"A Measure of Luck"
Chapter Two
Station 51's paramedics completed their thorough search of the kitchen and slowly sauntered back into the rec' area.
"It's no use," Gage glumly conceded and proceeded to plunk his posterior into the nearest chair.
Chet chose that moment to reenter the room. Kelly's "No-o!" cry blended well with Gage's groan.
"What the—?" the paramedic proclaimed and popped back up onto his feet to examine his soggy as—er, backside.
Speaking of seats and paramedics…
In his haste to pick up after the destructive pair, Chet had set his Danish down on the seat of that very chair.
Gage groaned again, as his probing fingers came back smeared with jelly—raspberry jelly, judging by the taste of it.
"Oh…Way ta go, John!" Chet chided and peered down at his squooshed snack in disgust.
Kelly wasn't the only one who was disgusted.
Gage gazed disgustedly down at the remains of Chet's Danish. It wasn't the first time he'd sat on one of Kelly's misplaced pastries. "Why do you insist on using 'chairs' for 'plates'?"
Kelly's only answer was a good question of his own. "Why don't you ever look where you're sitting?"
Gage returned to the kitchen, grumbling beneath his breath. The peeved paramedic tore a piece of paper toweling off the roll, wet it from the faucet, and began removing the sticky substance from the seat of his trousers. He kept tearing and wetting and removing until the toweling came away clean.
John tossed the wadded up paper balls into the trash and then turned toward the largest piece of furniture in the entire room. "Allow me to introduce you to a marvelous old invention. It's called a table. You really should try it out sometime…soon!"
"The table wouldn't a' been any better. I've seen you and Roy sitting up there, too—plenty a' times," Kelly continued to tease, and traded mischievous glances with Mike and Marco. "No. I'm afraid no surface is ever completely safe from Old…Jelly Ass."
"Oh yeah?" Gage griped. "We-ell, then perhaps you should just keep your food in your lap. I guarantee yah, that is one surface you'll never catch me sitting on!"
Before Kelly could come up with a witty retort, the Station's alarm sounded.
"Station 51…Station 36…Battalion 14…Structure fire…2787 Angelina Way…Cross streets: Chocolay and Howser…Two-seven-eight-seven Angelina Way…Time out: 18:36…"
The five firemen filed out into the Station's parking bay and piled into their respective trucks.
"Station 51. KMG-365," Captain Hank Stanley acknowledged, prior to passing his paramedics a copy of the call address. Then he crossed the bay and climbed up into Engine 51's cab.
Both vehicles exited the garage, with their lights flashing. The two trucks turned onto the broad, five-laned street, which ran in front of the fire station, and went wailing off in the direction of the burning building.
The firetrucks' drivers didn't need to follow the dispatcher's directions too closely.
A thick column of billowing black smoke could clearly be seen, rising up from the horizon, while they were still a good six blocks away.
When they finally arrived on the scene, a mere two minutes later, Hank Stanley was not surprised to find that they were 'first in'. After all, Station 51 was in closest proximity to the call site.
The fire had to have been freely burning for some time before the alarm had come in. For several of the dwelling's windows had already blown out, and flames were already poking up through its shingled roof.
Hank raised his hand-held radio to his lips and thumbed its send button. "L.A., Engine 51. We have a two-storied, wooden-framed apartment building one-quarter involved. The fire has already vented and we have flames visible through the roof. Request additional alarms and respond, at least, two ambulances to our location…"
"10-4, Engine 51…"
"Captain!" a rather frantic, middle-aged fellow came coughing up. "I can't account for all the tenants," he breathlessly continued. "Some could be out…some could still be inside."
The Captain lowered his HT and turned to his crew. "I want you guys to run a quick sweep," he told his paramedics, as the two men came trotting up, air-packs already in place.
The sweepers nodded and started heading for the apartment complex's main entrance.
"Chet, Marco, grab a couple a' inch and a half's and accompany them."
"Right, Cap!" his linemen acknowledged. The two men finished donning their SCBAs and started heading for Engine 51's hose bed.
Hank escorted the coughing apartment manager over to the Squad's back running board and sat him down. "Just stay put til the other paramedics get here. They're probably gonna wanna give you some oxygen and check you over."
The guy flashed the kind fireman a slight smile and seemed grateful for the chance to sit still.
To save time, the two paramedics had split up.
While Roy was quickly and efficiently searching the burning building's ground-level apartments, John was busy sweeping its smoke-filled second floor.
Gage worked his way down the hazy, hot hallway, his search taking him closer and closer to the raging fire. He reached the apartment that was nearest to the inferno and was just about to bang on the door to 204, when his SCBA's regulator suddenly stopped working. The experienced firefighter didn't panic. Since it was now too smoky to see, he simply felt around for the breathing device's bright red bypass knob. His fumbling fingers finally found what they'd been searching for and his air-tank's airflow was switched over, from pressure/demand to constant pressure.
The searcher heard a loud 'whoosh'ing sound and crouched beside the door to set his flashlight down on the floor. He needed both hands free, in order to snug up the rubber straps on his leaking facemask. John got his faceshield sealed and his helmet resituated. Then he latched onto his flashlight and started to straighten back up.
The deadly mixture of superheated air and combustible fire gases inside the un-searched apartment chose that very moment to ignite.
There was a deafeningly loud explosion and the door to 204 was blown clean off its hinges.
The fireman's body was buffeted by the blast and he was flung sideways. His helmeted head hit the hall wall—hard, and his recently re-sealed faceshield was jarred.
This time, John Gage was too dazed to notice that ominous 'whoosh'ing sound.
TBC
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