Friday, November 19:
Blackwater Canyon Road
Blackwater Canyon Road was located in Rolling Hills, about 5 miles away as the crow flies from 127's territory. The rains had unleashed a torrent of mud down the hill behind several homes. Houses had been shoved off their foundations by the flow. The force of the mud had also ripped apart carports, gazebos, covered patios and other freestanding structures. Mud, rocks and debris were everywhere, hampering access to the homes. Downed power lines and ruptured gas lines complicated the dangerous situation until they could be shut off.
Fortunately, not too many residents had been home at mid-day. But a few victims were still trapped inside the wreckage of their homes.
The first-on-scene commander directed the two crews of 127's to assist with searching for victims in homes located on the far end of the road. The men gathered the few necessary tools and equipment they would be able to carry and began making their way through the obstacle-strewn mud. Their feet slid in the slippery goo, despite their boots. And when they didn't slide, the mud sucked at their feet, seemingly reluctant to allow the rescuers passage.
The handi-talkie sputtered to life with a report of a victim in one of the last homes along the road. Johnny found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Toby Barnes as they struggled to move some debris blocking access to the house. "Put some muscle in it, skinny boy! We ain't getting anywhere here!"
Ioane Atuaia added his considerable strength to moving the obstacle. Still, it wouldn't budge. "Forget it! Let's see if we can climb around the back." He motioned for Johnny to follow him.
"Hello! Anyone out there?" They were heading for the back of the house when they heard the call. Matthew Bartholomew, a rookie paramedic whom Johnny had mentored as a trainee a few times, heard them in the front and shouted for assistance. "I need help back here!"
Matt had his hands full applying deep pressure to the artery just behind the top back of the right knee on a female whose lower leg presented a complete open fracture of the tibia. She was going into shock. Johnny removed his turnout coat and tucked it around the rest of the victim's body. As Matt reported his assessment on the victim, he noticed the slightly darker blue circle on the sleeve of Johnny's uniform. Johnny had caught the glance at the shirtsleeve and was pointedly looking in another direction. "Hey, you lost your patch somewhere," commented Matt.
For an instant Johnny couldn't breathe and there was a stabbing pain in his chest. Apparently Matt hadn't heard the news yet. "Yeah, something like that." He realized that the rookie was waiting for him to take charge of the scene. "Do you want us to try to get her out of here now or do you want to wait?"
"I think now. The sooner, the better. She's getting really shocky. Let's get the bleeding stopped and the leg splinted. Then we'll use the handi-talkie to set up a relay to Rampart. I've got some 4x4s in the pack."
Johnny reached into the pack on the paramedic's back. Since Matt was still holding onto the artery, he had to prepare and apply the pressure bandage himself.
"We need to find something to make a splint and a stretcher. It will take too long for anyone to get them to us here," Matt said.
Johnny nodded and a wooden ironing board poking out of the mud caught his attention. It would serve both as splint and as something for the "grab and carry." He and Ioane broke the legs off to make the splint.
"We need something we can tear into strips to secure her." Johnny said, unconsciously expecting Ioane to locate something, and the firefighter was able to oblige. Oddly enough, a muddy sheet was still half hanging on the clothesline, which they quickly ripped into strips.
After they had splinted the leg, Matt began to prepare the IV that he knew would be ordered, while Johnny set up the relay to Rampart.
"That's 5 mg MS. 10-4."
Matt was still working with the victim and made no move to obtain the ordered drug. "5 mg MS, Matt." Johnny repeated.
"It's in the pack," the young paramedic replied without looking up.
Johnny hesitated fractionally, selected the correct vial out of the pack, handed it to Matt, and then busied himself with the ironing board.
Matt didn't have time to consider the other man's puzzling behavior as he administered the morphine.
When the victim was as stabilized as much as conditions would allow, the three lifted her onto the makeshift stretcher. Johnny had her shoulders, Matt had the splinted leg and Ioane had her hips. "Okay, on three. One, two, three."
The three men began the slippery journey back to the staging area. As they struggled through the mud, Manuel Esteves joined them in their efforts. Upon reaching their destination, they set the victim down near the rescue squads. "I'll get Jensen for you." Johnny indicated another nearby paramedic with a jerk of his head.
"Hey wait! Aren't you going to give me a hand here?" Astonishment was written on Matt's face and evident in his voice.
"Can't, Matt. I'm not licensed any more." Johnny's voice was tight.
"I'll be damned," Matt said softly as he watched Johnny slog through the sticky mud to fetch Jensen.
Back at the station, the exhausted and muddy firefighters cleaned up themselves and their equipment before sitting down to dinner.
Even though he had missed lunch, Johnny had no appetite. Dinner consisted of the somewhat overcooked remains of the meal that had been prepared earlier. He stirred the food in his bowl while the conversation of the other firefighters eddied around him. The sound of their voices blended with the hum of the traffic outside and the buzz of the florescent lights overhead.
"Gage!" The sound of his name penetrated his awareness. Johnny looked over at Toby Barnes.
"Ain't you gonna eat that, skinny boy? Why, that's an insult to my mama's recipe!" Johnny had noticed that Barnes' attempts at humor were often thinly veiled barbs.
"No, Barnes. You're an insult to your mama's recipe," joked Ioane in his role as self-appointed station facilitator.
Johnny carried his bowl over to the sink and began scraping the contents into the disposal.
"Hey, skinny boy! You ain't gonna just throw that away, are you?" Barnes continued to needle.
"I guess I'm more tired than hungry. Give my regards to your mama." He tried to keep it light as he rinsed out his dishes and put them in the dish drainer.
"You paramedic boys are too soft. I guess you just can't handle being a real firefighter, either."
Everybody froze at the remark that was a little too personal.
Johnny splayed his hands on the counter, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. He turned around and locked eyes with Barnes, his expression carefully neutral. Nodding once at the man, he exited the kitchen.
"Whoa, Toby," Mark Smith cautioned quietly.
"Uppity paramedics. Always thinkin' they're better than the rest of us. Need to be taken down a notch or two," Barnes grumbled defensively.
"Stow it, Barnes!" ordered Captain Walker. "Since you seem to have so much excess energy, you can clean up the kitchen." He glared around the room, his thunderous expression warning the rest of the firefighters that he was not going to tolerate this kind of behavior. His men had to live together for twenty-four hours at a time, almost like a family, and as a result, knew each other's strengths and weaknesses well. Sometimes too well. Captain Walker knew that toes would be stepped on; it was unavoidable. But, they had to be able to work together smoothly as a unit. He couldn't let one man disrupt the unity of the whole. In order to function, they had to know that they could rely on each other for assistance. Or, for their lives. There was no room for intolerance. "Play nice, boys, or I'll have you hanging hose till your fingers bleed." He turned smartly on his heel and left the room.
Captain Walker found Johnny outside, aimlessly watching the clouds chase across the moon. The storm front appeared to be breaking up.
"So, Gage. You doing all right?" Walker's keen eyes appraised the young man. He knew Johnny was angry and upset. He would have been seriously concerned if the paramedic did not seem to care. Not caring was a sure sign of burnout. And a burned-out firefighter was dangerous not only to himself, but also to the rest of the crew.
"Yes, sir. I'm okay." His voice held a note of carefully constructed calmness.
Captain Walker grunted noncommittally, his hands clasped behind his back. "If you need to talk, Gage, I'm a good listener."
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate the offer." Both men watched the clouds for a few more moments.
"Kind of chilly out here, Gage. Let's go back inside." It was an order, not a suggestion.