The Collapse
By Carol D.
The squad splashed to a messy stop in the debris-strewn flowing water of the gutter. Out jumped Roy DeSoto and John Gage, the paramedic team from Carson's Station 51. Both men quickly began to extract their equipment from the squad's storage bins as a woman ran toward them from the side of the middle-class suburban home.
“Please hurry! He's hurt!” she pleaded, oblivious to the light but steady shower descending from the gunmetal gray clouds that crowded the sky. The woman's hair was soaked and hung in heavy clumps across her forehead. She pushed it aside absently.
Roy and John, equipment in hand, turned and followed, sloshing through the saturated lawn and leaving footprints of standing water in their wake. Their helmets and light jackets provided scant protection against the elements.
Roy trotted ahead to catch up to the woman.
“Ma'am, what happened? Who's hurt?” he asked.
“It's my husband! He fell off the roof. Right over here.” She led them to a man writhing on the rain-soaked grass. “Please, I think he broke his back!”
It was immediately obvious to both paramedics that the victim had full mobility, the way he thrashed and groaned on the ground. Nevertheless, they realized he could still be seriously injured. They set their things down and began to assess the patient.
“Sir, take it easy,” John advised, placing a comforting hand on the man's chest. “You're gonna be all right.”
“Oh, my shoulder,” the victim moaned. “It hurts so bad.”
“Your shoulder?” John repeated. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” John cast a rueful glance skyward as he felt rain droplets seep into his jacket collar and begin to roll down his back, settling into every layer of clothing. At least it's not pelting me in the face like this poor guy.
“Rampart, this is Squad 51, do you read?” Roy spoke into the biophone's receiver.
The victim grunted in pain, his face grimacing. “I-I don't know,” he finally answered. “I think my leg's messed up too. I can't tell. Everything hurts like hell.”
“Walter!” the woman chastised.
“Christ, Peg! These men have heard worse!” he shot back. He grabbed his shoulder and wailed painfully.
John, ignoring the exchange, was taking Walter's vitals. He recited his findings to his partner, who conveyed them to Rampart. The sound of the approaching ambulance's siren was becoming audible.
“…that's affirmative, Rampart,” Roy was saying. “The victim reportedly fell off the roof of his house. I'd say it's about…” Roy glanced up at the house. “…about twelve to fourteen feet.”
“I TOLD him not to go up there!” Peg said, addressing John. “I told him to get a qualified man to take care of it, a roofer! Did he listen?”
Johnny, his attention focused primarily on the patient, stammered a non-commital reply.
“No, he didn't,” she continued. “And there I was in the house, in the kitchen, mind you…and I hear this SWOOSH sound and then this loud yell!”
“Peg! Please!” Walter moaned.
“And I ran out here and there he was on the ground, flat on his back, and I…well, I just thought he was either dead or paralyzed!” Her voice was high and quavering. “He was trying to fix a leak around the chimney. You know how chimneys are! They never seal them up right when they build them, and with all this rain…” she trailed off, her palms upward towards the heavens.
All this rain. For the past week, Los Angeles had been the unhappy recipient of an unusually long and productive monsoon-like deluge. The city was ill-equipped to deal with the weather conditions. Storm drains stopped up and overflowed, water stood inches deep in every low-lying depression and across the roadways, arroyos flowed as swiftly and powerfully as raging rivers, carrying debris and even the occasional economy car in their destructive paths. Hospitals and emergency personnel were pushed to the limits of their capabilities with each day the rain mercilessly hammered down upon the municipality.
“Rampart says immobilize and transport,” Roy reported. Droplets of rain flew from the rim of his helmet with every move.
“I'll get the backboard and splints,” Johnny volunteered.
A siren could be heard in the distance, its wail growing steadily louder. “That's the ambulance. We'll have you out of the rain and on the way to Rampart real soon,” Roy assured the patient.
“Geez, this rain,” Walter seethed. “If it wasn't for this blasted—“
“Can I come with you? To the hospital?” Peggy asked Roy.
“Yes, ma'am. You can ride in the ambulance.”
Johnny returned and they quickly got the patient ready for transport. By this time, the ambulance had arrived and the attendants helped load the patient onto the gurney. Thunder crashed overhead and lightning lit the sky as the patient was lifted into the back of the ambulance. Roy startled at the sound. The past few days had been nerve-wracking and everyone was jumpy. The rain's intensity suddenly picked up.
“I'll ride in,” Roy offered.
“Okay. See you there.” John waited as his partner climbed into the vehicle, then he shut the doors and gave them the two customary thumps, setting the ambulance on its way.
John trotted around to the side of the house to double-check for left equipment. Finding none, he strode back around toward the squad. Shoes are squishing again…and I'm fresh out of dry ones. Will this rain ever stop? He slid into the truck and set off for Rampart.
John walked into the emergency department as Craig Brice and Bob Bellingham were leaving. Johnny nodded a greeting to his colleagues.
“Gage,” Brice acknowledged succinctly.
“Hey Johnny.” Bob called out. He shook his head. “It's a jungle in there!”
Johnny smiled crookedly and continued in. The scene before him was worse than he expected. White-suited men and woman rushed in all directions; stretchers bearing injured but non-critical patients lined the corridor walls. The waiting room was over-flowing with sick people and their relatives. Johnny stopped and observed the chaos before him, wondering how he was going to locate his partner.
Continuing in, he scanned the confines of his immediate surroundings, seeing no one familiar. He decided to head for the base station and wait.
“Hey Johnny, you look like something the cat dragged in,” Dr. Mike Morton said teasingly, giving the rain-soaked paramedic an amused once-over.
“Oh, hey doc. Yeah, ha.” Johnny's reply was decidedly unamused. He shivered. Checking the coffeepot, he was chagrined to find it empty.
“No offense, man,” Morton said sincerely, but with a hint of a smile. “I don't know how you guys take it out there, day after day in—“
“All this rain,” Johnny finished for him. He grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser nearby and scrubbed his face with it, finishing by swiping it over his dripping wet hair.
“Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but as you can see we're doing a brisk business as well,” Dr. Morton said apologetically, grabbing the next chart in line and flipping it open.
“Oh, go right ahead. I'm just waiting for Roy,” Johnny said tonelessly. What I wouldn't give to be standing in a hot shower right now, instead of this miserable, crowded, over-air-conditioned…”
“What are ya standin' around for? Let's get going,” Roy said as he clapped his partner on the shoulder from behind.
This time it was Johnny's turn to startle. “Geez, Roy, don't do that to a guy who's overworked and underfed,” Johnny whined.
“You're always underfed,” Roy retorted with a grin. “As for overworked, you weren't exactly digging a ditch just now.”
“I wouldn't mind digging into something, like a nice hot bowl of soup,” Johnny muttered.
“Sounds good to me too,” Roy agreed as they ambled toward the exit, dodging all manner of bustling humanity. “What kind you gonna make us?”
“Oh man,” Johnny groused. “I forgot it's my turn to cook.”
Roy draped his arm over the sagging shoulder of his partner. “Aw, don't worry. Whatta ya say we stop at the market on the way back…pick up some stuff for Hungarian goulash?”
“Hungarian gou--! Roy! I don't know the first thing about making that!” Johnny exclaimed.
“Oh, it's easy,” Roy reassured him. “I'll help you. All you need is…”
Roy pulled the squad into a parking spot well away from the jumble of cars packed close in to the store's entrance. He shut off the engine and the two paramedics sat in awe of the rain's powerful drumming on the metal roof of the vehicle.
“I almost hate to get back out in that,” Johnny admitted.
“I know what you mean. But we better not show up at the station empty-handed,” Roy reasoned.
“Yeah. It's not like it's gonna make any difference,” John agreed. He plucked his damp shirt away from his chest with thumb and forefinger.
Roy sighed. “If you're ready, let's make a break for it.”
“It's now or never,” John added. He opened the passenger door and, ducking his head, slid out, slammed the door behind him and ran toward the store, pulling his collar up as he went. Roy splashed along right behind him.
Panting and dripping, they entered the store. “Okay, where to?” Johnny asked. He rubbed his arms and shivered. I couldn't get any wetter. Or colder.
“Uh…produce. Let's get some onions and bell peppers first,” Roy directed.
Johnny stood by impatiently while Roy selected the vegetables. The dark-haired paramedic shifted from foot to foot, bouncing lightly on his toes, his arms crossed tightly.
“Would you stop that? You're making me nervous,” Roy finally complained.
“I can't help it,” John protested. “I swear they've got the air conditioning on in here.”
“I hope you're not coming down with something,” Roy said.
“Aren't you cold?” Johnny asked defensively. “It's freezing in here!”
Roy cast a doubtful glance at John, selected a pepper, and advanced toward the meat counter.
“Two pounds of ground round,” the middle aged woman ahead of them ordered. Her frosted hair was teased improbably high and a pair of designer sunglasses hung from a gold chain around her neck. She was attired in a polyester pantsuit with a nautical motif.
Sailor suit and sunglasses? In this weather? Is that a joke? Roy thought.
“Roy, why don't we just get some pre-packaged stuff?” Johnny asked irritably.
“This is on special,” Roy explained in his most patient manner, gesturing toward the glass case.
“How do you know? You didn't even look at the packages,” John argued.
“I can read the signs,” Roy answered less patiently.
Johnny walked over to the packaged meats and checked the prices on several grades of ground beef. Roy was right, as usual. Sighing, he rejoined his partner, who stood adjacent to a bucket catching a steady stream of water leaking through the roof.
“No, I need those two pounds separated!” the woman castigated the butcher. “Two separate pounds, I'm sure I said that!”
“Yes, ma'am,” the butcher said curtly. He began to unwrap the package.
Johnny sighed again. Roy regarded him sympathetically.
“Look, John, why don't you go grab some of the other ingredients?” Roy calculated that the effort would both occupy the restless Johnny and serve to get them out of the market faster.
“Okay. Like what?” Johnny asked breathlessly.
“Macaroni. Get a pound. I think it's a couple of aisles over that way.”
Johnny nodded. He set off in search of macaroni. Roy watched his stiff-legged retreat. We gotta get him warmed up. He shouldn't be that cold. I'll start chow and let him shower first.
Johnny turned down the aisle marked “pasta, rice, sauces, Oriental, Mexican.” As soon as he rounded the corner, he nearly tripped over another bucket in the center of the aisle. This one was half full and filling rapidly. Johnny peered up at the origin of the leak but saw only a bulging ceiling tile, discolored from the water it had absorbed.
Halfway down the aisle, he spotted the macaroni. Let's see, Roy said a pound…of macaroni. Did he mean elbow macaroni? Or this straight stuff….or maybe this tubular kind. I guess it doesn't matter—
Johnny's ruminations were interrupted by the flickering of the overhead lights. Looking around, he noticed he shared the aisle with an older man, who appeared a bit shaken by the occurrence. A few moments later, a low rumble reverberated throughout the store, followed by another dimming of the lights.
“Lightning must've hit a transformer,” Johnny said, smiling. “Seems to be okay now.”
“I got a funny feeling 'bout this,” the man said seriously.
Their attention was suddenly diverted to the ceiling leak farther down the aisle, which had increased to a gushing flow, quickly overfilling the small receptacle and cascading over onto the floor.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Johnny murmured.
“Oh, for pete's sake, don't tell me the power's going out!” the woman at the meat counter snarled.
“Yes, ma'—I mean, no, ma'am,” the butcher stammered. The lights flickered again.
That didn't sound like any kind of thunder I've ever heard. Roy felt uneasy, but he couldn't pinpoint the source of his anxiety. He looked at his scant purchases so far. An onion, a pepper, and three tomatoes…we'll never get everything and get out of here before the power fails.
“Sir?” the butcher said loudly.
Roy realized the butcher was talking to him, finally. “Uh, two pounds of ground chuck,” he said.
“Two pounds? You want that together or separate?”
“Together's fine.”
The paramedic couldn't shake the sense of foreboding he felt. He watched without seeing as the man behind the glass case carefully scooped and weighed Roy's purchase.
The store manager came scurrying from the direction of the Produce Department. A stockboy followed him. The manager, a 40-ish man with black hair slicked into place unstylishly, a short-sleeved shirt, clip-on polyester tie and generous “spare tire” around his midsection, appeared to be moving uncharacteristically fast. Roy heard snippets of his quietly intense remarks to the underling trying to keep up, particularly the words “…says to evacuate…” and “…no way in hell…” The rest was indecipherable.
The stockboy hissed, “It's gushing in aisle 15!”
The manager caught wind of Roy's obvious eavesdropping, glared at the paramedic, and grabbed the young employee's arm, steering him behind the butcher's meat case, where the conversation resumed out of Roy's earshot.
Roy debated internally. If an evacuation is in the works, I could offer my – our – assistance, he thought reasonably. On the other hand, it sounds like there may not be much time…maybe we'd better cut the formalities with this guy, who doesn't seem all that swift, and just start herding people out of here now. I'd better consult with John.
Roy placed his basket down where he stood and began to head in the direction Johnny had gone minutes before.
“Hey, mister! Hey!” the butcher called.
“Forget it,” Roy called absently, waving his hand. I told Johnny to get macaroni…let's see, that would be…
His thoughts were interrupted by an unbelievable sight.
“I'm getting out of here,” the old man said resolutely.
“Huh? Oh, yeah…maybe you should,” Johnny answered. He was still transfixed by the water gushing from the ceiling. He didn't know if his imagination was playing tricks on him or not, but the flow seemed to be increasing incrementally. He tore his gaze away to see the man retreating away from the leak, making his way toward the front of the store. Looking back at the ceiling, he watched as several of the surrounding ceiling tiles distorted and began to disintegrate, falling in chunks to the floor.
This can't be happening…
At that moment, a series of loud bangs sounded in rapid succession. John startled at each report, his mind whirling at the implications. Everything happened so fast. The noises, the screams, the darkness as the power failed. Johnny stumbled blindly in the direction of the overflowing bucket. He knew he had to get around it and into the back aisle to find Roy. The groaning, grinding cacophony of steel stressed to the breaking point filled his ears. I know that sound…it's the sound of a building collapsing!
He didn't get any farther before the roof came down.
Roy grabbed the arm of the woman from the meat counter.
“Run, you've gotta get out of here!” he urged.
“Let go of me!” the woman cried, jerking her arm away.
“Lady, look! The whole ceiling's coming down!” Roy asserted.
The woman looked in the direction Roy pointed. A large section of the ceiling was bowed downward and growing larger. She looked back at Roy with alarm in her eyes.
“See, it's falling…now I mean it! Get out!” Roy repeated.
The woman's terrified eyes finally revealed comprehension. With a frightened whimper, she grabbed her purse and started towards the front.
That was when the disaster took on a magnitude even Roy hadn't anticipated. A series of loud snaps, followed by pitch darkness and raining debris followed. Then came the unbelievable commotion of the roof actually collapsing, as steel girders and sheet metal came crashing down on everything – and everyone – below.
“JOHHNNNNYYY!!!” Roy screamed as he hit the deck and flung his arms over his head.
The entire incident lasted only a few seconds.
Roy was lying face down in an inch of standing water, something moderately heavy on his back. He was able to raise his face out of the water, a fact for which he was blissfully grateful. He experimented with moving parts of his body in turn, relieved to discover everything seemed to work and there was no severe pain, only throbbing discomfort here and there. Sure I feel okay now…that's adrenaline. I wonder how I'm gonna feel later and what's going to turn out to be damaged
He pushed himself upward and crawled out from beneath the rubble that had pinned him. He then got his first indication of an injury when he felt the sharp shooting pain in his knee. Gasping, he made his way to a large enough pocket that he was able to sit upright. His hand shot up to a tickle on his forehead and came away wet and sticky. He fumbled in his breast pocket for his penlight. Switching it on, he saw that his hand was covered in blood. He rinsed the hand in the water on the floor and it came back clean and undamaged. Okay, my knee is killing me and my head is bleeding.
He shone the light around his surroundings. There was an indescribable tangle of building materials, metal supermarket shelving and packages of food, some opened, lying above and all around him, cocooning him from what lay beyond. Roy cautiously nudged some of the materials that were within reach, but all held fast. He heard distant voices and shouts, but couldn't make out any of the words. They sounded far away.
Fighting a wave of dizziness, Roy switched off the penlight and took a few deep breaths. The throbbing in his knee was growing intense. He decided to try his voice.
“Johnny?” he called. There was no reply. “Hey, anyone!” he yelled a little louder.
Roy heard a cough, coming from the direction he'd just been.
“Hello?” He waited. “Is someone there? Hey, can you hear me?”
The cough came again, louder and more insistent than before.
“Hey, can you hear me?” Roy repeated.
“I hear you. I'm stuck,” the unfamiliar voice of a male answered.
“Where are you?” Roy asked.
“I don't know.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I think so. Well, my ankle, probably.” The coughing resumed. “I swallowed some water.”
“Okay, just hang on. I-I'm sure we'll be rescued soon,” Roy called out with more conviction than he felt. He seized on a sudden inspiration: the handie-talkie! Reaching around his waist, elation turned to gloom as he realized it wasn't there. Did I have it? Or did John? Maybe it's on the floor somewhere…
Using the penlight, he scanned the murky water on the floor around him. Is that it?
Moving slowly to avoid aggravating his knee, Roy scooted in the direction of the lump on the floor. Plucking it from the water, he was cautiously pleased to discover it was, indeed, the HT…but would it work now?
“L.A., this is Squad 51, do you read?” he said. After a minute of silence, he repeated the transmission.
Miraculously, a response came over the instrument, but the sound was fuzzy and highly distorted. “Squad 51, please repeat.”
“L.A., this is Squad 51. We're at the scene of a building collapse at the Raley's market on…” Roy had to scour his memory. “…on Walnut, cross street, 58th. I-I don't know the exact address.”
“10-4 51. Stand by.”
Roy sighed and leaned back uncomfortably.
“Squad 51, do you read?” The sudden burst of noise made Roy jerk.
“10-4 L.A. I read you,” he replied breathlessly.
“Squad 51, your incident has been reported. Do you have a casualty estimate?”
“L.A…this is Paramedic Roy DeSoto. We're in the middle of the collapse. All I can tell you is, there are multiple victims. This thing came down without warning.” Roy paused to catch his breath. “I'm trapped in here…I can hear voices, but…I can't see anyone. I have no idea where my partner is.”
Roy waited expectantly for an acknowledgment, but the instrument stayed stubbornly quiet.
“L.A., this is Squad 51, do you read?” he summoned. “L.A., do you read?” Nothing. “Damn,” he swore under his breath. He closed his eyes against the throbbing in his head.
“Hey, mister?” the disembodied voice beckoned.
“Yeah? You all right?” Roy answered.
“I think I'm getting loose here.”
Roy heard grunts and scuffling sounds.
“Uh…look, don't injure yourself further. Maybe you should just sit tight until help gets here,” Roy advised.
“No…no, it's okay. I'm getting my leg free…I think.”
Roy took a deep breath, switched his light back on, and resumed exploring his trap. There's gotta be some way to work something loose. He began tugging on anything he could grab, more forcefully than before.
“Johnny!” he called. “Johnny, can you hear me?”
He turned at the sound of movement behind him. The stock boy he'd seen earlier was tunneling through a small opening to enter Roy's cramped chamber. The young man looked into the penlight's beam with an expression somewhere between shock and amazement.
“I thought it was you,” he said. “You're a fireman, right?”
“Firefighter/paramedic. Are you all right?” Roy asked.
The boy nodded briskly. “I think so. Who's Johnny?”
“My partner. He's not answering me.” Roy went back to his explorations.
“My name's Brian,” the young man offered.
“Brian, hi, I'm Roy. I'm sorry, I…wasn't thinking.” Actually, I was thinking about John.
“That's okay.”
“Where's your manager?” Roy asked.
The boy shook his head. “As soon as stuff started falling, he high-tailed it out the back door. I ran in to try to get some people out…”
Roy nodded slightly. “That showed a lot of courage.”
Brian shrugged. “Lot of good it did.”
“At least you didn't get hurt too bad,” remarked the paramedic. And they talk about 'young people these days.'
“Maybe I can help you find your partner,” Brian suggested.
“Maybe…I was just trying to find something loose.” Roy resumed testing different parts of the rubble, hoping to find a weak link.
Brian scooted toward him and started doing the same. “Did you hear that?” he asked suddenly.
Roy stopped and listened. “The sirens?”
“They're coming! They're gonna get us out!”
Roy sighed. “Brian…it may take a while. We're stuck in here pretty good. When buildings fall down, it can take hours to rescue the victims.”
“Well, they'll get us. I know they will,” he mumbled.
Roy smiled weakly. “They'll definitely get us.”
The two worked side by side, trying to find a way out. Every few minutes, Roy would stop, sit back and catch his breath. That was when he'd try calling out to Johnny, but no response ever came. They'd hear distant, muted shouts and an occasional crash, but nothing close by.
“Cap, look! The squad!” Mike Stoker exclaimed as he maneuvered the fire engine through the congested parking lot.
Sure enough, it was the squad. Parked fifty yards away from the store entrance, in non-emergency mode: no lights flashing. The paramedics had been on a follow-up to Rampart when the collapsed building call came in to the station. Now, Captain Stanley tried to recall if Squad 51 had been summoned to the disaster in addition to the umpteen other units listed. He was reasonably sure it had, but whether or not they'd acknowledged it was a mystery to him at this point.
The captain lifted the mic. “L.A., this is Engine 51. What is Squad 51's status?”
“Engine 51, Squad 51 reported to dispatch at 13:21 hours that they are trapped in the building collapse at your location.”
Hank Stanley blew out a breath in frustration.
“L.A., when was your last contact with Squad 51?”
“Engine 51, we lost contact with Squad 51 during that transmission and have been unable to hail them since.”
“10-4, L.A.”
Mike eased the rig to a stop close to the front curb. Although a steady shower still fell, a large crowd of onlookers mingled with a few apparent victims sporting lacerations and favoring injured limbs. Several policemen tried to reign in the merely curious. Engine and Squad 16 were already on the scene.
“Chet! Marco!, John and Roy are trapped in there. They contacted Dispatch once, but haven't been heard from since.” Hank gazed at the sight. “Christ, what a mess.”
“Well, if they made contact once, I guess that's a good sign,” Chet opined.
“But why only once? Why haven't they been in contact since?” Marco challenged him.
“At least we know they survived the initial disaster,” Mike added.
Captain Lowell from Station 16 approached. “Hank, we've got untold casualties here. I'm afraid that the ones we see walking around out here are just a drop in the bucket. There could be a hundred people in there, or more.”
“Including my two paramedics,” Hank said.
“I saw your squad. So, they're inside?” Lowell asked.
“Yup.”
“How'd they manage that?”
Stanley was shaking his head. “Apparently, they were shopping. It was one of my paramedics' turn to cook.”
“Tough news, Hank. We'll do everything we can to get them out.”
“Stoker! Lopez! Kelly! Let's move!” Stanley commanded.
After nearly an hour, Roy managed to pull away a large section of shelving he'd been working on. He shifted back and to the side as it slid and crashed to the floor. “Hey Brian, I'm getting through,” he panted.
There was a piece of sheet metal blocking the window they'd created. Together, they heaved and pushed the obstacle out of the way. Roy grabbed his penlight and shone it through the opening. He did a double-take. There, sitting up, a mere three feet away, blinking in the beam of the light, was Johnny.
“Johnny!” Roy exclaimed, his voice cracking in surprise. With renewed energy, he quickly crawled through the hole to the other side. This area was considerably more spacious than the one he'd been in, and not as dark. “Are you all right?”
“Uh…yeah.” Johnny nodded lazily. He inhaled a deep shaky breath.
Roy was shaking his head in wonderment. “Why didn't you answer me? Didn't you hear me calling?” The senior paramedic did a quick visual appraisal of John's condition. He appeared somewhat dazed and was shivering slightly, but otherwise seemed okay. Heck, they were all shivering; it was cold and wet.
“I-I...” John's eyes wandered as if searching for an answer. “don't—“
“Are you all right?” Roy repeated, frowning. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Help! Help me!” a woman's voice cried.
Roy's attention shifted to the call for help that came from the shadows at the far end of the chamber. By this time, Brian had crawled through as well.
“Ma'am?” Roy called. “Are you hurt? Where are you?” Mindful of his injured knee, he began to carefully scoot toward the voice.
“No, I'm not hurt! I just want to get out of here!”
Roy paused momentarily. I know that voice. The woman at the meat counter. He aimed the penlight into the dark recesses and spotted a navy blue shoe with a gold anchor embroidered on top.
“Ma'am…if you're not hurt, why don't you just come on out?” he asked gently.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Roy rolled his eyes. “I'm a firefighter/paramedic. My name's Roy. You can come out.”
“How many men are out there?” she asked, a bit more subdued.
Roy realized what the woman insinuating. She thinks she's the helpless female in a den of hungry wolves and we're all going to ravage her. He stifled a laugh. “Ma'am, it's just me, my partner and Brian, the store employee. You can come out, it's safe. Now, what's your name?”
Brian looked at Johnny and smirked at the situation. Johnny's eyes met his but failed to show any amusement.
“Wanda,” came the wary reply from the shadows.
“Okay Wanda, that's it, just scoot on out, and we'll get a look at you and make sure you're okay,” Roy said.
Once out in the open, the woman fearfully scanned the faces of her would-be attackers. She seemed to relax when she saw Roy, his face bloodied, the youthful Brian and the disinterested John.
“Okay, you sure you're all right?” Roy asked solicitously.
“I think so. Just wet…and miserable! How could a thing like this happen? I've never heard of such a thing! How can a roof just fall on people like that? How are we going to get out of here? When are they going to rescue us?”
Roy turned his face away and smirked. We got a live one here.
“Why don't you let me check you over?” Roy suggested.
“What do you mean, 'check me over'?” Wanda asked defensively. The fear returned to her eyes.
“Ma'am, just a quick check of your heart rate and your pupils. I'm a paramedic. Do you know what that is?” Roy's patience seemed endless.
“No, I don't know what that is. So just keep your distance, you hear?”
Roy turned away without comment. “Brian, why don't you let me look at that ankle of yours?”
“Oh, it's okay. Just sprained I think,” the young man said calmly.
Roy palpated the affected joint. “I can't really tell. It may be broken. We'd better loosen up your sneaker here. This swelling is probably going to get worse.” He turned to John. “Johnny, could you get the HT? I left it just on the other side of the hole there. It's up out of the water. I was trying to let it dry out. Maybe it'll be working by now.”
Johnny nodded. “O-okay.” He nodded slightly again, his lips pressed in a tight line. He seemed to ponder the task. He looked at Roy thoughtfully. “Roy?”
“Yeah?” Roy was busily trying to free Brian's ankle.
“You're bleeding.”
“I know. Maybe you could look at it. I don't think it's too bad.”
“How'd you get hurt?” John asked.
Roy looked into Johnny's perplexed eyes. “I guess something hit me when the roof fell,” he answered evenly.
Johnny's eyes widened. He looked more confused than before, but seemed reluctant to ask any more questions.
“Boy, for a fireman he's not too bright,” Wanda muttered.
Roy shot a withering glare at the woman, then addressed Johnny. “You gonna get the HT?”
“HT?”
“In there,” Roy reminded him, motioning his head toward the hole. He kept working on the knotted lace of Brian's shoe.
“HT,” John whispered to himself. “Got it, Roy.” He moved slowly from his resting stop, one arm kept close to his side as he knee-walked through the water toward the opening.
Roy observed his partner with a critical eye. Something's wrong. He SAID he's okay, but he's acting really strange. It's been a little too long to chalk his behavior up to “dazed.”
“Whew, that feels better,” Brian remarked, interrupting Roy's thoughts.
“Yeah, that was constricting you quite a bit.” Roy loosened the laces on the sneaker. “Let me know if it starts feeling tight again.”
“Okay.”
“What about me?” Wanda demanded.
“Are you hurt, ma'am?” Roy asked solicitously, pretending that Wanda hadn't rebuffed his offer of help only a few minutes earlier.
“Well, I'm sure I am! You can't have a…a…roof fall on you and not get hurt!”
“Okay, how about I just do a quick check if there's nothing specific that's bothering you?” Roy offered.
Wanda looked back and forth between the expectant gazes of Roy and Brian. “I'll let you know if anything's bothering me!” she exclaimed, suddenly wary again.
Roy sighed, barely concealing his exasperation, as he turned away from the fickle woman. “You find it, Johnny?” he addressed the back of his partner. John's head and shoulders had disappeared into the opening.
John didn't answer, so Roy waited for him to re-emerge.
“Johnny?” Roy called again.
John backed out of the hole. “Here,” he said, holding the instrument shakily toward Roy. He slid back to a sitting position in the water and sighed heavily.
Roy thought it odd that Johnny didn't go ahead and try to make contact on the HT himself. He reached to grab the radio and tried operating it, but it still wouldn't function. Roy shook his head in frustration. “I'll let it dry some more. Maybe it'll work then.”
“Sorry, Roy,” John mumbled.
“Sorry?”
“It's…not working.” Johnny said.
“Oh. Well, it's not your fault.” Roy grinned. His smile faltered when Johnny didn't respond in kind.
“Hey, maybe we could get out of here by ourselves,” Brian enthused. “Maybe there's some loose junk around here. If we could move some of it, we might be able to get out.”
“It's worth a try,” Roy agreed.
“I'm not moving anything,” Wanda interjected.
“That's all right,” Roy answered. “Johnny, why don't you start over there.”
“'Kay,” the paramedic agreed. He rose stiffly and made feeble attempts to dislodge a sheet of corrugated metal that didn't budge. Roy noticed he still held one arm close his side.
Noticing Brian was busily working, Roy crept to Johnny's side. He had an idea of how he could gauge his partner's mental status. “Johnny, maybe you can take a look at this now.”
Johnny turned quickly, startled. “Oh Roy, it's you.” He did a double-take and squinted. “You're bleeding!” he exclaimed with alarm.
…for the second time…
“Yeah, uhh…” Roy fought to keep his voice calm. “Could you just take a quick look? See how bad it is?”
Johnny sighed uncertainly. He raised his right arm and gingerly moved Roy's blood-matted hair aside, probing for the source of the bleeding.
Roy sucked a quick breath between his teeth. “Ow, I think that's it,” he said, smiling weakly.
Johnny pulled his hand back reflexively. “Sorry, sorry Roy…sorry. You got a…la-…la-…” Johnny dipped his head and grimaced. “…-ceration…about 2 inches. Looks pretty deep.”
“That's what I figured,” Roy said.
“We…we should probably get you to Rampart. Soon,” John advised. He frowned slightly.
Roy stared at the face of his friend, a face that suddenly didn't look at all familiar. He looks like a deer in the headlights, scared and confused. Not like the confident, competent professional he is. “It's not going to be anytime real soon,” he muttered. Gesturing, Roy asked, “Johnny, does your arm hurt?”
Johnny looked down at his left arm as if seeking a visual cue to the answer.
“Let me look at it,” Roy coaxed, reaching slowly for the arm. He felt John stiffen as he palpated the wrist and advanced up the arm. Johnny gasped.
“Sorry, Johnny. I think it might be broken.” Roy reached for his scissors and deftly slit the sleeve of John's damp jacket. The arm inside was markedly discolored and swollen.
“It hurts…a lot. I think it might be broken,” he said, parroting Roy's statement.
“Yeah, I think maybe it is. Let me just give you a quick looking over, okay?”
Johnny didn't protest. He watched Roy remove his penlight and aim it at his eyes. The bright beam caused him to squint.
Pupils unequal and sluggish, Roy noted mentally.
Roy reached up and gently ran his experienced fingertips along the surface of John's skull. He was well familiar with its topography, having checked his partner out after innumerable close calls. Toward the back, near the crown, his right hand encountered a raised edge-like bump and stickiness. Pulling his hand back, he saw the dark red congealed blood on his fingertips.
Johnny was staring dully at Roy's chest, disinterested in the exam.
“Johnny, you've got a nasty bump on your head here,” Roy informed him. “Did you lose consciousness after the roof collapsed?”
“No…I-I mean…I don't kn-know,” John mumbled.
“You don't remember?”
Johnny shook his head slightly, misery in his eyes.
“How do you feel now?”
John considered the question. “Not too good,” he said softly.
Roy noted the paleness of John's face and the dullness of his eyes. “Tell me what you're feeling.”
“Bad headache…kinda sick…like…sick…y'know...”
“Like you're going to throw up?” Roy prompted.
“Y-yeah.” Johnny swallowed.
Roy nodded. “You've got a concussion…at least. Look, I want you to keep me apprised of how you're feeling, okay? Don't try to hide it if you start getting worse. This isn't the time for heroics.”
Johnny nodded. “Roy, are you all right?”
“I've been better.”
“C-can I…” Johnny's eyes wandered as he lost his train of thought. “Uh…”
Roy sighed. “I'm all right, don't worry. Look, there's nothing more I can do for you except try to get us out of here. You just sit still and tell me if you need anything. Okay?”
“'Kay,” Johnny whispered.
Roy started back to the task of moving rubble
“Roy?”
The senior paramedic turned.
Johnny's eyes wouldn't meet his. “Where are we?”
“We're trapped in a building collapse. Just take it easy. I'm sure help is on the way,” Roy said calmly. He joined Brian.
Brian, having listened to the exchange, whispered, “Is he all right?”
Roy hesitated only a moment before answering, “no.”
Chet Kelly shuffled tiredly to the break area. He'd been lifting and digging for over an hour, and needed something to drink. He also needed to get away from the haunting image of the dead. So far, he'd discovered one survivor and two fatalities. Fatalities were bad enough in any circumstance; he couldn't shake the worry that plagued him about his colleagues.
Gulping a sports drink, a realization occurred to him. It's not raining. For the first time in a week, the rain had ceased. Chet turned his somber eyes to the sky. It was still gray, but a whiter shade of gray, a definite improvement over the oppressive dark grayness that had held court for so many days.
Refreshed, the fireman returned to the tedious task, alongside his fellow rescuers. We're gonna find them, and they're gonna be okay.
Inside the chamber, Roy was ready for a break as well. He sat heavily in a puddle of water, idly wondering if he'd ever be dry again.
“What are you stopping for?” Wanda whined. “You can't stop! You've got to get us out of here!”
“I'm taking a break,” Roy slowly, as if explaining something to a small child. He watched Brian with weary eyes. “Take a break, Brian,” he recommended to the teenager. Roy rubbed his sore knee, wincing at the touch. He began to roll up his pants leg to get a better look, when he heard a sudden rapid panting.
Johnny sat in the same spot as before, his eyes closed and his jaw slack, taking deep breaths and swallowing frequently. He fidgeted restlessly, then his eyes flew open and he leaned sideways, emptying the sparse contents of his stomach. Roy hustled over to his partner's side, dragging his painful leg behind him.
“Good lord, does he have to do that here?” Wanda sneered with distaste.
“Where do you suggest he do it?” Roy retorted. He made it to John's side and supported his head during the last few unproductive stomach contractions. Johnny groaned with each dry heave. Spent, he nearly toppled over, but Roy grasped his shoulders and sat him back up again.
“Johnny, you all right?” he asked frantically.
Johnny's head lolled and he moaned again, shuddering.
“Johnny, it's all right. It's passed. Take some deep breaths.”
“Aaaaaahhhhhhh.” John's brows knit, then raised, pulling his eyelids open. He fixed his bleary gaze on Roy. “R-r-rroy?”
“I'm here.”
“Man…I'm sick. Oh God…” Johnny wrapped his good arm around his mid-section.
“I'm sorry, John. I don't have anything to make you feel better.”
“Ohhhhhh…oh shit…I feel…like shit.”
“I know,” Roy said regretfully. “Just try to take it easy.” Roy felt a pang of frustration at his helplessness. Yeah, 'take it easy' is really going to help him now.
“I don't appreciate that language,” Wanda stated.
“He can't help it!” Brian hissed. Roy ignored the woman.
John swept his unfocused eyes around the small confines of the chamber. “Where…what…?” His brow knit in concentration.
“We're still trapped, Johnny. Remember?” Roy asked anxiously.
Johnny took in his surroundings. “We better…get this mess…cleaned up…Cap's…not gonna like…” His eyelids slid down once more and he became still, breathing noisily.
Roy clenched his jaw. “Don't worry about it now, Johnny. It's not important.” He grabbed the HT. “This is HT 51. Does anybody read? Over.” His voice was taut with anxiety. “This is HT 51! Does anybody read, goddammit?”
Roy raised the radio and, with a grunt, hurled it forcefully against the opposite wall of their prison. It hit with a satisfying crack, flinging broken parts in all directions. Roy sat, panting, scarcely believing what he'd done. Several seconds passed in silence before he stole furtive glances at first Wanda, then Brian. Both averted their eyes self consciously to avoid eye contact. He looked at Johnny, who only stared sleepily at the broken radio. I've lost it. They're all counting on me, and I'm turning into a lunatic. I have to keep it together.
“Let's get back to work,” he said to Brian.
This is KTZM News reporter Rebecca Patterson at the scene of a supermarket roof collapse. As you can see behind me, the entire roof of this Raley's supermarket on Walnut Boulevard in Carson caved in, evidently under the weight of standing water, the result of the record rainfalls recorded in recent days.” The perky brunette with the Dorothy Hamill haircut and khaki trenchcoat continued earnestly. “Rescue workers from multiple fire companies have been on the scene for over three hours, trying to find survivors of the deadly collapse in the rubble. Sadly, several fatalities have been confirmed. Although we don't have a definite count as of yet, a source tells us that seven bodies have been recovered…”
Captain Stanley strode grimly to the triage area, where Squad 36 and Squad 110 were treating victims.
“Any word on Gage and DeSoto, Cap?” 36's Bill Dobbins inquired while wrapping gauze around a man's bleeding head.
The look on Hank Stanley's face made him wish he hadn't asked.
Ignoring the question, Hank asked, “How's it going over here? Are you guys managing the injured all right?” Are you guys going to be able to attend to my men the second they're recovered?
“Yeah, Cap, we've got it under control. So far.” This from Darren Cox. “They're calling in all the off-duty guys too.”
“Okay, good.” Stanley paced like a nervous tiger. The paramedics cast knowing looks at one another surreptitiously. They knew how hard it was to await the fate of colleagues, especially those under your command. They felt bad enough themselves about 51's missing paramedics; they could only imagine how the rest of the men at 51 were agonizing.
Stanley wandered away from the triage area and right into the path of the intrepid reporter and cameraman.
“Captain, I understand there are firefighters missing in the debris. Can you confirm that and tell us how that happened?” Miss Patterson asked, poking the microphone into Hank's face.
A look of extreme annoyance crossed Hank's face. “I have no comment at this time,” the captain answered with herculean restraint.
“But Captain, is it true that two fire department rescue men just happened to be in the store when the collapse occurred?” she pressed persistently.
“I'm sorry, miss, I can't answer your questions. Now, if you'll please excuse me—“
“Captain, have you made any contact with the missing men? Do you know if they're alive?”
“Look, I told you—“ Hank had his finger raised, ready to lay in to the woman. He quickly regained his professional composure and finished, “No interviews now. This is a search and rescue operation. Good day.”
He abruptly turned and walked away.
Brian sighed wearily and hunkered down, tenderly palpating his swollen ankle. The shoe was tight again, the swelling on the increase.
“Is it getting uncomfortable?” Roy asked.
“It really aches,” Brian admitted.
“Here, let's loosen it some more.” Roy eased himself down to help, wincing as his knee protested. “Is that better?”
Brian shrugged, discouraged. “I guess.” He sighed again, his breathing becoming deep and shaky as he fought the tears that threatened. Brian's face crinkled into a mask of grief and he hung his head, his hand loosely shielding his face. His shoulders shook as he quietly sobbed, an occasional whimper escaping.
Roy's heart went out to him. The kid had been so brave for so long, and the toll of the pain and fear were finally overwhelming his fragile resources. The firefighter hesitantly laid his hand on the boy's back, lightly patting it.
“I know it's tough, Brian. But they're gonna get us out. Can you hear it?” Roy paused. The humming sounds of machinery reverberating through the tangle of the fallen market were faintly audible. “That's the guys with the saws and the generators. They're working their butts off out there, Brian, to rescue us and everyone else too.”
“But what if they don't know we're here?” Brian wailed. “What if no one remembers about us?” He succumbed to a new round of choking sobs.
“Brian, they know we're here!” Roy assured him. “My partner and I,” Roy shot a cursory glance at Johnny's inert form, “we left our truck outside, see…and I've got a feeling that our engine company, the guys we work with, are trying harder than anybody else to get through all this mess and find us. Firefighters are that way.” Roy gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile to the slightly calmer teen.
“I guess you're right,” Brian sniffled. “I'm so tired of this. I just want to go home!”
Wanda, who had been sitting silently for over an hour, gave a quiet snort, but didn't comment. She put her head in her hand and closed her eyes.
Johnny, half conscious, launched into a bout of mild but persistent coughing. He sat slumped, his chin grazing his chest. His body fidgeted from the discomfort of his position, but he lacked enough awareness to effect a change.
Leaving Brian, Roy once again dragged his injured leg through the water to his partner's side. “Johnny?” He gently raised John's chin and, fishing his penlight out, checked the groggy man's pupils. John moaned continuously, his right hand traveling back and forth to rest first on his brow then his chest. His eyes fought to open but couldn't sustain more than a few seconds at half-mast. His entire body trembled.
“C-c-cold,” he stammered. “Iss c-cold…”
“I know, Johnny,” Roy sympathized. “Hopefully, they'll find us soon.”
“Find…find what…ahh!” John's face distorted in pain and his hand traveled to his forehead.
“What is it?” Roy asked. “Are you okay?”
“S-s-stop! Ah…god, stop! Hurts,” he whimpered. He sighed and went limp.
Roy grabbed John's wrist and checked his pulse again, finding it fast and irregular.
“Johnny, can you hear me?”
Soft groans were his only answer.
Roy sighed wearily, worry creasing his brow. He turned to Brian. “Look, we're not making any headway getting ourselves out. I think it's time we concentrated more on getting ourselves as comfortable as possible. It's going to be dark soon, looks like. It could get a lot colder in here.”
Wanda visibly perked up. “They're not going to leave us in here all night!” It was more a statement than a question. “Why, we'll die! We can't survive in this…this…tomb all night long!”
“Roy, is that true? Will they call off the search?” Brian's earlier calm was receding into fear again.
Roy stiffened with agitation. “No—look! They are not going to stop searching! It's getting dark, that's all! It may get uncomfortably cold in here, but the searchers are gonna keep looking! They're gonna get us out.” Do even I believe that? He studied the faces of the two frightened victims. Wanda looked resigned. Brian wanted to believe Roy's promise, but a shadow of doubt clouded his face.
Johnny started coughing again, weak, ragged, wet coughs that shook his body.
“I've gotta take care of Johnny,” Roy said in a voice barely above a whisper. “He's in bad shape.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Brian offered.
Roy considered this. “Yeah. You can help.” A look of gratitude softened his haggard features. He shrugged out of his jacket. “I can't lay him down with a head injury. I'm gonna sit behind him, and hold him against me. Here, take his legs. When I say, pull him forward, and I'll slip in behind him while you hold him.”
Brian nodded his understanding. He encircled Johnny's lower legs with his arms. Roy wrapped his arms around John's chest and lifted him upright from his slumped position. “Okay, it's going to be a little tricky with my knee…just bear with me, Brian.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, let's move him.” As they shifted the limp paramedic, Roy gasped in pain, his face contorted. “Hold it, hold it.”
“Are you all right?” Brian asked.
Roy's face relaxed. “Just my knee…man, it's messed up. Okay, I'm set. Lay him back against me.” Roy noticed for the first time the dark stain saturating the back of Johnny's collar. “Now drape my jacket over him.”
“He's shaking,” Brian observed.
“He's hypothermic,” Roy said. At the look of confusion on Brian's face, he explained, “That means his body temperature is dropping. It's not good. I'm hoping I can warm him up a little. At least keep him from losing any more heat.”
Brian rubbed his palms together. “It's starting to get really cold in here.”
“Yeah, it doesn't help that we've been sitting on this concrete in wet clothes for several hours,” Roy added wryly. He felt he irregular rise and fall of John's chest and the rapid beating of his heart.
“I don't understand why they haven't gotten us out yet!” Wanda piped up. “I'm freezing, I'm hungry, and I want out of here! What's the delay? What is the matter with firemen these days?” She began to wave her hands animatedly as her rant escalated. “Why, 20 years ago men knew how to work. It wasn't like it is now, with all these overgrown hippies trying to do civil service jobs. Bunch of spoiled rotten brats, all of 'em! Nobody knows how to do anything right anymore—“
“Look – Wanda…” Roy seethed, disregarding the flagrant insults the woman had hurled. “It takes time to rescue people in this kind of a disaster. It's just gonna…take some time. Now I suggest that you get yourself as comfortable as you can—“
“Comfortable? Comfortable! Are you some kind of idiot? You're not much better than your dim-witted partner there! Why I—“
Johnny began to stir, mumbling incoherently.
“Johnny?” Roy beckoned, but Johnny only became still again.
“What do you think's wrong with him?” Brian asked hesitantly.
“He's got a head injury, Brian. Something hit his head real hard. I'm afraid it's causing bleeding or swelling in his brain…or both.”
“That sounds bad.”
Roy looked steadily into the young man's eyes. “It could be very bad.”
“Lopez, Kelly, take a break,” Captain Stanley ordered robotically.
“We will, Cap. They're close to breaking through and—“ Marco huffed.
“No, no…take a break. Don't make me pull rank,” The captain pleaded wearily.
Chet and Marco eyed one another and reluctantly ceased working. Satisfied, their captain wandered away. Wordlessly, they crept across the unsteady pile of rubble that was once a thriving supermarket, towards the beverage cart. The gloomy skies of so many days had finally cleared, replaced by a swath of swirling cumulus and showing promise of a glorious sunset. Neither man could appreciate the beauty of the unfolding drama in the sky; the one they were enmeshed in on the ground was all consuming. Indeed, the encroaching darkness was an unwelcome development. Working by searchlight was far inferior to the natural light of the day.
A swell of activity suddenly erupted at the rescue site.
“We're through! Hey, we're through!” voices shouted.
Chet and Marco turned and anxiously scampered across the uneven debris. One of the rescue workers from another company was lowering himself into an opening. The men from 51 stood back, anxiously waiting. Soon, Mike Stoker and Hank Stanley had joined them.
“Hey Clyde, whatcha got?” a man said into his HT.
Everyone stood quietly. The radio squawked to life. “Okay, I got someone here!”
Hank pushed forward towards the center of activity. “Who? How many?”
“How many victims, buddy?” the first asked into the mic. Everyone was well aware of the missing paramedics and 51's anxiousness about any news.
“I'm gonna need two stokes and some help down here!” Clyde relayed.
Two! Hank felt his pulse quicken. He glanced at Stoker, Kelly and Lopez. They were wide-eyed and alert for more information.
“Okay, on the double.” Noting the anxious expressions of 51s, he keyed the mic again. “Clyde, your victims…are they the missing paramedics?”
After an interminable silence, Clyde responded. “No. I got an elderly man and a young woman here.”
Chet swore under his breath and turned away angrily. Deflated and despondent, the captain and crew of Engine 51 hung their heads. The disappointment was evident in their posture and on their faces as they once again made their way slowly to the break area. No one spoke.
“Roy! Roy!” Brian enthused.
Roy emerged from his light slumber and looked questioningly at the young man.
“Listen!”
“Can't you be quiet? I'm trying to sleep here!” Wanda complained. “God knows it's the only way to pass time in this—“
“Shhhh!” Brian interrupted her.
They sat, silent. Roy squinted his eyes as he strained to hear something, anything. All he could hear was the irregular breathing of his partner whose dead weight lay against him.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“Can't you hear? It's voices! I hear voices, not too far away.” Brian cocked his head and nodded. “I do, I hear 'em!”
“Good! That means they're getting close,” Roy said hopefully.
“I'll believe it when I see it,” came Wanda's dour proclamation.
“Roy's right. They're coming. I'm sure of it,” Brian said with confidence.
“Brian, why don't you go as far as you can in the direction of the voices…and yell as loud as you can. Okay?” Roy requested.
“Okay!” Brian moved into the shadows himself. He cupped his hands and yelled, “HEY! HEY!” He waited and listened. “I don't know if they heard me,” he admitted.
“Maybe, maybe not. It'd be hard to tell from down here. Why don't you try a few more times.”
“HEY! CAN YOU HEAR ME? WE'RE DOWN HERE!” He coughed dryly.
Roy felt Johnny's weight shift against him. A long, low moan, originating deep in the injured man's chest, reverberated up through his airway as his head slowly rolled back and forth.
“Easy, Johnny. Hang on, help is coming.” Roy doubted Johnny could comprehend or even hear what he was saying, but he said it anyway on the chance it might register on some level and comfort his partner.
Brian yelled again, his voice quickly becoming ragged from the strain, exacerbated by dehydration.
Roy struggled to sit upright, as he'd slumped some during his brief nap. He looked around the darkening chamber.
“Brian, come over here and help me.”
“Yeah, Roy?” Brian's teeth chattered from the cold and exposure.
“What's that over there? Are those bags of rice?”
Brian scuttled over to the heap Roy indicated. “It is. It's rice.”
Roy nodded. “Okay, good. Let's put them down here like a bed and see if it's not big enough to lay Johnny on. I don't want to lay him on the cold floor. The rice will insulate him a little bit, even if it's not very soft.”
“Good idea.” Brian set to work assembling a cushion from the assorted bags of rice. The jumbo bags he placed in a single layer; the smaller ones he doubled up. Before long, he'd used up most of the bags.
“Stack them higher on one end, Brian. He needs his head elevated.”
Brian followed this recommendation and fashioned a wedge-shaped slope toward one end. “That's it, Roy. It looks big enough.” Brian surveyed his work with pride.
“Okay. He's not going to be easy to move. I'll take this end. You grab his legs like you did before.” Roy encircled Johnny's chest with his arms, clamping tight. “We'll have to go slowly. I can't move too fast with this knee. I don't want to jerk him too much.”
“Right.”
Roy began crabbing sideways, dragging his partner by inches. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his knee, but the sharp, lancing pains that accompanied each movement were impossible to disregard. Brian kept up, moving John's legs accordingly. “Come up here and help me lift him,” Roy said breathlessly, spent from his effort. Brian slid his arms under the unconscious paramedic and, together, they hoisted him onto the makeshift bed.
Roy slid out from his cradling position, setting Johnny's head down carefully on the uninjured side. The change in orientation caused John to stir restlessly. Roy watched him for any signs of distress. “I wish I had something to cover him with, besides this stupid jacket.” Satisfied that Johnny was breathing all right, Roy turned to Brian. “Let's try to get some attention down here.”
Roy massaged his temples, willing himself to follow the younger man to the dark corner of their entrapment. The prospect of moving again was decidedly unwelcome. His knee was as painful as any injury he could ever remember. Moving Johnny had upped the agony considerably. Man, I'm drained…between the pain of my injury and worrying about my partner, I don't know if I have anything left. No, we're this close. It's gonna happen soon, I can feel it. I've gotta summon a little more strength, if not for me, then for Johnny. He's not going to make it if I don't.
As if on cue, a soft groan emanated from the dark-haired paramedic on the ground. Shining his penlight, Roy was surprised to see Johnny's eyes flutter and open.
“Johnny?” he said softly.
Johnny's eyes slid shut again, eliciting a sigh of frustration from Roy. Just a fluke.
As he was about to follow Brian, Roy heard a garbled utterance come from his partner.
“Johnny?”
This time, when John's eyes opened, they searched until lighting in the general vicinity of Roy's hovering face. Seemingly unable to focus, the brown eyes drifted in lazy circles.
“Johnny, I'm here. Just keep hanging on…do you understand me?” Roy asked desperately.
“Nnnn…Rrrrrr,” Johnny struggled to form intelligible words.
“Don't try to talk. The rescue crews are nearby. Can you hear that? That's Brian, shouting to the crews. We should get out of here soon,” Roy assured him. I don't even know if he can understand me.
Johnny frowned in frustration and swallowed hard. “T-two…d-dou…dou…ble.”
“Double? You have double vision?”
Johnny closed his eyes and nodded.
Roy felt utterly helpless. He was fresh out of platitudes.
Johnny opened his eyes again. “R-r-ro…”
“Yeah?”
“S-s…s-sc…” His brow knit and the corners of his mouth turned down.
“Johnny, don't try to—“
“S-s-s…” Johnny gazed at the two identical faces hovering over him. They slowly merged into one -- for just a moment -- and the utter fatigue and stress of the ordeal etched into the familiar features stopped him cold. He froze, his dark eyes beseeching.
Roy had never seen his friend look so fearful, so haunted. He's terrified. “Johnny, just…just…” he trailed off, knowing he wouldn't soon forget the expression he'd just seen on his best friend's face.
“Roy! Roy!” Brian shrieked.
“What?” Roy tore his attention away from his partner.
“They're coming! They're coming! I heard 'em! They heard me too!” Brian was overjoyed.
Roy smiled tiredly. “See? I knew it…I told you they'd find us.”
Wanda perked up. “Praise the lord,” she muttered cynically. “I'm first out of here. Don't anybody get any ideas.” She began gathering her belongings.
Good riddance, Roy thought. But he was too encouraged to be upset by her selfishness.
Mike and Marco teamed with personnel from Stations 16 and 110 to continue the search and rescue operation. Their disappointment over not finding Roy and Johnny earlier had lessened and they found they now felt renewed hope and determination.
It was dark by this time. Enormous floodlights had been erected all around the disaster, illuminating it for the continued search.
“I've never seen so many layers of crap sandwiched together like this,” lamented 110's engineer Dale Carruthers. “Every time I think I've broke through, there's another sheet of metal to cut through.”
“I know what you mean,” Marco said. “I keep thinking we're going to find a pocket in there, but maybe we'll keep digging through all the way to the ground.”
“We've gotta check every square foot of this mess,” Mike reminded them. His gaze roamed over the surface of the store's remains, where multiple teams of rescue workers were doing the same thing they were.
“I know. There's no way of telling what's underneath, if anything,” Marco said.
“Or anyone,” clarified Carruthers, echoing everyone's unspoken sentiments. He stood upright and arched his aching back. “Give me that K-12 now, will ya?”
Wordlessly, Dwayne Knight of Station 16 hefted the tool to Carruthers. The engineer was preparing to start the saw's engine when Mike Stoker stopped him, holding up his hand in a halt gesture.
“Wait!” he cautioned.
Everyone stood still a moment.
“What?” Knight asked.
Mike squinted, concentrating. “I heard something.”
Another moment passed during which the only sounds audible were the other rescue teams' tools.
“You sure?” Marco asked.
Mike crouched down and placed his ear close to the excavation. “There!” he called.
“What? What did you hear?” Carruthers demanded.
“It was a shout; I'm positive,” Mike insisted.
“Maybe it was from another crew,” Knight reasoned.
Mike was already shaking his head. “No, no, it came from down there. I heard it twice.”
“He's got good hearing,” Marco attested. “I've seen him in action.”
“Hold on!” Mike shouted into the rubble. “We're coming! Help is on the way!”
“What are we waiting for, then?” Carruthers fired up the trusty saw. “Stand clear!” And with that, he applied the screaming saw's rotating blade to the barrier. Sparks flew from the cutting edge as the man patiently and expertly sheared an opening in the debris.
Roy listened to the distant but familiar screech of the K-12 far above his head. From the sound of it, they'd been buried quite deeply under many layers of materials. No wonder it's taking so long. And no wonder we couldn't make any headway. There must be 20 feet of solid wreckage right over our heads. At least, I hope it's solid. We don't need the saw's vibrations to set off an avalanche and bury us alive.
He kept his dire musings to himself. No need to alarm Brian.
“What's that, Roy? What's that sound?” the teenager asked.
“It's a powerful saw, called a K-12,” Roy explained.
“It sounds really far away. I thought they were getting close.”
Roy nodded. “I think we're pretty far down. Don't worry, these guys are the best, even if I say so myself.” Roy smiled cagily. “I wouldn't want anyone else coming after me but the LA County Fire Department.”
“Hmmmph!” Wanda reiterated her opinion of the LAFD.
“I never really thought about it,” Brian said. “At least, not since I was a little kid. It must be pretty exciting being a fireman.”
“It can be. It can also be pretty dull,” the paramedic admitted. “Pulling cats out of trees and getting kids' heads out of railings isn't all it's cracked up to be.” He gazed upward. “But at times like this, when you have the chance to make a real difference in someone's life…the difference between life and death…I can't think of anything more rewarding.”
“I wonder if anyone died here today,” Brian said somberly.
Oh, definitely. “Well, what's important is, you didn't.” Roy smiled, then sobered. Maybe I'm doing him a disservice, glossing over it… “Brian, in a disaster like this, it's very likely some people died.” Roy tried to gauge the young man's reaction, and was relieved to see an expression of stoic acceptance. “It's an unpleasant fact of life, and in this business, not an uncommon one.”
“Doesn't that bum you out, not being able to save everyone?” Brian inquired.
“Sometimes. But I also know that our efforts save people who otherwise wouldn't have made it, and that's what drives us. It would be easy to get bogged down in the tragedies, and some guys do. There's a high rate of depression and burn-out in our profession. Whenever I feel like I'm sinking into that, I think of the success stories, the ones that turned out well against all odds, and the fact that I had something to do with it…”
“That must make you feel about ten feet tall,” Brian said reverently.
Roy shook his had slightly. “It's not about glory or ego. If it hadn't been me, it would have been my partner,” Roy glanced at Johnny, “or one of my colleagues. We're all trained to do the job we do, and we put our heart and soul into it. But it's not about the rescuers, it's about the people who need us. We're just instruments.”
“But if you quit, because someone died, then a lot more people might die, because you're not there to save 'em. So you really are important,” the teen asserted.
“The function I perform is important, Brian. Not me.” A minute of silence ensued while Brian digested this. Roy went on. “But it still keeps me going. I mean, what if every paramedic quit on the same day? This city would be in a world of hurt. It's the same with police officers, or garbage men. Everyone performs a function to help keep society running.” Roy shrugged. “And I happen to love my job.”
“Yeah,” Brian said. He chuckled. “I guess the city wouldn't be too bad off if all the stockboys quit their jobs.”
“Don't be too sure,” Roy replied, his eyes twinkling. “All those people shopping and the shelves going empty. It would be like the Soviet Union.”
Brian laughed and Roy smiled. They both turned their attention to Johnny when he bent one leg and stirred.
“You and Johnny, you're like partners?” Brian asked.
“Yeah, we've worked together for a long time.”
“Sort of like policemen who work together? Like Adam-12?”
Roy suppressed a laugh. Here's a kid after your heart, Junior. “A lot like that. We always work together, unless one of us is on vacation or sick or something.”
“You seem like you're friends too.”
“I consider Johnny my best friend,” Roy acknowledged. His smile faded as he pondered his best friend's grave condition. “He's definitely going to be on the sick list for a while after this one.”
“I hope he's going to be okay,” Brian said. The older man's deep concern hadn't been lost on the teen.
Roy managed another smile. “Johnny's tough.”
“I work with a bunch of goofs,” Brian lamented. “I'm not friends with any of them. All they want to do is goof off and get out early so they can go goof off some more.”
“That's the difference between you and your co-workers, Brian. You have a work ethic. I can tell that from these few hours we've spent together. You're conscientious, and that trait will take you as far as you want to go.”
“I don't know. I'm not that smart. I just get average grades in school. I probably couldn't ever be a fireman or a paramedic,” he said, eyeing Roy hopefully.
“Brian, with determination and a genuine desire to help people, you'd do fine as a firefighter or a paramedic. Or whatever else you choose to do.”
“That's what my guidance counselor says too.”
“You should listen to your guidance counselor,” Roy advised the boy, winking.
Both looked up suddenly as a small piece of debris came crashing down a few feet away.
“Oh dear lord! It's caving in!” Wanda wailed.
“Hey, anybody there?” yelled a distant voice.
“Yeah! We're down here!” Roy shouted.
The voice above changed. “Roy? Johnny? Is that you?”
Roy recognized Mike Stoker's voice. “It's me, Roy! There's four of us down here!”
“Okay, we're gonna get you out! Just sit tight!”
“We're not goin' anywhere!” Roy answered loudly. He smiled broadly at Brian, then sobered as his gaze traveled to the still form of Johnny on the floor nearby. “Not going anywhere,” he repeated softly.
CONTINUE