REVENGE

Denise Edge

 

 

"Do you think Mom will like it?" Daniel asked, lightly caressing the box in his lap. The foil wrapping was iridescent gold with round smiling faces. He traced the patterns with his index finger, imagining his mother's delight at opening the box and finding a birthday present for herself.

Looking over at his son, Abraham Struthers grinned. "I'm sure she will. She'll like it even more to know that you bought it with your own money. Remember, it is…"

"Better to give then receive, I know, Dad." Daniel admitted silently to himself that he did feel good. He sat silently in the seat, his fingers once again moving over the smiling faces as his eyes watched the horizon for the clues that they were almost home.

"Something's on fire," his father broke the quiet, pointing his finger toward the thin wisp of smoke that invaded the azure blue sky.

Hot flames lashed out from the two-story building as Squad and Engine 51 pulled into the drive, parking near a Sheriff's patrol car. The heat of the fire had burst the windows. Now, the fire sent tongues out of each empty frame to consume more wood. What used to be a home with yellow siding now resembled a black furnace with only bits of the bright color remaining. Soon, those bright spots would be consumed, too.

Dark smoke boiled from the flames, escaping and defaming the white fluffy clouds that danced in the sky. A flock of birds quickly flew away from the acrid smell that invaded their flight path.

"Chet! Marco! Get a 2 ½, tackle the front. John! You and Roy grab a line and check for any gas tanks in the back. See if there are any survivors to this thing," Captain Hank Stanley called out to his men. He quickly said a prayer that no one was home as he looked at the quickly disintegrating structure. It was too well involved to chance sending in one of his men. Looking around for any clues to someone being home, he noted that there were no other cars to indicate someone else was here. Reaching for the radio mic, he called to headquarters.

"Engine 51, we have a structure fire, fully involved. Our only water source is a well, we'll need a tanker at our location." Getting a brief "10-4, 51", he switched frequencies on the radio.

"Engine 18, this is 51, park near the barn and cover it with water. The house is not salvageable." Hank watched as 51's sister truck moved up the winding road, a plume of light brown dirt shooting out behind it.

A station wagon raced ahead of incoming Engine 18, narrowly missing the big red machine. The honking of the vehicle's horn interrupted Stanley's transmission. The car came to a stop near the front of the now collapsing home and both occupants jumped out but were stopped from going into the fire by a police officer. Marco had been backing up Chet on the hose. Seeing the men run toward the inferno, he dropped the hose and ran to assist the officer.

"Emie!" the older of the two men yelled into the roaring fury. His only answer was the creak and snap of timbers before the upper story collapsed into the first, causing all the firemen to back up.

One of the firemen from Engine 18 ran to assist Chet with the hose as the engine's Captain and another firefighter took a hose to the barn, their engineer setting the gauges on the side of the truck to pump water to the hoses.

"You can't go in there!" Marco yelled through his face mask, making eye contact with the youngest of the struggling men.

Seeing his world burn to the ground, the older man briefly sagged against the police officer then stumbled back to lean against his car. Movement from the side of the house brought him out of his misery.

Johnny and Roy carried a body between them. A calico skirt hung from the body, it's brown background now smudged with the grime of fire and smoke. Parts of the material were missing, cut out by small flames.

"Cap!" Roy yelled as they put the body down on the ground and began assessing her condition. "We're going to need air transport."

"Roy, she's stopped breathing," Johnny breathed out, having removed his air pack and helmet. He leaned down and started mouth to mouth resuscitation while his partner grabbed for the biophone Captain Stanley had brought over.

"Emie!" the distraught man watched as the dark haired fireman bent down and touched the woman's lips. "Why you…don't touch her!" he yelled, anger building.

The police officer tried to stop the man from getting closer to the paramedics and hindering their attempt to save the woman's life. For his trouble, he got a fist to the abdomen, followed by an uppercut to his face when he came up for air.

"Get your red-skin hands off of her!" he lunged at Johnny, knocking the paramedic to the ground. "How dare you," he screamed, unaware of the life saving procedure Johnny had been doing.

Rushing to their comrade's aide, Mike and Captain Stanley pulled the man off Johnny. Mike Stoker pushed the man's face toward the ground, then sat on top of him until the officer could handcuff him.

Marco brought the younger man over, thankful for the docile attitude. "What's your name, son?"

"Dan…Daniel Struthers," he whispered, averting his eyes from the scene of his father being handcuffed.

"Daniel, is that your father?" Marco asked, speaking softly to the boy who he guessed to be no more than sixteen. Seeing Daniel nod, Marco continued to ask questions. "That woman the paramedics are working on, is that your mother?" Another nod. "Was anyone else at home, Daniel?"

Tears fell from Daniel's eyes, unhindered, staining his dirty face. Smut from the fire had turned the tan skin to a dark color. The heat of the fire singed his eyebrows and hair. "M-My baby br-brother."

Marco crossed himself, saying a small prayer for the missing child. "Daniel, could he have gotten out of the house and hid somewhere?"

Slowly meeting Marco's eyes, he shook his head. "He's only three months old."

Sure Daniel wouldn't run back toward the fire, Marco released his hold. "Don't worry about your dad. They aren't arresting him, they have to keep him away from the paramedics so they can help your mother, all right?"

Daniel nodded. He'd forgotten about the brightly colored package. His hands opened and dropped it to the ground. His eyes were glued to the two men with his mother. One pressed down on her chest while the other tilted her head back, a plastic tube in his hand.

Roy stopped doing chest compressions long enough for his partner to insert the airway. Once the tube was in place in the victim's throat, he started the rhythmic pumping while Johnny attached an ambu bag to the tube and breathed for her.

Another fire truck broke through crackles and pops from the fire, the transmission from radios of the various vehicles and the shouts of the firemen. Behind it came an ambulance. It pulled up, stopping where Captain Stanley indicated. The two attendants jumped out and went to the back, opening the double doors and pulling out a gurney, knowing that the paramedics were getting the patient ready to transport.

"Roy, you ride in with John. The chopper is just down the road. Chet will bring the squad when we rap things up here. Right now it's just salvage and overhaul."

Having rolled the woman over and placed her on a backboard, providing a firm surface to do CPR against, the foam padding of the stretcher giving way to any weight prevented adequate compressions. Johnny and Chet lifted her up onto the stretcher as Roy nodded in acknowledgment of the order.

 

The older man's dark brown eyes burned with hatred as he watched his beloved wife put into the back of the waiting ambulance. He struggled with his bonds, not caring about the welts the handcuffs caused to his wrists. Once again he cringed when the savage touched her and the older fireman started pressing on her chest. "You've killed her and now you desecrate her body," he mumbled, unaware of the officer coming to the patrol car with Daniel. 

-------

TBC

 

 

 

Part 2

"Wesley Michael Cox, you'd better get your bath now, young man!" Alice Cox shouted after knocking on the door to the bathroom. "If you want to go to the movie, then you'd better hurry."

Hearing his mother's tone of voice and her use of his full name, the seven-year old boy put down his GI Joe and finished undressing, then turned the water off. He was glad that his mother hadn't come in, she would never let him go anywhere if she knew that the water was now only inches from the top of the porcelain tub.

"I'll be done in a little bit, Mom," he answered. As soon as GI Joe had made his a parachute jump into the ocean. He put the rest of his toys into the water, then grabbed his hero and stepped up onto the side of the tub, straddling it with one foot on either side.

"Okay, Joe. You have to go in and save the treasure. Be careful," he told his green hero, who was completely decked out in full army gear and a makeshift parachute on his back. Holding his precarious balance, Wesley tossed the army man up and lost his footing. He beat the action hero into the water, striking his head on the faucet on the way down.

In the hallway, Alice listened to her son give his orders. She shook her head, a smile on her lips. The splash and crash against the tub that followed alerted her to trouble. "Wesley? Wesley, are you okay in there?" she called, coming back to the door. She tried to swallow the fear that started rising in her stomach. She opened the door when she didn't get a reply and she gasped when she saw her son face down and unmoving in the red-tinged water, his GI Joe lying across his back..

"WESLEY!" she screamed and ran to him, turning him over in the water. A large gash spanned his forehead. Alice pulled a towel off the rack over the commode and lay it on the floor, then placed her lifeless son on top of it. Giving him a quick kiss, she ran to the phone and dialed the fire department.

******

 

"Squad 51, unknown type rescue. 1880 Mockingbird Rd. 1880 Mockingbird Rd. Time out, 845."

John Gage and Roy DeSoto raced to the truck from the kitchen, adrenaline supplying them with energy. Cap acknowledged the call, then handed a scrap of paper to Roy, who passed it to Johnny. Roy put the squad into gear and drove out of the bay. Their race through the streets brought them to a small subdivision. Each house was richly painted, yards held indications of children running rampant through the neighborhood.

A patrol car with its lights flashing was parked in front of the residence they'd been called to. Roy pulled into the driveway. He and Johnny gathered their equipment from the storage compartments and headed for the house.

A distraught woman was waiting for them, "Oh, please hurry. There's so much blood. Don't let my baby die."

"Where is he?" Johnny asked, keeping his voice calm and looking around for the officer as they entered the living room.

"John, Roy, we're in here," Vince Howard, an LA County Sheriff's officer yelled out, hearing the familiar voice.

The woman led them toward the bathroom, her hands clinched hands together. She hoped her husband would soon be home.

The scene was one from a horror movie, though both Roy and John had seen worse. A small boy, his body pale and lips blue, lay on the floor, only a towel preventing his skin from touching the tiled floor. Vince knelt beside him, doing mouth to mouth resuscitaion while ignoring the trickle of blood from the two inch gash on the boys head.

"Vince, let me get over there to the commode," Johnny said, trying to maneuver himself over without stepping on the child or officer. When he reached his destination, he watched as his partner positioned himself at the boy's head and checked for a pulse.

"It's weak and thready. Ma'am, how long was he in the water?" Roy asked, looking up at Alice from his crouched position.

While she explained how she had found her son and what she'd done before they arrived, Johnny checked the boy's blood pressure and heart rate while Vince continued to give life saving breaths.

Roy reached for the biophone and called for Rampart Hospital. "Rampart, this is Squad 51. How do you read?" Getting an acknowledgment from the hospital, Roy went on with his report. "We have a nine year-old male who fell into a tub of water. He's got an approximately four-inch gash to his forehead from hitting his head on the faucet spout. He's unconcious and we are providing rescue breathing at this time. Stand by for a strip, Rampart."

Flipping a switch on the biophone, a print out of the boy's heart pattern went to the hospital ER where the doctor could see the heart was in a slow rhythm.

"Squad 51," the Doctor answered back, "I'm reading sinus bradycardia. Intubate the patient with an esophageal airway. Start an IV with D5W at TKO. Continue to monitor the heart rate and transport as soon as possible."

Roy repeated the orders, then reached for an airway. Johnny connected clear tubing to a bag of fluids, then applied a tourniquet to the victim's arm, looking for a vein. Over the years, the two men had become very astute at guessing what the hospital would order and setting everything up in preparation of the order.

Letting the rhythm of the boy's heart run on the scope, Roy prepared to put the hard plastic tube down the boy's throat. Vince moved back, giving Roy room to work as the paramedic tilted the small head forward. After inserting the tube, he attached a bag to the end of the tube and gave Vince the bag with instructions to squeeze it once every five seconds. Sure his instructions were being followed, he looked over to Johnny who was adjusting the IV flow rate after having inserted a needle into the Wesley's skin.

Roy stood at the sound of the ambulance stretcher coming into the hall. "Okay, John. We need to go ahead and get him to the hospital. He turned to Alice, "We're taking him to Rampart General. You can ride with him."

"My husband is supposed…" A loud bass voice cut Alice off.

"Alice! What the hell is going on here?"

She ran to him and wrapped his arms around her. He looked from Roy to the ambulance stretcher where their son lay, fighting for his life.

"Mr. Cox," Roy started, "your son had an accident. We're doing everything we can for him. We're taking him to Rampart Emergency."

Nodding, the man moved over, never letting go of his wife as the stretcher rolled past them. Johnny took over on the ambu-bag, which was aiding in Wesley's breathing.

The parents followed the ambulance and rescue truck to the hospital, neither voicing their fears that Wesley not be coming home. Mr. Cox parked near the doors and both parents ran to the automatic doors, only catching a glimpse of their son being wheeled into a room. The door closing to seal them away from their son.

Minutes seemed like hours as the worried couple watched the clock. Finally, Roy came out of the treatment room.

"Excuse me, but can…can you tell me how he is?" Mr. Cox asked, his voice giving evidence of how worried he was.

Roy shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of how much to tell the father. Roy knew what the parents were going through. Not long ago the paramedic had brought his own son into the emergency department after the boy had been hit with a baseball. If it hadn't been for the fact Roy had known the doctors and nurses at the hospital, he doubted he'd have received much information on Chris's condition. "He's holding on. He's trying to breathe on his on. They're going to take some x-rays now. Doctor Early will be out with you in a minute."

A doctor walked up behind Roy, placing a hand on the paramedic's shoulder. "I'm Doctor Early. I heard you say you were Wesley's father, is that correct?"

Nodding eagerly and anxious for answers, Michael felt the blood drain from his face. "He-He's not dead, is he?"

"No. Right now we are…,"

Roy left Doctor Early and the distraught father, watching as the wife joined them. He walked over to the base station and joined his partner who had been gathering supplies.

"Any word on the kid?" Johnny asked, stacking another bag of IV fluids onto the box of supplies and pushing his partner's hand out of the way when Roy tried to take some of the large bags.

Choosing to bow to Johnny's stubbornness rather than the Murphy's Law, Roy let the younger paramedic to pick up the box. He wasn't surprised when all three plastic bags of fluid fell to the floor.

Roy didn't offer to pick the bags up. Instead he answered Johnny's question, "He was trying to fight the ventilator. Doctor Early says there's a fairly good chance he'll make it. He'll be in the hospital for a while though."

"Well, at least he'll be alive," Johnny finished, giving his partner a glare for not helping pick up the dropped bags.

"Yeah," Roy turned, then stopped as the tones for a call came through on his walkie-talkie.

"Squad 51, man down. Corner of Wilkes and Elizabeth St. Time out: 1002."

"Squad 51, 10-4. Come on, Junior." Roy had no worries about his partner following him. He heard his partner's farewell to Head Nurse Dixie McCall then Johnny fell in step with Roy on the way to the squad.

They arrived at the address given to them, but didn't find a victim lying on the street or side walk. Roy parked the squad then he and Johnny got out, each checking the surrounding buildings for their sick or injured victim.

After asking several people in the surrounding buildings and receiving negatives, they returned to the squad. Taking one last look around, Roy noticed a station wagon with a man behind the wheel, reading a newspaper. Passing the driver off as the one who had made the call, Roy got in the squad.

"Man, it's starting too early. School only been out on break one day and we're already getting prank calls." Johnny pulled his helmet off and hung it on the peg behind him.

"Yeah, I can just see dummies in top of towers and being run over…,"

"And us having to work on them," Johnny finished, his face mirroring Roy's look of disgust.

The squad and engine company responded to several calls, including a girl stuck in a tree. She'd gone up to catch her kitten who'd climbed the tree tried to escape from the neighbors yapping poodle. The kitten managed to climb down when the coast was clear. The girl hadn't been so lucky.

Roy and John made their last run without the engine, only aided by Officer Howard. The hit and run turned out to be another prank. When they arrived at the scene, they found neither victim nor any witnesses to tell them where the victim had gone. After a diligent search, the three gave up, chalking it up to spring break. They didn't see the drab brown station wagon parked a block away.

Roy backed the squad into the bay beside Big Red. As he and Johnny exited, a bright light flashed on from the rear of the building, followed by a voice.

"Today, a seven year-old boy escaped certain death when bath time turned into possible death time. If it hadn't been for the actions of Officer Vince Howard and the two paramedics of this station, Wesley Cox might not be alive today."

Johnny came around, following the light and voice to the kitchen area where a television crew were filming. Stunned, Johnny shielded his eyes from the bright light.

"What's going on here?" Roy asked, looking from his Captain to the film crew and reporter.

The reporter made a motion with his hand, sliding a finger across his neck to the cameraman who turned off the heavy camera. "I'm Dick Patterson with WJMX, TV 3 Action News. When my boss told me about you two saving little Wesley, we decided to do a piece on you."

"Yeah, Roy. Seems Mr. Cox is the manager of the TV station. Mr. Patterson has been here waiting for you two to come back. Said you'd be on the evening news." Running his hand through his curly hair, Chet Kelly smiled as he explained the news crew's earning a glare from his Captain.

Dick Patterson smiled, "I'd like to interview you two now and then we're going over to the Carson station to talk with Officer Howard. Captain," he looked over to Hank Stanley's tall frame, "can we use your office? Then I'd like to get a few shots of all of you working together, OK?"

"Sure, be my guest," Hank answered, wanting to go call his wife and tell her to watch the news tonight. But not until the camera, reporter, and two paramedics left the room.

A dingy hotel had become the Struthers' home in the week after the fire. Daniel had been excused from school while he and his father buried their mother and wife and the charred remains of a three month-old baby.

Exhausted from the day's activities, Daniel lay asleep on one of the beds. His father watched the news on channel 3. When the interview with the men of Station 51 came on, Daniel was awakened by the sound of an ash tray shattering the TV screen. 

----------

TBC

 

Part Three

 

Tuesday morning, A-shift was relieved when their night passed with only one call to a dumpster fire. Homeless drunks had been the cause of the blaze. One of them had gotten the bright idea of lighting the trash to keep warm. They were arrested. Luckily for everyone, the apartment building next to the dumpster had been in no danger, making the second alarm a mere precaution.

"You Know, Roy, I really think school should be a year round program," Johnny said as he and Roy went out back to their cars and eventually, home.

Roy smiled, "Don't let Jennifer and Chris hear you say that. They'll disown you as their uncle."

"True. Hey, we still on for tomorrow?" Johnny shouted to get above the noise in the alley behind them.

A block wall ran the length of the fire station's parking lot in the back to keep civilians from using up the spaces provided for personnel. A car back fired then died on the other side of the wall, drowning out Roy's answer. Instead, he nodded and pantomimed that he'd call Johnny later at home.

That night, Johnny fell into bed, not bothering to set the alarm even though he'd promised Roy he'd be ready at five a.m. to go fishing with him and Chris.

He was exhausted from bowling with another friend then going out dancing. At that moment, John was sure the only thing that could possibly wake him up would be a sonic boom. He left his scrub pants on the floor next to the bed, placed his watch on the bedside table, then turned the phone ringer up to high so he would hear it when Roy called.

John closed his eyes and willed his dreams to go away, fingering the dream catcher above his headboard. "It's going to be a long hot day tomorrow, I need to get some sleep." He watched as the clock, next to the bed, turned to 12:58 a.m. and made a plea to his brain to stop running in high gear.

Finally, he drifted off, unaware of the blaze that started in the next apartment.

The apartment had been empty for a week, since the last occupants found a house in a quiet neighborhood where they could raise a family.

Earlier in the day, a man had appeared at the superintendent's office, inquiring about the availability of apartments. The manager had shown him the one bedroom apartment, adding the extra assurance that a fireman/paramedic lived next door if a need for help arose.

"John Gage is a good man. He helps whenever anyone needs him and he's a good neighbor. No loud parties or anything," the superintendent said, taking his best shot at renting the apartment quickly. "Maybe you saw him on the news last night. He and his partner saved a boy's life yesterday."

Without answering, the potential renter looked around the apartment and then appraised the lock on the door before saying he'd think about it and call the super in the morning after checking out a few other places.

The superintendent told Johnny of his potential new neighbor when the wayward paramedic came home. Johnny would've escaped the super's notice if he hadn't tripped on a shoelace and fallen up the stairs.

Johnny was awakened from his dreams of a fire induced by the smell of smoke. He shot out of bed and saw smoke coming from the vent in the wall. Its smell was familiar to him as his own aftershave lotion.

He pulled on his pants, then quickly went to the apartment next door. There, he found the door standing open, and flames shooting up the wall that connected to his apartment. He rushed back to his apartment and called the fire department, then raced to the stairwell and pulled the fire alarm.

John then went to a glass door that covered a still-pipe and hose. He pulled the door open, retrieving the nozzle. He returned to the blaze, knocking on doors as he passed them.

By the time he returned to the blaze, his apartment was now ablaze, the fire having traveled through the vent system. "Oh, hell!" he exclaimed, dropping the hose. The fire had grown too big for him to put out alone, with only the apartment's meager hose. Getting the other residents to safety, however, was something he could do alone.

Heads began poking out from doors as the residents were awakened by the noise and shrill alarm in the hall. Johnny shouted at them. Some complied, leaving the building in their night clothes. Others froze at the sight of the flames and Johnny was forced to herd them out of the building.

Joanne's gentle nudging woke Roy from a sound sleep. "Honey, it's time to get up. You'll probably have to call that partner of yours and get him up," she smiled. She enjoyed teasing him about his and Johnny's plans to take nine year-old Chris out fishing on their last day off. There were times she wondered about the mental ages of her husband and his partner and best friend.

"Come on, I'll fix some coffee while you get a shower and wake Chris. I'll call Johnny."

Roy rubbed rubbed his face, slowly waking up to the offer of coffee and a warm shower.

Joanne DeSoto went down the stairs and flipped on the television, hoping to hear the weather report before her husband and child went out for the day. She had promised to take their daughter shopping. Five year-old Jenny's instinct to shop at every chance had blossomed early.

"A fire early this morning at Morning Ridge apartments has left one dead and several injured. If it hadn't been for the alarm sent out by John Gage, a resident of the apartments, the death toll could be higher," the faceless reporter droned on as the camera panned a damaged apartment building. Black streaks marred the outside of the building where flames had left soot, their calling card of disaster. Red flashes danced across the building and cars that were parked near it. Firemen walked around pulling hoses and helping victims to a triage area while onlookers gazed up at the sight.

Joanne had stopped making the coffee when she heard the report and run to the television, catching a glimpse of the man she considered part of the family. Johnny stood with a blanket wrapped around him, and a cup of steaming liquid in his hand.

"Roy!" she yelled, hoping her husband could hear her. "Roy, come quick!"

Roy heard Joanne's shoud and quickly put on his clothes. He ran down stairs to his wife, looking toward the television as she pointed to it.

"Johnny's apartment building caught on fire." Joanne's voice was now quiet.

"Mr. Gage," the reporter went on, only the back of his head visible to the camera. "Can I ask you some questions?"

Damp hair hung in strands on Johnny's head. What little could be seen of his t-shirt was wet.

"Mr. Gage, can you tell us what happened?" the reporter asked, not waiting for a reply.

Still stunned by the news, Roy half-listened. "I need to go and get him. Tell Chris I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

"Okay. I'll find him some clean clothes and have a warm bath for him when you get back," Joanne said, half-listening to Johnny report finding the fire.

Roy drove the mile and half to his partner's destroyed home. Engine and Squad 51 were the last trucks to leave after making sure the fire was completely out. Fire Marshal Nick Robinson and Johnny were exiting the when Roy pulled up.

"Hey, Roy," Johnny greeted, weariness evident in his voice. "Guess you saw the news."

Roy put his hands in his pockets and fell in step beside the two men. "Yeah. You okay?"

Nodding, Johnny pulled the blanket close. His clothes were still damp and the morning air was cool.

Roy looked down at his partner's bare feet, then back into the tired brown eyes and taut face. "Come on, Joanne said she'd have some dry clothes and a warm bath for you."

Johnny was too tired to protest or see the slight nod the fire marshal gave Roy. Silently, John walked to Roy's car that was overlaid with the image of an elderly woman running back into the flames to get her family photos. She had never made it out, instead perishing with the pictures she had been so adamant to retrieve.

"You think it was arson?" Roy asked, as John shuffled toward the car.

The fire marshal shrugged off his turn out coat, glad to be out in the semi-fresh air. "Yeah. Whoever did it wasn't a professional. If he had been, it could have been a lot worse. Something to be thankful for, I guess. He used paint thinner. You can smell it and see its burn lines."

Nick turned around and propped against his car. With a heavy sigh, he continued, pointed to the second floor. "It started in the apartment next to Gage's. The manager said he'd just showed it to a man earlier yesterday. He's gone to the police station to look at mug shots. The woman who died lived on the other side. Gage is pretty shaken up about not being able to go back in to save her." Nick paused, silently agreeing that it would also have hurt him had it been the other way around.

"Well, I need to get this evidence to the lab," he gestured to the plastic bags he pulled out of his pocket and placed into a briefcase that lay in his front seat. "Tell your partner there was nothing else he could do. Getting the rest of the people out was his only option." Knowing the words would be of little comfort for the homeless paramedic, the fire marshal went around, got into his car and drove away.

When they arrived at Roy's house, Johnny silently stepped out of the car and headed inside. He walked past his hostess, stopping briefly to give her a kiss on the cheek. His steps were slow, shoulders stooped as he continued to recall the disaster at his home. He knew most of the residents, including the woman who had inadvertently committed suicide. Looking around the bathroom, Johnny was thankful for having a partner who cared for him and wondered if any of the other residents had places to go.

"How is he?" Joanne asked, concern by her adopted brother-in-law's behavior.

Roy led the way into the kitchen and pulled a jug of milk out of the refrigerator then poured himself a glass of milk. "That lady he helped a year ago died in the fire. He's taking it pretty hard. Fire Marshal says it was more than likely arson." Roy looked down into his glass, gently swirling it, watching the milk come up on the sides but never going over the edge. "His apartment was destroyed. Joanne, I was wondering…well, he doesn't have a place to stay…I know it would be crowded, but…"

"Yes, he can stay with us, Roy. You should know I'd never turn him away. He's part of our family and he needs help," she read her husband's words and hesitant behavior. Smiling, she slipped her hands around his waist. "Besides, we'll have a built in baby sitter."

"Hmph, we would, wouldn't we?"

Not far away from the burned apartment building, a station wagon sat alone, parked on the side of the road next to a park. The driver gripped the steering wheel tighter as he recalled the early morning news report. Beside him was a newspaper. Its front page glorified the demon that had killed Abraham Struthers' wife.

Abraham watched as Roy and Johnny made their way into the apartment building. The fact that the reason for Emie's death was still alive stoked the man's anger.

"Should have known the Devil can't be killed with fire," he murmured, hate in his heart and eyes.

Abraham had followed Roy and Johnny to Roy's after the fire. Since then, Abraham had been consumed by the desire to find a way to kill the devil he suspected John Gage of being.

Soot stuck to their clothes as the two men maneuvered through the burnt building. Water remained pooled in areas of the floor had become weak where gallons of water had been dumped on it and the walls in an attempt to put the fire out. Four apartments had been completely destroyed. Three more were heavily damaged by smoke and water.

The second floor where the fire had originated was stilled filled with the noxious odor of burned plastic, wood, and insulation. White 'x's were chalked on each closed apartment door, signaling that the room had been checked by firefighters the night before. Each room had been searched quickly for any victims that hadn't made it outside.

All that remained of John Gage's apartment were his bed frame and a few clothes in his dresser. Only the clothes piled deep in the drawers had been saved from the smoke. The rest was lost because of the smoke. Once it got into the material, the odor never left. As John and Roy made their way through the damaged rooms, they were overwhelmed by the tail left by the lames that had licked the ceiling and walls during its hunt for fuel.

"Man, I don't know what's worse," Johnny said as he propped against one of the few walls that remained intact. "Finding salvageable clothes or filing for insurance. You know, they actually wanted me to list everything that was lost? Roy, I don't even remember everything I had."

Roy listened to his friend's complaint. Being a victim of a fire had never entered their minds. During their five years in the fire service, they'd had consoled dozens and dozens of families who lost every possession in a house fire. Neither of them had ever expected to have to help themselves or each other through a fire. "We'll just take it a room at a time. And be thankful that you have your life."

His partner's soft words and encouragement made Johnny feel better. He nodded silently and led the way back to his living room. The depression had nearly overwhelmed him yesterday. His neighbor's death had stayed with him through the bath Joanne had prepared. After the bath, both Joanne and Roy had talked to him about his neighbor's death. Johnny knew they only wanted to help, but still felt that he'd failed. He still questioned whether he'd done all he could, in spite of their assurances that he had.

Eventually, they knew Johnny would come to realize that he could not have prevented it.

"Nick thinks it was arson," Johnny said as he picked up a picture frame. The photo inside was destroyed. The edges were crisp. A brown color now covered his mother's and father's faces. The only thing left in the original photo was the black of the horse John's mother stood beside. He was no longer was he able to see the blue ribbon she held from the horse show she'd entered. His father's rare smile was gone, too, along with the look of pride in his wife's accomplishment that had been so evident on his face. "How the hell can the insurance company replace this?"

"They can't." Roy sighed, understanding that anger was one of the steps in grieving. His friend had already passed through the first phase, denial. "If there is anything about you, it's that you're quick," he remarked as he followed Johnny to where the couch had been. The Navaho blanket that covered the back of the couch was gone. Nothing had been left of it. A leg was missing from the coffee table. More likely than not, it had been food for the ravenous flames. There were five gaping holes of varying sizes in the wall where the fire had eaten through the sheet rock of both apartments. That the fire had been deliberately set to kill Johnny had crossed Roy's mind. The reason remained a mystery to him.

"Come on, let's finish up here and get some fresh air, Junior," Roy picked up a piece pipe that had once hung on the wall. The feathers that had decorated its end near the bowl were gone.

The two worked in silence as they picked up the salvageable remains of John Gage's possessions and put them neatly into a box. Johnny had managed to salvage a few shirts, but the remaining clothes would be left in the ruined dresser. The acrid odor left by the smoke would never come out.

 

Abraham put the car in gear and drove back to the hotel and his son. Tomorrow the devil would go to work. "It will be his last day," Abraham vowed.  

TBC

 

 

Part 4

"Hey, Roy," Chet Kelly greeted when Roy came into the common room of the fire station. Smoothing out his mustache with one hand, he handed Roy a cup of coffee with the other. "How's Gage doing? I came by your house yesterday and Joanne said you two were out looking at apartments."

"Yeah, Roy. Every time I called, Joanne would tell me that John wasn't there," Stanley interjected. Mike and Marco both nodded, wanting to know what was happening to their fellow firefighter.

Roy went to the table and sat down, heaving a sigh. "He's taking it pretty hard. I don't know if I blame him, though. The fact that one of his neighbors died has hit him pretty hard."

"He staying with you until he can find a new apartment?" Marco asked. His family had prayed for the tenants of the building, a long vigil that was held at the local church and had ended at sundown on the day after the fire.

The topic of conversation walked in, acutely aware that the murmuring he'd heard before entering the room had stopped as soon as he crossed the threshold from the vehicle bay. "Hey, Guys." Johnny ignored the pity he imagined he saw coming from their eyes and instead went to the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of milk.

Stanley stood and walked over to Johnny. "You know Pal, if there's anything we can do for you, just let us know."

Johnny felt his face flush and instantly regretted not calling in sick. The captain would have understood. "I just want…"

The tones sounded, signaling the station that they were about to receive a run. Without hesitation, all six men jumped up and headed for the vehicle bay, ready to don their coats and helmets.

"Station 51, man down a well. Camptown Road off Wild Brush Pass. Time out - 7:55."

Roy started up the squad, his partner strapping on his own helmet as Mike Stoker cranked the big engine. Captain Stanley wrote down the address, then acknowledged the call, "Station 51, KMG 365."

Taking the address from the captain, Roy handed the small piece of paper to his partner then put the squad in gear and led the way to the scene.

"Isn't that the place where we had that house fire?" Johnny asked. His memory had been jarred by a sudden tingle as he thought something about the run seemed off.

"I think it is. Guess we'll know soon enough," Roy answered. Keeping a calm exterior hid the nervousness he felt creeping into his body. He dismissed it as a side effect of adrenaline and concentrated on his driving.

Daniel Struthers stood next to a well, a rock wall encircling the cavernous hole. A small roof shaded the well from the sun, to prevent evaporation of the water below. Daniel waved at the driver of the squad, glancing nervously toward the police car hidden behind the charred remains of the house.

Roy and Johnny both got out of the squad and were met by their captain and Marco.

"Daniel, right?" Marco asked, glad he had remembered the boy's name.

Daniel nodded slowly. "Y-Yeah. My-My dad w-was fixing th-the well. He-He fell in. You n-need to hurry, p-please."

"Is there any water down there, Daniel?" Hank asked as Roy and Johnny re turned to the squad for their repelling gear.

"I-I heard a splash wh-when he fell. I-I don't kn-know how much is-is down there though," Daniel's hands shook with fear. He was sure his stuttering would give the plan away. When Roy and Johnny returned and handed ropes to Chet and Mike, his fear of discovery was replaced by fear for his father. "The wall is-is not real st-stout. Only one-one of you can go-go down and you'll n-need to use the-the well rope." His lie paid off.

Johnny checked his gear. "Guess I'd better go, Roy. I'll let you know when I'm at the bottom and then you can come down, okay? We can use the pulley to send down the equipment."

Roy nodded in agreement, then looked to the barn where he thought he'd seen a flash of light. There was nothing there except the big wooden building. The loft door stood open, small bits of hay flying from the gaping maw.

"Okay, I'll get the stokes and boxes ready. We'll lower them down when you're ready." A ladder was placed over the rock wall, giving Johnny a means to grab the rope without putting undue stress on the wall.

Johnny hung suspended over the hole, his only lifeline was rope that wound through the pulley and descended into the well. The firemen gathered around the well, unaware of what was about to happen.

A shot rang out, the bullet bit through the rope causing it to fray. Johnny felt the rope being compromised. He squeezed his eyes shut, sending up a quick prayer. "What the hell is going on up there? Roy!"

51's crew was diving for cover as a second shot was fired. They didn't see Johnny's lifeline cut in two, but heard his startled yell as he plunged into the water below. Each had assumed the dangling paramedic was safe, hidden within the hole.

Once they were safely behind Big Red, the five firemen looked at Daniel, who had fled from the well and now huddled with them.

"Who's shooting at us?" Hank asked, reaching for his walkie-talkie in his turnout coat pocket.

Daniel didn't answer. Fascinated, he watched as Mike snaked a rope through the rim of the engine's big front tire, then tied it off. Roy fastened his harness on, securing the rope to the figure eight ring on the leather belt.

"Roy, it's too much of a risk," Hank said, knowing without being told what the older paramedic was about to do.

"He could be hurt down there, Cap. Daniel, is your father really down there?" Roy turned to the teenager and was startled a devious grin plastered on the boy's face. "Daniel, I asked you a question. Is that your father down in the well or is he in the barn shooting at us?" Roy's voice rose in anger and frustration.

Captain Stanley reported that they were under fire and requested assistance from the Sheriff's office. His mind then turned to devise a plan to enable Roy to safely descend into the well. "Chet, you and Marco grab a hose. Aim it at the loft door. Roy, you won't have long, so when they start spraying, get down into the well. The Sheriff's office should be here before you're ready to come up."

"Dad! Watch…" Daniel's attempt to alert his father was cut short when Mike clamped his hand over the youth's mouth.

Mike used his other arm to pull Daniel to him, preventing Daniel from escaping.

"I'll get the pump, Mike. You take care of our young friend here," Stanley said just as more shots rang out from the barn.

Mike released his hold over Daniel's mouth ready to clamp it shut again if the need arose. "You do realize that your father is shooting at you, too?" It was more a statement and less of a question. "Why is he shooting at us?"

Daniel watched as the two firemen inundated the loft of the barn with thousands of gallons of water. Roy disappeared over the edge of the well as the wall of water provided him with a shield against the flying lead.

Lost in his own thoughts, Daniel watched Roy disappear into the well. "The devil should have died in the fire, but he didn't. Why is he going to go save that heathen? He killed my mother. If it hadn't been for him, she would…"

"If it hadn't been for him, she would still be dead!" Mike shouted in an effort to get through to the confused boy. "She was burned so badly her body couldn't fight back. Johnny and Roy did their best to save her, but they couldn't." When Mike didn't get an answer from the boy, he tried another tactic, his brain remembering the fire at Johnny's apartment. "Why doesn't he go after the doctors at the hospital? Or even the ambulance attendants?"

"But my father said she died because he touched her. He's different from us!" Daniel shouted back. "My dad says he's a devil! That's why he didn't die when his apartment caught on fire. He took my mother's soul."

Ignorance had long been the leading cause of death in Los Angeles and in the rest of the country. Neither Mike nor the rest of the crew had ever understood the prejudice of others. Marco and Johnny had been the targets of several threats because of their heritage, but both had always seemed to bounce back.

"He's a man, Daniel," Hank said. He sat beside them as Chet and Marco took cover behind the engine now that Roy was safely over the side of the well. "He bleeds like you and me. Yeah, his beliefs are different, but either way, he's a man. Not a devil."

Marco put his hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Am I different?" He hoped that the connection he'd felt to the boy from a month ago still held.

Daniel met the soft brown eyes of the Hispanic fireman. The fireman who had befriended him in his time of need so many weeks ago. Abraham's words came back to him, about separating the sheep and goats. Keeping their heritage pure because anyone that was different were devils and mean. "No, he can't be wrong," he backed up. Oblivious to the renewed gunfire, Daniel pulled away from Marco and into the path of a bullet.

"DANIEL!" the shouted words were filled with pain. Taking a look through the rear passenger window, Captain Stanley watched as Abraham slid down the rope from the barn's loft.

As Roy rappelled down, he listened intently for any sound from Johnny. He was met with silence, unable to hear even a moan. Roy sent up a silent prayer that Johnny was still alive.

The light dimmed on his descent, but his eyes adjusted to the decreasing light. He forced his mind to stay on the job ahead, rather than conjuring up pictures of Johnny lying broken at the bottom of the well, or face down in the water.

Roy was thankful to land on dry ground. That meant the well held only pockets of water. One step and his toe met soft flesh as he stepped on something uneven with the well floor.

"Argh," a moan, low and drawn out. Roy stepped back and kneeled down.

Roy groped along the floor for the source of the sound. His hand met Johnny's legs. One was bent at an awkward angle, and trapped beneath the other leg. Roy moved up the legs, gently probing Johnny's abdomen. He withdrew his hands when his partner hissed and tried to push the offending hands away. "Okay, just lie still," Roy soothed, wondering if Johnny knew what was going on.

Johnny's body wasn't lying flat with the floor, instead, his chest sloped uphill then evened out again. Roy reached beneath Johnny and felt another mass that he identified as a human chest. There was no movement from the second victim. As he pulled his hand back, a pin pricked his finger. Roy felt for the object that had pricked him. Memories of dressing in the dark made him realize the object was a badge, one slightly larger than the one on his own uniform. Even without seeing it, he knew the badge belonged to a police officer.

Johnny moaned and Roy turned back to his job. "Johnny, I need you to tell me where you hurt, okay?"

"All-all over."

Roy checked the carotid pulse at Johnny's throat. "Come on, Junior. I know you can do better than that. Talk to me," he encouraged, wanting to keep his friend awake.

"Engine 51 to HT 51. Roy can you hear me?" Captain Stanley asked. Roy heard the anguished cries in the background. He had know idea that the cry came from Abraham, who was watching as Marco and Chet administered first aid to Daniel.

Roy pulled out the HT.. "Cap, I need the Stokes. Johnny's pulse is thready. There isn't enough light down here for me to assess him." Roy paused, listening as his patient's breathing quickened. "Cap, there's another body down here. I think it's a police officer. It broke Johnny's fall."

Vince Howard handcuffed Abraham, arresting him for attempted murder. He heard Roy's transmission and stiffened.

Seeing the officer pause, Chet placed a hand on Vince's shoulder. "You okay, Vince?"

"Peterson was supposed to respond out here with you. He didn't call in that he was on the scene, but we didn't worry. He's known for forgetting to call in." Vince pulled Abraham toward his car, reciting the Miranda warning as he went.

Mike and Hank lowered the Stokes and a large flashlight into the hole. The light was on, allowing Roy to follow the basket's progress down.

"Roy," Johnny's voice was weak. "He's dead, isn't he?" He felt the face next to his and knew the answer. The semi-soft landing had prevented instant death. Johnny was thankful for that and wished the dead man's spirit on a swift journey.

The Stokes came down slowly, taking Roy's mind off of the question. He removed the cervical collar that Mike had strapped in it. Taking the collar, Roy put it around Johnny's neck, securing it with the velcro fasteners, then maneuvered the basket over to Johnny's side. Roy tipped the basket, then carefully helped Johnny turn over, placing the basket up against his back. "Okay, Junior, just lean back as I lower the basket," Roy instructed.

Johnny bit his lip against the pain as he was tipped over and gravity pulled him into the basket. The worst pain came from his leg as the broken ends of bones rubbed against each other sending a trail of fire up through muscles and tendons to his brain.

Roy secured John in the basket, then bent to pick up John's helmet, which was illuminated by the flashlight.

"Okay, pull him up!" Roy shouted into his radio.

Getting the word, Captain Stanley signaled to Chet and Marco who pulled up the basket. When John was settled on the ground, Stanley lifted the HT. "HT 51, we're going to need you topside. We'll pull you up next with the basket." Hank watched as Chet and Marco eased John out of the Stokes. Marco then took the basket back to the well and slowly lowered it back into the hole. "Roy, you going to need any help with getting the other victim out?"

Roy shined the flashlight around. "No, Cap. It's pretty narrow down here, I don't think two people could work in here. From what I can tell, he's been dead for at least five hours."

An ambulance waited while Chet put a splint on Johnny's arm. Daniel had already been loaded into the van. He'd been lucky, the bullet had gone through his shoulder, exiting through his back. He was sitting upright on the bench that ran the length of the ambulance from side door to rear door, a sling held his arm.

Roy finally called up to Stanley. Marco and Mike pulled on the ropes, bringing the body and Roy to the top. Roy appeared first and was pulled over the side, forgetting Daniel's earlier statement about the rock wall not being stable. It held his weight and as the basket came up, it held under the pressure of the four sets of hands pulling it out of the well.

They carried the basket to the squad, drapping a sheet over the body while Roy ran to Johnny who was on the ambulance cot. "Chet, I need the biophone. Marco, get me the trauma box," Roy issued the commands, never thinking that they would go unheeded.

Vince came up to Roy, needing to hear the news of the officer still at the bottom of the well.

"He didn't make it," Roy offered then turned to Johnny. Day light showed the open skin and protruding bones of a compound fracture at the thigh. It also showed the dirt encrusting the haggard face. Roy picked up the handset of the biophone that Chet had brought him. "Squad 51 to Rampart. How do you read?"

"Go ahead, 51," Doctor Brackett replied, from the base station at Rampart.

"Rampart, we have two victims. Victim number one is approximately sixteen. He's been shot in the," Roy looked to Marco who had written down Daniel's injury and vital signs from their earlier assessment. "Left shoulder. Vital signs are…bp 112/76, heart rate 72 and respirations 20. We've splinted the arm, there is a strong radial pulse, the bleeding is controlled. Victim two is 28 years old and fell about seventy feet into a empty well. We've applied a cervical collar. He has movement and feeling to all extremities. He has a compound fracture of his right femur and possible concussion. There are several lacerations to his head. I've applied bandages to all open wounds. His vital signs are bp 100/58, pulse 124, respirations 24."

Kelly Brackett wrote all the information down, then sighed as he looked over his short hand. Pressing the button on the radio, he gave his orders. "51, on victim one, is he in any pain?"

Roy glanced up into the ambulance. "Negative, Rampart."

"Okay, then start an IV of normal saline on victim two. Apply oxygen at two liters. Give four milligrams morphine IV and apply a Hare Traction to the affected leg. Monitor his vitals closely and transport both as soon as possible."

 

Repeating the orders back, Roy watched as Marco and Chet set up for the IV and Captain Stanley went for the traction splint. After all the years they had been working together, the men of Big Red had learned what equipment to use and when. 

TBC

 

 

Part 5

Because of its size, Los Angles County had divided up its fire districts, basing each fire station out of a regional hospital. The Board of Supervisors had determined that this was the most efficient course, in light of the fact that in a few short years, the population of the County had swelled into the millions. This remained in effect for the new paramedic program that promised to save thousands of lives by getting medical attention to injured victim sat the scene. Once the paramedic program was added to the County's fire service, each of the County's rescue squads called their hospital for orders and supplied the fluids and bandages for each victim. Paramedics provided more than first aid, which was standard part of training in the fire service. Paramedics became the eyes of the doctors at the County's public hospitals.

Rampart General Hospital, named after the district it occupied was the assigned hospital for Squads 51, 45, 99, 10, and 49. The facility took up several blocks, its high, t-shaped structure standing sentinel over the district. Rampart was also one of the finest teaching hospitals, training Residents and Interns to become doctors. Its year old nursing program had grown to match the established residency and internship programs.

Because of the close working relationship of paramedics and doctors, friendships had developed where once there had been snubbing. Doctor Brackett had been one of the doctors who at first, didn't believe in the paramedic program. Now, he was one of their staunchest supporters.

Roy rode in the back of the ambulance with his two patients while Chet drove the squad behind them. The sight of the tall building always made him catch his breath. "Hang in there, buddy," he encouraged, not realizing he'd said it out loud.

Daniel had watched in silence, his father's words of hatred echoing in his mind. "Why do you care so much if he lives or dies?"

Roy was dumb founded by the question. He looked down at the stretcher, searching for the reason he cared if Johnny lived. He'd just been asked to explain something that just was. "Because he's my friend, my partner. Why do you and your father want him dead so badly?" He turned the tables, asking the questions instead of providing answers. When the teenager didn't answer, Roy continued, "Is it because he's an Indian? What has that got to do with it? And if that's the reason, why did your father shoot at all of us? Why did he kill that cop? He was white."

Confused by the question, Daniel thought of his own reasons for helping his father in the ploy to get the firemen and police officer out to the homestead. His father had seemed so right when he ranted about the death of his wife and youngest son. So convinced that the cause of their deaths was a non-white. "That cop could have saved my mom, but he didn't," Daniel's voice held no conviction. He was only repeating the words he'd heard from his father over and over again. "And then the lot of you couldn't put out a simple house fire. You killed her and my brother. You let them die which is what we wanted you to do with him," he pointed at Johnny and realized the injured fireman was staring at him, listening to every word.

Pain filled Johnny's eyes as his one good hand reached for the boy, struggling with the lightening pain that consumed him. "W-We tr-tried to s-save her," he whispered. The pain slowly faded, leaving him sweating and exhausted.

Roy placed a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Rest now, Junior. We're almost to the hospital."

Speed bumps signaled their entrance into the hospital compound. The ambulance turned off its siren and slowed its pace through the area. Passing under the hospital's complex of student classrooms and doctors' offices. The ambulance backed up to the emergency entrance.

Daniel was helped out by one of the ambulance attendants. As he exited the vehicle, he was approached by a police officer and a woman dressed in a well tailored suit.

"Daniel Struthers?" the officer asked, stopping the forward motion of both patient and attendant. "I am hereby ordered to place you under arrest for the attempted murder of six people and aiding in the murder of Officer Richard Peterson. This is Lucille Dunlow, she's from Social Services." He then nodded to the attendant, "You can take him on in."

Roy didn't watch as the child was led away, nor did he see the slump of the young man's shoulders as his offenses were recited to him. Roy's only concern was for the man on the stretcher.

The other ambulance attendant unlocked the gurney's wheels and pulled it out of the vehicle. Roy held the head of it up as a switch was pulled to release the wheels, allowing them to roll the cot into the hospital.

Doctor Kelly Brackett met them and instructed them to take Johnny to treatment room two. Chet came in through the double doors as they pushed the stretcher into the room.

"How is he?" Chet asked, following Roy and the gurney into the small room. He watched in awe as doctors and nurses surrounded the patient, each efficiently doing their jobs without direction from Brackett.

Roy stood in the corner, his mind filled with thoughts of loosing his partner and friend. Death had always been something that Roy fought against. He was only a teenager when his parents died. Their deaths forced him to leave his quiet home and live with an aunt and uncle who had four kids of their own. The move to their home had been traumatic. He'd had to give up his own room to share a room with a cousin who snored. The only positive aspect of the whole situation was that he'd been able to stay at the same school. He and Joanne had been sweethearts for four years by then. Being separated from her would have taken away the only person in his life who mattered as much as his parents. He wouldn't have survived without her.

"Joanne. I need to call Joanne," Roy mumbled. He needed the strength that only she could give him to get through this crisis. She'd always helped him through Johnny's other injuries and his own.

"Dix, notify surgery we need OR stat. He's bleeding into the abdomen," Brackett ordered, pulling Roy out of his thoughts.

"He's gonna to be all right, isn't he, Doc?" Chet asked, looking around the doctor to the activity going on around Johnny and the bruising along Johnny's abdomen. Chet watched as another needle was inserted into the bend of his friend's arm. For the first time he noticed that Johnny hadn't made a sound, or responded to anything that was done to him since they entered the treatment room.

Brackett motioned to the door then led the two firemen into the hallway where they were met by a portable x-ray machine being rolled into the treatment room they had just left. "Right now, he's got internal bleeding. As soon as I get the films, I'll know more about his leg and any possible head injury. Doctor Olsen's been called in to repair Johnny's leg, he's one of the best orthopedic surgeons." Seeing that his words were getting a less than promising reception, Brackett sent Roy and Chet to wait in the doctor's lounge while he returned to the treatment room.

In treatment room five, Doctor Early, a white-haired gentleman with a soft spoken manner helped take Daniel's shirt off so the wound could be seen better. Doctor Mike Morton assisted with Daniel's treatment, wanting to see if he could help the troubled teen.

The bleeding had stopped and listening to his lungs, Doctor Early declared that the lung sounds were clear but ordered an x-ray to be sure.

"I understand you've gotten yourself into quite a bit of a fix, Daniel." Early turned and nodded to the officer and the woman beside him. "He'll need surgery to repair the damage in the muscles and tissues. I'll need him to stay here for a few days after that." Turning back to the boy, Early smiled. "I don't know everything, only what I've heard in bits and pieces about what happened and how a friend of mine was almost killed."

Daniel looked away from those eyes that promised to bore into his soul. His father had never lied to him before. Yet, he was surrounded by people who told him that his father was wrong in seeking vengeance. People who cared for the Indian that had sucked the life's breath from Emie Struthers with his pagan spirits.

"What's he ever done?" Daniel spit out, loosing his anger at being lied to by these strangers. And his father. Had everything he'd been told since the day he was born been a lie? Was everything he believed in a lie?

"I'll tell you what he's done. He's saved more people than you will ever know. He's protected others, placing his life on the line for them. Yes, your mother died, but it wasn't because of anything he did or didn't do," Mike let his voice rise, hoping the words would eventually sink into the young man's head. Turning away, he started toward the door. "There's nothing else I can do for him, Joe." Without waiting for a reply, he left the room, his anger boiling.

Daniel watched the doctor leave as the nurse pulled the side rails up on the bed.

Dr. Early watched the young man whose eyes held fear of what had happened and what was to come.

Right now, Daniel needed a friend and there was no one to call on. Not even Marco who had befriended him once, would want to talk to him now. Not after what Daniel had helped his father do. "So, you pick and choose who to be prejudiced against," Daniel muttered to himself, closing his eyes to the officers in the room with him.

Four hours later, Doctor Brackett entered the Doctor's Lounge, his green scrubs soaked with sweat, a blood splattered cap in his hands. As he entered, he recognized the firemen there and the woman who sat beside Roy DeSoto. At one time or another, Brackett had treated each of these people and had come to know them as friends.

Roy stood, fearing the worst when he was unable to read the doctor's eyes. "How-How is he?"

Brackett went to the sink first and pulled a cup from the shelf above the coffeepot next to the sink. He poured a cup, then turned and smiled. "Right now, he's doing fine. We got the bleeding stopped. Johnny has a skull fracture and several broken ribs. But I think the odds are in favor of him making a complete recovery. Doctor Olsen is still with him, setting the leg. We'll know more about that later. It'll be a while before he can have visitors so why don't you all go home and get some rest?"

Accepting the doctor's reasoning, Hank stood and motioned for his crew to leave. "Roy, why don't you go on home? I'll put the squad out of service until another crew can come in."

Joanne watched her husband nod in agreement with Captian Stanley. However, she knew that Roy would never leave until he had at least talked to Johnny. The couple watched the four firemen walk out the door, shoulders slumped and heads down, still worried for their fallen comrade.

"I take it you aren't going to take my advice and get some rest," Brackett said, swirling the coffee around in his cup, watching Roy nod. "Well, it might be another hour or so. I'll have a nurse come and get you when he's out of recovery, then you are to go home. Understood?"

Roy grinned half-heartedly at the command. "Sure, Doc."

Marco and Chet lagged behind Hank Stanley and Mike Stoker. Hank and Mike moved over to make way for a stretcher. Marco and Chet stopped and looked at the patient being wheeled to the elevator.

"Daniel?" Marco asked, seeing the young boy's face white with fear. Reaching out a hand, he stopped the gurney. "Where are they taking you?"

"Like you really care." Daniel regretted the sarcasm in his voice. He didn't want to push anyone away, but he was doing a good job of doing just that.

Marco placed his hand over Daniel's. "I do care, very much. Tell me where they're taking you."

 

Daniel instantly believed Marco. He let his defenses down and a tear slowly slipped down the side of his face. "To surgery, then to jail where I belong. I'm sorry," Daniel said as the gurney started on its way once again as the elevator doors slid open. 

TBC

 

 

 

Part 6

A heavy fog slowly lifted, allowing Johnny to hear a familiar voice talk about plans for the day. The voice served as a beacon, signaling him to come forward and wake up from the few days of healing slumber he'd been in. "Roy?" Johnny breathed out, the exertion leaving him weaker.

"Hey, Junior." Roy kept his voice to a whisper knowing from previous experience that his partner didn't tolerate the narcotics well. They left him sick for a few days and with a raging headache. "How are you feeling?"

Johnny surveyed the room he was in, taking in the stark white plastered walls and the shaded window over the unoccupied second bed. "It's starting to hurt a little."

Reaching up, Roy rang for the nurse, not wanting the pain to get out of hand. "Just relax, they'll be in in a few minutes with something for you. Chris and Jennifer said to give you a kiss for them, but I told them they could see you and deliver their own kisses."

Both men smiled briefly, a sharp pain brought a grimace to Johnny's face. Roy grabbed his hand, allowing John to squeeze it until the pain was bearable.

A light tap on the door was followed by it opening and Marco backed through pulling a wheelchair along. Daniel, his arm in a sling, rode in the chair, his lips turned down in a frown. "Hi, John."

"What's he doing here?" Roy asked, keeping his tone even. In spite of that, Marco didn't miss the anger in Roy's eyes.

Marco let go of the wheelchair and came over to sit in the chair on the other side of the bed. "Daniel has something he wants to say. He's going home today to live with my parents. When his court date comes up, we'll be there for him."

Johnny looked from Marco to the teenager before him, trying to figure out where he knew the boy from. The shooting was a distant memory, even though it had happened only twenty-four hours before. Johnny had never heard the words of hatred or the successive shots fired after his plummet to the bottom of the well. His landing on the dead officer had also been blocked from Johnny's memory, for which Roy was thankful.

Confused by his partner's behavior, Johnny tried to sit up and get a better look at he boy. "Wh-what's your name?"

"Daniel. Daniel Struthers. I'm…I'm here to say I'm sorry for what I've done. I-I can't apologize for my father, but I know that…that what I did was sinful." Daniel looked toward Marco. The smile on the man's face warmed Daniel. "I-I know that my-my dad set your apartment on fire. He told me that…the next morning. And then, he-he said that you killed my mother and that you sucked her breath out. I believed him and it nearly cost you your life."

"It cost a lot of people pain and suffering, Daniel. What about that officer your father killed? Huh? Did you help lure him there and kill him?" Roy had somehow managed to hold the past few days of anxiety in check, never letting it show. Now, Roy let go the words and pent up anger.

"NO!" Daniel shouted. Marco moved between the two, worried about Johnny as the injured man attempted to sit up. "I didn't know he was going to try and kill y'all! I swear." Tears, unbidden and unrestrained, flowed down his cheeks as Roy clenched and unclenched his fists. "The cop…he was already dead when I got there. Dad wanted me to…to call for help and when I got back, the police car was there…but no officer. I believed him when he told me that you guys deserved to die, that it was payment for the crime of my mother and brother's s," With the words gone, Daniel buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

Marco gently pushed Johnny back down as a nurse came in. The stern look on her face could only mean trouble. "What is going on in here?" Her voice demanded attention. She turned to Roy first, her eyes bored through him and then into Daniel. They softened at the grimace of pain on her patient's face. "I won't have any yelling in here. This is a hospital, NOT a wrestling ring. DO I make myself clear?"

Roy bowed his head, "I'm sorry." He looked over at Johnny, realizing what had just happened and his part in it. "I'll-I'll come back later, Junior."

"You," the nurse pointed to Marco. "Take your friend here back to his room. Mr. Gage needs his rest." She went over and picked up the IV line that ran from a clear bottle of fluid to Johnny's arm. She pulled a syringe from her pocket and pushed its needle into a port. She then depressed the plunger, injecting pain medication into the tubing.

Johnny felt the warm liquid enter his vein and waited for the pain that had reached a new level to go away. Once the pain had backed down, he was able to think about the boy and the words Daniel and Roy spoken before the nurse arrived. They triggered the memory of a dead man lying beneath him and the fear that if help didn't come soon, Johnny would end up the same way. That unhappy thought was the last before the pain medication pulled Johnny back into the fog.

"This court will now come to order," the bailiff announced as Judge Amos Sandridge entered from his chambers and climbed the stairs to the bench. "You may be seated," the officer continued once the Judge was seated. "Your Honor, the first case on the docket is State versus Struthers." The bailiff handed a folder up to the judge.

Judge Sandridge opened the file, quickly scanning the contents. He then looked down from the bench to the defendant. "You are Mister Daniel Struthers?"

Daniel stood with his attorney. "Y-yes, Sir."

"And you are pleading guilty to the charges of accomplice to an assault with a deadly weapon?" Sandridge watched the boy's face. His many years on the bench had taught Sandridge to read an accused stance and face to detect signs of sincerity, or deceit. It was an edge he used often to keep the guilty behind bars.

"Y-yes, Sir. I am."

"And you understand the consequences of entering a guilty plea?" Sandridge asked.

"Y-yes, Sir."

Five people stood, all of Hispanic ancestry, and walked to the bench. "Your Honor," the head of the group bowed nervously. "I am Juan Lopez. My wife and I will take full responsibility for the child. It is our hope that we teach him to understand those who are different from him, provide him with a home and love, something he has missed since his house burned down, killing his mother."

Judge Sandridge nodded. "The Department of Social Services has reviewed the application and submitted its findings to the Court. I'll ask the social worker present to step forward now."

A woman in the gallery stood next.

"Please identify yourself for the record," the bailiff requested.

"Lucille Dunlow, Department of Social Services," the woman recited. "social Services has determined that the Lopez' home meets the requirements for foster care. Mr. Lopez is employed. Mr. and Mrs. Lopez' son is a firefighter with Los Angeles County."

"Thank you. You may be seated," Judge Sandridge told the small family. He surveyed the gallery, watching two men walk in. Both wore the uniform of the LA County Fire Department. "Is there anything else before I rule?"

Johnny was still standing when the Judge asked the question. Without hesitation, he answered, "I'd like to say something, Your Honor. May I come forward?"

The Judge motioned Johnny to the front. "You are?"

"My name is John Gage, Sir."

"Oh? The victim?" Sandridge's voice remained even.

"Yes, Sir. I am."

"Mr. Gage, this is a juvenile proceeding. The laws of the Sate of California don't allow me to take your plea into account in my ruling," Sandridge informed.

Johnny hesitated, turning to look back at Roy and the Lopez family behind him. Then he turned back to the bench. "No, Sir. I'm here to say that I believe that living with the Lopez' would be in Daniel's best interest. I've thought about it a lot and I think Daniel would only learn more about hate in prison or where ever you send kids. He needs to learn patience and understanding, something he wouldn't get locked up in a cell." Johnny turned to Daniel who sat at the defense table on the other side of the gallery. "He needs a home, Your Honor. I guess that's all I wanted to say." Without waiting to be dismissed, Johnny turned and walked back to where his partner sitting in the gallery.

Judge Sandridge nodded at the speech. "I've heard all I need to hear and I'm ready to rule. Daniel Struthers, please stand." He watched as the trembling youth stood. "Daniel, I sentence you to three years in prison."

Mrs. Lopez moaned at the words.

"The sentence is hereby suspended. You are hereby placed on probation for a term of three years. During that time, you will be remanded to the custody of Social Services to be placed in foster care, with the Juan Lopez family. You'll serve community services during this time." Judge Sandridge smiled as Mrs. Lopez a wiped a tear from her eyes, then banged his gavel on the desk top. "Court is hereby dismissed."