"Semi Conscious"
Chapter Three
Once he had his left hand firmly planted on the steering wheel, Station 51's 'Main Squeeze' promptly proceeded to wriggle the rest of his torso into the truck's exceedingly cramped for space cab, as well.
As soon as he was 'all there', John chanced a quick glance away from his upside-down view of the road. 'Sheesh!'
The semi's dash was solid rosewood and its instrument panel contained almost as many gauges, knobs, dials, switches and levers as a jet airliner!
The rescuer's roving eyes quickly located the Jacobs Engine Brake. He used the fingers of his free right hand to flip its control switch from OFF to HIGH.
Once the Jake Brake was fully engaged, John blindly reached down and lifted the trucker's booted foot off of the accelerator.
The truck's engine immediately began to decelerate.
The Jake Brake's distinctive 'Ba-derrrrrrr…ba-derrrrrrr…ba-derrrrrrr' resounded inside the cab, as each of the eighteen valves it controlled were opened, releasing all of their compressed-air energy out into the engine's chrome exhaust pipes, instead of its driving pistons.
Unfortunately, the big rig's forward momentum remained pretty much the same.
The fireman frowned down at the speedometer.
Inertial energy was still propelling all 40tons of the runaway tractor-trailer forward—at close to 40mph.
Gage groaned inwardly and his frown deepened.
'Plan B' was beginning to look better and better.
The highway's three-mile marker had just whizzed by.
The frowning fireman was now beginning to seriously doubt that they were gonna have enough time, or distance, to stop—before they reached the freeway.
"Bruce is…dead. Isn't he," the rescuer's young helper quietly stated.
Since both lanes up ahead were currently clear, John was able to chance another quick glance away from his topsy-turvy view of the road.
Staring down at the driver's dead body was quickly causing the kid's resolve to crumble.
The fireman figured it was time for him to 'intervene' again. "Yes. He is. I'm sorry. What's your name?"
"Tony."
"Hi, Tony. I'm Johnny. Did you get that belt unbuckled for me, yet?" Gage knew he hadn't, but his little reminder managed to spark the stalled boy back into action.
"There was this hu-uge hunk a' metal layin' on the highway, a ways back," Tony explained and began sliding out from under the top half of the trucker's…corpse. "We came around a curve—and ran right over it," the kid continued, as he turned in his seat and began fumbling with the dead driver's seatbelt buckle. "I asked Bruce why he didn't try to swerve around it—"
The boy's narrative was interrupted by a telltale 'cli-ick' and the dead driver's lap belt fell free.
"Bruce said, 'Because yah gotta keep the shiny side up, and the greasy side down'." Tony obediently began scrambling up over the back of the seat and into the cab's sleeper compartment. "I asked him what he meant by that, and he told me, 'You can't make any sudden moves when you're haulin' a full load, or you'll flip your rig, for sure!'"
Being careful to keep one hand on the wheel and both eyes on the road, Gage stepped over the dead guy's legs and the semi's knobbed shift sticks and assumed a portion of the passenger's seat. He had to pause, to give his helmeted head a couple more quick shakes. The fireman was still feeling a little 'woozy'. He figured it was probably because his blood sugar was so low, or because he'd had to hold his head upside-down for so long—or it could a' been a combination of both. "Okay. Tony. Think you can reach the steering wheel from back there?"
The boy's head popped up from the sleeping compartment. "If I lean over the back of the seat."
"Do it."
Tony did as directed. "Right after we hit that hunk a' metal, Bruce said he'd lost the service brakes. He figured the tires must a' kicked it up under the truck and nicked an air hose."
John stood, as best he could, and latched onto the dead guy's belt.
"He pulled this knob out. But nothing happened. He said that hunk a' metal must a' hit both hose lines, because the emergency brakes weren't working, either. He was about to do something with that switch down there, when he just grabbed his chest—and keeled over. I-I didn't know what to do! I latched onto the steering wheel and tried to keep the truck as straight as I cou—"
"—You did…just fine…Tony," Gage breathlessly assured his now near to hysteria helper.
"Yeah. Til I plowed into you."
"Don't you…worry none…about me…I'm a lot…tougher…than I look…Just got…my 'wind'…knocked out a' me…is all." Following a great deal of 'grimacing' and 'gasping' and 'gritting of his teeth', the 160lb fireman finally managed to maneuver the 300+lb dead guy out of his way.
'Bruce' ended up on his back, on the floor in front of the passenger's seat, with his legs bent at the knees, his arms folded across his chest, and his baseball-capped head shoved up under the dashboard.
The panting paramedic rested his right hand on the steering wheel and aimed his dazed gaze out the runaway truck's windshield. "Pass me…a blanket," he breathlessly requested.
Once again, the boy wordlessly obeyed.
Johnny gave the kid back control of the wheel and draped the blanket over the trucker's dead body. Following that, the exhausted fireman collapsed into the driver's seat and frantically began downshifting.
Gage could tell, by the horrific grinding sound he was making, that the teeth on the transmission's gears were 'stripping' instead of 'gripping'.
The truck was just too damn heavy!
The paramedic got his first glimpse of the freeway and cursed beneath his breath. Even from over a half-mile away, he could clearly see that the CHP hadn't been given enough time to avert disaster, either.
Heavy traffic was still flowing fast—and freely—in all five of the Pamona Freeway's northbound lanes.
Gage gasped in exasperation and glanced at the speedometer. Between engaging the Jake Brake and downshifting, he'd managed to cut the runaway rig's speed by more than half.
The problem was that they were going too fast to stop, and yet, not nearly fast enough to safely enter the steady flow of traffic.
The frustrated fireman gasped again, as he realized he didn't have any time—or gears—left, to get the big rig back up to freeway traffic speed, which was generally between 60 to 85mph.
'Plan C' immediately replaced 'Plan B' in his slightly woozy brain. "Tony, I want you to get back up here," he solemnly ordered.
The boy climbed up out of the sleeping compartment and back into his seat, being careful not to step on 'Bruce'.
"I am gonna pull over onto the right shoulder of the highway, and you are going to open that door and jump."
"What are you gonna do, after I jump?"
His rescuer completely ignored the question. "I want you to jump out—as far away from the cab as you possibly can—and then keep right on rolling away from the road."
Tony saw where the truck was headed and put two and two together. "You're gonna put the 'greasy' side up and the 'shiny' side down. Are-ent you."
Gage couldn't help but grin. "So-o, what's a smart kid, like you, doin', runnin' away from his problems?"
"Maybe I'm not nearly as smart as you think I am."
"O-or, maybe you're a lot smarter than you think you are," Gage suggested right back. "Now, go on! Open the door and get ready to jump!"
Once more, Tony did just as his rescuer directed. "I'm sorry, Johnny. If I hadn't a' rammed into you, you might a' had enough time to stop this thing…"
"Na-ahh. The load's just too dang heavy," Johnny reassured him. He buckled and then snugged up his seatbelt. "I prob'ly couldn't a' stopped it in time, anyway. Besides," Johnny paused to tighten his helmet's chinstrap and flash his concerned young friend a mischievous smile, "I've never wrecked an 18-wheeler—before," he wryly added, and finally succeeded in coaxing a slight smile from the kid. "Remember. Jump as far away as you can from the cab and then roll clear. I'd really hate to run you over with the trailer wheels."
Tony gave the crazy fireman one last, eternally grateful glance—and then jumped from the truck's cab.
Station 51's engine crew watched, in stunned silence, as the runaway tractor-trailer reached—and then started heading up—the freeway's onramp, still traveling at a pretty good clip.
Marco turned his troubled gaze away from their television screen. "I don't get it, Cap. Why isn't John jumping?" he anxiously inquired, giving voice to the question that was on everyone's mind.
The Captain had a nagging suspicion as to why Gage had—so far—failed to abandon the big rig. "Apparently, he hasn't finished 'intervening', yet!" he angrily stated, and then covered his eyes for the tenth time, in as many minutes.
Roy was still following along in the Squad. "John-ny, don't do this to me! Jump already! You said you were gonna jump! You as much as promised me you would jump!"
Via the semi's side mirror, John had watched the leaping boy land at the bottom of a grassy gully. He waited until the tail end of the truck's trailer had passed the kid's position. "We-ell," he muttered to himself, "here goes nothin'."
That said, the runaway big rig's driver cranked its steering wheel, as hard as he could, to the right.
TBC