Warning: strong language

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 8

"Rampart, the victim's in full arrest. Beginning CPR. At your door."

Dixie felt her heart leap into her throat at the strained sound in Johnny's voice. Johnny and Roy, just like all the paramedics working out of Rampart, gave each patient their all. The only difference between this victim and most of the others was that this one was a fellow firefighter. She turned her face around looking at Dr. Early who was leaning against the supply cabinet and recognized the stress lines on his round face.

"10-4, 51. We'll be waiting in 3," she said in a calm voice that did not match the sense of dread in her heart. She twisted her hips in a sashaying motion as both she and Dr. Early maneuvered between the nurse's desk and the base station in a rush to treatment room 3; the sound of a siren pulling into the emergency room parking lot heralded the arrival just as Johnny had indicated.

"Sally, page Dr. Morton to treatment 3. Kel will take the other patient in 1."

"Yes, Ms. McCall," the pretty blonde nurse responded reaching for the phone.

The orderly-driven stretcher nearly bumped into Dr. Brackett as it made the corner with Roy riding the rails performing chest compressions. His normally light blue uniform shirt was marked in a darkened 'V' pattern along his sweat soaked back, his stethoscope dangling around his neck. Silently he mouthed his count as his partner held an IV bag between his clenched teeth and continued bagging their victim to force oxygen into his lungs; an act the injured man's brain could no longer perform in his current condition. An ambulance attendant flanked the patient with the second bag of ringer's aloft.

Dr. Brackett watched the drama unfold as the team passed by him charging into treatment room 3 just as the second ambulance pulled into the entrance; its seriously injured occupant in desperate need of the aid he stood ready to render. His eager eyes scanned the opening door of the ambulance as the medics from Station 10 emerged with his patient; their concern just as evident on their determined faces but their pace not nearly as frantic as Roy and Johnny's. Dr. Brackett heard the pain-filled groans beneath the oxygen mask and although the sound was one Dr. Kelly Brackett hated he was still grateful that his patient seemed to be performing the basic functions of heart beats and respirations unaided. These were the moments when even the tiniest victories deserved recognition.

E!

Hank continued to do his best to focus on overhaul but found his mind kept wandering back to the two ambulances he'd watched drive into the night. He was staring into the burnt out remains of the structure when Chet's voice broke through his mental fortress.

"CAP!"

Hank looked over his shoulder, realizing by the volume and tone of his lineman's voice that this was not the first time the younger man had called out to him. "I'm sorry, Kelly. Did you need something?"

The throbbing pain in Chet's foot had become nearly unbearable but the look he saw on his captain's face was almost enough to make him forget about his own distress. He tried to lick his lips before he spoke but couldn't find enough moisture to complete the task. The worry lines along Hank's brow were deeply furrowed and without realizing it, Chet's face matched them in a gesture of sympathetic solidarity.

"Um," he shifted his weight squinting at the sharp pain the movement caused then broke eye contact with his superior. "The, uh…overhaul is about done and…I was, uh…wondering if I needed to go ahead and pick up DeSoto and Gage?"

Hank looked down at his own boots, thinking that they were much too clean for such a bad run. He inhaled holding his breath for a count then looked back up in the direction of the men with pike poles, shovels and one single hose. Two other men should be there sweating alongside them but instead they were at Rampart General Hospital fighting for their lives.

"Cap'n Stanley?"

"Hmm?"

"You alright?" Chet asked, rubbing his burning red eyes.

"Oh…yea, yea…go ahead and get them…get an update on the men from 36's too, will ya Pal?"

Chet let his gaze drift downward, unsure if Captain Stanley was answering his second question or his first. "Sure thing, Cap." He slowly turned around and shuffled in the direction of the squad, passing the spot where Roy and Johnny had worked at a fevered pace to save the life of the victim he'd rescued, no…the brother he'd carried out of the inferno. His body protested when he bent down to retrieve the injured man's damaged and discarded turnouts and boots. He was grateful that his captain's mind seemed to be too far away to recognize the agonizing grunt he couldn't stifle and the obvious limp he could no longer hide. He tossed the turnouts into the passenger's seat of the squad, cranking up the smaller emergency vehicle and following the same route the Mayfair ambulances had followed earlier.

Standing in the distance, unseen by Hank and Chet, the two remaining firefighters from 51's watched and worried. The lost look on Hank's face lodged a lump in Mike's throat but it was the distinct limp in Chet's gait that caused Marco's ire to resurface with a vengeance. He knew that he hadn't misunderstood Chet's actions outside the captain's office earlier. Now, he was more determined than ever to confront his partner and put an end to this new alter ego that he and Johnny weren't willing to embrace.

E!

Chet made a right turn a little too sharply and bounced on the beige bench seat of the squad. Driving with his left foot was difficult enough but adding the pain of the jarring motion took his breath away. He looked back over at the passenger's seat and contemplated his next move. Everything he needed to execute his plan was right there beside him. The coat was damaged as was the right boot. The paramedic to whom the personal protective equipment belonged wasn't going to need it during his recovery. Besides, most of it was useless anyway.

Chet rubbed a worried hand across his face, propping his elbow on the window ledge just as he'd seen Roy do hundreds of times. Roy. The paramedic's name brought something else to mind that he needed to worry about. Roy DeSoto was one of the most honorable men he'd ever met. He was an excellent firefighter and paramedic. He would've made one of the best engineers in the department too if he'd accepted the promotion. Chet still didn't understand why the man turned it down. But one thing that was bothering Chet even more was that he had made the mistake of mentioning his foot to Roy right before this last run. No way would Mr. Boyscout-choirboy-perfect-paramedic-fabulous-firef ighter-excellent-engineer-DeSoto go along with his plan. But Roy wasn't the one with the secret that was eating him up inside. Roy wasn't the one who needed to sort through the cyclone of emotions he was experiencing. And Roy wasn't the one who had quite literally stumbled upon a way to get paid while he sorted through the nightmare he now found himself living in.

Then there was Marco. Chet had long considered him to be more than just a partner but also his best friend. But in recent weeks he seemed to be questioning Chet more and more which had caused Chet to begin to resent the older man. Marco didn't know anything; actually, no one did. Johnny was sticking his nose where it didn't belong and running to Hank like some tattling toddler because he thought Chet wasn't able to perform his duties. Mike seemed to genuinely understand why he was angry with Johnny so perhaps he wouldn't be an issue. That thought brought him squarely back to the senior paramedic on his shift. Roy DeSoto. He knew that he had to come up with a plausible story to feed Roy or else the entire plan would be in jeopardy.

He pulled over at a convenience store a block away from Rampart. He turned off the ignition and allowed the cool Southern California night air to blow through the cab of the squad, soothing his exhaustion but doing nothing to quell his internal storm. He looked once more at the pile sitting beside him trying to decide if the reward was worth the risk. His breathing quickened and sweat trickled down from his temple across his cheek and down his neck. He felt his nostrils flaring as he sucked in more of the night air hoping to find the resolve to go forward. He listened to the sounds in the night – honking horns, a revving motorcycle in the distance, the ticking of his watch – sounds that seemed so mundane and routine but this was no ordinary night and what he was about to do was far from routine. Finally, knowing full well that if he got caught his firefighting career would be over but truthfully no longer caring, he twisted his boot around the radio near the floorboard and propped his throbbing right foot on the bench seat. He picked up the other man's right boot, confirming that the cut in the sole was somewhat close to the right area to match his own injury. He fished inside his pocket and pulled out his pocket knife; carefully, he enlarged the original jagged cut by slanting his knife blade at an angle toward the center of the boot, grimacing as he made the additional two inch incision. Swallowing back the bile he could already taste, he carefully removed his right boot.

"AarrrRGH!"

He leaned his head back against the headrest blowing out his cheeks. One more step and the plan would be put into motion. Hesitation tugged at his right hand but it wasn't strong enough to stop him from reaching down and placing the newly acquired boot onto his own blood soaked sock. Gulping, whether from the pain or his own anxiety, he couldn't tell but he eased his foot back down, shifting into gear and pulling back out into traffic; the lights of Rampart General Hospital's top floors beckoning him in the distance.

E!

"Hank, if it's all the same to you, we wanna head on over to Rampart and check on our men."

Captain Stanley looked into the weary green eyes of Jackson O'Conner, the captain from Station 36. He could see the weight of the man's worry weighing down his shoulders and etching itself on his face. Hank held out his arm and patted the other captain on his dusty shoulder.

"Go ahead, Jack. We'll finish it up," he said, nodding knowingly to Captain Andrew Jones from station 10.

"Another twenty minutes and we'll be done anyway," Captain Jones acknowledged in support of Hank's recommendation.

"Thanks…," Jack said hesitatingly. He wanted to say more but at the moment his mind was on his paramedic team at Rampart. He just hoped that they would both be ok.

E!

Chet backed the squad into a parking spot near the emergency entrance and turned off the ignition. He scrubbed his face with his right hand, hesitation still lingering in his soul. He then shook his dusty curly dark hair as he reached for the door handle; the metallic squeaking sound the door made felt as if it lodged itself along his spine causing him to wince slightly. Carefully, he twisted in the seat using his left foot for support then eased his right foot down and heard himself hiss at the sharp pain the action caused. Slowly, he shuffled around the hood of the squad then limped along to the glass doors where he was met by an orderly.

"Do you need a wheelchair, sir?"

Chet looked up at the tall man dressed in white, his uniform in stark contrast to his dark skin. "Um, yea…I think I might." He leaned his back against the railing at the entrance as the orderly disappeared then returned just as quickly pushing a wheelchair. Chet turned his back to the wheelchair and slowly eased himself down, propping both feet on the available footrests. He knew he should be feeling relaxed as the orderly gave him a smooth ride along the corridor but he was feeling much more tense as they made the right turn towards the treatment rooms. This was it and he knew it. Please don't let it be Brackett.

"What happened to you, Mr. Kelly?"

Chet looked up into one of the most beautiful faces he'd ever seen. He had always thought that Nurse Sally looked like an angel but to see her now, dressed all in white and looking down at him with her gorgeous smile and a look of genuine concern nearly made him choke on his own saliva. "Da, uh…ahem…I..I just cut my foot at a fire…nothing serious."

"Well," she began patting, him on the shoulder, "we'll get you patched up good as new soon." She looked up at the orderly. "Take him to treatment 4 and I'll get Dr. Harrison to take a look at him."

"Who…who's Dr. Harrison?" Chet asked nervously.

"He's our new intern," she offered, her smile fading a little. "Brackett, Early and Morton are busy with the other two firemen who were brought in a little while ago."

"Yea…how are they doing?" Chet asked, remembering his captain's departing request.

Sally sucked half of her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. "They've been in there a while, I'm afraid. Your paramedics are still in with theirs but the guys from Station 10 have been released and they're waiting in the break room," she said, glancing down the hallway past the nurse's station. "Let me get Dr. Harrison to come take a look at you and I'll try to get an update."

"Aww, that'd be great. Thanks, Sally."

"You're welcome," she tossed over her shoulder as she headed back to the nurse's station.

Chet felt himself moving again toward the fourth treatment room just as he heard the page calling Dr. Harrison to his treatment room.

The door of treatment room 4 swished closed behind Chet just as a very dejected Johnny Gage came out of treatment room 3. He pulled both hands behind his head interlocking his fingers as he walked slowly down the corridor toward the men's restroom.

Roy exited shortly after him, his face still perspiring from the exertion of his life-saving efforts. He watched as his partner leaned down for a drink of water at the fountain then shoved open the restroom door with more force than was necessary but Roy understood why; neither man accepted defeat when they lost a patient and those feelings were especially prevalent when that patient was one of their own. Roy lingered in the corridor trying to decide whether to check on Johnny or just leave the man alone. This had been a very strained shift for them and he knew that if he walked inside the restroom, they might both say something they would later regret. The sound of a female voice brought him back to the present.

"Roy?"

He looked to his right at the slim blonde nurse standing beside him.

"He didn't make it did he?" Sally's voice was filled with compassion.

Roy tried to speak but decided that shaking his head was the easier way to communicate at the moment as he didn't trust his dry throat to be able to create the simple one syllable word.

"I'm very sorry…I know you did everything you could." She watched him nod his agreement as he pushed his hands inside his uniform pockets. "Um, I just paged Dr. Harrison to room 4; Chet's in there with a foot injury…thought you might want to see him."

Roy looked up, knitting his eyebrows together. "Oh…what happened?"

"Said he cut it at the scene…nothing serious but he may need a few stitches. I'm heading in there now to get him ready." She turned sideways encouraging Roy to follow her. "Care to join me?"

Roy cast one last longing glance down the long corridor toward the restrooms then turned his face back toward the next treatment room. "Sure."

Inside the treatment room, Chet allowed the orderly to assist him up onto the exam table. He extended his right leg out on the table but left the other leg dangling; his nervousness causing it to swing from side to side.

"What happened, Kelly?" Roy asked as he followed Sally into the room.

"Uh, just stepped on some metal or something when I was carrying that guy from 36's out…I guess," he let his gaze drop down unable to look his friend in the eye as he told the lie. "How's he doing anyway?"

Sally and Roy exchanged a quick look then she turned back around to the cabinet preparing the tray the doctor would need for the examination. She knew Roy needed to be the one to share the bad news.

"He…he didn't make it, Chet." Roy walked around to the foot of the exam table. "Let's get this boot off so the doctor can check you out."

Chet felt the full weight of Roy's words slam crushingly on his shoulders and chest. "Damn…," he complained, clenching his right hand in a tight fist wrinkling up the sheet on which he lay. He looked up at the pretty nurse in the corner who had obviously heard him. "Sorry, Sally."

"It's ok, Chet. I understand."

Roy looked down at the damaged boot and began to gently remove it from Chet's foot. He was a bit surprised at the amount of blood on the lineman's white sock.

"Easy, Roy…shit, that hurts!"

Sally shook her head; as a nurse, she had certainly heard worse from a number of patients, both those in pain and those under a variety of influences. However, she was also aware that most firemen tried to exercise a little more self-restraint around the nurses and found herself a bit disappointed in his behavior.

Roy reached beneath Chet's turnouts and removed the sock, being careful not to allow his shock to be revealed on his face. It wasn't so much what he saw on the lineman's sock that had registered as unusual; it was what he didn't see that sent a chill up his spine and left a cold dark hole in the pit of Roy's stomach. He immediately remembered Chet's request as he and Johnny were toned out earlier and the reality of the situation settled around him like a tightening noose. Now wasn't the time to confront his shiftmate with what he saw. He knew by the injury that Chet would not be returning for the remainder of the shift and would likely be out for at least a few more so Roy vowed to himself that while A-shift was off duty, he would go over to Chet's apartment to check on him. The young man was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

"So, what have we got here?" The young red-haired intern asked as he walked into the exam room.

Sally looked up at the sound of Dr. Harrison's voice. "Fireman Chet Kelly; he has a pretty nasty cut on the ball of his foot. He injured it at the scene of a fire."

Roy stepped back so the physician could begin his examination; the paramedic's mind reeling. Like hell he did, Sally. Like hell he did.