"Godzilla and The Smog Monster"

Chapter Thirty-One

Nancy Pearson was sitting at her station in ICU's Room 600-A, calmly sipping her coffee. The RN's alert blue eyes continuously roved from one wall-mounted television monitor to another. The alarming scene up on the #4 screen caused the nurse to set her steaming cup down and straighten in her seat. The woman's eyes remained riveted to the #4 screen. Her freed right hand deftly began reaching for the unseen 'send' button on the room's intercom. Her fingers found it and pressed it. "The patient in 604 is seizing!" she dutifully reported. "Page Dr. Kurtz!"

Speaking of the patient in 604…

Kelly heard Gage groan.

The reader raised his gaze up from page 147 and watched, with growing alarm, as the paramedic's body suddenly stiffened and then began to jerk—uncontrollably.

Chet tossed the book aside and leapt up out of his seat. He pressed the room's 'call' button and then slid the hospital bed's side rail down. The fireman braced his buddy's heavily bandaged head with both hands and used his forearms to hold John's jerking shoulders down on the bed. "Hang on, babe," he gently urged. "Help is on the way."

Just outside the open door to ICU's Room 604…

Officer Lee Turinen's eyes about doubled in size, as a whole herd of hospital staffers suddenly came stampeding down the corridor. His right hand dropped instinctively to his hip, but then he just sighed—in surrender—and quickly stepped aside.

The hospital people were apparently on an urgent mission.

Speaking of stepping aside…

Kelly reluctantly turned his head and shoulder holding duties over to an orderly and began backing away from his buddy's hospital bed. The fireman pressed himself up against the wall and then watched, helplessly, while drugs were injected into the seizing patient's IV port.

John Gage's jerking limbs gradually stilled and a fresh set of vital signs were gathered.

The medical information was no sooner recorded, when a white-besmocked doctor type came racing into the room. The new arrival skidded to a stop at the foot of Johnny's bed and extended his right hand.

The patient's medical chart was promptly placed in it.

The doctor perused its contents for a few somber moments. Then he pulled a pen from one of his smock's front pockets, scribbled something down on the chart, and passed it back to the nurse.

The fact that no one was saying anything had an already deeply-concerned Chet Kelly feeling even more concerned. "Is he okay?" the worried fireman finally came right out and inquired.

Somebody had to break the room's insufferable silence.

Kurtz turned and gave the questioner a questioning look. "Who are you?"

"Chet Kelly. I'm, uh, John's friend…and fellow firefighter. Roy's takin' a break…"

The physician flashed Roy's replacement a warm smile. "Paul Kurtz. You're 'brother' is gonna be fine. This was just John's concussed brain's way of telling me that it's too soon to try tapering off his anti-seizure medication." Seeing that the questioner still looked a bit concerned—and confused—Kurtz quickly continued. "That bullet struck his left temple with so much force, it sort a' scrambled his brain's electrical circuits. We've been keeping him on anti-convulsants, to give his badly injured brain time to heal. The seizure was just his bruised brain's way of showing us that it needs more time."

Kelly had the irresistible urge to quip: "Gage's brains are always 'scrambled'." But then he recalled how his last 'light' comments concerning the paramedic's health had turned out, and quickly bit his tongue. The reader slowly sank back into his seat and the crowded hospital room gradually emptied.

Twenty minutes later, more footsteps could be heard coming down the corridor.

"Sorry I'm so late getting back," Roy apologized, as he came rushing into the room. "Cap and I were having coffee, down in the Doctor's Lounge, and I sort a' lost track a' time. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

Chet raised his gaze up from Roy's book and pretended to appear lost in thought. "Hmmm…Lets see…First, the cops held a freakin' convention in here…and then he went into convulsions. Other than that, it's been relatively quiet," John Gage's 'sitter' summed up, his words oozing with sarcasm.

DeSoto studied the notorious 'kidder' carefully, but couldn't tell if Kelly was serious, or not. So he picked up his 'still peacefully sleeping' partner's medical chart and studied it, instead.

Sure enough! Johnny had just suffered a seizure.

Roy's worried gaze immediately returned to Chet. "What did the police want?"

"Seems they gave Gage, here, a really rough time the other night. Near as I can tell, they came to apologize. Oh, yeah—" the still completely mystified reporter paused to point a finger at the nearest med' stand, "they, uh, also returned his wallet and his 'paramedic stuff'." Kelly was pleased to see that Gage's partner appeared to be every bit as 'mystified' as he was. "I, uh, guess I'd better be going," the reader reluctantly realized. The fireman closed the book in his hands and got stiffly to his feet. "But, I can come back—and give you another break—tomorrow morning," he readily volunteered.

Roy flashed the eager volunteer a warm, grateful smile. "Ahhh, Chet…you really do care."

"Nah-ah. I'm just anxious to find out 'who dunnit'," Kelly—the kidder—jokingly corrected and handed the vertical paramedic back his half-read mystery novel. He gave DeSoto's peacefully sleeping partner one last deeply-concerned glance…and then quickly took his leave.

Kelly had no sooner left, when yet another visitor arrived.

"Hey, Roy," Greg Garnett solemnly acknowledged, as he came stepping into the ICU room. The paramedic was obviously 'on duty', as he was wearing his uniform and carrying an HT.

"Hey, Greg," Roy greeted their unexpected guest.

"How's Johnny doing?" Garnett quickly queried, his hushed voice filled with concern.

Roy had an even better question. "How'd you get in here?"

"The nurse, down at the desk, said it was okay—just as long as I didn't stay more than two minutes." Greg's deeply-concerned gaze resettled upon his partner's peacefully sleeping form. "How the hell could this happen?" he angrily demanded. "I am soooo sorry, Johnny." He glanced back up at Roy. "That should be me, lying there in that bed."

Gage caught Garnett's disturbing comments and, once again, felt compelled to speak. "What did…Pam say…when you…popped…the question?"

Garnett was surprised to find that the 'traumatic brain injury' patient was conscious…well, kind a' conscious. "Johnny! Man! I am soooo sorry! I don't know how I'm ever gonna make this up to you."

DeSoto was alarmed to see his fireman friend fighting the sedative.

A slight, forgiving smile formed upon the horizontal paramedic's lips. "You can…start by…buyin' me…a…new pair…a'…black jeans…" the fireman informed his deeply-troubled friend, "and a…new…white…dress shirt."

Greg heard the request and was forced to smile. "Thanks, Johnny. Pam said 'yes'."

Johnny's smile broadened a bit, but then quickly faded, as he lost the 'fight' and succumbed to the sedative.

"Get better soon," their 'on duty' visitor urged and turned to take his leave.

Roy picked up the room's wall-mounted phone's receiver and placed a call. "Yes. This is Roy DeSoto, in ICU 604. Could you page Dr. Kurtz and have him call me?"

Five minutes later…

Paul Kurtz exited the elevator on the sixth floor and stepped up to the ICU's Nurses' Station. "Nurse Shelby," he addressed the pretty, petite blonde RN who was currently on duty there, "I understand that you have been allowing the patient in Room 604 to see visitors…"

"Yes," the woman admitted. "Since you allowed Special Agent Rousseau in to see him, I assumed Mr. Gage was now allowed visitors—just as long as they didn't stay more than two minutes, that is."

"Well, Nurse Shelby, you assumed wrong. I may have upgraded John's condition from critical to serious, but I assure you, he is definitely NOT in any shape—yet—to be dealing with visitors. With the exception of Roy DeSoto—and Mr. Kelly—this patient is NOT to be 'disturbed'. Understood?"

"Yes, Dr. Kurtz," the apologetic young lady promised.

Paul heaved a huge sigh of relief and turned to leave.

Kel Brackett exited the elevator and strode up to John Gage's doctor. "What's up?" he anxiously inquired. "I heard you being paged—again. How's he doing?"

"Considering that, at one point, the patient was clinically dead, I'd say he's doing remarkably well," Paul assured the young paramedic's good friend.

Brackett breathed a big sigh of relief, himself. "Can I buy you a cup a' coffee?"

Kurtz readily took him up on his offer. "Thanks. I could sure use a caffeine fix."

TBC