"A Measure of Luck"
Chapter Three
Chet Kelly was following—er, trying to follow one of the searching paramedics down the burning building's second-floor hallway. But, despite his best efforts, the gap between the two men had continued to grow. Heck, he would have had a hard time keeping up with the really swift sweeper, even if he wasn't pulling a fully charged, ridiculously cumbersome, stiff and heavy hose along.
Kelly found himself having to crouch lower and lower, in order to remain below the thickening level of oily black smoke, which hovered just over his helmeted head.
The practically crawling fireman heard the apartment that was closest to the fire 'flash' and watched in horror, as its door blew out. He also witnessed his shiftmate being slammed into the hall wall by the force of the blast. 'Oh gawd!' he thought, 'I just killed John!' Why oh why oh why-y…did he have to go and throw that damn pen away?
By the time Chet reached the prone paramedic's position, John's low air alarm had already been 'clang'ing for awhile.
Gage, who appeared to still be a bit groggy from his head-on collision with the hall wall, suddenly found himself unable to draw a breath.
The lineman saw the panicking paramedic reaching for his faceshield. Chet knelt on the nozzle and attempted to latch onto John's wrists.
But the frantic fireman was able to free his forearms and rip the rubber mask from his face. John sucked in several deep breaths of the surrounding superheated air. His burning lungs immediately registered their displeasure by doubling the smoke-breather up in a fit of violent—and obviously painful—coughing.
Tentacles of flame, from the open door to 204, were now licking at both firefighters' feet.
Chet grabbed the brass nozzle beneath his knees, opened up his charged line and quickly doused them. Then he latched onto the back collar of his fitfully coughing friend's turnout coat and began retreating down the now completely smoke-filled hallway.
The mustached man met up with two of 36's guys at the top of the stairs. He turned his charged line over to them. Then he hoisted his still hacking buddy up over his back, and quickly carried him down the hazy stairwell …and out of the burning building.
Kelly carted a still somewhat 'groggy' Gage over to where Squad 51 was parked, and sat his still coughing burden carefully down on the grass between the sidewalk and the curb. He shoved his helmet back and peeled his facemask off before dropping to his knees. Chet ditched his friend's helmet and faceshield, as well. Next, he unbuckled and unhooked John's air-pack harness and quickly set the SCBA aside. "Just lie back," he gently urged and eased his breathless buddy the rest of the way to the ground. "Don't go anywhere, babe. I'll be right back with the respirator…"
John was breathing—and hacking—too hard to respond verbally. So he simply nodded.
Kelly scrambled to his feet and quickly crossed over to one of the truck's left rear compartments.
Roy came out of the burning building just then, carrying an elderly woman in his arms. He'd found Mrs. Anita Spencer bed-ridden in her ground-floor apartment. The little old lady had recently fallen and bruised her hip. He glanced in their squad's direction, and spotted a 'grounded' fireman. DeSoto saw the paramedic emblem on the fitfully coughing fellow's discarded helmet, and his heart skipped a few beats. He handed his burden over to his colleagues from 36's, and then made a beeline for Squad 51.
"Am I glad to see you!" Kelly exclaimed, as Roy came running up. "One of the second-floor apartments 'flashed'. Gage, here, got his bell rung. He, uh, also managed to eat some smoke."
DeSoto slipped out of his SCBA and dropped to his knees beside his dazed buddy. "Talk to me, Johnny!" he encouraged and started unclipping the clasps on his hacking partner's coat.
Kelly had the respirator up and running and was about to place an oxygen mask over Gage's sooty, tear-streaked face—when his hands were suddenly batted away.
"I-I'm okay," John assured his caregivers, between bouts of violent, and clearly painful, coughing. "I'm…*cough, cough, cough*…good to g—" the fireman started coughing so fitfully, he couldn't even finish his statement.
Roy groaned inwardly. He swore, his friend could be hemorrhaging from every orifice in his entire body, and he'd still insist that he was 'good to go'. "Sounds like you're good to go, all right…straight on over to Rampart." He snatched the non-re-breather mask from Kelly and slipped it into place on his unhappy partner's face. "Chet, we're gonna need to immobilize him before we transport."
Kelly took the hint and started trotting toward the rear of the truck.
John groaned and started reaching for his oxygen mask.
Roy slapped his hand away and continued his initial patient survey. "Don't move your neck. Just respond with a simple 'yes' or 'no'. Did you hit your head?"
"Yes. I gue-ess…" the patient reluctantly croaked, between coughs. It was clear that the victim's vocal chords had also become irritated by the intense heat and thick black smoke.
"Did you lose consciousness at all?"
"No. At least, I don't think so…"
Chet returned just then, toting their trauma box and a backboard.
John's watering, red, smoke-irritated eyes widened with alarm and he made another attempt to reach for—and raise—his oxygen mask.
Kelly was able to drop the equipment he was carrying, just in time stop him.
DeSoto paused in his exam to glare down at Gage. "You try to touch that one more time," he warned, looking every bit as stern as he sounded, "and your wrists will be tied down…right along with the rest of you."
"Ahhh, ma-an!" Gage grumbled, between coughs. "Why? Why? Why-y…did I hafta go an' lose my lucky pen?"
Chet Kelly swallowed hard and gave the back of one of John Gage's tightly clenched fists some sympathetic pats. 'Sorry, babe…but I honestly didn't know the damn thing was your lucky charm.' To him, it was just a stupid old, beat up, dried up pen.
"What happened, Kelly?" their Captain anxiously inquired, as he came trotting up.
"That last apartment he was sweeping suddenly 'flashed'. He got blown—headfirst—into a wall. He had hit his bypass, so his regulator must a' been givin' 'im some grief. And he must a' got his bell rung, or somethin', cuz he seemed sort a' dazed. By the time I got to him, he was completely out of air. Ma-an, I tell yah, Cap...if he hadn't a' stooped down, to mess with his facemask, he'd a' been standin' right in front of that door when that apartment blew. It could a' killed 'im…" 'I could a' killed 'im,' Kelly mentally corrected, and gazed anxiously down at his still coughing coworker…and friend.
Hank shot his injured man, and his really worried-looking rescuer, a couple of concerned glances, and then turned to his senior paramedic. "How's he doin'?"
DeSoto pulled the tips of his stethoscope from his ears. "His vitals are actually pretty normal…for him. But he really needs to go in and get checked out. As you can clearly hear, he swallowed quite a bit of smoke, and he could have a possible concussion."
Gage's red, watering eyes widened in horror. He grabbed onto his oxygen mask, pulled it clear of his soot-covered face, and opened his mouth to protest. But then he saw his partner's piercing blue eyes turning into piercing blue daggers, and quickly clamped his jaws closed.
Their Captain couldn't help but smile. "Why don't you guys get him ready to transport. And I'll go see if I can rustle you up some transportation."
Roy replaced his coughing partner's—er, his coughing patient's oxygen mask…again.
John Gage gazed gloomily skyward for a few solemn moments and then emitted a muffled, "Damn it!"
Dr. Kelly Brackett greeted John Gage's gurney as it was guided into his ER. The physician noticed the horizontal half of Squad 51's paramedic team had his wrists restrained. "Did he become combative on the way in?"
Roy shook his head. "Uncooperative, actually. He just couldn't keep his hands off his O2 mask."
The physician witnessed the wordless exchange between paramedic and patient, and suppressed a smile. "We're set up for him in Three," he informed the two attendants who were towing Johnny's stretcher, and turned to follow them.
DeSoto caught the departing doctor by the sleeve of his white coat. "Uh-uh, Doc…Kin I have a quick word with you?"
"Sure, Roy. What's on your mind?"
"Johnny lost his 'lucky' pen today. He's convinced himself that that battered and dried up old green pen has been keeping him out of the hospital. If he has to stay here, that's just going to reinforce his 'misguided' belief. So, if there is any way you can possibly avoid admitting him, I'd—we'd sure appreciate it."
Kel gave John Gage's concerned partner a reassuring slug in the arm. "In that case, I'll see what I kin do…for him a-and you." The physician flashed the grateful looking fireman a wry grin and then headed off down the hall, in the direction of Exam Three.
"C'mon," Roy invited, as Chet Kelly caught up to him in the corridor. "Let's go get some coffee. We may be here…a while."
Kelly gazed glumly down at the tiled floor beneath his feet for a few solemn seconds and then resignedly followed DeSoto into the Doctors' Lounge.
TBC