"Godzilla and The Smog Monster"
Chapter Twenty-Four
Worried about the young man's steadily rising temperature, Dr. Kurtz had ordered the nurses to begin administering a new combination of powerful antibiotics. The doctor had also reduced the dosage on his traumatic brain injury patient's sedatives.
In ICU's Room 604, later that fever-filled afternoon…
The gunshot victim's partner was still keeping his vigil.
Roy DeSoto was seated comfortably in a chair beside his brother's hospital bed. There was an open—unbelievably thick—hardcover book in his lap, and he was reading aloud from it. "Chapter Forty-Eight," he continued, following the flip of yet another of the mystery novel's many pages. "Inspector Greenley was not looking forward to returning to Brighton Hall. Especially since Miss Sutherland's tragic—" the paramedic paused, right in mid-sentence, and redirected his gaze, as his partner suddenly gripped his right hand hard—really hard!
ICU nurse, Robin Torris, was in the process of replacing her patient's latest drained IV bag. She heard a distinct change in the quiet, steady 'bleep'ing coming from the cardiac monitor over her head and glanced up.
The patient's heart rate had just increased—rather dramatically!
Less than an instant later, Mr. Gage began gagging on his airway.
The book went flying, as its reader immediately leapt to his feet. "He-ey…take it easy, Johnny…" Roy calmly requested, when his feverish friend began tossing his heavily bandaged head rather frantically from side to side. The paramedic cradled his panicking partner's hot face in his cool hands and did his level best to keep him from thrashing about.
The RN carefully pulled the trach' tube from her choking patient's throat. After pressing the room's 'call' button, and giving John's chart a quick glance, she turned toward the med' stand and proceeded to prepare a hypodermic syringe.
With no trach' tube left to battle, DeSoto's distraught buddy calmed down—considerably.
Roy's hands slid down to grip his hurting friend's shoulders.
The moment his airway was removed, Gage had begun groaning. Emitting one heart-wrenching groan with each labored, ragged breath.
Roy swallowed hard and kept a comforting, and calming, grip on his pained partner.
The nurse tapped the air bubbles from her fully loaded syringe. Then she tossed the bed sheets back and promptly emptied the hypo into the hurting young man's left thigh. With the pain med' now on board, the woman set about reestablishing her pneumonia patient's supply of much needed O2. Once Mr. Gage's oxygen mask was in place, and functioning properly, Nurse Torris began gathering a fresh set of vital signs.
Mr. Gage's muffled groans gradually turned to muffled moans. Within a matter of minutes, the patient had ceased making any sounds, at all. Finally, the fireman's feverish head rolled limply to the left and he was perfectly—peacefully—still, once more.
'Too still,' Mr. DeSoto silently—and sadly—realized.
Normally, John Gage exuded energy. It was most disturbing, not to mention downright unnatural, to see his—usually in perpetual motion—partner remain so still for so long.
Roy heard footsteps coming down the corridor and looked up in time to see Johnny's surgeon, Dr. Brackett, and two other nurses, step through the room's guarded doorway.
Miss Torris pulled the tips of her stethoscope from her ears. "He came to about five minutes ago and started gagging," she informed the new arrivals. "I removed the airway and administered his prescribed pain med'. The patient is now resting comfortably. He was in sinus tach', but his vitals have now stabilized and his heart rate has returned to normal."
The two physicians stared up at their critical patient's cardiac monitor, looking tremendously relieved.
Paul placed the back of his right hand against the fireman's left cheek and cursed beneath his breath. "He's still burning up!"
The RN nodded. "His temp' remains 103.4 degrees, Doctor."
Kurtz cursed again and turned to his colleague. "Remember those 'complications' we've been 'barring'?"
"It takes time, Paul," Brackett reminded his bitter associate. "It's only been four hours. The new drug combo just hasn't had a chance to kick in, yet."
The surgeon exhaled a gasp of complete exasperation and then had a long—and thorough—listen to the fireman's lungs. After all that this poor guy had already been through, he sure didn't need to have to deal with a particularly stubborn bout of aspiration pneumonia! Kurtz swore again, this time, aloud. The young man's lungs remained severely congested. If the latest combination of antibiotics didn't 'kick in' pretty damn quick, the doctor was concerned that his patient could be 'cashing it in'—pretty damn quick! Paul pulled a metal clipboard from a hook at the foot of the bed. After discussing various treatment options with his equally concerned colleague, the doctor jotted down a few more changes to John's medical orders. Kurtz replaced the chart and turned his attention to the exhausted looking guy that was keeping a firm grip on his feverish—but no longer pained—patient's hand. "I don't suppose I could convince you to go home and get some sleep?"
DeSoto lifted his solemn gaze, from his friend's impassive face, to the physician who had just posed the question. "No. No-o, I don't suppose you could."
Both doctors flashed the determined fireman sympathetic smiles.
Kurtz exhaled an exhausted sigh himself, and then he and Brackett reluctantly exited the hospital room.
DeSoto pulled his partner's arm straight up and slowly began to rotate it. Besides reading to his bed-ridden buddy, Roy had begun exercising Johnny's inactive arms and legs for him, in the hope that he wouldn't be so stiff and sore, once he was brought out of his heavy sedation. The paramedic had watched the physical therapist stretch his motionless pal's limp limbs long enough to know exactly how it should be done.
John Gage found himself seated at a large, round, wooden card table, in a gloomy, candlelit room.
Seated around the table with him, were his four stuntmen friends.
He saw that his buddies were all staring down at the center of the table…at a Colt .45 pistol.
Nobody said a word. It was like they were all in some kind a' hypnotic trance, or something.
John continued to watch, as Gary Woolen gradually reached out and picked up the gun.
Gary slowly inserted a .45 caliber cartridge into one of the slots in the revolver's rotating chamber. He gave the gun's chamber a spin. Then he cocked its hammer and raised its barrel to his right temple.
John watched, in horror, as his friend's finger began to tighten on the trigger. His jaw dropped open, to protest. But he couldn't make any words come out.
His friend's finger continued to squeeze the weapon's trigger.
The horrified fireman shut his eyes—tightly—and held his breath. John jerked, as the gun's hammer hit the empty chamber with a loud, metalic 'click'. He exhaled an audible sigh of relief and slowly raised his eyes' lids.
Gary released a relieved sigh himself, before passing the pistol on to Gordy.
Gordon LaSalle spun the Colt's chamber, recocked its hammer, and then placed the tip of its barrel against his right temple.
As Gordy's finger started to squeeze the pistol's trigger, no one spoke a word—or made any attempt to stop him.
Gage shut his eyes tightly and jerked again, at the loud 'click' of the weapon's hammer striking another empty chamber. The fireman released his held breath and forced his eyes back open.
Gordy looked tremendously relieved and passed the pistol on to Denny.
Dennis Rygel went through the same insane ritual…and then passed the gun to Phil.
Gage clamped his lids down over his eyes and placed his hands over his ears. But he couldn't block out the sickening sound of that loud, metalic 'click'. His already elevated blood pressure shot through the roof and his already rapid respiration rate increased—considerably. The paramedic's hands began to tremble. His body went rigid and he broke into a cold sweat. John opened his eyes just in time to see Phillip Lucas hand the weapon over to Rog—. The fireman's racing heart skipped a few beats.
Instead of his stuntman friend, Roger Eavens, a stranger was now seated beside him, and, instead of raising the gun's barrel to his own temple, the man turned and pointed it right at the petrified paramedic's head.
John Gage stopped breathing.
Roy was right in the middle of a knee bend. Suddenly, Johnny's limp left leg went rigid on him. Moments later, the cardiac monitor's steady, rhythmic 'bleep'ing turned totally chaotic. He gave the stiff leg's owner an anxious glance and was alarmed to find that—besides going completely rigid—it seemed his sedated buddy had also ceased to breathe.
DeSoto immediately shifted, from 'physical therapist', into full paramedic mode. He pinched his partner's nostrils shut and then began to breathe for him.
TBC