"A Measure of Luck"
Chapter Four
Following a full half-hour of being x-rayed and poked and prodded, John Gage found himself sitting on the edge of an exam table in Treatment Three, in an open-backed hospital gown, having his lungs listened to—for the umpteenth time.
His physician finally pulled the tips of his stethoscope from his ears. "Your lungs are in relatively good shape. No fractures, or any signs of a concussion, either," the doctor further determined. Kel gave John Gage's partner a knowing glance and then nodded in his head nurse's direction.
John's lower jaw fell open, as Dixie suddenly dropped his clothes into his lap. He gazed down at his uniform…and then up at the nurse…in both shock and disbelief. "Yah mean…I'm free to go? I've been cleared for duty?"
"That's ri-ight," the pretty RN replied. "We're releasing you…into Roy's protective custody. But, if you don't cooperate—fully—with him, I guarantee you'll be back in here so fast, that hard head of yours will be spinning. Understood?"
"Understood," Gage sheepishly acknowledged, his voice still sounding incredibly hoarse.
"Goo-ood!" the nurse sternly summed up.
The chastised paramedic cringed.
Miss McCall just stood there, smiling sweetly.
Kel shot the 'whip cracking' woman an amused glance and then turned back to their outpatient's partner—er, custodian. "You'll need to take his vitals and run neuro checks on him every hour. Every half-hour would be even better, but I realize how busy you guys can get sometimes."
"Will do, Doc!" DeSoto assured him.
"Also, ausculate his lungs every two to three hours and check his air passages for increasing edema. If his cough worsens, or if he starts showing any signs of dehydration, start him on IV fluids and haul him back in here—STAT!"
"Right!" the fireman PM further acknowledged.
The physician flashed his already half-dressed ex-patient a warm smile. "Take care out there, Johnny."
"I fully intend to," the freed fireman wittily remarked. He slid off the exam table to pull his slacks up and tuck his shirttails in. "Thanks, Doc!…Di-ix," he added, a little less enthusiastically, and quickly buckled his belt.
Miss McCall continued to just stand there, smiling sweetly.
John finished pulling on and tying his shoes. He flashed the doctor and his head nurse a nervous smile and then turned to his partner. "Get me outta here," he quietly pleaded, and quickly snatched up his assessment kit.
The physician watched as the two firemen suddenly fled from the room. Kel couldn't help but grin. "I think you scared him, Dix…"
The still-smiling nurse heaved a contented sigh. "I certainly hope so!"
The pair of fleeing firemen met up with Kelly in the corridor. Each of them picked up a piece of equipment, and then they all started heading for the ER's exit.
The trio reached the hospital parking lot. They crossed quickly over to the Squad, packed their equipment cases away and then piled in, themselves.
"Move over," Kelly requested, once the truck's doors were slammed.
"You move over," Gage countered, his voice cracking.
"I can't. Roy needs room to drive."
"Well, I can't, either. My elbow's already jammed up against the door."
"It's okay, Chet," Roy assured his middle passenger. "You can slide over. I have plenty of room…to drive."
Kelly begrudgingly slid his butt a little to the left. "There! Are you happy now?"
"I was perfectly happy before. You're the one who wanted me to move."
Kelly used his right knee and shoulder to nudge his fellow passenger further away from him. "For bein' so skinny, you sure take up a lot a' room."
Gage nudged him right back, and none too gently, neither. "Will you kindly keep your arms and legs to yourself!" he ordered more than asked.
Chet feigned wounded feelings and appealed to their driver. "Roy, your partner's picking on me."
DeSoto exhaled a weary sigh, as Kelly's latest comment launched a whole heated 'who was picking on who' discussion. He tried his darnedest to tune the racket out, and turned the key in their truck's ignition. 'Sheesh! These two are like a couple a' kids.' Actually, on second thought, they were worse than a couple a' kids. At least children sometimes behaved themselves.
"Squad 51…What is your status?" the dispatcher suddenly spoke up, putting an abrupt end to the argument.
John snatched up their dash-mounted radio's mic' and thumbed its send button. "L.A., Squad 51 is available on follow up to Rampart General."
"10-4, Squad 51…Standby for a response…" Several silent seconds passed, and then their radio began 'bleep' ing…and muted tones began sounding.
The trio traded grave glances, as muted tones continued to sound.
Kelly counted at least eight alarms, and then they all listened, as the dispatcher proceeded to announce the lo-ong string of companies that were being called out.
"…traffic accident at the eight-mile marker on the Ghasten Freeway…between the Hearst and Paloma on-ramps…Witnesses report over a dozen vehicles are involved…the eight-mile marker on the Ghasten Freeway…between the Hearst and Paloma on-ramps…Ambulances are responding…Time out: 20:02"
The three firemen exchanged even solemner glances.
There were few things worse than a freeway pile-up.
John finished jotting the call address down and re-thumbed their radio's send button. "10-4, L.A….Squad 51 responding with Engine 51."
Roy hit their truck's lights and siren, and they rode to the scene…in silence.
Squad 51 arrived at the South end of the incident within a matter of minutes.
DeSoto had purposely taken the Paloma Exit, so their truck would be parked upwind of the accident.
The three of them piled out and began pulling equipment from the Squad's side compartments.
Gage pulled a backboard from the back of their truck. Then he picked up their Bio-phone and the trauma box, and went trotting toward the first couple of wrecked cars.
Kelly followed along. He had a half-board tucked up under his arm, and he was also toting a Stokes, and towing their respirator.
DeSoto had their drug box, their cardiac monitor, and their defibrillator.
"I think we should give 'The Galloping Greyhound', here, some of our gear," Chet proposed, as he found himself lagging behind his swiftly-moving buddy, for the second time that shift. "Yah know, weigh 'im down…maybe slow him up a little?" he continued to tease, all be it, a bit breathlessly.
The lead rescuer crouched down to peer into the first of two overturned vehicles. "Oh. Ha ha, Chet." John paused to draw a breath. "Yah know, you really should consid—" the fireman's face filled with alarm, as he suddenly stopped both speaking—and breathing! His lungs felt like he'd just inhaled liquid fire. Gage grimaced, as the first agonizing wave of pain dropped him to his knees. He let go of his equipment and clutched at his chest, as a second wave of excruciating pain drove him the rest of the way to the ground.
DeSoto dropped his heavy cases, too. "No! Don't!" he shouted, latching onto the collar of Kelly's turnout coat and preventing him from stooping down to Gage's level. From what he'd just witnessed, Roy realized they must be dealing with a fast-acting gas of some sort.
This section of the freeway ran through a small valley. One of the vehicles involved in the accident up ahead must've been transporting a hazardous material—and it must be leaking out and collecting down in the valley. The poisonous gas also had to be heavier than air, as it seemed to be lying in a pocket close to the pavement.
Gage had obviously gotten 'gassed' when he'd crouched closer to the ground.
Chet glared at his fellow firefighter as though he really had lost his freakin' mind.
"There's gotta be some kind a' gas down there!" the paramedic patiently explained. "We're gonna hafta hold our breath before we go down to Johnny's level—or we'll be joining him on the ground!"
Kelly nodded his understanding.
Both rescuers drew in some deep breaths—and then held them.
Speaking of Johnny…
Gage's lungs weren't the only part of him that seemed to be on fire. His nostrils, and both of his brown eyes, were also burning—something awful! Suddenly, he felt two sets of hands under his arms, and he was hauled to his feet. The 'gassed' fireman's blurry vision continued to tunnel out on him, however, until the total lack of oxygen to his brain finally caused him to completely lose consciousness.
Roy and Chet released their held breaths. The rescuers nearly went down, as their burden suddenly sagged between them. The two men caught their collapsing colleague, regained their balance, picked up the dropped drug box and Bio-phone, and then began carting the unconscious fireman off in the direction of the Squad…with the respirator in tow.
It was slow going. Mainly, because Roy kept stopping every few feet, to set down their drug box and radio, and administer AR.
Engine 51 pulled up, just as the retreating trio of rescuers was about to reach their parked truck.
"Cap!" DeSoto shouted out, between life-giving breaths. "There's a pocket a' poisonous gas up there!…(breath)…Must be some pretty bad stuff…(breath)…Cuz' Johnny just got one whiff of it…(breath)…and he's in full respiratory arrest!"
"Roger that, Roy!" his Captain acknowledged. "All right! I want everybody to fall back—at least—fifteen hundred feet!" the fire officer ordered, before raising Big Red's dash-mounted radio's mic' to his frowning mouth. "L.A., Engine 51 is on scene. We're dealing with some kind of toxic gas leak. So we're gonna need a Haz-Mat team out here. Advise all companies responding to the 8-mile marker, Ghasten Freeway incident to approach upwind. Air-packs should be donned immediately upon arrival and a 1,500-foot perimeter should be maintained until further notice. We also have a Code I. Respond an additional Squad and another ambulance to this location."
"10-4, Engine 51…" the dispatcher promptly came back.
TBC