrist gave—but the compartment door didn't. He grimaced and gasped and stood there, flexing his wrenched wrist and staring down at the stuck door, in complete confusion. "What the—?"
"I see DeSoto didn't warn you about the compartments," Brice said, as he came trotting around the back of the squad. He inserted a key and twisted it. "I like to keep them locked, at all times."
John just continued to stand there and watch, as Craig continued to insert and twist his key into each and every compartment's lock. "No. No-o. He di—wha—why-y?" he wondered, but then gasped in frustration. "Never mind. We can discuss it later…on the way back to the Station." He pulled the now unlocked compartment containing Garnett's turnout gear open, donned the coat, grabbed the bio-phone and the drug box and went jogging off across the debris-strewn street.
Gage trotted past several police squad cars, a couple of completely demolished sports cars and up to two other paramedics, who were busy working on one of the vehicles' severely injured occupants. "What d'yah got, Mark?"
Squad 36 paramedic Mark Griesen glanced up. "A bloody mess! Everybody's been triaged and tagged! Just pick a car and go to work!"
John nodded and went to work.
Forty-five frantically busy minutes later…
John heard the sound of metal grating on pavement and turned to watch a wrecker tow a badly mangled vehicle away, clearing one of the busy street's three lanes for traffic.
'Take the human bodies to the hospital, the car bodies to the junkyard. Sweep up the broken glass and debris. Wait for one good rain to wash the crimson stains from the street…and the stage will be all set for the next real life tragedy,' the paramedic thought, rather morbidly. There were times when he just wished he wasn't one of the stagehands.
Watching the final curtain come down on peoples' lives would never be an easy thing for him. In fact, it was the hardest part of his job. He used to rationalize that 'Oh well, somebody has to do it.'
But a young kid had just died in his arms, and—right then—he just wished it could've been somebody other than him.
"I got it, Malcolm!" Gage said, latching onto the side of a stretcher and helping an attendant load it into the back of a waiting ambulance.
"Thanks, Johnny!"
"No problem!"
One of Squad 12's paramedics climbed in with the victim.
The ambulance's back doors were closed and it sped off, with its lights flashing, its siren blaring—and Squad 12 trailing in its wake.
Mark Griesen heaved a heavy sigh. "Well," he stated wearily, "that's the last of them…" The relieved rescuer then turned and flashed his reinforcements a grateful grin. "Thanks for the help, guys! Yah did great!"
Gage returned his grin. "Yeah? Well, you guys were pretty 'great', yourselves!"
One of Engine 36's guys was hosing down a fuel spill.
John jogged over asked him to spray the blood-splatter from Garnett's turnout coat.
The guy agreed.
Not desiring to get wet, the paramedic removed the bloody coat and then held it out at arm's length.
Griesen saw Gage's strange attire and turned to Brice. "What's he doing dressed like that? That don't exactly look like a standard regulation uniform!"
"It's not supposed to," Brice replied, his voice and expression perfectly serious. "Gage is working undercover."
Mark's jaw dropped.
John caught the comment and was forced to grin.
"It's something new the Department is trying," Craig solemnly continued.
The undercover paramedic pursed his lips. Gage gave the guy from 36's a grateful grin. Then he redonned his soggy—but clean—coat, and started gathering up their gear.
"If one of us botches something up," Brice went on as he, too, began to gather up their equipment cases, "the paramedic dressed as a helpful bystander assumes full responsibility for it. That way, the Fire Department avoids a costly lawsuit, and the paramedic dressed in street clothes simply disappears into the crowd, protected from any damages' suits—under California's Good Samaritan Law."
John and Mark couldn't help but laugh.
Heck! Everyone, within earshot of Craig's comments, was now chuckling.
Brice somehow managed to maintain his perfectly straight face. Which he suddenly turned toward his temporary partner. "I am afraid this new 'undercover' policy will only work in theory. I for one feel—and I think Griesen, here, would agree—that you are simply too good at what you do. You could never pass yourself off as an innocent by-stander. The odds of someone—randomly stepping from the crowd and successfully establishing an IV in a nearly collapsed vein—are simply too astronomical. So, when we get back to the Station, I strongly recommend that you change into your uniform. I'll explain to the Captain. I'm sure he'll understand."
Gage realized this must just be Brice's way of saying he did okay. He gave Craig a grateful nod, and then said, with a smile, "Thanks! I'll be sure to do that!"
Griesen turned to Gage and grinned. "It must be a real joy, working with someone who has such a great sense of humor!"
John replaced his equipment cases and then watched, as Craig started locking all the compartments back up. "Yea-eah," he agreed, his hushed voice filled with sarcasm. "He's a regular laugh a minute…"
Mark caught the quiet comment and his grin broadened. "Bye, guys!"
"See yah around, Mark!" John called after him. Then he turned to his temporary partner. "Loo-ook…when we leave the Squad unprotected, the drug box and bio-phone are with us."
"True. But we carry a lot of other valuable supplies and equipment, as well."
"That is true," Gage was forced to agree. "But why are you locking the doors now? We're the only ones here! You afraid one of us is gonna steal the equipment?"
"I am merely following Department Regulations. Department Regulations state that all compartments, on all Rescue Squads, shall be kept locked when not in actual use."
"When what is not in actual use? THEY don't say whether it's the compartments or the Rescue Squads."
"They mean the compartments, of course."
"You sure? They don't actually come right out and say 'the compartments', now do they…"
"Perhaps not. But that is what they are inferring to."
"They may be inferring that to you. To me they are inferring to when the Rescue Squads are not in actual use. An' another thing…If you're so 'hep' on following regulations—to the letter, why did you leave the compartments open after we took out the gear? Why didn't you lock them back up when they were no longer in actual use?"
"There was no need, with two police officers standing right—" Brice cut the rest of his remark off and heaved a sigh of resignation. "Your point is well taken."
"Great! Then, we can keep the compartments unlocked?"
His fellow paramedic appeared horrified at the very notion. "Of course not. I meant your point about there being no exceptions given in the Department's regulations."
Gage stared at Brice in disbelief. He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sudden 'bleep' ing of their Squad's radio.
"Squad 16…What is your status?"
Gage reached into their truck's open passenger door and grabbed its dash-mounted mic'. "LA, Squad 16 is available at scene…"
"10-4, Squad 16…Standby for a response…"
John climbed the rest of the way into the truck and closed the door.
Craig slid his body back behind the wheel and his helmet back on his head.
Two seconds later, their Station's tones sounded.
"Squad 16…Management at the Diamond Groove Disco reports a woman down…unknown cause…1411 West Corey Blvd…cross-streets Nathan and Paris…one-four-one-one West Corey…Ambulance is responding…Time out…23:03"
John jotted the address down on a call slip and then thumbed the radio's mic' again. "10-4, LA…Squad 16 is responding. Request ETA at our incident of police back-up…" He caught Craig's questioning glance and shrugged. "What can I say? I'm basically a very insecure guy," he joked, over the sound of their siren.
It was several blocks before the dispatcher finally got back to them.
"Squad 16…No police back-up has been dispatched to your incident…No officers are available for routine follow-ups at this time…Authorities advise that you assess your situation thoroughly—for just cause—before requesting police assistance…"
John stared down at the mic' in his hand. "Well, now, that's just great!" he insincerely exclaimed. "They'll only come when we need 'em real bad! And I want 'em to come before we need 'em real bad!"
"Squad 16…Did you copy that last?"
Gage exhaled an exasperated gasp and reluctantly thumbed the call button. "Squad 16…Roger that, LA."
TBC