"A Measure of Luck"
Chapter Seven
Twenty minutes later, in Rampart General's Emergency Receiving…
Stanley, Stoker and Lopez strolled into the doctors' lounge and found the missing member of their engine crew.
Kelly, who was now dressed in surgical scrubs, was seated at a small table. There was a green pen in his right hand, and he was mindlessly scribbling away on a thick pad of paper. He stopped the moment that he spotted them, and shoved the pen out of sight. "How'd you guys get here?"
"The same way you got here," Mike responded. "In the back of an ambulance."
"The Station's been 'stood down'," his Captain explained. "We've all been relieved of duty until we've all been cleared for duty. What's the latest on John?"
Chet shrugged. "They whisked all three of us right into treatment rooms, as soon as we got here. I got poked and prodded for a while, and then some lady vampire showed up and drew a few pints of blood out of my arms," he pouted and pointed to the bandages in the crooks of his elbows. "I haven't seen either one of them since. But Dixie promised she'd let me know as soon as they found out anything."
The Captain stared thoughtfully down at the pad of paper for a few seconds. Then he pulled a green pen from the left breast pocket of his uniform. "Here. I'll trade you," he offered, and placed the writing utensil down on the tabletop. "Mine's already half empty."
Kelly pulled his hidden hand out from under the table and swapped pens with his Captain.
A couple more chairs were dragged over to the scribbler's table, and the three new arrivals sat down.
"That's a nice gesture, Chet," Marco Lopez admitted, immediately catching on to what Kelly was up to. "But wouldn't your time be better spent looking for John's real 'lucky' pen?"
"Unless, of course, he knows that it can't be found," Mike Stoker slyly tacked on.
Realizing that the 'jig' was up, Kelly reluctantly came clean. "My foot slipped on something when I was crossing the parking bay this morning, on my way to the latrine. It was a beat up old pen, with a busted clip. The darn thing didn't even write! So I tossed it in the trash. I noticed the bag was pretty full, so I took it out to the Dumpster. When I heard Gage was missing his 'lucky' pen, I tried to get the trash sack back. But the garbage guys had already beat me to it…"
"I suspected as much, when you came into my office earlier, and wanted to know if you could get something out of the supply cabinet," his Captain admitted. "My suspicions were confirmed, when I saw the look on your face, at that last fire."
"Keep scribbling," Marco suggested. "Just let me know when your wrist gets tired, and I'll take over."
"We can all take turns," Mike joined in. "That way, nobody's hand has to cramp up."
Chet shot each of his shiftmates a look of undying gratitude. "Gee…thanks, gu—"
"—There you are!" a young woman's—er, lady vampire's voice relievedly exclaimed. The girl stomped the rest of the way into the lounge and directed an annoyed glare at Stanley, Stoker and Lopez. "I need to draw some blood—for analysis."
The three blood donors stared nervously down at the large amount of vials in the little box, that rested on the tray she was toting.
Hank's anxious gaze returned to the girl. "You obviously intend to do a great deal of analyzing." 'Maybe she is 'drinking' the stuff?' he silently surmised.
The lab technician completely ignored the Captain's sarcastic comment. She was too busy observing the bizarre behavior of one of his men. 'Perhaps one of the toxin's side effects?' she thoughtfully reasoned, as the 'exposed' person kept right on, mindlessly, scribbling away.
Treatment Room Three was a blur of activity…literally.
Dr. David Wright had ordered that John's blurry eyes be re-irrigated. The opthamologist had then squirted a few drops of the prescription drug, Pontacaine, into the patient's extremely irritated peepers, to treat the nitric acid burns. Which, the fireman had been informed, appeared to be only minor and should not produce any permanent corneal scarring.
A half dozen vials of blood had been drawn and rushed down to the lab.
Gage had been forced to endure another shower—this time, a slightly warmer one.
The fireman's sinuses had been flushed out, and gargling and an anaesthetic spray had done wonders for his ridiculously sore throat.
Chest x-rays had been ordered and taken, and several back-to-back breathing treatments had been administered.
Still, one specialist after another continued to pay the 'poison gas victim' visits.
Following the hematologist, pulmonologist, cardiologist, urologist and opthamologist, Kel Brackett, summoned one last 'ologist' in, for a consult.
Dr. James Hendelson joined the steady stream of people entering and exiting Exam Three. He stepped up beside his concerned colleague and accepted the metal clipboard that was extended toward him.
John Gage, who'd been just lying there, stoically enduring one treatment after another, and wordlessly watching the treatment room's traffic come and go, caught sight of the toxicologist and turned in his best friend's direction. "Somethin' tells me…" he managed to get out—between coughs, "you ain't gonna be able ta 'talk' me outta here…this time."
His silent partner didn't reply. DeSoto just sat there on his stool, in his hospital robe and surgical scrubs.
But John could tell, by the look of deep concern on his buddy's face, that he and Roy shared the same exact feeling. The fireman's head slowly swung back in the young physician's direction. "Don't take this personally, Doc. But I was sort a' hopin' I'd never see you again."
Hendelson was forced to smile. "Don't take this personally, John, but I was sort a' hopin' the same thing." He studied the results of John's lab tests. Blood analysis indicated the poison was present in moderate levels. "No indication of any methemoglobinema…yet. I'd start him on steroids, and IV antibiotics. I would use dialysis to filter the toxin from his bloodstream, and I would also continue to flush his sinuses out, and use breathing treatments to purge as much of the inhaled poison from his lungs, as possible."
Brackett took his clipboard back and promptly turned his consultant's treatment suggestions into medical orders.
Two orderlies came into the exam room, towing a gurney.
"Looks like your ride is finally here," Kel realized. "We'll see you upstairs."
Gage gave Brackett a glum nod. "I See You?"
Kel turned to his consultant.
The longhaired young medicine man gave John Gage a reluctant nod. "For the next 24 to 48 hours, anyway…depending on what your next lab panels reveal. Thanks to the prompt care you received, a lot of the poison was neutralized. I anticipate a complete recovery." Seeing that the patient's mood remained dark, the young doctor decided a little 'reminder' might be in order. "Once again, you seem to have defied the odds. I understand that you, and Roy, and Chet are the only ones, out of the 25 people who were exposed to the leak, to survive."
Both firefighters' faces filled with shock…closely followed by looks of profound sadness.
Roy watched wordlessly, as Johnny was whisked away. It would take awhile for the nurses to get his poisoned partner settled into his room up in ICU. So he heaved a heavy sigh and then headed for the doctors' lounge…to wait.
When he reached the lounge, Roy was pleasantly surprised to find the rest of Station 51's crew assembled there.
Stanley questioned his senior paramedic about his partner's condition.
Stoker then grilled Gage's closest friend for a detailed description of the missing pen.
Roy stared at the inquisitive engineer in disbelief. "It was green…it had a broken clip…and it was out of ink."
"Were there any other distinguishable features?" Marco wondered.
Roy gave both of his interrogators strange stares. "Exactly how many old dried up, beat up green pens are you guys expecting to come across?" He glanced down at the table and spotted the pad of paper and the scribbling. "You guys aren't buying into this 'lucky' pen business?" he hopefully inquired.
"It doesn't matter what we think," Hank solemnly determined. "It's what he believes that counts."
Roy thought his Captain's comment over for a few seconds. "It also had teeth marks on it."
Stoker's eyebrows arched upwards. "Teeth marks?"
DeSoto nodded. "Remember that MVA over on Melbourne…about six months back? I was on my way to Rampart, with the first victim, and you guys were still working on getting the second victim ou—"
"—Oh, yeah!" Kelly quickly cut in. "And that light pole toppled over and pinned Gage to the sidewalk."
"Right," Roy acknowledged. "Well, I guess his legs were really killing him. Dwyer said Johnny was certain that they'd both been broken. Before you guys lifted the light pole off of him, Johnny wanted to know if somebody would give him something for the pain, first. Just for a joke, Dwyer told me he stuck his pen between Johnny's teeth…yah know, for him to bite down on."
The guys all grinned at the amusing memory.
"As you well know, you got the light pole off of him and it turned out, his legs were just badly bruised, and not busted. In the course of the next couple of shifts, Johnny had several more 'close brushes' with injuries that could have required lengthy stays in hospital beds. Since his 'change of luck' seemed to coincide with the sudden appearance of Dwyer's pen…"
His shiftmates' faces suddenly filled with looks of dawning understanding.
"Gentlemen," Dixie McCall exclaimed, as she came strolling into the room, "I have some good news…and some not so good news." She beamed a broad grin in Stanley and Stoker and Lopez's direction. "You three have been cleared for duty."
The three firemen were relieved, but not all that surprised, by the news.
The nurse turned to the two remaining members of Captain Stanley's A-Shift crew, and her smile did a disappearing act. "I'm afraid the two of you will be spending the night. Kel wants to continue to monitor the toxin's levels in your blood, purely as a precaution. We have a room ready—and waiting—for you, up on the second floor."
"Would it be okay, if we all went up and said goodnight to Gage before we go?" Hank Stanley suddenly inquired.
Dixie's grin returned and was beamed at all five of Johnny's 'big brothers'. "I don't see why not. I'll call and let them know you're coming." With that, and a final warm smile, the woman left the lounge.
"Finally!" Marco Lopez declared, as the pen in his cramped right hand quit scribbling.
"There's something I've been wanting to say, for quite some time now," their Captain confessed. He pulled the pen from Lopez's palm and passed it on to Kelly. "Chet?"
"Yeah, Cap?"
"Just bite!"
Kelly reluctantly clamped his jaws down on the pen. It took him several tries, before he finally clamped down hard enough to leave bite marks. After wiping the spit from it, Chet turned the teeth-marked utensil over to his still chuckling chums.
Mike broke the pen's pocket clip off and passed it to Marco.
Marco scraped the utensil against the corner of the table, inflicting several nice gouges in its green plastic case.
Roy took the pen that was handed to him, dropped it onto the floor and rolled it beneath his hospital slippered right foot a few times. He retrieved the grungy green item and gave it a careful scrutinization. It was close.
But, would it be close enough?
Hank snatched the pen from DeSoto's outstretched hand. "C'mon, guys. Let's go see if we can cheer up a sick friend…"
Six floors up…in Rampart General's ICU ward…
Gage gazed glumly around at his gloomy hospital setting. "I suppose this is where you try to convince me…of just how lucky I am to be here…" he half-joked, over the constant 'whirring' and 'clicking' of his recently-connected dialysis machine.
Upon his patient's prompting, Kel Brackett proceeded to remind his forlorn young friend of just how truly fortunate he had been—even in the absence of his 'lucky' pen.
But Johnny remained dubious. "Doc', it's not lucky to have your regulator quit on you—at any time. But especially not when you're stuck up on the second-floor of a burning apartment building."
"If your regulator hadn't malfunctioned at that last fire, Roy claims you would have probably been killed when that room flashed, because you would have been standing directly in front of the door when it blew open."
"Yeah. Well, there's nothin' lucky about getting a bad case a' smoke inhalation."
"If you hadn't gotten smoke inhalation, you wouldn't have been so congested. And, if you hadn't had so much mucous in your airways, that nitric acid would've burnt the linings in your nasal passages and lungs, for sure!"
Gage had to agree that those were all valid points.
Still, Kel could see that his patient remained deeply skeptical.
Right about then, is when the rest of Station 51's A-Shift walked in.
Gage saw his fellow firefighters saunter in, and couldn't help but grin. "What are you guys doin' up here?"
Hank flashed his youngest crewmember a reassuring smile. "Roy and Chet are about to check into a room, four floors below. The rest of us are awaiting transportation back to the Station."
Mike's smile matched his Captain's. "We just came up to tuck you in."
"Yeah. And to give you something…" Marco added, nudging Chet to the forefront.
Kelly stepped up and presented their hospitalized buddy with his 'lucky' pen—er, with his 'new' lucky pen.
Johnny was beside himself with joy. Even though—through blurred vision—he could tell that the green pen he'd just been handed wasn't the 'real deal'. Yes, he knew. But he didn't let on that he knew. "Where was it?"
"Uhhh…" Kelly managed to stammer, as his mind came up blank.
"It was in the Squad," Lopez replied—er, lied.
"It must a' fell between the seats," Stoker quickly contributed.
The paramedic proceeded to thank his shiftmates—profusely—for returning his pen to him.
Grins, handshakes and 'goodnights' were exchanged, and Johnny's visitors reluctantly filed back out of the room.
Roy remained behind. The paramedic stood there, silently observing his partner.
Johnny was just lying there in his hospital bed, gazing blurrily down at the object in his hands.
"You know that's not your 'real' lucky pen…don't you."
A broad grin was still plastered to Gage's face. He aimed it in DeSoto's direction. "This one's even luckier." Johnny caught his partner's puzzled look and continued. "You guys spent a lot a' time…and went through a whole lot a' trouble…just ta make this thing for me. Ma-an! I've got five of the finest friends imaginable watchin' out for me. I mean, a guy can't get any luckier than that! Now, can he."
DeSoto returned his really lucky friend's grin. "No. No-o. I guess not. Goodnight, Johnny."
"Goodnight, Roy. Oh…by the way, whose teeth marks are these?"
"Chet's!" his departing partner called back over his shoulder.
Roy was halfway down the hospital corridor, and he could still hear the sound of his friend's hearty laughter.
Dr. Hendelson was right.
Johnny was gonna be okay.
The End