Mudslide
These good fellows don't belong to me, but I promise when I'm done to pick um up, dust um off, and with a kiss on the cheek, return them safely home.
Chapter One
"You call it overthinking; I call it predicting the future."
Rukie Vert
A/N: It feels good to write again. I hope you enjoy the journey.
It wasn't a typical storm, not for this part of California. It was one of those 'once in a blue moon' events wreaking havoc throughout the city. Deafening thunder and spectacular lightning had filled the sky for over twenty-four hours, causing the streets and culverts to flood, leaving parking lots and yards as newly forming lakes. The ground was quickly becoming saturated, along with the inhabitants of Los Angeles and surrounding counties.
Johnny stood at the bay door opening, looking at the sky like a child with anticipation. Chet walked up and stood next to him, following his gaze upwards.
"What are we looking for?"
Johnny shrugged. "I can't remember the last time it looked this bad out."
Chet sipped his coffee. "It's rain, Johnny. Didn't they have rain in Montana?"
The medic scoffed and looked at him. "Of course, we had rain, Chet." He glanced back up. "This, this is trouble." He shook his finger at Chet. "You just wait," he said as he returned to the kitchen. "Trouble," he called back.
The station klaxons alarmed, causing Johnny to stop mid-stride before reaching the dayroom.
STATION 51, ACCIDENT AT DELORES STREET AND 263RD WEST, TIME OUT 0822
Hank jogged out of his office and picked up the mic. "51, 10-4, KMG 365."
Within seconds, the firemen were loaded into their trucks, and Roy pulled the Squad into the rain-filled street. The location wasn't far from the station, in an area they knew well. Within minutes, they were on scene, finding a three-car collision just off the intersection in an abandoned lot. Roy pulled up to the cub with the engine just behind them.
Hank was on the ground immediately, calling out instructions for the crew. "Marco, Chet, check those engines."
Johnny and Roy grabbed the trauma boxes and headed into the muck-filled area.
"Johnny, van," Roy called out.
One of the vehicles was a truck with an open bed hauling cages of chickens. Now, the area was littered with broken wooden crates, a handful of scattered chickens, and enough feathers to make a new bed. A middle-aged man was outside the truck, walking around and assessing the damage. He appeared drenched but unhurt. The first car Roy approached was a small yellow sedan, appearing to have front impact damage. A young woman sat in the driver's seat.
"Are you hurt?" Roy called out, knocking on her window.
She just started ahead, and he could see she was crying. Pulling on the door handle, it opened easily, startling the young lady.
"I'm Roy, with the Fire Department. Are you hurt?"
"I don't know what happened."
He could see the laceration on her forehead but no other apparent critical injuries. Kneeling beside her, he reached for a pulse and watched her breathing. "I see you have a cut on your head. Does anything else hurt?"
She shook her head. "I don't think so."
Quickly, he completed her assessment and vital signs. "I'm going to check on the other driver. Just stay here for me."
"Roy."
He turned to find Vince, the police officer they frequently worked with. "She seems to be okay. I'm going to check on the other one." He glanced across the corner lot to see Johnny talking to the van driver.
Vince nodded. "The other fella says he's okay. I'll get her statement."
"Thanks, Vince." Roy picked up the trauma box and headed to the brown Cadillac. The mud under his boots was thick, slimy, and slippery. Before he knew it, he was on his side. "Damn it," he grumbled before picking himself and the box up again.
"You okay, Roy?" Mike asked, coming up behind him.
"Yea, how's Johnny doing?"
"Chet's helping him. The van had a couple of kids in it."
Roy instantly felt anxious. "Injuries?"
Mike shook his head. "Sounds like just a little rattled. Nothing going to the ER right now."
At the truck, the older man walked outside, checking for damage. "Somebody needs to teach that one how to drive," he barked at Roy.
"Are you hurt, Sir?" he asked, ignoring the complaint.
"I'm fine but look at my caddy!"
"The police will get your statement." Roy looked at Mike and shrugged. "Guess we're done here."
Johnny laughed. "I thought mud wrestling was for the ladies, Roy."
"Funny," Roy grumbled, pulling off the heavy coat and tossing it onto the Squad floorboard.
"Hey, keep your mud to yourself," Johnny said, pushing the mud-covered coat with his foot. Picking off a couple of black feathers from his pants leg, Johnny held them up and waved them. "Something you need to share, pally?"
"Yeah, I'm glad I don't live on a farm."
He watched as Roy slipped off his helmet and climbed into the truck. "What did you do?"
Roy looked at his partner, confused. "What?"
Johnny reached into the glove box and pulled out a napkin. "Jaw," he replied, tracing his jaw with a fingertip.
Taking the napkin, Roy wiped his chin, internally wincing at the cut he found. "I'm fine." He looked over at his partner. "I'm fine."
Throwing his hands up in the air, "fine." Of course, he knew Roy wasn't really hurt; it just wasn't the best way to start the day.
"Let's get back and clean up," Roy told him.
RESCUE 51, INJURED CHILD, 251 OAKS AVENUE, CROSS ROAD 10TH, TIME OUT 0910
Johnny smiled. "Clean up, huh?"
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Pulling up to the strip mall, they searched for the correct storefront. Parking at the curb, both men hopped out, grabbed boxes, and went inside the small convenience mart. The store was poorly lit, with overhead florescent lighting that flickered, threatening to shut down permanently at any moment. Roy approached the young man working behind the counter.
"Someone called the fire department?" He asked the worker.
The guy shrugged and pointed towards the back of the store, not saying a word. Roy looked at Johnny, frustrated. A child was involved here, and neither man took that lightly. Johnny led the way to the rear of the store, finding an older man standing in front of the large walk-in freezer door. Beside him was a young boy, around six years old, eyes red with tears.
"We're sorry, Mister," the child pleaded with Johnny. "Please don't call the cops on us."
Johnny shook his head. "Nobody's calling the cops." This child looked unharmed. "Are you hurt?"
"It's not him; it's the one in there," the other worker said, indicating the freezer. "I'm Tom, this is my store."
Roy reached out and pulled on the large handle, finding it locked. "Who's in there?"
The boy started crying again. "Emily."
"There's a child in there?" Johnny asked, reaching out and trying to pull on the door.
"Oh, it's not going to open. She's somehow managed to jam the lock from the inside," Tom complained.
Roy knelt by the boy. "Is Emily your sister?" He spoke kindly and calmly to the rattled child.
He nodded.
"How old is Emily?"
"She's five."
Now Roy was becoming alarmed. "How long?" he asked the owner, who just shrugged back.
"I didn't know she was even in there until about twenty minutes ago." He pointed at the boy. "Kid came and got me; said he'd been trying to get her to open the door for a while. Thieving kids trying to steal ice cream."
Roy pulled on the door again, harder this time, not feeling it budge an inch.
"I'll call for the engine," Johnny told him, running back to the truck.
"What's the temp in there?"
The man looked unsure. "Uh, I don't know. Maybe zero and lower?"
Roy pressed his lips together. "And she's been in there for what, thirty minutes or more?"
His eyes widened. "Oh, God."
Exactly, Roy thought. Reaching up, he loudly banged his fist on the door. "EMILY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
There was no answer, and he wasn't even sure if she could hear him with the thick insulation these walk-in freezers had.
Johnny returned with a couple of blankets and the cardiac equipment. Roy nodded quietly.
"Key?" Roy asked.
Tom passed it over, "Don't you think I've tried that?"
The key slipped into the lock, though it wouldn't turn over. With frustration, Roy passed it back to him. Unfortunately, they could only sit and wait for the engine to arrive.
"Can you take him to call the parents? The hospital will need consent to treat her when we get her out."
The man nodded and guided the brother to the front of the store. Johnny pressed his ear to the door, not expecting to hear anything, but one could always hope.
"How long do you think?"
Roy shook his head, knowing he couldn't answer the question that weighed heavily on them both. When the engine sirens could be heard, Johnny ran to the front door to meet them and update them. Now Hank stood in front of the cooler, assessing the situation and how to open the door as quickly as possible.
"Stoker, get the saw."
"WHAT?!" Tom barked. "Do you know how much this thing costs?"
"More than the life of the child inside?" Roy asked him.
The man went quiet and moved away as Mike came in with the saw. The process was painstakingly slow as Mike cut through the bolt. When it was released, Hank had the handle and opened the door, letting Roy and Johnny enter first. Their breath was visible in the deep temperature of the freezer, the instant chill a stark reminder of what their small patient had been enduring for almost an hour now. It was an open room lined with shelves of boxed-up food, and in the corner, a small child was curled up on her side.
Roy was at her side instantly. Feeling for a pulse, he looked up at Johnny on her other side and shook his head. "She's too cold." Picking her up, they quickly moved out of the cold, and he gently laid her on the floor, where blankets were waiting. Next, he pulled out his stethoscope and listened closely.
"Thirty two," he announced.
"Pressure sixty systolic, no spontaneous breathing, Roy."
Chet moved in with the resuscitator and placed it on her face, beginning the lifesaving breaths, while Johnny opened the com line. Mike followed Roy's lead and began chest compressions on the small body, focusing on being careful, concerned with breaking her.
"51 to Rampart, do you read?"
Read you 51, go ahead.
"Rampart, we have a female child, aged five, suffering from severe hypothermia after being locked in a deep freezer for approximately an hour. Heart rate is thirty-two, pressure sixty systolic, no spontaneous respirations. Providing positive pressure now, starting chest compressions."
51, begin IV with D5, normal saline, rewarm slowly. Send a strip as soon as you can.
"Lead two, sending now. IV D5 normal saline."
Give half an amp epi and five milligrams of lidocaine now. Transport as soon as possible.
"Epi and lidocaine now. Ambulance ETA three minutes."
Roy placed the IV and pushed the medications before starting the fluids.
"Mike, hold on," Johnny directed him, watching the monitor. "Roy, a hundred. Still not breathing on her own."
"Em?" The small voice called out tearfully.
"Did you reach your parents?" Roy asked.
He nodded. "Momma is on the way now."
Looking up, they saw the ambulance stretcher coming down the aisle. Roy glanced back at the boy. "Tell her Emily will be at Rampart Hospital." He then directed it to the owner, "Make sure she knows."
The man nodded as they loaded her onto the stretcher.
"I'll take her in," Johnny told his partner.
Roy nodded and started gathering up the supplies.
"Need us, Roy?"
"No, Cap. I'll head to Rampart in just a minute," he said, rushing to get everything back into the cases.
Chet picked up the oxygen and a box, headed to the squad, and slipped them into the side compartments. Inside, Roy stood up and was on his way out when a large man came barreling through the front door.
"WHERE IS SHE?" He was looking around frantically. "EMILY?!"
"Sir," Roy called to him. "She's on the way to Rampart emergency room. The ambulance just left."
The woman following him was crying and distraught, now tugging at his jacket to leave. "Carl."
Pushing past Roy, he pointed at the owner. "YOU!"
Roy couldn't stop the backward momentum, which tossed him against a counter full of food, knocking him to the ground. Quickly finding his feet, Roy headed to the two men.
One was backing up as fast as his fumbling feet allowed him, the other not missing a step.
"Listen to me. Emily is on her way to the ER; you need to go to her." Roy tried to reason with the frantic father.
The man wasn't listening to Roy or his pleading wife. "I'm going to kill him!"
Grabbing the father's arm, Roy was again shoved against the counter, fighting to keep his feet. This time, he moved in front of the raging man, lowering his voice and trying to understand the intense fear the man must be feeling.
"Listen to me. Emily is critical. She needs you right now more than you need to hurt this man. Emily needs you." He paused. "Are you listening to me? Emily needs you."
The man closed his eyes and released a deep breath. "She's okay?"
Roy knew lying to this father wouldn't end well. "She's in critical condition. You need to be there for her."
"Carl, please. Our baby needs us," she cried to him.
Without another word, he took his wife by the hand and headed out of the store. The owner's eyes were wide.
"He's crazy!"
"He's a father," Roy answered him before heading out the front door. Standing outside the truck, he tried to brush off the various flavors of food that were all over his trousers, but the rain won, so he hopped in.
Pulling into Rampart, he wasn't surprised to find Johnny waiting impatiently for him at the desk. He was surprised at his reaction: hands on hips, mouth agape, and wide-eyed.
"What happened to you? Where have you been?"
Even Dixie looked concerned.
"Had a little trouble getting out of the store. How's she doing?"
Johnny smiled. "Warming up and breathing on her own. Doc thinks she's going to be okay."
That was the best news any father could hear. Dixie came around the desk and walked around him, taking in the assorted flavors. Reaching at his back, she peeled off a label and read it.
"Mudslide delight." Tilting her head, she smiled at him. "Why Roy, I had no idea."
Johnny's eyes widened. "Dixie, he's a married man!"
Roy chuckled. "Come on, I've got to get cleaned up."
"Yeah, before Cap sees you. Did you get hurt again this time?"
Now, Dixie wasn't smiling. "Hurt again?"
He looked at her with reassurance. "A scratch, Dix. No injuries."
"Okay," she replied while assessing him standing there. "Chocolate-flavored, but not hurt."
Johnny grabbed his arm and headed to the door. "Looks like I have to save your marriage. Let's go."
They could both hear Dixie laughing as they exited the ER doors.
Outside, the deluge continued, pushing them to jog a little faster to the truck.
"This flooding is getting worse," Johnny noted as they drove through the sloshing city streets. "It's going to be a long day."
Roy backed the truck into the station and watched the bay doors close, protecting them from the elements of Mother Nature.
"I'm getting a shower," he told Johnny.
Hank walked out of the dayroom and looked at Roy. "When did this happen?"
He let out a sigh. "Angry father went after the owner, and I ended up on aisle two with the pastries."
His captain was processing the answer. Roy was attacked? "You, okay?"
"Fine. Just need a shower."
Hank nodded. "Make it quick, then grab some lunch. I have a feeling it's going to be a busy shift."
Johnny joined the others in the kitchen. "I'm starving; what's for lunch?"
Mike was busy in the kitchen. "Cold cut sandwiches."
It sounded satisfactory to Johnny, who proceeded to help Mike get the supplies on the table for the hungry crew. They had missed breakfast, running nonstop all morning, and a break was greatly needed. Shortly, Roy joined them and quickly fixed a sandwich.
"Tsk, tsk, Roy," Chet chided him.
Roy was leaning over the cheese, "what?" he asked before sitting back down.
"Dessert before mealtime. Didn't your mother teach you anything?"
Johnny chuckled.
Roy rolled his eyes and shot a glare over to Johnny.
"What? I didn't say a thing."
He chose to ignore the guilty party and took a bite of his sandwich instead. There wasn't much chatter around the table since the crew felt ravenous. Once the kitchen was cleaned, Roy sat on the couch, looking at the paper.
"Still planning on coming to Chris's tournament on Saturday?" He asked his partner.
He nodded. "Of course, and working on that back deck."
"Jo has to run to her sister's Friday but said she'll be back for the game."
Johnny laughed. "Well, I hope so; she has the team star."
STATION 51, MAN ENTRAPPED IN HOUSE, 218 JACK PLACE, CROSS STREET SANDALWOOD, TIME OUT 1325
Hank stopped by the radio. "Station 51, KMG 365."
"At least we've gotten a break," Johnny said as they pulled out into the city street, pointing out the lighter rain.
"For now," Roy said, lacking the same faith as his partner. "This storm's not over yet."
With directions given, the station crew headed across the city into the hills of San Pedro. The rolling hills meet housing subdivisions here, dipping low into the backyards. Roy felt ominous about this run, knowing how the endless rain could affect hill stability. Pulling up to the address, it was immediately apparent a landslide was behind this row of houses. Jumping out and grabbing boxes, they headed to the front door. A young woman was already waiting on them, anxiously waving her arms.
"He's in the bedroom! You have to help him!"
"Alright, ma'am, calm down. We'll get him. What's his name?" Roy tried to console her without much success.
"Kevin," she cried. "Please help him. The wall, it just, it just fell on him."
The house's audible groan was a warning to the rescue men. They had little time before Mother Nature claimed more ground. Entering, the first thing noticeable was the open-air back side of the residence; the entire living room wall had collapsed under the weight of mud and rock, allowing debris to continue oozing inside. Roy motioned to the hallway, and they quickly located the master bedroom, finding the same situation as the living room. However, this time, the bed had been crushed beneath the wall materials. Both men began scrambling through the muck, pulling off lumber, drywall, insulation, and tree branches until they could finally see some feet. Johnny tried to lift the large section of intact wall construction without budging. All it took was a look at his Captain.
"Marco, porta-power now."
Roy reached for the exposed feet and felt for a pulse, finding one. "Weak and thready. Hey, can you hear me? Kevin!" He called out.
The feet didn't move, and no reply was heard. Johnny pointed to where they estimated his head to be; Roy agreed. Positioning themselves along the edge of the last piece of construction, Marco placed the jack and began slowly raising the wall. Roy, being closest to where they anticipated the victim to be lying, laid down and began to inch under the wall.
Hank was not happy with the situation that was unfolding. The drywall was becoming saturated and could fall apart over the jack at any moment.
"Anything, Roy?" Johnny asked with anticipation.
"I need more room; he's next to the bed." He paused, "a little more."
The construction creaked as it was forced to move. Johnny glanced over to Marco. "Okay, hold there."
"Roy?" Johnny called out again, now only able to see his partner's boots.
"He's unconscious, unresponsive. Pulse one-thirty, respirations ten, large swelling to the back of his head, no blood that I can see." Roy palpated all the body parts he could reach for fractures. "No breaks from what I can tell." He let out a grunt.
"Roy?"
"I'm okay, but I can't move him. He's stuck on something." Inching his way back out from the wall, everyone had a silent breath of relief to see Roy's face again. He shook his head, looking at Hank as he stood up. "I think his arm is trapped under the bed frame and it's hard to reach over him. Cap, we're going to have to cut up this wall to get him out."
The house moaned as a new layer of mud slid down to them.
"Mike, get the saw; let's get this done fast."
"Roy, the ambulance is here," Chet told him.
The medic nodded, wiping a fresh layer of mud off his face. "Grab the oxygen and resuscitator."
Chet nodded and disappeared out the door.
Marco kept a close eye on the porta-jack, knowing a critical victim needed all the space he could get.
"What are you thinking?" Johnny asked Roy, seeing how concerned he was.
Roy opened the biophone while talking. "There's a lot of pressure on him right now. If he has internal injuries, he's going to crash when we release him. We need to be ready."
Johnny nodded and pulled out IV supplies, fluids, and the esophageal airway. They would be ready. Mike returned with the saw, and after a brief discussion on where to start cutting, he began the tedious task of removing enough wall to gain access but not allow a rapid filling of the room with muddy water. Roy knew with the man's face pressed to the floor, that it wouldn't take much depth to drown him. Intermittent stops allowed for shifting of materials and shoveling of muck to increase access to their patient. The moment the piece over his head was gone, Johnny was at the man's side, placing him on oxygen. When his hand was free, they followed Rampart's orders and started the IV and fluids. Soon, Roy had enough room to move to the other side of Kevin and see the position of the man's arm under the metal bedframe. Mike then focused on freeing the arm. Once he was exposed enough to roll over, they secured his neck and placed him on a backboard. With his vitals deteriorating rapidly now, Roy was anxious to get him loaded and to Rampart.
"I'll ride," Johnny told him, looking at the head-to-toe mud-covered state his partner was in.
Roy just looked at him.
Johnny shrugged. "The Squad already needs to be cleaned."
Chet chuckled behind them as they gathered up supplies.
"Roy, I'm starting to get concerned," Dixie said, her eyebrows pressed together as she picked the leaves off his turnout coat. "Is this going to become a habit of yours?"
"Joanne will not approve," Johnny laughed.
Dixie looked at the floor. "I don't approve either." She looked up at the blue eyes with a raised brow expectation.
"Sorry, Dix. Bad day."
She could hear the guilt in his tone. Patting him on the shoulder, she pointed him to the locker room. He didn't even question it; he just nodded and headed for a second shower of the day.
"How's he doing, doc?" Johnny asked when Joe Early came out of the room.
"Skull fracture and suspected subdural bleeding. He has a rough road ahead of him if he survives."
Johnny quietly nodded. "Can you imagine just doing your own thing then, bam, a mudslide takes you out."
"Not a good way to start a day," Dixie replied as she returned to her desk.
"Tell Roy I'm grabbing coffee."
"Sure thing," she replied.
Soon, Roy was once again, de-mudded with turnouts in hand. "Ready?"
SQUAD 51 ARE YOU AVAILABLE?
Johnny picked up the HT. "51 Available."
SQUAD 51, MAN INJURED, LAYTON FARM, CROSS ROAD ELOMETA BLVD, TIME OUT 1610
"Squad 51, 10-4."