Chapter 15

 

     Roy DeSoto wasn’t a man who swore very often, but when he was whipped from one end of the Amtrak car to the other, he struggled to his feet while cursing softly, “Jesus!  What the hell happened?”

     The car was filled with screams as panic set in amongst those passengers still waiting to be evacuated.

 

     “Folks!”  Roy called as he made his way back up the aisle. “Folks, calm down!  I need you all to calm down.”

 

     “But what happened?”  A man asked who now had a new gash on his head to match the old one Roy had just finished treating.

 

     “I don’t know, Sir.  Right now let’s just concentrate on getting all of you out of here.”

 

     “Sounds like a damn good idea to me.”

 

     To me, too, Mister.

 

     Roy looked up as Ted Kelters, a paramedic from 128’s, rushed in.

 

     “What’s going on, Ted?”

    

     The red headed man shook his head at Roy.   He grabbed him by the elbow and moved him out of hearing range of the passengers.  Ted kept his voice to just above a whisper.

 

     “We’ve just been hit by another train.”

 

     “What!  How the hell did that happen?”

 

     “I don’t know.  When we arrived we were told dispatch had contacted the railroad people and notified them to halt all trains coming through here, but evidently someone didn’t get the message.”

 

     “Evidently,” Roy agreed, as he rubbed a hand over his forehead in an attempt to ward off the headache that was starting. “Anyone hurt?”

     “We’re checking right now.  Fortunately, we had most of the people in the first five cars out, plus the engine crew.  I think everyone who was left just got knocked around.  I came back here to see if you were okay.”

 

     “I’m fine, just sporting a few bruises.  But I could use help if someone’s available.  These people are really starting to panic.  I’d like to get them out as quick as possible.”

 

     “I’ll see what I can do.”

     “Anyone hurt on the other train?”

     “No.  It was a freight train so just had a couple guys in the engine and then the guy in the caboose.   They all hopped out on their own accord, as confused as we are as to how this happened. They didn’t know anything about the tracks being shut down.  The bus is for shit though.”

 

     Roy paled.  He hadn’t thought about the fact that what was left of the bus would have been in-between the two trains.

 

     “Was everyone out?”

     “Of the bus?”

     “Yes.”

 

     “I’m not really sure.  I saw Charlie Dwyer a few minutes ago. . .right before the train hit, taking some guys from the bus to triage, so maybe.  I know they’ve been working on the bus victims pretty steadily for the past couple hours.”

 

     “Did you see Johnny?”

     “No, but then I didn’t really look for him.  There’s hundreds of people out there, Roy.  Doctors, nurses, off-duty firefighters and paramedics.  I coulda’ passed him right by and not noticed.  Why?”

 

     “He. . .he was the first paramedic on the bus.  We were the first to arrive at the scene.  I took the train injuries, he took the bus injuries.”

 

     Ted didn’t know what to say, so offered Roy a smile that was meant to reassure.

 

     “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine.  Like I said, I just saw Charlie and I know he was working in the bus, too.”  Ted patted Roy’s arm. “Knowing Gage and Dwyer they’re sitting in the shade right now downing a couple cold Cokes and flirting with the women from the auxiliary while you and I keep slaving away in here.”

     Roy nodded and gave the man a small smile.

 

     “Yeah.  Sure.  You’re probably right.”

 

     “Come on.  I’ll stick around and help you so we can get these people out of here and you can go find that partner of yours.”

 

     “Thanks, Ted.”

 

     “No problem.”

 

     The two men worked together, finishing what Roy had started alone.  Roy kept glancing out the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of Johnny.  With everyone running back and forth, and most of them in turn-out coats and helmets, it was hard to tell who was who.

 

     He’s fine. Like Ted said, he’s probably somewhere with Charlie.  Helping in triage, or on another car on this train, or helping man one of the hoses.  Or yeah, maybe even flirting with some girl while drinking a Coke.

 

     Roy did his best to put his worry for his partner aside as he returned to the business of treating the injured.

 

 

Chapter 16

 

     Hank Stanley would realize later how ridiculous they all must have looked.  When the firefighters at the scene first took notice of the freight train barreling toward the bus half of them ran toward it waving their arms as though they could stop it on sheer will-power alone, while half of them dropped their hoses and ran away from it because they were working close enough to be seriously injured. 

 

     Sparks flew from the wheels as the brakeman frantically tried to stop the train.  The train’s momentum was slowed by the man’s quick actions, but he didn’t have enough forewarning to bring the locomotive to a complete halt.  The force of the crash threw Hank to the ground.  He ignored the pain from his scraped palms as he scrambled back to his feet.  The bus that had been bent like an accordion before was now smashed between the two train engines.  Hank knew exactly what paramedic was still on that bus as he stared open mouthed at the wreckage.

 

     “John.  Oh my God, John.”

          

___________________________

 

     Dixie looked up from a patient she was monitoring when a whistle blew followed closely by men shouting.  Firefighters ran by the tent waving their arms in the air while yelling, “No!  No!  Stop!  Stop!”

 

     Kelly Brackett caught Dixie’s eye from where he was working on his own patient. 

 

     “What’s going on?”

 

     “I don’t--” Before Dixie could finish her sentence an explosion caused her eardrums to crackle and the ground rocked beneath her feet.  She grabbed the side of the gurney to steady herself.

 

     “What the hell. . .” Doctor Brackett stepped into the aisle.  “What was that?”

 

     Charlie Dwyer raced into the tent, his eyes bouncing from one person to the next.

 

     “Johnny!  Johnny!”  His frantic gaze stopped on Dixie and Doctor Brackett.  “Have either of you seen John Gage?”

 

     “No,” Dixie replied.

 

     “Not all morning,” Brackett said.  “I thought he was with Roy on the train.”

 

     “No.  He’s on the bus,” Charlie’s face drained of all color.  “He’s on the goddamn bus and another train just hit it.”

     As one, Doctor Brackett and Dixie exclaimed, “What?” 

    

     “A train.  Another train just hit the bus!”

 

     Brackett waved two nurses to the patients he and Dixie had been working on.

 

     “Come on, Dix!  Let’s see what we can do to help.”

 

     The minute Dixie caught sight of the bus her heart sank.  If Johnny was still in there he was dead.  No one, not even the often injured and seemingly indestructible John Gage, could still be alive in what now looked like a flattened tin can.

 

     The woman brought a hand to her mouth as her footsteps slowed to a walk.

 

     “Oh, Johnny.  Oh, Johnny, no.”

 

     Dixie recalled the last conversation she had with the paramedic, and was forced to fight back the urge to cry. 

 

     I yelled at him over a damn coffee cup.  A coffee cup.  And I never got to apologize.  Oh, Johnny, I’m so sorry.  I’m so terribly sorry.

 

     Because she didn’t know what else to do, Dixie joined Brackett fifty yards from the bus.  She could tell Kelly’s thoughts were similar to hers.  If Johnny was in there, the likelihood that he was alive was almost non-existent. Nonetheless; the doctor let Captain Stanley know he and Dixie were available to offer whatever assistance they could.  The captain gave a grim nod, then returned to shouting instructions to his men.

 

 

Chapter 17

    

     When Chet and Marco had seen the freight train flying towards them they’d done what any smart firefighters would, dropped their hoses and ran for their lives.  Like everyone else in the near vicinity, the impact had thrown them to the ground.  They immediately clambered to their feet, momentarily unable to believe what they’d just witnessed.

 

     Chet started running for the bus.  “Johnny!  Johnny!”

 

     Marco was at Chet’s heels, snaring the elbow of the man’s turn-out coat.

 

     “Chet!  Chet, wait!  Let’s wait and see what Cap wants us to do!”

 

     Chet stopped, twisting his elbow from Marco’s grasp.

 

     “Johnny’s in there!  He never came out!  Just Dwyer.  It was only Dwyer who came out, Marco!  Johnny was still inside.  Dwyer said there were ten more victims yet and Johnny was staying with them!”

 

     “I know that.”  Marco spared a glance at the flattened bus he could barely make out between the two train engines.  “But we still have to see what Cap wants us to do.”

     “He’ll want us to get Johnny out of there, that’s what he’ll want!”

 

     Before the argument could proceed, Captain Stanley raced by waving an arm.

 

     “Chet!  Marco!  Come with me!”

 

     If the situation hadn’t been so grave, Chet would have given Marco a self-satisfied smirk as they ran along behind their captain.  But it was grave, and the last thing Chet was thinking about at this moment was petty personal victories. He preferred they have a big victory.  Like finding John Gage alive.

 

 

___________________________

 

     Johnny woke to find himself in his most hated sleeping position - on his stomach.  He couldn’t understand why his face was moist, but maybe he’d dropped to his bunk the moment they’d returned from a fire and was still wet from the hoses.  That would be odd, because normally he’d take a shower to wash off the smell of smoke and sweat, but if Chet was hogging the shower, like was sometimes the case, maybe he grew too tired to wait.

 

     A more alert form of consciousness came when Johnny tried to roll over.  He screamed, the pain in his right side made movement impossible.  When the pain subsided the ability to determine his whereabouts became easier.  He remembered being on the bus and helping the injured men, but what had happened to cause him to now be amongst those hurt he wasn’t sure.

 

     Man, Cap’s gonna kill me if I did something stupid like fell.

 

     Johnny wasn’t sure how a fall could put him in this much pain, but since he wasn’t sure of the source of all that pain to begin with he figured anything was possible.

 

     The paramedic raised his right hand from his side and wiped it across his face.  When he’d finally cleared the liquid away from his eyes that was giving him a blurry view of the world, he was surprised to see the blood coating his hand.  With his usual nonchalance, Johnny gave a mental shrug.

 

     Must have a bloody nose, his mind told him in a slow, sluggish fashion. In addition to the blood, an uncomfortable weight rested against his left side that he couldn’t shrug off or identify.

 

     Johnny tried to move his head, but found that pinned as firmly as the right side of his body was.  His eyes scanned upward.   He couldn’t see much, but caught a glimpse of twisted metal, a ceiling so buckled it was a mere four feet above him in places, and seats that were now, somehow, resting on top of one another.  

 

     Ten men.  Ten men.  Ten to go.  Ten to go.

 

     The chant kept sounding in Johnny’s mind, though he wasn’t sure why.  For some reason the phrase was important to him. 

 

     Ten men.  Ten men.  Ten men to go.  Ten to go.

 

     Within seconds, it came back to the paramedic as his eyes caught sight of something under the mangled seat next to him.  He gasped, squeezing them shut against the grisly view while ignoring the odd tug at the skin around his right eye that movement produced.

 

     Oh, God.  Oh, God.  Oh, God, no.   No.  I promised them.  I promised them I’d get them out.  No.  Oh, no.  Oh, Lord, no.

 

     And with that silent entreaty of despair, Johnny passed out again.

 

___________________________

    

 

     “Johnny!  Johnny!”

 

     “John!  John, answer me, pal!”

 

     “Johnny!  Johnny, can you hear us?”

 

     When Johnny woke this time the pain flared anew, engulfing his head as well.  It took him a long minute to identify the sounds going on outside his steel tomb.  The roar of the K-12.  The pop of metal as the Jaws Of Life was put to use.  And voices calling his name. 

 

     “Johnny!  Johnny!”

 

     “John!  John, answer us!”

 

     “Johnny!  Johnny, pound on the walls if you can!”

 

     Johnny listened to the voices call three more times before his foggy brain was able to slowly identify them.  

 

     Chet.

 

     Cap.

 

     Marco.

 

     He wasn’t sure how long it took him to understand they wanted him to respond.  Johnny’s voice came out in barely more than a croak.

 

     “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m. . .I’m here.”

 

     Where ‘here’ was in relationship to where his co-workers were, Johnny wasn’t certain.  He tried to call again, but had to swallow blood first.  He coughed some blood up, which made him cry out in pain as his body convulsed against whatever it was that was pinning him to the floor.

 

     He heard Captain Stanley shout, “Everyone be quiet a minute!”

 

     When the noise of the saw, Jaws Of Life, and men’s shouts died away the beckoning started again.

 

     “John!  John, can you hear me, pal?  John!”

 

     “Johnny!  Johnny, give us a shout!”

 

     “Johnny!  Johnny!”

 

     Other voices joined in that Johnny couldn’t identify save for Charlie Dwyer’s.  He could tell the men were moving around the bus.  Sometimes their voices sounded close, but sometimes they sounded very far away.

 

     “John!  John, answer me!  Answer me, John!”

 

     It was on this last command from his captain that Johnny found the strength to try summoning his co-workers once again.

 

     “Cap.  Cap.”  Johnny coughed, groaned against the pain, then did what he knew he had to in order to be found.  He called as loudly as he could manage, “Cap!  Ca. . .Cap!”

 

     “That’s him!”  Johnny heard Chet Kelly exclaim.  “It’s him!”

 

     “John!  Again!  Call to me again so we can pinpoint where you’re at!”

 

     Sorry, Cap.  But you got the one call I had in me.

 

     Johnny’s voice was weak and quiet. “Here.  I. . .I’m here.”

     “John, again!  John?  John, come on, pal!  Again!”

 

     Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring that annoying tug at the skin above his right eye.  He took as deep of a breath as he could and called again,  “Here!  I. . .here!”

 

     Boots scrambled toward him.

 

     “John!”

 

     Johnny could tell his captain was right outside his location. 

 

     “Here.  I. . .” he took a gasping breath.  “I. . .here.  I’m here.”

 

     “Okay, John!  We’ve got you!  We know where you are.  Are you injured?”

     “Um. . .uh. . .yeah.”

 

     “How badly?”

     Johnny could envision Hank Stanley with his ear pressed against the bus in an attempt to hear him.

    

     “I. . .I don’t know.  I can’t move, and. . .and I kinda. . I kinda hurt, Cap.  And bleeding

 . .I. . .there’s some. . .some blood.  I think. . .think it’s mine, but. . .but not sure.”

 

     “Okay, pal, you just stay calm and quiet. We’ll have you out in no time.  All right?”

     “Sure,” came Johnny’s breathless response.  “Sure. . .Cap.”

 

     The paramedic heard Chet call, “Hang in there, Johnny!,” right before the K-12 was brought to life again.  As Johnny lay there waiting to rescued he refused to close his eyes.  His punishment for what he’d failed to do was right in front of him, and he wouldn’t allow himself to pretend it didn’t exist.

 

___________________________

 

     Dixie McCall and Kelly Brackett watched as Hank Stanley sprinted toward them.

 

     “He’s alive!”

 

     The doctor and nurse ran to meet the man, all three of them stopping halfway between the trains and the triage tent.

    

     “Is he injured?” Brackett asked.

 

     “Yes.  But how bad, I’m not certain.  We can’t see him.  We’re trying to get some kind of space open into the bus right now.  Trouble is, it’s smashed flatter than a pancake in most places, and with having to work around those two train engines this could to take a while.”

 

     “What about getting something opened up enough so someone could slip in?” 

 

     “I’ve already thought of that, Doc.  I’ve got Chet and Marco working on it.  I’m not sure whatever opening we can make will be large enough for a grown man to fit though.  Johnny’s our thinnest paramedic and he’s the one trapped inside.”

 

     “What about me?”  Dixie asked.  “Maybe I can fit in.”

     Hank Stanley nodded.  Dixie had always been thin, but now that he took notice she was downright skinny.  An unhealthy skinny as far as he was concerned.   Why she’d be dieting in the first place Hank had no idea, though at the moment her weight loss could prove to be an advantage.

 

    “You might be able to, but the first thing we’ve gotta do is make that opening.  Once it’s made, then we’ll have to see how big it is.”

 

     “Was Johnny able to talk to you at all?”  Brackett asked, not certain whether Hank had been in verbal contact with the man or had simply seen him through a broken window or crack in the metal.

 

     “Yeah.  It was because we could follow his voice that we found his approximate location.”

 

     “Could he tell you anything about his injuries?”

 

     “He said he couldn’t move, but whether that means he’s got some sort of back injury, or simply pinned down by a seat or debris, I don’t know.  He said he hurt, but he didn’t tell me from where or from what types of injuries.  He also said there was blood, but seemed confused as to whether or not it was his.”

 

     “How did he sound?”

     “Weak.  In pain. Somewhat disoriented.”

 

     Brackett shook his head.  “We could be dealing with a lot of trauma here, and probably are.   Dix, let’s get a drug box, a trauma box, splints, some blankets, and anything else we think might be of use.”  The doctor returned his attention to Captain Stanley.  “As soon as you can get either one of us in - Dix or me, let us know.  We’ll be standing by.”

 

     Hank gave the man a quick clap on the arm.

 

     “I’ll do that.  Thanks.”

 

     Within five minutes time Dixie and Kelly were waiting with their assembled equipment a few feet from where the firefighters were working to make some sort of opening in the mangled bus.  Dixie resisted the urge to glance at her watch.  She knew the longer it took for them to get help to Johnny, the less chance he had of leaving that bus alive.

 

     Come on, fellas. Come on.  Hurry.  You’ve got to hurry.

 

     As the minutes passed Dixie was forced to turn away.  She couldn’t watch any longer as she thought of all the things that could be going wrong for Johnny, while she and Kelly Brackett were forced to stand outside this damn bus and wait.

    

 

Chapter 18

    
     Johnny groaned against the pain.  Normally he wouldn’t have if he could help it, but with the K-12 running no one could hear him anyway.  Which was good, because he didn’t want them to hear him give into the agony that was shooting through his left leg, burrowing into his right side, and slicing through his skull.

 

     His left arm was splayed out above his head.  He clenched his fist against the pain wracking his body, stared straight ahead, and waited without the company of any others, because all the others were dead.

 

___________________________

 

 

     “It’s not very large,” Hank Stanley said as he ushered Dixie to the small opening they’d managed to make at the back of the bus. “And I’m not gonna lie to you.  It’s probably dangerous to be in there right now.”

 

     Dixie carried a trauma box under one arm and a box with splints under another.  Kelly Brackett followed a few paces behind with the drug box.

 

     “Don’t worry about me, Hank.  I’ve been in dangerous situations before and lived to tell the story.  This will simply be another one to add to my collection.”

 

     “But--”

 

     The nurse stopped her progress toward the bus and looked the man right in the eye.

 

     “Hank, would you be telling me all this if I was Johnny or Roy?”

     “Well. . .no.”

 

     “That’s right.  No.  Because you’d expect me to go in that bus and do my job, which is exactly what I’m going to do.”

 

     “I know, but--”

 

     “If you say I’m a woman I swear I’ll deck you.”

 

     “That’s not what I was gonna say.”

 

     “Then what?”

     “You’re not on my payroll.”

     Dixie smiled, understanding that the man meant he didn’t want to place someone in a position of danger who wasn’t an employee of the fire department.

 

     “That’s all right. For Johnny, this one is on the house.”

 

     Dixie set the boxes she was carrying on the ground.  She took the handie talkie Hank gave her as Brackett stood by to pass the necessary equipment into her. 

 

     “Be careful, Dix,” the doctor said, as he watched the woman turn sideways in order to slip through the small opening.

 

     “I will be.”

 

     The jagged opening wasn’t even large enough for any of the medical equipment to fit through.  Whatever Dixie needed would have to be passed to her once she had the opportunity to access Johnny’s condition.  For now all she took was the stethoscope she hung around her neck, the b/p cuff she rolled up and stuck in a back pocket, and the handie talkie clipped to the waistband of her Levis.

 

     Dixie still had one leg outside the bus when her jeans caught on a piece of metal.  She heard the ‘rip,’ and looked down to see the material sliced open at her knee.  She carefully pulled the denim free, not wanting to cut either her knee or her hand.  She crawled backwards on her palms, her rear end bumping over a flattened seat as she brought her leg into the vehicle.  The nurse continued traveling backwards a moment, giving a small cry when her hands encountered something soft.  She looked down into the wide-open eyes of a dead Marine.  She scooted faster, propelling herself off his body.

 

     Dixie shut her eyes and took a deep breath, praying for the strength she’d need to get through this.  That young red headed Marine took her back over twenty years.  She looked around the confined space, seeing for the first time the bodies, body parts, blood, bone splinters, brain matter, and personal effects that were scattered from one end of the battered bus to another.  She shook off memories of similar scenes as she called out.

 

     “Johnny!  Johnny, can you hear me?  Johnny!”

 

     If it hadn’t been for his light blue shirt she never would have spotted him.  The body of a black man was covering the left half of Johnny, while most of the right half was hidden by a row of mangled seats.  Dixie squeezed her way toward the prone paramedic. She stopped just briefly to check for pulses on three Marines she had to climb over in order to reach John.  There was nothing the nurse could do for any of them, they were all dead. 

 

     “Johnny!”

 

     Dixie saw the man try to move his head.  She also saw the twelve-inch length of steel that had pierced the thin layer of skin between his forehead and skull like a well aimed spear.  Dixie resisted the urge to yell her instructions in a rushed panic, to instead keep her voice calm and reassuring while being firm.

 

     “No, Johnny.  No.  Don’t move.  I’ll be to you in a second.  You just lie still for me.”

 

     Dixie placed two fingers and her thumb at the pulse point of the black man’s throat.  Like his comrades, he was also deceased.  Without further ceremony Dixie rolled him to the right so he was off Johnny.  That movement immediately brought blood into view as Dixie caught her first glimpse of Johnny’s left leg through the tear in his uniform pants.  She also saw the twisted leg of a bus seat rammed into the paramedic’s right side in the vicinity of his seventh rib.  She grimaced, glad Johnny’s face was turned away from her so he couldn’t see her expression.  Dixie pulled herself together, then laid a light hand on Johnny’s back.  The upper portion of his shirt was stained with blood from his head wound.

 

     “Hey, handsome.  How ya’ doin’ here?”

 

     The nurse saw Johnny’s right eye flutter four times, then finally open. 

 

     “Johnny?”  Dixie questioned.

 

     “Ro. . .Roy?”

     Dixie forced a chuckle as she set the handie talkie at her feet and wrapped the b/p cuff around her patient’s left arm.  “I think I’ve just been insulted.”

 

     Dixie could tell Johnny was confused, as though he recognized her voice but couldn’t figure out why she was in this wrecked bus with him.

 

     “Johnny?  Do you want to try that again?  Who am I?”

     “Dix. . .Dix?  Dixie?”

 

     “Yep, it’s me.”

 

     “How. . .how’d you. . .you get in. . .here?”

 

     “Let’s put it this way, it’s a good thing I’ve maintained my girlish figure all these years.  It was a tight enough fit as it was.”

 

     “No. . .but. . .why?”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “Why. . .you?  Not. . .not one. . .one of the. . .guys?”

 

     “Are you objecting to my company?”  Dixie asked, as she slipped her fingers around Johnny’s wrist and counted his pulse beats.

 

     “Never. . .never object. . .to. . .to a beautiful woman for. . .company.” 

 

     Johnny tried to lift his torso, only to be collapse back to the narrow bit of buckled floor with a cry.

 

     “No, no.”  Dixie pressed firmly on the paramedic’s back, in part to keep him still, and in part to count his respiration rate.  “Don’t move, Johnny.  Don’t move.”

 

     The nurse placed her stethoscope against Johnny’s back, listening carefully to each breath he drew.  When she finished that assessment she removed the ear pieces and asked,  “Where do you hurt, John?”

     “Every. . .everywhere.”

 

     “I imagine so.  But can you be a little more specific for me?”

 

     “My leg.   Left. . .left leg.  I’ve got. . .got a pretty bad. . .bad headache. 

My. . .my side.  Right. . .right side.  Like. . .like I’ve got knife. . .knife in me.

An. . .and my right. . .right shoulder.”

 

     Dixie laid a gentle hand on Johnny’s right collarbone.  She couldn’t feel any fractures.  “Here, Johnny?”

     “Yeah.”

 

     “Sharp pain or dull?”

 

     “Uh. . .dull.  Aches.  It. . .it just aches.”

    

     “All right, good.  You did a good job for me,” Dixie praised, not allowing her voice to reveal what she suspected.  A variety of abdominal traumas can cause pain in the region of either the left or right collarbone.  She moved her hands over his body next, checking for fractures from collarbone to ankles.  He cried out again when her hands ran over his left leg.

 

     “Yeah, that smarts, doesn’t it?”

 

     “No, Dix. . .Dixie. . .it hurts.  A. . .a lot.”

 

     Dixie smiled as she slipped Johnny’s bandage scissors from the carrying case still clipped to his belt.

 

     “I know, tiger, and I’m sorry.  I’ve got your scissors.  I’m going to have to cut this pant leg open so I can get a better look.  I’ll be as careful as I can, all right?”

 

     “Bet. . .bet you say that. . .that to every guy whose pants. . .pants you cut open.”

 

     Dixie chuckled again.  “You’re just lucky I like you so much or I’d slap you for that remark.”

 

     “Guess. . .guess I am. . .am lucky then.”

 

     True to her word, Dixie was cautious as she slit the blood soaked pant leg from ankle to the top of Johnny’s thigh.  She carefully worked the material away from the bone deep gash she’d seen earlier through the rip.  The woman returned the scissors to their carrying case, then slipped her jacket off.  Whether that sense of urgency she’d felt before leaving the house had anything to do with the current situation or not, Dixie wasn’t sure.  She wasn’t someone who normally believed in premonitions, but she was forced to acknowledge the purpose of wearing a jacket on a day when she didn’t need one was now revealed.

 

     The nurse quickly folded the cotton jacket into a thick bandage while leaving the sleeves free.  She pressed the makeshift bandage against Johnny’s thigh in an effort to staunch the blood flow.  The paramedic gave a stifled moan at the pressure, then moaned again as Dixie used the jacket’s sleeves to tie her bandage in place.

 

     “Wha. . .what’s that?”

 

     “My jacket.  It just made the niftiest pressure bandage you ever saw.”

 

     “Sor. . .sorry.”

    

     “For what?”

 

     “Ruin. . .ruining it.  I’ll. . .I’ll buy you a new. . .new one.”

 

     “No need for that.  I never liked this jacket much anyway.  Pink’s not my color.”

 

     “You. . .you look good. . .look good in pink.”

 

     Dixie raised an eyebrow.  Though Johnny couldn’t see that gesture, he could hear the light teasing tone in the nurse’s voice. 

 

     “Oh, really?  I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

 

     “I. . .I did. . .have.  I have. . .have lots of. . .of times.”

 

     Dixie shook her head with slight surprise at the younger man’s words and picked up the handie talkie.  She kept one hand on Johnny’s back while turning away from him and lowering her voice.   As much as possible, she wanted to shield him from the things she was about to relay to Kelly Brackett.

 

     “Kel? Do you read me?”

     “Yeah, Dix. Go ahead.”

    

     “Johnny’s vitals are as follows.  Pulse, 110.  Respirations, 20.  B/P 90 over 60. At this time breath sounds are clear. He’s got a deep six-inch gash on the outside of his left thigh.  There’s approximately an eight inch metal leg from one of the seats piercing his right side in the vicinity of his seventh rib, and a twelve inch piece of metal running through the skin on his forehead and coming out just above his right temple.  From what I can tell it doesn’t appear to have pierced the skull.  He’s bleeding somewhat from all these wound sites, most severely from the leg, and mentioned a dull ache in the vicinity of his right collarbone.  I’ll need pressure bandages, a couple of blanket packs, a C-collar, and IV setups.  He’s on his stomach, Kel, and lying on the left side of his face.  With the way he’s pinned it’s impossible for me to see if he has any injuries to that side of his skull, face, or torso.  I’ve done as thorough of an exam as possible given the circumstances.”

 

     “10-4, Dix.  Can you work your way back to the entrance you went through?”

 

     “Affirmative.”

 

     “All right.  I’ll have everything ready you requested, including two bags of Ringer’s.  I want the drip wide open.  Save the other bag in the event the first one empties before they get Johnny out.”

 

     “10-4,” Dixie acknowledged.  She set the handie talkie aside along with her blood pressure cuff.  She turned back to Johnny, running a soothing hand between his shoulder blades while she spoke to him.

 

     “Johnny, I’m going to get some things from Kel that will make you feel a little better until the guys can get you out of here.”

 

     “Thing. . .things?”

 

     “Bandages. A C-collar. Some blankets.  And he wants you started on an IV with Ringers.”

 

     Johnny hated the plea he heard in his raspy voice.   “MS?”

 

     “No, I’m sorry.  You’ve got a head injury.  But we’ll have you out of here in no time.”

 

     “Is that. . .is that a woman’s no time.  . .or a . . .a man’s?”

     Despite the pain Johnny was in, Dixie knew she was being teased.

 

     “And just what’s that supposed to mean, Mr. Gage?”        

 

     “Woman’s is. . is a lot longer.  And right now. . .now. . .long isn’t. . .isn’t too appealing.”

 

     “No, I’m sure it’s not.  Well, since it’s men working to get you out of here, then I’d say that’s a man’s no time.  How’s that sound?”

     “Go. . .good.”

     Dixie patted Johnny’s shoulder.  “I’ll be right back.” 

 

     The nurse headed for the entrance she’d used, only to stop short when she felt something snare the right cuff of her jeans.  She looked down to see Johnny’s fingers gripping the material.  Gently, she pried them free.

 

     “Johnny, I’ll be right back.”

 

     When the fingers fished for Dixie’s pant leg again she rested her hand on the crown of Johnny’s head. She bent forward so he could see her face with his right eye, the eye he’d come precariously close to losing given the fact a metal shaft was lodged just an inch above it.

 

     “Johnny, I promise.  Give me five minutes at the most, okay?”

 

     Dixie saw Johnny’s eye move as though he was trying to focus on her face, but he didn’t answer.  Dixie repeated her question with more force.

 

     “John?  Okay?  Five minutes.  No more.”

     The fingers finally quit searching, and Dixie heard Johnny’s weak, “O. . .okay, Dix,. . .Dixie.”

 

     Dixie squeezed Johnny’s fingers, then moved away.  She didn’t relish climbing over bodies again, but she had no choice and it wasn’t like she’d never done it before.  She’d simply hoped, after returning from Korea, she’d never have to do it again.  But, for Johnny’s sake she did have to do it again, so methodically moved forward, not allowing her mind to focus on the death that was all around her.

 

     The conversation Dixie had with Kelly Brackett when she reached the narrow opening she’d originally crawled through was a short one.  She could hear the K-12 and Jaws Of Life furiously working as Brackett first passed her an empty black zippered bag, then the medical paraphernalia she had requested item by item, plus anything else he could think of she might have use for.  Dixie put each item in the bag.

 

     “How’s he holding up, Dix?”

 

     “We need to get him out of here, Kel.  The sooner the better.”  Dixie zipped the bag, ready to start the gruesome trip back to Johnny. “I know the guys are working as fast as they can, but if they’ve got anymore speed Johnny needs it.  That metal in his side might have lacerated his liver.”

 

     “I’ll tell Hank.”

 

     Dixie made her way over the dead once more as she traveled to the injured paramedic.  She prayed another trip wouldn’t be necessary.  The woman smiled when she reached her patient.

 

     “Hey, hose jockey, haven’t I seen you around these parts before?”

 

     Dixie could see the slight smile her remark brought to Johnny’s face, despite the fact that he was staring straight ahead and didn’t attempt to make eye contact with her.  She thought he looked paler than he had earlier, and saw the sheen of cold perspiration on his forehead.  She made quick work of unloading her bag, ignoring the fact that she used James Seavers’ body as a table for the equipment.

 

     “Okay, Johnny, I’m going to put this C-collar on you, then  start the IV. It’s easier for me to get at your left arm, so I’m going to turn it a little bit and find a vein, okay?”

     “O. . okay, Dix.  Dixie.”

 

     The nurse worked the C-collar under and around Johnny’s neck, being careful not to jar him.  She then turned Johnny’s arm sideways, towards the back of his head.  She kneeled over it, swiping it clean with alcohol wipes. 

 

     “Your veins always have been cooperative.  There shouldn’t be anything to this.  You’re going to feel the sting of the needle for just a second, and then I’ll be done.”

 

     “Okay. . .Dix.  Dixie.”

 

     Dixie frowned as she started the IV as smoothly as she’d promised.  At first she’d thought Johnny’s repetitive use of her name was due to disorientation, but now it sounded like he was correcting himself.  She gave a mental shrug, then looked up until she found a hook from the twisted overhead luggage rack to hang the IV bag from.  She secured the bag before focusing her attention on Johnny’s leg. 

 

     “I’m going to wrap your leg next, Johnny.  I’ll do my best to make this short and sweet.”

 

     “Don’t worry. . .worry ‘bout sweet.  Juz. . .quick.  Make it quick.”

 

     “I will.”

 

     Like Dixie knew he would, Johnny cried out while she swathed the injured leg with pressure bandages.   She hated hurting him, but her actions were necessary.  She didn’t remove her jacket for fear of tearing any clots that might have already formed.  Instead, she applied the bandages directly on top of it.

 

     “It’s okay,” the woman soothed as she worked to stop the flow of blood coming from the long, deep wound.  “It’s all right.  It’s almost over now.  It’s almost over.”

    

     It took Dixie fifteen more minutes to finish up with her patient.  She got pressure bandages carefully in place around Johnny’s head wound and the wound to his side, though the external bleeding from those sites was minimal.  The metal shaft and seat leg acted as corks to a large degree, and kept the external blood flow manageable.  Dixie covered the paramedic with two yellow blankets.   She then took another pressure bandage and began to affix it over Johnny’s right eye.

 

     “No!”

 

     “Johnny, this will keep the blood from running in your eye.”

 

     “No!  No!  I have to see him.”

 

     “See who?”

     “I just. . .I have to, Dix. . .Dixie.  Please!  No!”

 

     As Johnny increased his struggles Dixie reevaluated the wisdom of her actions.  She wasn’t sure what he was talking about.  More than likely his words were nothing but nonsensical ramblings brought on by shock and pain.  Since his vision was pretty much limited to his right eye because of the way he was pinned, maybe it was scaring him to be, in effect, blinded.

 

     “Okay, okay.  I won’t put the bandage on.  I’ll just use it to wipe at the blood as it trickles down.  How’s that?”

     “Yeah. . .yeah.  O. . .okay.  Yeah.”

 

     “All right, that’s what we’ll do then.”

 

     Dixie sat down in the small space between her patient and the body of James Seavers.  She could hear the K-12 stop and start up again several times, then the shouts of Johnny’s colleagues as they worked together to free him.

 

     “The guys are working hard to get you out of here.  It shouldn’t be long now and you’ll be at Rampart.”

 

     Johnny made no reply as Dixie monitored his vitals again, then checked the flow of his IV. 

 

     “Dix. . .Dixie?”

     “Yes, Johnny, I’m right here.”

 

     “My side.  My side. . .it’s really starting to hurt.  And my. . .my head, too.  My leg. . .my leg hurts. . .hurts bad.”

    

     “I know.  Just a little while longer, okay?”

     “O. . .okay.  Okay, Dix.  Dixie.”

 

     “Johnny, just call me Dix.  You don’t have to keep correcting yourself like that.  Dix is fine.”

     “No.  No.  You said. . .you said. . .you said you hated to be called that.  Dix.  You said you. . .said you hated it.”

 

     Now Dixie understood exactly what was behind Johnny’s stuttered corrections of her name.  She placed her hand between his shoulder blades again, running it back and forth like she had earlier.

 

     “Hey, listen, I’m sorry about that.  I was in a bad mood that day.  I was wrong to take it out on you.”

 

     “So that means. . .means I can whistle again if. . .if I wanna?”

 

     Dixie smiled.  “You bet.”

 

     “Don’t wanna right now, but that’s. . .that’s good to know.”

 

     Johnny coughed, alarming Dixie when blood spewed forth.  She placed her stethoscope to his back again.  His lungs still sounded clear.

 

     “Johnny, are you having trouble breathing?”

 

     “Other than the fact. . .fact I hate layin’ on my stom. . .stomach. . .no.”

 

     “All right, that’s good.  Your lungs sound clear, but you’ve coughed up a little blood.  I’m going to lean over you and see if I can spot any cuts on your mouth, okay?”

 

     “Okay.”

 

     Dixie was cautious as she leaned over her patient.  The last thing she wanted to do was lose her balance and fall on him.  She inspected as much of Johnny’s mouth as she could see.

 

     “You’ve got a good size gash on your lip.   Looks like a goose has laid an egg there, it’s that swollen already.  And maybe a cut here inside your mouth, I can’t really tell.  Do you taste blood?”

 

     “A little.”

 

     “Try not to swallow it.  I’ll see if can swab it out for you.”

 

     “ ‘Kay.”

 

     Dixie got a swab from her bag and carefully ran it on the inside of Johnny’s mouth, then took a small bandage and held it to his lip.

 

     “I’m going to try and stop this bleeding.  If I had some ice I’d put it on your lip.”

 

     “If it’s. . .it’s as swollen as you say. . .Chet. . .Chet’s gonna razz me for. . .for weeks.”

 

     “Oh, maybe not.  Last time I saw Chet he was working pretty hard with that K-12 to get you out of here.  I think he’s too worried about you to pay any attention to your lip.”

 

     “Chet?”

 

     “Chet.”

 

     “I’ll. . .I’ll believe it. . .believe it when. . .when I see it.”

 

     “Trust me on this one, John.  He’s worried.”

 

     Dixie wasn’t sure how much time passed when suddenly all went quiet outside.

     Thank God.  They’re finally through.

 

     She looked around, expecting to see some large gap in the bus somewhere and faces poking through.  Instead, she saw only what had been here all along.  Carnage and death.

 

     Johnny stirred from whatever place he’d retreated to over the last few minutes that had caused him to stop all conversation with Dixie.

 

     “Why. . .why’s it so quiet?” 

 

     “I’m not sure.  They’ve probably found a way in.”

 

     Before the conversation could progress the handie talkie came to life.  Dixie recognized Hank Stanley’s voice.

 

     “Dixie?”

    

     The nurse retrieved the instrument from the jumble of medical equipment and depressed the button that would allow her to communicate with the captain. 

 

     “Yes, Hank?”

 

     “We’re not having any luck getting into that bus.  We’re going to try something else, but it’ll take a little while.”

 

     “What are you trying?”

 

     “We’re working with the engineer of the freight train right now to see if we can back it up somehow.  We think that will dislodge the bus enough so that we can get in.”

 

     “All right.”  Dixie looked down at her critically injured patient.  “Just don’t waste any time, please.  I’ve got a paramedic here who’s anxious to get off his stomach and flirt with a few pretty nurses at Rampart.”   

 

     “10-4.”

 

     The man didn’t have to say anything other than that for Dixie to know he’d understood exactly what she meant when she’d conveyed her covert message. 

 

     “Dixie?”  Hank’s voice questioned again.

 

     “Yes?”

     “I have someone who’d like to say hello to his partner.  Is that possible?”

 

     “Sure.  Put him on.”

     “Dix?”

     “Yes, Roy.  I’ll put the handie talkie by Johnny’s ear, okay?”

 

     “10-4.”

 

     The woman laid a hand on Johnny’s right arm.  “Johnny, I’ve got someone on the other end of this handie talkie who wants to say hello to you.   I’m going to put this by your ear, okay?”

 

     “ ‘Kay.”

 

     Dixie didn’t like the sound of the paramedic’s voice.  It was apparent he was growing weaker and having a difficult time staying conscious.  She hoped Roy’s voice would give him the strength he needed to hang on. She depressed the button again.

 

     “Roy, count off five seconds, then go ahead.”

 

     “10-4.”

 

     Dixie put the handie talkie by Johnny’s ear.  Five seconds later Roy’s voice came over strong. 

 

     “Hey, partner, you hang in there for me and don’t be giving Dix a hard time. You hear?”

 

     “I’m not. . .not that stupid,”  Johnny mumbled.

 

     Dixie smiled as she depressed the ‘talk’ button once again.

 

     “He’s says he’s not that stupid, Roy.”

 

     “Good to know.  Dix?”

 

     “Yes?”

 

     “How is--”

 

     “Johnny and I are doing fine, Roy.  You just help Hank figure out the fastest way to get this partner of yours a warm bed, hot shower, and good meal at Rampart.”

 

     Like his captain, Roy understood the woman’s hidden meaning.

 

     “10-4, Dix.  Believe me, we’re working on it.”

 

     Dixie set the handie talkie aside.  She looked down at Johnny, taking note of the glassy stare to his right eye as she took his blood pressure again.  She frowned at how the reading had dropped.  Despite the metal in his side acting as a cork, there was no doubt he was bleeding internally.

 

     Work faster, guys.  Work faster.  Time is of the essence here in ways words don’t allow me to describe at the moment.

 

 

Chapter 19

          

     When they had finally gotten the last passenger out of the scattered Amtrak cars, Roy, Ted, and half a dozen other hot and tired paramedics made their way to the canteen that had been set up by the women’s auxiliary.  Roy wanted something to drink - water, lemonade, a Coke, he’d take anything anyone handed him provided it was cold.  A sandwich to go along with it would be nice, too.

 

     Roy frowned as he approached the deserted tables.  Usually the guys not manning hoses, or involved with rescues, would be here grabbing something to eat and drink before being pressed into service again.  He glanced to his left, seeing doctors and nurses beneath the triage tent, but oddly enough, no paramedics were helping them.  He got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw an army of turn-out coats and pale blue shirts gathered around what looked like a hood ornament on the train’s engine.

 

     “Jesus!”  Ted swore.  “Is that the bus?”

     “Yes,” one of the women said as she handed Ted a Coke and a ham sandwich.  “It was awful.  I saw it happen.”

 

     Roy’s eyes scanned the distant crowd while he took the Coke the woman put in his hand without turning around.  He gave a brief, “Thanks,” in acknowledgment. He could make out Hank Stanley, and a grim looking Kelly Brackett.  He craned his head, hoping to catch a glimpse of unruly dark hair amongst the crowd. 

 

     “There’s at least one person alive in there,”  another woman said who was serving sandwiches to the men in line behind Ted.  “A paramedic from 51’s. They say he’s hurt pretty badly, though.”

 

     Roy’s soda can fell to the pavement, splashing sticky liquid over Ted’s boots. He took off toward the bus at a run.

 

     “I’m sorry,” the woman apologized to the men still gathered round. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

 

     Ted nodded as he watched Roy race toward Doctor Brackett.

 

     “Yeah, kinda.  The paramedic trapped in there is his partner.”

 

     Ted knew he and his colleagues would only be in the way if they joined in the efforts, so for the time being remained where they were standing.  They sipped on cold drinks, but bypassed the food.  Now that they were aware one of their own was hurt, none of the men was interested in eating.

 

___________________________

 

     Roy was quickly apprised of the situation by Hank Stanley, then given an update on Johnny’s medical condition from Doctor Brackett.  Less than five minutes later he was talking to Johnny, praying his voice would help his partner hang on just a little longer.

 

     That ‘little longer’ turned out to be an hour as battalion chiefs and railroad personnel discussed the safest way to pry the bus from in-between the two trains.

Roy hovered by Brackett’s elbow during that time, listening whenever Dixie gave an update on Johnny’s condition.  Despite the IV, there was no doubt he was growing weaker.  Doctor Brackett gave Dixie instructions to start a second IV with Ringers during their wait. 

 

     The station captains were huddled into a quick conference by the battalion chiefs, then a tight lipped Hank Stanley walked towards his men and Kelly Brackett.

 

     “The freight train appears to have sustained the least amount of damage.  The engineer thinks he can start it and back it up.  We’re fairly certain that will allow us a way into the bus.”

 

     “But with all the fuel that’s been spilled it’ll only take one spark to send everything up,” Chet point out.

 

     “We know that.  Which is why only essential personnel are going to remain in the area. And, which is also why we’re asking for volunteers to man the hoses before ordering anyone to do so.”

 

     Chet’s, “I volunteer,” was echoed by Marco’s.

 

     “I volunteer, too, Cap,” Roy said.

    

     “Roy, no,” Chet shook his head. “You’ve got a wife and kids, plus Johnny’s gonna need you when we get him outta there.”

 

     “If a spark ignites we’re not gonna have to worry about getting Johnny out of there,” was all Roy said in return. 

 

     No one acknowledged out loud the meaning behind Roy’s words, though they were all aware of them.  If a fire started they’d have no way of getting Johnny out that bus before he was overcome by noxious fumes, or worse yet, burned to death in the ball of fire that would be produced by an explosion.

 

     Hank lifted his handie talkie to his mouth.

 

     “I’m going to call Dixie out of there before we get started.”

     Doctor Brackett shook his head.  “You’ll be wasting your breath.”

 

     “Pardon?”

     “She won’t come.”

 

     “I’ll order her to.”

 

     Brackett smiled.  “And so will I.  But she won’t come.”

 

     “We’ll see about that.”  Hank depressed the talk button.  “Dixie?  Dixie, do you read me?”

 

___________________________

 

     Dixie had just finished checking Johnny’s vital signs when a voice filtered through the hankie talkie at her feet.  She saw Johnny’s right eye open at the sound.  She laid one hand on his back so he’d know she was still with him, while groping for the instrument with her other hand.

 

     “Yes, Hank?”

 

     “I need you to come out of there.”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “Because we’re going to move one of the trains.”

 

     “Move it how?”

 

     “By starting it and backing it up.  We’re chaining the bus to the Amtrak engine now to prevent it from dropping to the ground, then we’ll foam the tracks in an effort to keep any sparks to a minimum.”

 

     “And all this is going to work?”

 

     “We believe so, yes.”

 

     “I see.  Well. . .all right.  Do what you have to.  I’ll stay here with Johnny.”       

 

     “No.  I want you out.”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “I just do.”

 

     Johnny wiped his tongue over his swollen lip, trying to work up enough saliva to speak.

 

     “ ‘Cause. . .cause it could blow, Dix,” he offered weakly. 

 

     “And he thinks I’ve never been in a little explosion before?”

 

     “Dix. . .Dix. . .not funny.  Go.”

 

     “No, Johnny, I’m not going.”

 

     “Dix. . .”

 

     “Hey, you stay, I stay.  Deal?”

 

     The dry cough Johnny gave was the best he could muster for a laugh.  “Thaz not. . .not a good deal. . .on your part.”

 

     “I’m happy with it, so that’s all that matters.”  The nurse depressed the ‘talk’ button again.  “Hank, I’m staying.”

 

     “Dix, it’s Kel.  Get out of there.  That’s an order.”

 

     “Kel, the last person I took orders from was a foul mouthed lieutenant by the name of Ethel McGruder.  You’re the wrong sex, too tall, much better looking than the woman we called Ugly Ethel, and don’t scare me nearly enough to convince me you’re her.  Besides, she always did say I had a rebellious streak that would get me in trouble someday.”

 

     “Dix--”

 

     “Kel, I’m staying.  Johnny wouldn’t leave me if our positions were reversed.  You know that.  So I’m not leaving him.”

 

     “Dix, get outta there.  Now.”

 

     “Kel, the batteries in this thing must be going dead or something.  I can’t hear you.  Repeat?”

     “Get out of there.”

 

     “I still can’t hear you!”

 

     “Get out--”

 

     “What was that?  Say again!”

    

     “Get--”

 

     Dixie cut the transmission and set the handie talkie at her feet.   She smiled at her patient, even though Johnny couldn’t see her face.

 

     “Old trick I learned from a couple paramedics one time when Kelly Brackett wouldn’t allow them to administer care at the scene of an accident.”

 

     “He’s. . .he’s gonna. . .he’s gonna be pissed,”  Johnny muttered.

 

     “He’ll get over it.”

 

     “I. . .I s’pose.”

 

     “He will.  Besides, it’s not you he’s upset with it’s me.  And actually, he’s not upset with either one of us.  He just wants to get you to Rampart.”

 

     “I. . .I know.” Johnny licked at his lips again. The swollen lower one felt funny, like it was the size of his knee cap though he knew that wasn’t true. 
“Dix. . .can. . .can Roy come in?”

     “I’m sure he wants to, Johnny, but no, he can’t.  The opening isn’t big enough for him to fit through.  I barely fit through it.”

 

     “Oh.”   

 

     A minute of silence passed between the pair, before Johnny asked again, “Roy?”

     “No, Johnny, he’s not here.  It’s Dixie, remember?”

     This process was repeated two more times, making it clear to Dixie that Johnny’s condition was rapidly deteriorating.  First of all, he’d never ask his partner to put himself in a position of danger by joining them on this bus, and secondly, he seemed to be growing increasingly disoriented as he repeatedly asked for Roy.

 

     “Dixie?”

 

     “Yes, Johnny.  It’s Dixie.”

 

     “Ro. . .Roy?”

 

     “No.  Roy’s not here.  But he’s right outside, and just as soon as they get this sardine can open you’ll get to say hi to him, okay?”

 

     “ ‘Kay.  I. . .I. . .I. . .”

 

     “You what, Johnny?”

     “Hur. . .hurz.  Hurts, Dix.”

 

     “I know.  I know.”  Dixie slipped a hand beneath the blankets and rubbed it up and down Johnny’s back once more.  “It’ll be over soon, Johnny.  Soon.”

 

     Dixie prayed she wasn’t lying to her friend.  If this wasn’t over soon, Johnny’s chances of still being alive when his co-workers finally gained access to him were growing slimmer with each passing minute.  While still running a comforting hand over Johnny’s back, Dixie bowed her head and offered up a silent prayer for his life.

___________________________

 

     “She remembers how to pray, Tess,” Monica said from a corner of the bus.

 

     “That she does, Angel Girl.”

 

     “And she’s not crying anymore.”

 

     “No, she’s not.”

 

     “So that’s good.  She feels needed again because she’s helping John Gage.”

    

     “Oh, Angel Girl, you make it sound so easy.  Right now Dixie McCall is just doing her job.  A job she’s putting a lot of pressure on herself to do right.”

 

     “It looks like she’s doing it right to me.”

     “Yes, she is.  But if John Gage dies she’ll always wonder if she could have done more to save him.”

 

     “But she’s a nurse.  A very good nurse.  She has been for many years.  She must know that life comes to an end as a result of God’s plan, not because of any negligence on her part.”  

 

     “She knows that.  But she won’t feel that way this time.”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “Because she loves this young man like she’d love a pesky kid brother.  She’ll blame herself if he doesn’t make a complete recovery.”

 

     “But she’s doing so much better, Tess.  Look at her.  She’s the picture of professionalism.”

 

     “Yes, that’s the picture she paints now because she’s forgotten her troubles.  Because John Gage has given her something to focus on besides herself, and has caused her to remember why she became a nurse in the first place.”

 

     “So, things will be okay, right?  For Dixie and Johnny?  They’ll get off this bus safely?”

 

     Tess shrugged as Andrew appeared outside the bus dressed in firefighter’s turn out gear, and a diesel engine chugged to life. 

 

     “I don’t know, Angel Girl, though I have a feeling we’ll soon find out.”

___________________________

 

     Johnny’s body gave a startled jerk when the train engine fired up.  He grasped Dixie’s hand and squeezed with more strength than she would have guessed he had left.  She wouldn’t have known he whispered, “No,” if she hadn’t seen his lips move.  She could easily imagine that he was reliving what had happened the last time he heard this same sound.

 

     Dixie was forced to acknowledge some fright of her own.  The train sounded like it was on top of them, and in all actuality, it was.  Even if she shouted Dixie knew Johnny wouldn’t be able to hear her. She maintained contact with him through the hand he had clasped in hers, and through the hand she was still running up and down his back.

 

     The nurse tried not to envision what the last seconds of their lives would be like if the bus went up in a ball of flames.  She wondered if you’d even know what happened, or if death would be so quick you didn’t have time to sort out what source was taking you from this earth.  She prayed, for both hers and Johnny’s sake, it would be the last scenario if that’s how this rescue attempt was destined to end.

 

     Despite the big chains securing it, what was left of the bus rocked back and forth as the train slowly inched backwards.  A sudden jerk that made Dixie realize what a fish on the end of a line feels like caused Johnny to give a cry of pain that was drowned out by the noise.

 

     “It’s okay,” Dixie soothed, bending close to her patient’s ear. “It’s all right, Johnny.  It’s almost over.  We’ll be out of here soon.  It’s almost over.”

 

      Everything around Johnny began to dim as his vision faded to black.  He gave Dixie’s hand a final squeeze, hoping that act would let her know how much he appreciated her staying with him if he didn’t live to tell her.

 

___________________________

 

     When the train stopped moving the K-12 started again.  Two minutes later Chet Kelly’s face appeared in the square opening he’d just made.  Within seconds of his appearance he was scrambling out of the opening in order to throw up.

 

     “What?” Marco said, as Chet slowly raised back to a standing position.  Doctor Brackett and Roy rushed by the pair on their way into the bus.  “What’d you see?”

 

     Chet wiped a shaking hand across his mouth.  “You. . .man, Marco, you don’t wanna know.  It’s. . .the bodies.  It’s. . .it looks like a goddamn battlefield in there.  A battlefield someone squished together.  Arms, legs, brains, blood, . . .you just don’t wanna know.”

 

     Marco looked up at the metal carcass.  “And Johnny’s been in there for . . .”

 

     “I know,” Chet nodded.   “Believe me, I know.”  Chet threw his shoulders back as if to say what he’d seen moments earlier had been pushed aside in favor of the job that still needed doing.  “Come on.  Let’s find Cap and see if there’s anything else we can do.”

 

     “Even if it means going back in that bus?”

 

     “Even if it means going back in that bus.”  Chet stuck a finger into Marco’s chest.  “And if you tell Gage I tossed my cookies you’ll take his place as the Phantom’s favorite pigeon.”

 

     “Don’t worry, Chet, your secret’s safe with me.”

 

     Within seconds of reporting to his Captain, Chet was given the opportunity to redeem his squeamish stomach.  He was handed a small circular saw no bigger than a child’s toy and told he was to follow Doctor Brackett’s instructions while using it to cut Johnny free.

 

     “Cut him free?”

     “He’s got a piece of metal running through his forehead, and a leg from one of the seats piercing his right side.  Think you can handle it, Chet, or do you want me to get one of the guys from 110’s?”

 

     Chet knew Captain Stanley wasn’t doubting his abilities, but rather was asking him if he was too close to the situation by virtue of being one of Johnny’s shift mates to be effective.

 

     “I can handle it, Cap.  I wanna do it.  I wouldn’t trust those bozos from 110’s to open a can of tuna without screwing it up, let alone get Johnny outta there.”

 

     Hank hid his smile.  “Okay, then.  Go in and see what Doc Brackett wants you to do.”

 

     “Yes, Sir.”

 

     Chet tightened his grip on the saw as he strode toward the bus, all the while willing his hands to stop shaking.             

 

 

Chapter 20

 

     Johnny swam through a thick fog as he slowly regained consciousness.  With awareness came the pain, sharper and more insistent than it had ever been.  It felt like he had a sword piercing his scalp, and a foot long bolt jammed into his side.  The muscles in his injured leg spasmed, causing a moan to escape through his clenched teeth.

 

     The first thing the paramedic heard was Dixie’s voice.

     “It’s all right, Johnny. It’s okay.  Don’t move.  Stay still for me. Stay still.”

 

     The next thing he was aware of was people invading his tight tomb, their movements intensifying his pain.  Though his limited vision made looking above him difficult, Johnny caught sight of gray material he identified as belonging to a pair of men’s dress trousers, and then the navy blue material that he knew was a firefighter’s uniform slacks.  The men wriggled around him, carrying on a conversation he couldn’t quite decipher in all the confusion.  He felt someone place their fingers at the pulse point of his throat while bending over his body.

 

     “Hi there, Johnny,” came a gravely voice he identified as belonging to Kelly Brackett.  “Looks like we’re going to need a little help getting you out of here.”

 

     “Yea. . .yeah.”

 

     Brackett patted John’s shoulder while eyeing his injuries.  He turned around and waved Roy forward.  Dixie scooted out of the way, but as soon as she released Johnny’s hand he cried out. 

 

     “No!  No!  Dix?  Dixie!”

 

     Dixie eased through the tiny space between James Seavers’ body and Roy until she’d worked her way up to Johnny’s head.  She grasped his hand once again.

 

     “I’m here, Johnny.  I’m right here.”

 

     Doctor Brackett made eye contact with the nurse.  “You stay there if that will keep him calm.  It’s going to get cramped in here, but we’ll deal with it.”  He shifted his gaze to Roy.  “Have Charlie get us strips of gauze and tape.  I want to secure Johnny’s head and torso as much as possible before we let Chet in here with that saw.”

 

     “Got it.”  Roy turned around and called out through the opening where Charlie Dwyer and five other paramedics stood six feet below the bus’s buckled and mangled floor with a Stokes, backboard, drug box, oxygen, and trauma box. 

 

     “Charlie, hand me a dozen strips of gauze and a roll of tape.  We’ll also need a tarp.  Don’t cut the gauze.   Doc Brackett and I will do that if we need to.”

 

     “Okay, Roy!”

 

     Within thirty seconds Roy was handed the items he’d requested.  He turned back to Brackett and assisted the doctor in securing Johnny to whatever parts of the bus they could find still intact.  While Doctor Brackett stretched gauze over Johnny’s waist and ribs, Roy knelt beside Johnny’s shoulders with his boots resting on Private Seavers’ body. 

 

     “Hey, partner.  Long time no see.  I’m going to use some gauze to hold your head in place.  I’ll be careful, but you need to help me out by not moving, all right?”

 

     “R. . .Roy?”

 

     “Yeah, Johnny, it’s Roy.  Can you stay still for me?  Do you understand what I need you to do?”

 

     “Yea. . .yeah.  Noth. . .nothing.”

 

     Roy smiled.  “That’s right.  You let me do all the work, okay?” 

 

     “Su. . .sure.  Been waitin’. . .waitin’ to hear you. . .hear you say that for. . .for years now.”

 

     “Oh, you’re real funny,” Roy teased, as he carefully began placing wide gauze strips around Johnny’s head.  “This from the man I have to fight with in order to get his help filling out the log book.”

 

     “Your. . .your penman. . .penmanship is better. . .better ‘an mine.”

 

     “So that’s your latest excuse, huh?  Last week it was because you thought you had a sprained wrist, and the week before you said you had tennis elbow.”

 

     “Roy. . .you’ll never believe. . .believe this one, but next week. . .”

 

     “Yeah?”

 

     “I. . .I’m gonna be tellin’ you I. . .I got run over by a train.”

 

     Dixie smiled at the exchange going on between these two men who had been best friends for close to four years now.  She gave Roy credit for being able to keep on with their game.  His voice never faltered, but she could see the worry in his eyes and the grim lines around his mouth that seemed to grow deeper as he worked on his partner.

 

     “Nope, I’m not gonna believe it, so while Dixie has you propped up in that hospital bed spoiling you even more than she already does, you’d better be exercising your writing hand.”

 

     Johnny felt a hand that was larger than Dixie’s come to rest on his back.

 

     “Johnny, Roy and I have you secured now.  We’re going to cover your head with a tarp so you don’t get cut or burned by any bits of metal or sparks. 

 

     “Cut?”

 

     “Chet’s going to cut this seat leg that’s in your side, and this piece of metal that’s in your scalp, so we can get you out of here.”

    

     Johnny wasn’t certain he liked that idea, but he knew it was the only option, and was also well aware what remained of the embedded items would be removed in an operating room at Rampart.

 

     “Roy?”

 

     “I’m here, Johnny,” Roy said, as a black tarp was placed over Johnny’s face. 

 

     “No!  No!  I have to see him!”

 

     “See who?”

     “Roy, I have.  .  . have to!  Please!  I have to!”

 

     “Johnny, quit struggling!”  Doctor Brackett ordered, while placing a hand on the man’s hip.  “Stay still.”

 

     “No!  No!”

 

     “He was like this once before,” Dixie quietly told the men.  “When I tried to cover his right eye with a bandage so blood wouldn’t run into it.  I think it scares him to have his vision taken from him.”

 

     “Johnny, it’s just for a few minutes,” Roy said.  “Just until Chet’s done, then we’ll take the tarp off.  All right?”

     Johnny knew fighting them was useless.  In the first place, he couldn’t move because of the gauze, and in the second place they were going to cover him with that tarp regardless of whether he wanted them to or not. 

 

     “All right, John?”  Roy asked again.

 

     Johnny licked at his dry, swollen lower lip.  “All. . .all right.”

     The limited view Johnny had of the world came to an end as Roy carefully laid the tarp over his face.

 

     Doctor Brackett moved out of the way for Chet, but both Roy and Dixie remained where they were.  Dixie kept Johnny’s hand in hers, while the hand Kelly Brackett had laid on Johnny’s back was now replaced by Roy’s. Chet didn’t allow himself to look anywhere but at the body covered with yellow blankets as he climbed aboard the bus.  It was odd, but this time those blankets signified life, rather than death.

 

     If I only look at Johnny I’ll be okay.  I just gotta concentrate on getting Johnny out of here.

 

     Doctor Brackett took a minute to confer with Chet.  Together, they carefully bent over Johnny in the tight quarters, the doctor explaining exactly how much metal he wanted cut, versus how much he wanted left in the paramedic.

     “Got it, Doc.”

 

     “Speed isn’t of the essence this time, Chet.  Precision and a steady hand are.”

 

     “I understand.”

    

     Though Johnny couldn’t see Chet because of the tarp, the Irishman offered him a quiet greeting.

 

     “Hey, Johnny.  I’ll have you outta here in no time.”

 

     “Juz don’t. . .don’t use this as. . .as your chance. . .chance to saw me in half,”  came the muffled remark through the tarp.

 

     Chet forced a laugh for Johnny’s sake.  “Don’t worry, Gage.  The Phantom stayed at the station this trip.”

 

     “Good. . .good to know.”

 

     Dixie felt Johnny’s hand tighten around hers when the saw came to life.  She was expecting that movement, and squeezed back just as hard. 

 

     Chet reached in the pocket of his turn-out coat and slipped a pair of   goggles over his eyes, while Roy put on his gloves.  The sandy haired paramedic grasped the metal running through Johnny’s head just below where Doctor Brackett had told Chet to cut, and did the same with the piece of metal piercing his partner’s side.

 

     Kelly Brackett nodded his approval to Roy.  The man’s actions would aid in holding the metal steady, and thereby help minimize the pain caused Johnny.  The doctor held up one end of the tarp covering Johnny’s face in order to shield himself, Dixie, and Roy.  Sparks flew as the saw whined and cut through metal.  Chet’s concentration never wavered as he worked to make the cuts in the exact places Brackett wanted.

 

     Doctor Brackett supported Johnny’s hips and torso as he was freed, while Dixie supported his head.  Despite their support, the gauze holding him in place, and Roy’s hands on the metal intruders, Johnny cried out at the pain.  The movement of the saw against the metal in his body was excruciating.  Johnny willed himself to lose consciousness, but the world only dimmed a bit until the saw was finally shut off.

 

     The flurry of activity that followed was too much for Johnny to keep up with. The tarp was removed from his face, the gauze was cut, and then he was rolled onto a backboard.  He thought he might have screamed again, but he was barely hanging onto awareness now so was left uncertain if the scream was vocalized, or was only in his head.

 

     The backboard was handed out the opening of the bus.  Johnny had no idea whose hands grabbed it until he was finally lowered enough that he could see the faces above him that moved in and out of blurred focus.  He recognized Charlie Dwyer, Ted Kelters, Marco, and Cap.  Because of the C-collar he wasn’t able to determine which two firefighters were carrying the end of the backboard by his feet.

 

     Kelly Brackett jumped out of the bus and ran with the men to the waiting helicopter.  He assisted with loading Johnny inside, then climbed in behind the gravely injured paramedic.  Roy scrambled in next.  He had the drug box under one arm and the trauma box under the other. 

 

     Roy never looked up as the helicopter’s door was shut by Hank Stanley.  He was too busy taking Johnny’s vital signs for Brackett, and too busy praying for the life of his best friend.

 

___________________________

 

     Dixie McCall stood on shaking legs.  Her back hurt from the odd positions she’d been sitting in, she was hot from being in this stuffy bus for so long, she needed to pee, and she was dying for a cold glass of water.  It was funny how she’d noticed none of those things while she was tending to Johnny.  She remembered this being the case when she was in Korea as well.  The normal discomforts a person would notice took a back seat when a man’s life depended on your skills.

 

     The nurse had been left alone on the bus as the men rushed to get Johnny to the waiting chopper.  She looked out the mangled windows and saw Chet Kelly approaching from a distance.  She could already guess he was going to offer her a ride to Rampart in the squad Roy had left behind. 

 

     Dixie’s back muscles protested as she bent to pick up the tarp and other debris.  She supposed it was stupid to worry about any of it.  After all, it wasn’t like this bus would ever see use again.  Nonetheless; it was now a temporary home for the dead, and Dixie felt the men surrounding her deserved every ounce of respect she could give them. She fought back tears over the end of their young lives as she got on her knees to retrieve the strips of gauze they’d cut away from Johnny once Chet had him freed.  Dixie’s eyes traveled in the same direction Johnny had been staring for so long as she reached under a mangled seat to get one of the paper wrappers that had contained a bag of Ringers.

 

     The nurse gasped, jerking her hand back as though she’d just been burned. 

Dixie swallowed down bile as she grasped the edge of the seat and pushed herself to her feet with a trembling hand. Now she knew what Johnny had meant when he’d said to her, and then to Roy, “I have to see him!” 

 

     The decapitated head of Shannon Ten Clouds was under that seat, its open eyes staring straight on in a silent plea for help.  

 

 

Chapter 21

 

     The emergency room was a whirlwind of activity Johnny wasn’t able to follow.  He drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the helicopter ride, then his blood pressure dropped low enough that he’d completely gone out as his gurney was wheeled to a treatment room.  When he came to again he was wearing an oxygen mask and was in anti-shock trousers.  He recalled the last time he’d been in one of these constricting devices, and realized he felt now like he had then.  His left leg hurt, the pain in his belly was rapidly increasing, and his collarbone ached.  If there was any difference as compared to when he’d been hit by the car, it involved the searing pain in his head and right side, the way he was still immobilized to the backboard, and the fact that he didn’t recall feeling this weak.

 

     Johnny heard Brackett barking orders that included a battery of tests and X-rays.  He heard a woman get on the phone and request an operating room be readied, and thought that woman might be Betty but he wasn’t certain.  Johnny wouldn’t have known Roy was in the room assisting Brackett until his partner came into his line of vision.  Roy was hanging something on the IV pole over Johnny’s head, then inserted another needle into a vein in his right arm.

    

     The occasional glimpses Johnny would catch of Roy’s face led the man to conclude his partner was really worried about something, but Johnny didn’t know what.  Roy’s worry seemed to increase when Kelly Brackett insisted on asking Johnny questions he couldn’t answer.  He thought he might know the answers; after all, how hard was it to say, on a scale of one to ten, what your level of pain was.  But for some reason that simple action was difficult, and when Johnny finally managed to open his mouth no sound would come out.  Brackett asked more questions, and even got Roy to ask the questions, but Johnny still didn’t have the strength to answer the men.

 

     It was strange to feel lethargy and panic at the same time.  The panic came from Johnny’s medical background and the fact his brain was telling him something was seriously wrong here.  A lot of something’s as a matter of fact.  The lethargy came from his injuries, and the fact that Brackett was having trouble getting his blood pressure to rise and stabilize.  Johnny tried to fight the straps binding him to the backboard, which did him no good and only seemed to get everyone upset.  He just. . .he needed something. . .someone, but he didn’t know what or who until she was standing right over him.  He felt her take his left hand in hers, just like she’d been holding it on the bus.  He closed his eyes and whispered, “Dix,” right before he succumbed to oblivion.

    

___________________________

 

     Time stopped for Roy DeSoto the second Johnny went into surgery.  He leaned against the wall in the treatment room a long moment, then made himself available.  Roy was surprised when Sam Lanier’s voice came over the handie talkie saying, “DeSoto, you’ve been stood down.”

 

     Roy knew this must mean additional hands weren’t needed at the scene, and that a couple of off-duty paramedics had volunteered to take the rest of his and Johnny’s shift.  Roy made a mental note to find out who the good Samaritans were and thank them.

 

     Chet had waited in the hall after driving Dixie here.  When Roy and the nurse came out of the treatment room Chet pushed himself away from the wall.

 

     “How is he?  I saw him for just a second when they wheeled him out.  He looked. . .he looked pretty bad.”

 

     Dixie answered for Roy.

 

     “We won’t know anything for a quite a while, Chet.  Doctor Brackett suspects that piece of metal in Johnny’s side has lacerated his liver, but until they open him up it’s difficult for me to detail what his injuries might include.”

 

     “Can they repair that?  A lacerated liver I mean?”

 

     “They can.”

 

     “But he’s bleeding pretty bad, huh?  I saw he was in one of them shock suit things.”

 

     Dixie nodded.  “Yes, he is.”  The woman looked at her watch.  It was almost one o’clock.   “Look, you might as well go back to the station.  It will be hours before we know anything for certain regarding Johnny.  I’ll stay here with Roy.  One of us will call you just as soon as we have some kind of word.”

 

     “All right,” Chet agreed, knowing he had to get the squad back to the station for whoever was replacing Roy and Johnny.  He looked at the sandy haired man.  “You gonna be okay, Roy?”

 

     The paramedic gave a distracted nod.  “Yeah.  I’ll be fine.”

 

     Chet didn’t think Roy looked like he’d be fine, but he knew he couldn’t stay with the man so was relieved that Dixie would.

 

     “I’ll talk to you later,” Chet said.

    

     Roy nodded.  “Talk to you later.”

 

     “We’ll call you, Chet,” Dixie promised one last time as the firefighter turned for the doors. 

    

     When Chet was gone Dixie put a hand on Roy’s back. 

 

     “Come on.  I’ll buy you lunch while we wait.”

 

     “I’m not very hungry.”

 

     “Neither am I, but maybe if we prod one another we’ll both manage to get something in our stomachs.”

 

     Roy smiled.  “Maybe.  But I’d like to call Joanne first if you don’t mind.  Just to let her know what’s going on and all.”

 

     “I don’t mind.   You can use the phone at the nurse’s station while I visit the Ladies’ Room.  I’ll meet you in the waiting area.”

 

     “All right.”

 

     Ten minutes later a refreshed Dixie McCall met Roy at their prearranged spot.

 

     “How did Joanne take the news?”

 

     “She was upset.  She’d like to be with me, but the kids get out of school in a couple hours so I told her there was no use in her driving here only to have to leave again shortly after she arrives.  She’s glad you’re here.  She said you’re to make sure I eat something.”

 

     Dixie laughed.  “Joanne knows you too well.”

 

     “That she does.”  Roy sobered as they headed down the corridor that would take them to the cafeteria. “I’m supposed to call her as soon as I know anything.”

 

     “I imagine you’ll be making quite a few phone calls as soon as we know something.”

 

     “Yeah,” Roy nodded, thinking of those people within the fire department that would want to be contacted, not to mention Johnny’s landlady who thought of him as a son, and then, of course, Eve.  “Yeah, I guess I will be.  I hope--”

 

     “You hope what, Roy?”
    

     “I hope I have good news for them.”

     Dixie squeezed the man’s arm as they walked into the brightly lit cafeteria. 

 

     “I hope you do too, Roy.  I hope you do, too.”

 

 

___________________________

    

 

     The first thing John Gage was really aware of after three days spent in Rampart’s ICU was a smiling red headed woman standing by his bedside.  His fever-glazed eyes tracked her as she moved closer and laid cool hands on his right arm.

     “I was just saying a little prayer for you, Mr. Gage,” the woman informed Johnny with a lilting Irish brogue.  “And see, God does answer prayers because you woke up.” 

 

     The breathing tube in Johnny’s throat prevented him from making a reply.

That mattered little at the moment.  With the way he felt; tired, weak, hot, and in pain, talking was the last thing he wanted to do, as hard as Roy would find that to believe.

 

     The woman chuckled.  “Actually, Roy would be relieved to hear your voice.  He’s been very worried about you.”

 

     Johnny’s eyes widened a little.  How did this woman know what he was thinking?

 

     “I’m Monica, Mr. Gage.  I’m the new student chaplain here at the hospital.  I’ve been praying with your friends. . .oh, but you have so many of them.  I’ve been praying with them for your recovery. Perhaps you’d like me to get one of them for you now?  I believe Roy is in the waiting area.  Would you like to see him?”

 

     Johnny blinked his eyes once.

 

     “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

     The woman patted Johnny’s arm, then turned away from the bed.  His eyes tracked her, wondering if she was nothing more than an image from a dream.  She wasn’t dressed like any chaplain Johnny had ever seen.  No black robe.  No clerical collar.  Instead she wore a long, flowing sky blue skirt and a bright white sweater with a delicate gold necklace in the shape of a cross.

 

     Johnny wasn’t aware of any time passing between Monica’s exit and Roy’s entrance, which meant he must have drifted off again.  It wasn’t until Roy touched his right shoulder that Johnny’s eyes opened. 

 

     “Hey, partner.”

 

       Johnny was aware enough to realize how exhausted Roy looked.  John had no idea how long he’d been in Rampart, or even what circumstances brought him here, but the one thing he was certain of was the fact that Roy would have been juggling work duties, home responsibilities, and hospital visits during that time.

 

     Johnny started to arch his right eyebrow at his partner in an effort to convey his many questions, but there was a numbing pull on the skin that made him reconsider his actions.  Regardless, the two men had been friends long enough for Roy to see the questions in Johnny’s eyes.

 

     “One of the nurses just paged Brackett.  He’ll be here to see you in a few minutes.”

 

     The increased beeping of the heart monitor told Roy his partner was getting upset.  He gave John’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

 

     “It’s all right, Johnny.  You were in an. . .accident while we were on a rescue.  It wasn’t your fault or anything, so don’t worry about that.”

 

     Johnny had dim memories of how he’d felt in the emergency room, and now realized his left leg was swathed in thick bandages from just above the knee to where it joined with his pelvic area.

 

     Car?  I was hit by another car?   Oh, man.  Cap will kill me and Chet will never let me hear the end of it.

 

     “You had surgery to repair a laceration to your liver, and to your left leg.    You’ve got a little. . .head injury, too, but Brackett will explain all that.  You’ve been running a fever the past twenty-four hours, so they’re keeping a close eye on you.  But don’t worry about anything.  You’re gonna be fine.”

 

     From Johnny’s perspective it was difficult to be worried about anything when you didn’t know what to worry about, and when you had no memory of what got you to this point in the first place.  He floated for a long moment, totally unaware that his eyes drifted shut and he mentally removed himself from Roy’s presence.

 

     Ten.  Ten to go.  Ten men.  Ten to go.

 

     Johnny had no idea what the chant meant that was sounding over and over again in his mind.

 

     Ten to go.  Just ten to go.  Only ten more.

 

     It was Dixie’s soft voice that roused the paramedic next.

 

     “Hey, tiger.”

 

     Whether it was the greeting, or the tone, or the smile on her face meant to hide her concern, Johnny wasn’t certain.  But something about the woman’s presence brought it all back to him.

 

     Ten!  Ten to go!  Ten men!  I didn’t get them out of there!  I promised them I would!  I didn’t!  I failed them.  I failed all of them!  Ten men!  Oh, God, ten men are dead because of me.

 

     Monitors wailed as Johnny fought against all that was keeping him in this bed.  Nurses came running, followed closing by Kelly Brackett.  He heard Brackett asked Dixie if he’d aspirated.

 

     Dixie shook her head as she ran a cool cloth over Johnny’s face while Roy and Doctor Brackett pinned his struggling limbs to the bed. 

 

     “No, Kel.  He’s. . .he’s crying.  He’s just. . .he’s crying.”

 

     Because Dixie was the only one who really understood the reasons behind the paramedic’s tears, she stood beside him and cried along with him. 

 

     “It’s okay, Johnny,” the nurse soothed as silent tears ran down her face.    “It’s going to be okay.  Everything will be okay.”

 

     Johnny never heard Brackett order the sedative that was injected into his I.V. line.  When sleep finally claimed him Johnny drifted into oblivion with the vision of Shannon Ten Clouds’ face, floating free from its body, haunting his dreams.

 

 

Chapter 22

 

     A week after Johnny first came to awareness in ICU Roy DeSoto sat at his kitchen table sipping coffee while looking out over the back yard.  The kids had just left for school, and Joanne was in the laundry room loading the washer with bed sheets and pillowcases.   The man looked up when he felt his wife’s hands massage his tense shoulders. 

 

     “Still not sleeping well?”

 

     “I slept okay.”

 

     Joanne arched a skeptical eyebrow as she poured a cup of coffee for herself and joined Roy at the table.  This was one advantage to a firefighter’s hours.  When the kids were in school Joanne and her husband got to spend uninterrupted time together on his days off.

 

     “Don’t lie to me, Mr. DeSoto.  I felt you tossing and turning half the night.”

 

     “Sorry.  I should have gotten up and finished out the night in the extra bed in Chris’s room.”

 

     “Don’t worry about it.  If it had bothered me that much I could have done the same.  So, what’s on your mind that’s preventing you from sleeping?”

     Joanne wasn’t surprised at the one word answer she received. 

 

     “Johnny.”

     The couple never had a chance the previous day to discuss Johnny’s condition after Roy arrived home from the hospital.  He’d gone off duty at eight a.m., spent an hour at Rampart with his partner, run errands for his wife, then arrived home just as the kids were coming down the sidewalk from school.  Between supper, homework, baths, and bed time stories, Joanne never asked more than, “How was Johnny?”  and Roy never said more than, “Okay.”

 

     “You said he was all right when you saw him yesterday.”

 

     “He was.  Or at least in the sense that his temperature is back to normal and they moved him off ICU.  He just. . .he was so depressed, Jo.  I’ve never seen him like this before.  He hardly said two words to me.  Brackett said he’s been like that with everyone.  Distant, disinterested, and. . .sad, for lack of a better way to describe his demeanor.  Not even Chet could get a rise out of him when he stopped by while I was there.  And you know when Chet can’t get Johnny to talk that means there’s really something wrong.”

 

     “Do you think he’s worrying about his injuries?  Worrying that he won’t be able to return to active duty?”

 

     “I don’t know.  Brackett already told Johnny he feels positive he’ll make a full recovery given time.  John knows Brackett wouldn’t lie to him.”

 

     “Well, if that’s not the source of his depression then what is?”

    

     “I wish I knew the answer to that question.” Roy raked a hand through his thinning hair. “I realize what he went through on that bus was bad. . .real bad, but--”

 

     “The accident, you mean?  When the second train hit it?  Johnny being pinned in there for so long?”

 

     “Certainly that.  But also assisting victims who died as a result of the second collision, meaning Johnny’s work on their behalf was an effort in futility.”

 

     “Roy, you don’t really believe that,” Joanne frowned.  “Johnny. . .well, just by being there with those men Johnny made a difference.  Yes, in the end their lives were taken from them, but that certainly wasn’t because of anything Johnny did wrong.”

 

     “I know that,” Roy acknowledged with a slow nod of his head while staring out the patio glass once more.  “But I’m starting to get the feeling Johnny doesn’t.”

 

     “Then you have to help him understand it, Roy.”

 

     Recalling how uncharacteristically silent and introverted Johnny had been the previous day made Roy end the conversation by saying, “I can help him understand it, Jo, but I can’t make him accept it.”

 

     The paramedic stood and took his coffee cup to the sink.  He turned and headed for the garage, leaving his wife alone to ponder how she would feel if she’d been through what Johnny had.  Joanne didn’t like where her thoughts took her as her mind’s eye recalled the scenes from the accident she’d viewed on television. 

 

     “But Johnny’s got a strong spirit,” the woman said to the empty room.  “And a lot of friends.  He’ll get through this.  Between his own fortitude and the support of his friends, he’ll be fine.”

 

     Roy’s words echoed in Joanne’s ears.

 

     I can help him understand it, Jo, but I can’t make him accept it.

 

     Joanne sighed.  Unfortunately, her husband was correct.  Understanding was one thing.  Acceptance was another.  Joanne hoped Johnny reached the point where he embraced both those ideals, as she headed for the sink and the dirty breakfast dishes that awaited her there.

 

  

Chapter 23

    

     Sarah tugged on her friend’s arm, yanking Eve out of the elevator when it stopped on the third floor.

 

     “Come on.”

 

     “Sarah, no.”  Eve twisted her wrist from Sarah’s grasp.  “Wait.”

 

     Sarah turned.  “Wait for what?”

 

     “I. . .let’s just go.  We can come back later.”

 

     “When?”

 

     “Another day.  When Johnny’s. . .when he’s better.”

 

     “You wouldn’t even know how he is if I wasn’t the one calling here every day to check on him.”

 

     “Don’t look at me like that. I already told you I hate hospitals.”

 

     “And I already told you Johnny needs you to visit him.”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “I can’t believe you even have to ask me that question.  It’s pretty obvious, wouldn’t you say?”

 

     “Look. . .” Eve’s eyes darted around the busy hospital floor.  Nurses were conferring with one another at the station, an orderly was pushing a man in a wheelchair back to his room, visitors were walking the hallway, and a large black woman was cleaning the waiting area.  “He’s got a lot of friends.  Roy, the guys he works with at the station, people here at the hospital, firemen from other stations--”

 

     “I don’t care if he’s got ten thousand friends.  You’ve been dating him for three months.  Don’t you think he’s wondering why you haven’t come to see him?  Or at least called him if nothing else?”

 

     “He knows I work a lot of hours.  He knows I travel.  He’ll understand.”

 

     “Because he’s Johnny, unfortunately he will.”

 

     “What do you mean, ‘because he’s Johnny’?”

 

     “Eve, John Gage is the nicest guy you’ve ever dated.  And because he’s nice, he won’t even ask you where you’ve been since the day that helicopter brought him here.”

 

     “Look. . .I’m his girlfriend, not his wife.  If this. . .” Eve glanced around again, seeing nothing but stark white coming from the uniforms the women behind the counter were wearing, to the sheets on a nearby gurney, to the color painted on the walls, to the tiles on the floor.  “If this is what it means to be a fireman’s wife, I’m not interested.  This place is depressing.”

 

     “It’s a hospital, Eve, not a New York night club.”  The woman pulled on her friend’s arm again, dragging Eve down the corridor.  “The receptionist said Johnny’s in room 310.  Come on.  It’s this way.”

 

     Tess mopped the floor in the waiting area while keeping one eye on the long hallway in front of her.  She saw Sarah knock on the closed door of the room that housed John Gage, then watched as the model dragged her friend across the threshold.  Two minutes later the leggy blond named Eve came out and collapsed against the wall.  Tess watched the door open again.  Sarah was half hidden, not quite in Johnny’s room, and not quite out of it.

 

     “Johnny. . .I. . .she’s just. . .she’s been worried, Johnny.  Really worried.  This has been. . .difficult for her.  I’ll. . .I’ll talk to her and we’ll be back.  I promise.”

 

     If John Gage made a reply Tess didn’t hear him.  Her eyes followed the women as Sarah allowed the door to close before turning on her friend.

    

     “How could you do that?”

 

     “Do what?”

 

     “You know what.  Just stand there and stare at him with your mouth hanging open.  You didn’t even tell him hello.  You just. . .Eve, you just stood there staring like a four year old who’s never seen someone with a few bandages before.”

    

     “A few bandages?  Sarah, he looks terrible.  Like he. . like he’s barely alive.  And all those needles going into his arms, and that. . .that tube coming out his side, and the bandages on his leg, and the one across his forehead.  I bet he’ll have a hell of a scar.  Probably a helluva lot of scars as a matter of fact.  But on his face. . .that’s the worst place to have a scar, you know.”

 

     “Is that all you care about?  That Johnny will have a scar on his forehead?”

 

     “Of course not,” Eve assured, though Sarah could tell she was lying.  “Like you said, he’s a nice guy, and I hope things go well for him, and I wish I could have told him that, but I was just too upset after seeing him.  I. . .you know how it upsets me to see someone I love in pain.”

 

     “Oh, yeah.  I know how it upsets you.”  Sarah refrained from saying that she’d observed the self-centered Eve put enough people through pain that she should be an expert at dealing with it by now. 

 

     Eve glanced at her watch.  “Come on, we need to get going.”

 

     “Going where?”

 

     “Home.  I’m expecting a call.”

 

     “From who?”

 

     “Kerry London.”

 

     “Who?”

     “You know.  The guy who plays Trace Cooper on The Heart Of The City.”

 

     Sarah’s eyes narrowed.  “How long have you been seeing him?”

     “Oh, around a week I guess.”

 

     “You mean to tell me you started seeing him the same day Roy called you about Johnny’s accident?”

 

     “I did.  But the timing was purely coincidental.”

 

     Sarah’s reply was heavily laden with sarcasm.  “I just bet it was.”

 

     It was Eve who urged her friend along this time. She grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her toward the elevator.  “Come on.  Let’s go.  Johnny will be fine.”

 

     Sarah rolled her eyes as she muttered, “Yes, let’s hurry.  Heaven forbid you should miss your phone call from Kerry London.”

 

     “My thoughts exactly.”

 

     Tess watched the women disappear within the elevator car.  She mopped her way on down the corridor, then stopped in front of room 310.  She knocked on the door, but didn’t receive an answer.  Considering the patient’s injuries confined him to bed at the current time, it wasn’t as though she was going to walk in on him dressing or showering. 

 

     The woman backed into the room, pulling the silver bucket that was mounted on a wheeled stand while balancing the mop within it.

     “Sorry about pushin’ my big ole’ bottom into your room like I am.”  

 

     A quiet voice came from the direction of the bed.  “I don’t want any visitors.”

 

     “That’s good.  Because I’m not a visitor, baby.  Mizz Crandall says these floors gotta be mopped, and I just know she’ll be in here doin’ a white glove test thirty seconds after I’m done.  Lordy, but that woman takes the term ‘sanitize’ seriously.  I’ve heard rumors the folks at Mr. Clean just might start puttin’ her face on their bottles.”

 

     Johnny turned his head on the pillows.  His physical condition was just as Eve had described it.  His left leg was swathed in thick bandages and resting on two pillows.  The wound from his liver laceration was still draining slightly meaning a collection cup was hanging from the side of the bed.  IV lines still fed into his left arm, and a thick white bandage was in place across his forehead.  His face was as colorless as that bandage, his eyes dull with smoke-grey circles ringing them, his lips cracked and dry.

 

     “That was supposed to be a joke, baby, but I guess you didn’t find it too funny, huh?  Oh well, an audience is often fickle, and what tickles one funny bone don’t always tickle another.   You remember me, Mr. Gage? We met down in the ER a week or so ago.”

 

     Johnny’s reply was listless and without a hint of an attempt to recall the woman.  “No.  I’m sorry.  I don’t remember.”

 

     “Tess.  I’m Tess.  I wanted to help you wash out those coffee cups for Nurse McCall but you wouldn’t let me.”

 

     “Oh.”

 

     “Is that an ‘Oh, I remember,’?”    Or an ‘Oh, I don’t remember’?” Or an, ‘Oh, I really don’t care who you are, lady’?”

 

     That last line didn’t get the smile out of Johnny it normally would have.  He didn’t say anything, but just watched as Tess began mopping the floor.

 

     Tess hummed while she worked, Rock Of Ages stopping each time she deemed it necessary to make an observation.

 

     “Sure is a beautiful day out there, isn’t it, Mr. Gage?”

     “The sun sure is puttin’ on a happy face, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Gage?”

 

     “It’s warm, though.  Warm enough to make a body think July is just around the corner and’ll be so hot ole’ Satan‘ll be puttin’ air conditioning in Hell.”

 

     Tess stopped the motion of her mop to study the man in the bed. Her words hadn’t even prompted him to glance at the window. 

     “I expect I’m about to cross into territory that’s none of my business, but ole’ Tess has been known to do that a time or two, so there ain’t much gonna stop me now.  Don’t you be losin’ sleep over that woman who was just in here.  Eve.  She’s not the one for you, baby.  Believe me, she’s not the one God has in mind for you.”

 

     “It doesn’t matter.”

 

     “You say that like it does.”

 

     Johnny gave a shrug of his right shoulder.  “She’s found someone else.  Chet told me this would happen. He said she had high standards.”

 

     “Since when do you put any stock in the nonsense that comes out of Chester B. Kelly’s mouth?”

 

     “You know him?”

 

     “Baby, there ain’t hardly a person in my position who hasn’t heard of Chester B.  Now he’s not a bad soul per se, mind you, but he surely is a prankster who doesn’t always know when to quit, or when to keep his mouth shut.”

 

     “Well, this time Chet was right.  Eve doesn’t want someone like me.”

 

     “Someone like you?”

 

     “A scarred cripple.”

 

     “So you heard, huh?”

     “I might have a scar on my forehead, and a bum leg, and a tube sprouting from my gut, but there’s nothing wrong with my hearing.  They stood right outside the door.”

 

     “That scar is gonna decrease in time, baby.  And what don’t go away plastic surgery will take care of.   Besides, your hair will hide it.”

 

     “It doesn’t matter.  I don’t care.”

 

     “Of course you care.  Rejection always hurts, even when the reasons behind it are shallow, and come from a woman you had no business getting involved with in the first place.”

 

     “You say that like you know her.”

 

     “Oh, I know her kind.  And her kind is not for a gentle soul such as yourself, Mr. Gage.  Pardon me for saying it, but that one’s a She-Devil.  You could have never trusted her.  If you’d married her, like you were recently giving consideration to, nothing but a lifetime of pain awaited you.”

 

     Johnny wondered how this woman knew his inner thoughts.  He hadn’t mentioned to anyone, not even to Roy, that he’d been thinking about proposing to Eve.

 

     Johnny’s response was all encompassing as he turned his head away from Tess.  Quietly he said, “I’ve already experienced a lifetime of pain. I suppose a little more one way or another makes no difference.”

 

     The paramedic felt the woman’s hand come to rest on his right forearm.

 

     “You did all you could for those men, John.  All you could.  You can’t blame yourself for their deaths.”

 

     Once again Johnny found himself wondering how Tess came by her information, but then he concluded the bus accident must have been the talk of the hospital for several days.

 

     “No, I don’t suppose I can.  But I made them a promise.  I promised them. . .I promised them I’d get them out of that bus alive.  And then. . .then I didn’t.  They all died.  All of them except for me.  I. . .”  Johnny paused as his mind wandered to Kim and Jessie. “I guess I’m just not very good at keeping promises to the people I’ve vowed to protect.”

 

     When Johnny closed his eyes, Tess recognized that act as his way of trying to block out the world.

 

     “Let me get the chaplain to come see you.”

 

     “Why?”  Johnny questioned without opening his eyes.  “So I can pray for people who are already dead?  No thanks. I’ve tried it.  Prayer that is.  And it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

 

     Tess shook her head as she rolled her bucket toward the door.  She had no idea where this assignment was ultimately taking her, but she had a feeling helping John Gage come to terms with all he’d been through was going to be one of the most difficult things she’d ever done.

 

Chapter 24

    

     It was sweltering in Los Angeles that summer, and as Tess had predicted to John Gage in his hospital room that day in May, July was hot enough to make Satan air condition Hell.  Or if nothing else, hot enough to make Dixie McCall breathe a sigh of relief each time she stepped into the cool confines of Rampart Hospital.

 

     As Dixie knew would happen, the end of the Vietnam War didn’t bring peace to those on the home front.  People still argued over whether or not the United States should have gotten involved in Vietnam to begin with.  People still protested in front of the White House, though what they were protesting for or against now Dixie had lost track of.  But most importantly, young men and women had returned from a tiny spot in Southeast Asia forever changed by what they had experienced there.  Forever changed, just like every young person is forever changed by war.  But unlike the returning veterans of World War I and World War II, the Vietnam veterans weren’t welcomed home with parades, or ceremonies, or even a simple “Thank you.”  It was just as it had been when Dixie returned from Korea. 

 

     As summer sweltered Dixie’s depression returned as heavy and smothering as the July heat.  Sometimes even she didn’t know what was upsetting her more; feelings surrounding a war long in the past now, feelings surrounding a war that had just ended, or feelings surrounding a good friend who refused to follow the necessary measures that would allow his life to return to what it had been.

 

     Ironically enough, as Dixie’s thoughts turned to John Gage on that Tuesday afternoon, she caught sight of Roy DeSoto headed for the nurse’s station.  Circles of perspiration stained the underarms of Roy’s uniform shirt, and his face was flushed red from the heat.

 

     “I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but I doubt it would be too refreshing right now.”

 

     Roy shot the nurse a smile while shaking his head.  “No, it wouldn’t be.  I’m gonna grab a soda from the machine on my way out.”

 

     “Where’s Paul?”

 

     Paul Cummins was the paramedic who had taken Johnny’s place on the Station 51 A-shift.

 

     “Helping with a patient.  Six year old boy took a header off his bike.  He got attached to Paul, so Doc Morton asked Paul to stay in the treatment room in order to keep the kid calm.”

 

     “Is he hurt bad?”

     “A mild case of road rash, a bump on his forehead, and maybe a broken wrist, but all in all he’ll be okay.  You know, just a typical summer time accident.”

 

     Dixie nodded.  “We’ve seen a lot of those lately.  Kids falling off their bikes. Kids falling out of trees.  Kids falling off swing sets.  Even had one in here last week who had fallen off a church roof.”

 

     “A church roof?”

 

     “Yeah.  He was at Bible School and mocking the minister during the morning recess.  Evidently he got a little overzealous with his preaching efforts.”

 

     “Evidently,” Roy agreed with a hint of amused sarcasm.  “How bad did he get hurt?”

 

     “Actually, not bad at all.  A few scrapes and bruises, a cut lip that needed four stitches, and that was it.  Kel told him to thank his guardian angel for the fact that he wasn’t seriously injured, and then advised our young Billy Graham to keep his feet on the ground the next time he gives a sermon.”

 

     Roy chuckled, then sobered when Dixie asked, “How’s Johnny doing?”

 

     “All. . .all right.”

 

     “You don’t sound too certain about that fact.”

 

     “He. . .he’s okay, Dix.  He just needs some. . .some time.”

 

     Dixie crossed her arms over her chest.  “You don’t have to cover for him. I know he stopped coming to p. t. weeks ago.  Kel knows, too.  I also know he’s not answering his phone because both Kel and I have tried to call him a dozen times in the last two weeks.”

 

     “He’s not much on talking these days.”

 

      “Johnny?”  Dixie arched an eyebrow.  “Our Johnny Gage?  Not much on talking?”

 

     “No,” Roy shook his head.  “Not much.”

 

     “But he is willing to see you?”

 

     “Yeah.  When I force my way in.”

 

     Dixie thought a long moment.  “Does Johnny ever talk to you about what happened on that bus?”

 

     “No.”

 

     “He needs to.”

 

     “I realize that.”

 

     “It’s because of what happened that he apparently has no interest in getting that leg back in shape.  And if he doesn’t get that leg back to where it should be, there’s no way he’ll pass the physical to return to work.”

 

     “I don’t think he cares about returning to work.”

 

     “Did he tell you that?”

     “Not in so many words but. . .well, I’ve never heard him talk much about his family or home.  But lately he’s mentioned to me a couple times that he’s thinking about moving back to Montana.”

 

     “And doing what?”

 

     “Beats me.  He never says.”

    

     “Did you point out to him that no matter what he chooses to do for a living, his life will be easier if he’s got two strong legs to do it on?”

 

     “I did, but he didn’t seem to care.”

 

     Dixie chewed on the end of her pencil.  She didn’t even notice that when she was focused on Johnny’s problems, her depression seemed to lift.

 

     “Roy. . .how about if you and I pay a visit to Johnny?”

 

     The paramedic gave a slow nod. “We could.  But I don’t know what good it would do us.”

 

     “I’m not worried about what good it would do us, just what good it would do Johnny.”

 

     “And what do you hope to gain by it?”

 

     “What I hope to gain is getting your partner back at your side.”

 

     “I won’t argue with that.  Don’t get me wrong, Paul’s a nice guy and a good paramedic

but. . .”

 

     “He’s not your best friend.”  Dixie smiled.  “Don’t worry, I understand.  Besides, whether Johnny realizes it or not, he’ll be happier once he’s back at work.”

 

     “Happier?”

 

     “Take it from me, work will be the best place for him.  It’s better than sitting around that apartment by himself cr. . brooding.”

 

     “Sounds like you have some inside track to exactly what he’s doing, Dix.”

 

     The nurse shrugged while shying away from that gray cloud of dismissal feelings that seemed to hang over her whenever she wasn’t engrossed in her duties at Rampart Hospital. 

    

     “I don’t have any inside track.  I’m just. . .surmising, that’s all.”  Dixie quickly changed the subject.  “You’re off Thursday, aren’t you?”

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     “Thursday’s my day off, too.  I can meet you at Johnny’s then.”

 

     Before Roy could reply his handie talkie beeped.  “Squad 51, are you available?”

 

     Roy spotted Paul walking toward him.  He raised the handie talkie to his mouth and pressed a button.  “Squad 51, available.”

 

     “Squad 51, respond to a traffic accident at 356 Oceanview Road.  3-5-6 Oceanview Road.  Time out; 13:10.”

 

     “Squad, 51.  10-4.”

 

     Paul gave Dixie a wave as he turned toward the exit doors.  Roy said, “I’ll call you to set up a time for Thursday,” and saw Dixie nod as he, too, jogged for the exit and the squad parked outside.

 

     Dixie stared down at her paperwork, but wasn’t able to focus her attention on the admittance forms she’d been verifying prior to Roy’s arrival.  She gazed at the phone a long minute, then picked up the receiver.  She punched in Johnny’s number from memory, but wasn’t surprised when the telephone rang a full minute without being answered.

 

     The nurse gave a frustrated sigh as she placed the receiver back in its cradle. 

 

     “So, Mr. Gage isn’t answering his phone again, is that it?”

 

     Dixie turned around to see Tess stacking clean coffee cups by the coffee pot that wasn’t getting much use these days. 

 

     “How did you know I was calling Johnny?”

 

     “You call Mr. Gage a lot these days.  I reckon I’ve heard you mention it a time or two.  You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

 

     “I am.”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “It’s a simple question, Mizz McCall.  There’s no need to lob it back at me like one a’ them fuzzy little yellow balls that Billy Jean King woman gets paid to slam around.  Why are you worried about Mr. Gage?”

 

     “I’m worried about him because he’s not attending his physical therapy sessions.”

 

     “And?”

    

     “And what?”

 

     Tess shook her head while laughing.  “There you go again.  Lobbin’ them ole’ questions back at me.  And why else are you worried about him?”

     “Well . . .just because.  Johnny’s my friend, not to mention one of--”

 

     “The best paramedics in this county.”

 

     “How did you know that’s what I was going to say?”

 

     “Oh, it’s a skill I have, baby.  A skill or a curse, depending on how you look at it.  But those aren’t your only reasons now, are they?”

     Dixie was finding Tess to be as infuriating now as she had the first day she met her.  She felt like a schoolgirl being grilled by a teacher who’d caught her cheating on a test.  It was not a feeling the nurse appreciated.

 

     “First of all, I’m not your ‘baby.’  I’m Miss McCall to you.”

 

     Tess arched an eyebrow while biting back her smile.  “Yes, Mizz McCall.”

 

     “And secondly, my reasons for calling Johnny are none of your business.”

 

     “Nope, I guess they’re not.  But that’s another problem I’ve got.  I’m just too  nosy for my own good.”  Tess wiped off the counter around the coffee pot, then passed Dixie on her way to clean an empty treatment room.  “If you were being honest with yourself, Mizz McCall, you’d know the main reason you’re calling Mr. Gage is ‘cause you know just how he feels.”

 

     “How he feels?”

    

     “Like his life ain’t worth anything.  Like he let those boys on that bus down because he lived and they died.  Like everybody’s already forgotten them.  Like everybody is thinkin’ that those boys killed comin’ home from Vietnam on that bus were just another casualty of war.”

 

     “How do you know that’s what Johnny’s thinking?”

 

     “Baby, it don’t matter how I know.  What matters is how you know.”

 

     And with that, Tess headed down the corridor.

 

 

Part 3