by LaraLee
copyright LaraLee 1999

*Author’s note: The events of this story take place between seasons 1 and 2 of the television series Emergency!

Tiptoes in silence round my bed
And quiets the raindrops overhead
With her everlasting smile
She stills my fever for a while
Oh Nursie dear, I’m glad you’re here
To brush away my pain
“Nursie” - Jethro Tull

Part One: Night Shift

Dixie McCall pulled into the parking lot of Rampart General Hospital as the sun sank to the west. Unable to suppress a heavy sigh, she stepped out of the car into cool air of the early spring evening. It was the third night of the shift she hated the most. While she knew there was only one more to go (whenever possible she tried to schedule herself to work the 7:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. duty in order to end the rotation more quickly) she couldn’t shake off a feeling of gloom.

You’re getting old Dix she thought to herself, remembering a time when she had thrived on the excitement of a busy ER in the middle of the night. Not that the cases which ventured in had changed that much over the past few years. They were still the usual brand of ODs, rapes, bar fights and whatever else people felt could not wait. There were also plenty of real emergencies and above it all, everyone that walked through the door was a real person in need of help no matter what time of day it was. In reality she knew that what came into the nighttime emergency room wasn’t too much different from what she saw in the light of day, it just seemed easier to deal with in the hours before twilight.

“Probably because you’ve actually slept when you come to work,” she muttered to herself as she began to walk with a heavy tread toward the hospital.

Dixie was well aware of the fact that a large part of her difficulty with night shift stemmed from her inability to sleep during the day. It was something that had plagued her for years but had lately become more chronic. She would spend the afternoon tossing and turning watching the hands of the clock until she would finally fall into a fitful doze. The last night of her rotation usually found her entering what she had termed the grouchy phase, her usual patience and calm demeanor beginning to erode as she became worn down by exhaustion. Given her current dread of the night ahead, she knew she was already beginning to slip into it.

As she made her way toward the locker room to put away her purse and pin up her hair, she heard a familiar voice call an ever familiar greeting.

“Good evening Dix.”

Looking over her shoulder, her eyes took in the dark hair and handsome features of Dr. Kel Brackett stepping out a treatment room.

Walking back to him, she forced herself to smile. She didn’t care to have the head of emergency services catch a glimpse of her current mood.

“Evening Kel. Anything going on or is it too early?”

“Nothing yet. A possible bleeding ulcer and a kid who got hit in the head with a baseball. Neither too severe. The kid should be going home in an hour or so.” Crossing his arms, he looked at her closely and asked, “And how are you feeling about yet another night shift?”

Dixie felt the false smile evaporate. “I think you know the answer to that one. I’ll be on the floor in a few minutes,” she answered with a scowl and continued to the locker room.

Kel watched her go and shook his head. Dixie was by far the best nurse he had ever worked with and the most intriguing. He was well aware of her difficulty to sleep when the sun was out. Both he and Joe Early had suggested various mild sleeping pills but she refused. He could understand her reluctance to take them and the lack of sleep didn’t seem to effect her performance, nothing did. Yet, he couldn’t help the concern he felt when he saw the dark circles appear below her eyes and the “grouchiness” start to manifest. Concern for Dixie was something that would always be a part of him.

Shaking his head again, this time to clear it of other thoughts of her, he went to check on his patients.

Pinning her hair into the bun she wore while on duty, Dixie found her thoughts populated by the unwelcome image of a certain doctor. Shaking her head, she wondered if she would ever truly be free of him.

It had been five months since she and Kel had officially stopped seeing each other. It had been a mutual decision, both agreeing that they argued too much over matters that should stay at the hospital but filtered into their personal relationship. But Dixie knew there was another, more important, issue between them. Dr. Brackett seemed unable to say the three words she most needed to hear: “I love you.”

***

It had been an uneventful Friday night spent at Dixie’s apartment. Both were tired from a hectic week at the hospital and made themselves content with a dinner delivered by a neighborhood pizza place and some TV. Reluctantly, Kel decided to go back to his place for the night. At midnight he went on call. He could have left her number with the paging service but they were both well aware of the rumors that would start if Dr. Brackett received an emergency call at 2:00 a.m. while at Nurse McCall’s apartment. They had long ago decided to keep their relationship, whenever possible, a secret from the prying eyes of the hospital.

Giving her a kiss, he said, “Goodnight Angel in White,” holding her tightly, a hand reaching up to stroke her long blond hair. It was an act of tenderness that always touched Dixie, no matter how often he did it. Slipping a hand to the back of his head, she gave him her own brand of farewell. When she finished, she whispered in a breathless voice, “I do so love you Kelly Brackett.”

Kel placed a quick kiss against her mouth “I’d better go. While I still can,” he said, not releasing her from his grasp.

Dixie found her ears straining for him to say something more. When he didn’t, the aching doubt she had struggled with for the last few months surfaced once again. In the two and a half years they had been seeing each other she had often heard him use terms of affection, Angel in White being the most frequent, but never the word love. As a result, she had more and more often found herself questioning her relationship with Kel Brackett. Perhaps it was time to bring the matter out in the open.

Stepping out of his arms, she met his eyes and quietly asked: “Kel, do you love me?”

Kel’s face registered surprise as he struggled with the question. After a moment’s hesitation, he placed a hand against her face and answered: “Dix, you know I care a great deal about you.”

Dixie felt a wave of hurt wash over her. Briefly, she doubted the wisdom of pursuing the matter. It would be much easier to let it go, knowing that if she did, any damage the question may have caused would be minimal. Still, she had opened the door and now had to step through no matter what the consequences. She needed to know his true feelings for her.

“You haven’t answered my question Kel. Do you love me, or are you just fond of me?”

Looking down at her beautiful face he tried to put his feelings for her in order Care about her -- absolutely. Dixie had persevered where other women had failed, looking beyond his many rough edges to what lay beneath. She was the only one to not become quickly disgusted by his insane schedule at the hospital after the first few dates, despite the fact it left her spending many evenings alone; the only one who attempted to work with him on his lack of patience and tact, even though it at times sorely tested her own; and the fact that she possessed a strong will of her own allowed her to stand up to him whenever a disagreement arose, something he admired. She alone had gotten to the heart of what made him who he was and that made her special. But did it constitute love? He wasn’t sure

Trying to choose his words carefully, he said, “Dix, you’re one of the most important people in my life. In many ways you’re my best friend. But Dixie . . ..” Seeing the hurt in her eyes he couldn’t continue.

“Well, I guess that answers my question. You’d better go now Kel, you might have a long day ahead of you tomorrow,” Dixie said, turning away. She could feel tears beginning to take shape and the last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry.

“Dix . . .” he said, reaching out to touch her in the hope of maybe getting them back to some common ground.

Dixie felt his approach and took a further step away from him. For her there was nothing left to say .

“Please Kel, just go.”

Once more he stepped toward her, his mind struggling to find some way to undo the damage that had been inflicted. But as he approached he saw her back stiffen. He knew her too well to press on. Anything he said now would fall on deaf ears. There was nothing left but to do as she asked, to leave.

Hearing the door close Dixie sank to the floor, her body shaking with the emotions she had kept in check until she heard the click of the latch. Drawing up her legs and locking her arms around them, she turned her tear streaked face to the door.

“Damn you Kel Brackett,” she whispered. Burying her face against her knees, she began to sob.

“Damn you Kel. I still love you. Damn you . . . damn you . . . damn you . . .”

Neither of them ever brought up that night again -- Dixie because for the first time in her life she didn’t want to face the truth; Kel because he was afraid she might tell him what every other woman had, “You’re married to your work and there’s no room for me,” something he didn’t think he could bear to hear from Dixie. However, differences of opinion on matters at the hospital soon became full-blown arguments as if to compensate for what had been left unsaid between them. Where they had once been able to comprise or reach a friendly conclusion that they agreed to disagree they now found themselves locked in a bitter test of will power at every step. Eventually they had come to the conclusion it would be better if they stopped seeing each other in order to preserve their working relationship.

***

Touching up her lipstick, Dixie reflected that while her own feelings for Kel Brackett remained unchanged she had managed to put the required distance between them. They still worked incredibly well together and had even maintained a strictly professional friendship.

“Enough woolgathering Dix,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. It was time to put an end to her current train of thought. There was work to do. Hanging her purse in her locker, she steeled herself against the night ahead and walked onto the emergency room floor.

***

The early evening hours found the members of Station 51’s A-Shift finishing up what had been an uneventful day. However, they were working a twenty-four hour shift and they couldn’t allow themselves to be lulled by the routine of the day. The night was only just beginning.

Johnny Gage, Roy DeSoto and Mike Stoker sat around the table locked in a friendly game of poker. Stoker had just dealt a hand of five card draw and as he looked at his cards, Johnny’s normally attractive dark features scrunched into a scowl. He was grateful that they weren’t involved in a high stakes game as the luck of the draw was not on his side tonight, not that it ever was. Deciding to hold the King of Hearts in the hope of maybe getting a pair or three of a kind, he pushed the remaining four cards across the table to Stoker.

Seeing a brief look of amusement in Stoker’s eyes, he said, “Yeah Mike, four cards.”

Slipping the cards into his hand, he now found himself with a pair of twos. Toying with the idea of folding he decided against it and placed a bet. Maybe for once Roy and Mike had been dealt a pitiful hand.

Tossing his chips onto the table, he turned the conversation back to a theme he had brought up earlier.

“Come on Roy, you’ve got to help me think of something so that I can get even with Chet. He’s completely out of control with this Phantom thing.”

Roy looked his cards over and found that he had a possible straight. Sliding a single card to Stoker, he looked over to his partner. “Now how do you know it’s Chet? The whoopee cushion was just signed ‘The Phantom.’” Taking his card, he placed his bet and added, “Besides this was hardly one of his more imaginative tricks. The guy’s losing his touch.”

Mike Stoker was only half listening to their conversation. He took his card games very seriously and could rarely be drawn into conversation while playing. Eyeing the queen high full house he had been dealt, he wordlessly placed his chips into the growing pile.

“How do I know it’s Chet?” Johnny could not believe that his partner could suspect anyone else. “Who else could it be? There’s not another guy at the station with his sick sense of humor!”

“Well, Johnny while you ponder that, it’s your bet. And in case you haven’t noticed, Mike’s poker face has taken on an added intensity” Roy said, looking at his own cards. While Roy didn’t doubt that Chet Kelly was behind the many embarrassing jokes that had been pulled on Johnny, he also didn’t think Johnny was completely blameless for their constant war. He just seemed to come out on the losing end more often.

Johnny looked from Mike Stoker’s deadpan face to his cards. Feeling rather disgusted, he was about to fold when the alarm klaxons sounded.

“Squad 51. Possible suicide attempt. 651 South Laurel Drive. Six Five One South Laurel Drive. Cross street Ward. Time out 19:03.”

Stoker gave them both a rare smile. “Would you guys care to continue when you get back?”

“Very funny Mike,” Johnny grumbled, pushing away from the table.

As they climbed into the squad, Gage and DeSoto heard Captain Stanley give dispatch the familiar acknowledgment of “Squad 51 -- KMG 365” before handing them the slip of paper containing the necessary address. Hitting the lights and siren, Roy pulled out of the station.

“Man, possible attempted suicide. That leaves the door pretty wide open,” Johnny commented as he studied the map.

“Well, it’s better than an ‘unknown type rescue,’” Roy said, as he steered through the light traffic. “At least we have an idea of what we’re heading into.”

“True. But then again this could be an ‘unknown.’ We aren’t sure if the person is trying to kill themselves by conventional methods or maybe they’ve thrown themselves into the jaws of a hungry tiger as a means to suicide,” Johnny countered.

Roy let the remark pass. At Johnny’s direction, he hung a sharp left all the time hoping his partner would keep any more hypothetical possibilities about what they would soon encounter to himself.

Johnny caught Roy’s mood and gave him a lopsided frown remaining quiet for the rest of the short trip.

Pulling into the driveway of a well kept ranch house, a man of about 38 frantically ran up to the side of squad and began to incoherently spit out the details of the situation.

“Hang on,” Roy said, taking a hold of the man’s arm in the hopes of calming him enough to find out what was going on. This didn’t look like a place where a tiger could eat a person but Johnny had planted the seed and as much as he tried, Roy couldn’t let go of it. “Slow down and tell us what the problem is.”

“I’m David Lewis. It’s my wife,” the man said, struggling to get a grip on himself. “She’s been depressed lately and now she’s locked herself in the bedroom. She’s pushed something heavy against the door and I can’t move it. I tried to go to the window but every time I go near it she screams hysterically. That’s when I called you guys. I’m afraid . . ..” His voice trailed off in uncertainty.

“Ok, ok, we’ll see what we can do. Show us the bedroom,” Johnny said, grabbing the biophone and pulling the man toward the house. “What’s you wife’s name?”

“Rachel. Rachel Lewis,” he answered, opening the front door. “It’s like I said, she’s been depressed lately. And . . . Oh God, I’m not sure what she might do.” David Lewis came to a dead stop, staring into the house.

“Ok,” Johnny said, stepping through door. “But you’ve got to show us where she is.”

Inside David directed them down a short hall to a closed door. “In there. She’s in there.”

Roy sat down the medical kit and oxygen. Knocking on the door, he called out to the woman inside, “Rachel. We’re with the Fire Department. We just want to know if everything is all right.”

Trying to push the door open he found that it was indeed held shut by a dresser or something else that felt like it weighed a ton. Briefly he wondered how she had moved it but figured if she was in a heightened mental and physical condition anything was possible.

“Leave me alone,” a voice holding a strong southern accent yelled from inside. “I told that little asshole that I’m married to that I didn’t want to be bothered!”

“Rachel,” Roy said, trying to invoke all the soothing tones he could, “we have reason to believe that you may need some help. Have you taken anything or done anything to yourself that may need medical attention?”

“Not yet,” the woman cried, her voice rising in intensity. “Y’all don’t get it! Just leave me alone. I have a right to do what I want. It’s none of the Fire Department or the slime ball that I married business what I do now.”

Johnny turned to David and quietly asked him, “Have the two of you had an argument recently? Anything that may have triggered this? You’ve got to tell me the truth.”

David shook his head. “No we haven’t argued. Nothing. She just hasn’t been herself lately. She’s been withdrawn and kinda hostile toward me. I just figured maybe it was a . . . you know . . . a woman thing. She’s very stubborn and if she says she’s going to . . . “

Looking at the husband’s ashen face, Roy moved back to the door. Everything they had heard indicated that Rachel Lewis was a woman in need of help, if not medical attention. Taking a deep breath, he again spoke to her. “Rachel, if you need to talk to someone we can help you get in touch with people that may be able to help. Please Rachel, let us in. There are other ways to deal with whatever is bothering you.”

“Go away,” the voice shrieked. “I just want to be left alone.”

Roy heard the added note of desperation in the woman and pulled his partner aside. “Johnny,” he said quietly, “I think maybe we should contact a professional to try to get her out of there. Maybe get a hold of Rampart on the land line . . .”

Before Roy could finish he heard the sound of breaking glass as something shattered against the door. The woman’s voice had reached a high pitched wail which soon became a scream. “Enough! I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t want to talk to my lousy husband and I certainly don’t want to talk to some telephone shrink!”

Johnny looked at Roy. “There’s no time. Let’s go around to the back and see if we can get in through a window.” Behind him heard David let out a low moan. Turning he saw the man move toward the door. “Roy, grab the husband!”

David was leaning against the door, his voice rising to a shout as he pounded a fist against it. “Rachel please! For God’s sake open the door!”

Roy didn’t think it was possible but the voice inside took on an added hysteria. “Damn you! I told you, you stupid bastard! GO AWAY!”

Pulling David from the door, Roy said, “I don’t think you should try to talk to her now. We’re going are to try to get in through a window in the back. Can you show us the way?”

Rachel’s last outburst seemed to have sent David into a state of shock. He could only shake his head dumbly as Johnny dragged him along behind them.

Darkness had set in completely while they were in the house but it was obvious that the backyard was well maintained. The paramedics could see the outlines of a birdbath and small gazebo in the shadows. Maybe the site of happier times for all Johnny and Roy knew

All of the shades at the rear of the home were drawn and while they could take a guess as to which window Rachel Lewis had barricaded herself behind, neither man wanted to waste time prying open the wrong one.

Setting down the biophone, Johnny gently shook the husband. “David, tell us which one is the master bedroom. We’ve got to get in there to help Rachel.” David seemed not to have heard and stared at the house with a look of disbelief on his face. Johnny shook him harder. “Come on man! We need to help your wife, which window is it?”

“That one. That one over there,” David panted pointing to the far southwest window. Roy was already running toward it as Johnny let David crumple onto grass.

Roy gave the window a pull, finding it locked. Yanking harder, he heard the lock snap and pushed it back.

In the light of a bedside lamp, he could see a strikingly beautiful red head lying across a bed. She no longer seemed to be hysterical but to have acquired a surreal sense of peace. In her hand she held a razor blade. Her right wrist was already bleeding profusely and judging by her current posture she was ready to administer the same treatment to her left.

“Rachel, please don’t,” Roy gasped.

Her emerald green eyes looked up at him calmly. “I told you to leave me alone. Like the man I married, y’all just don’t listen. Nobody does,” she said in a low southern drawl. Before Roy had a chance to move, she sharply pulled the blade across her left wrist. Looking up at him a weak smile played across her lips. “Now it doesn’t matter.”

Roy pulled himself through the window, shouting, “Johnny hurry! We need the biophone and the kit -- she’s slit her wrists!”

Dropping to the floor, he murmured, “All right Rachel. Just lie still.”

Her earlier calm disappeared as he took a step toward the bed. “No,” she screamed, leaping from it to the door. The heavy trunk and night stand she had placed across it earlier had now become a hindrance. The blood running from the cuts in her wrists had not only left her hands too slick to gain a proper purchase but she was also becoming a bit light headed. Feeling the fireman’s hands close around her shoulders, she sat down on the trunk with an air of resignation. Looking into his kind face, she pleaded, “Let me die. Just let me die. Please.”

“Not tonight Rachel,” Roy said, lowering her to the carpet. Glancing at window, he could see Johnny pushing the kit and biophone through it. After handing Roy a BP cuff and stethoscope, he began setting up the link with Rampart

Roy knelt over Rachel taking her vitals. She seemed to have reached a plateau and now lay quietly sobbing as the blood pumped out of her severed arteries.

“Rampart this is Squad 51,” Johnny said into the radio.

“Go ahead 51,” Dixie’s voice acknowledged.

***

Dixie stood with Dr. Mike Morton as the ambulance carrying 51’s attempted suicide backed into a slot. The night was going terribly, worse than even she could have expected. Both the telephone and intercom system were down throughout the hospital. Frantic calls had been placed to both the phone company and the vendor that handled the internal communications from a nearby 7-11 but the situation had yet to be resolved. The problem had left of the majority of orderlies and nurses running between the various treatment rooms and departments, trying to make sure doctor’s orders were being carried out and patients were being looked after. Fortunately, the radio transmissions were still operating and they were able to communicate with the paramedics in the field without any difficulty. Of course, tracking down a doctor to assist them was a bit more tricky.

Dixie tried to shake off her discouragement and think positively. The ER had remained relatively quiet and while everything was taking a bit more time, as long as the “messenger” links held it should be all right.

“Any word yet on the internal communications Dix? We really need to get this taken care of. Communication is vital to the operation of the hospital,” Morton said with his usual lack of tact..

Dixie gave him a dark look. It was no secret that she found Mike Morton to be one of the most abrasive doctors in the emergency room and tonight he was really pushing his luck with her. Did he honestly think that she didn’t understand the importance of having a working telephone and PA system?

“We are working on it Doctor. My understanding is that every possible agency has been called and they pulling in their best teams to try to diagnosis the problem,” she answered in a somewhat acid tone.

“Good. Keep on top of it,” Morton replied.

Dixie decided to let the remark pass. The ambulance doors were opening and it was probably best to concentrate on the patient rather than telling Mike Morton where he could put his communication system. Roy DeSoto climbed out with the victim holding an IV bag.

“She doesn’t appear to be losing anymore blood,” Roy informed them, “and her vitals are still stable.”

“Take her to Treatment 5,” Dixie instructed the ambulance attendants, falling in behind them.

Roy came out of the treatment room, looking up and down the hall for Johnny. Leaning against the wall, he decided to wait for his partner outside the door, maybe he’d be able to find out more about Rachel’s condition. Her desperation had touched him in a sad way. She had kept mumbling the words “stupid bastard husband” over and over on the way in. David Lewis hadn’t struck Roy as a bad sort but then who was he to know what went on behind the closed doors at their home.

Seeing, Johnny approach he straightened. As Johnny reached him, Dixie emerged from the treatment room.

“Dix, how is she,” Roy asked.

“Hi, Roy. Johnny,” Dixie said, her lips curving into their first genuine smile of the night. No matter how poorly things were going, she could always manage one for Gage and DeSoto. “She lost quite a bit of blood and the cuts on her wrists are pretty deep but I think she can expect a full recovery. Rachel will have to spend some time in the psyche ward though to help prevent this kind of thing from happening again. Did she give you any idea of why she did it?”

Roy shook his head. “It seemed like she had some well . . . bad feelings about her husband. He said she hadn’t been herself lately.”

Dixie frowned. “Where is the husband anyway?”

“He’s on his way in,” Johnny said. “I just hope he’s all right to drive -- he was pretty shook up. But he insisted on driving himself.” With an air of puzzlement he looked around. “Hey Dix, is there something going on with the PA here? I haven’t heard an announcement since I walked in.”

Dixie glared at Johnny. “Thank you for pointing that out. I only wish I could congratulate you on being the first to notice,” she replied sarcastically.

Johnny gave her a mortified look. “God, I’m sorry Dix. I should have realized that . . .”

Dixie couldn’t help but laugh at his embarrassment. “It’s ok Johnny. I’ve just heard a little bit too much about communication problems tonight. Now I need to get up to the psyche ward and deliver the message that we’re sending a patient up. Here’s hoping the rest of your shift is a quiet one.”

“You too Dix. Sounds like you could use it,” Roy said, as they each moved off in their separate directions.

Returning to the emergency room from the psyche ward, Dixie decided that perhaps sitting down for five minutes with a cup of coffee might be the best thing for her worsening mood. Checking with Carol, the nurse at the base station, she found no new patients had been brought in during her absence.

“I think I’m going to take five then and grab a cup of coffee. I’ll be in the lounge if you need me,” Dixie told the other nurse.

“Good idea Dixie. You really look like you could use it.”

Giving her a quizzical look, Dixie started for the lounge. Carol’s remark made her wonder just how bad she looked. Coming to the conclusion that it was probably her frustration with turn the night had taken beginning to show, she pushed open the lounge door. Seated inside, she found Dr. Joe Early with a cup of coffee and the newspaper.

Hearing her enter, he looked over his reading glasses and smiled. “Trying to escape the madness for a while Dix?”

Dixie filled her cup with coffee and sat down at the table. “Uh huh,” she said, reaching for a section of the paper he had discarded. “Joe you know how much I hate to work nights anyway. But maybe this one wouldn’t have been so bad if the communication systems hadn’t decided to fail five minutes after I walked onto the floor.” Turning her attention to the paper, she shrugged, adding, “I guess there’s always got to be some kind of a hitch.”

Joe laughed. “You know it Dix,” he said, turning back to the newsprint in front of him.

Bending her head, she found that she had ended up with a section that contained three pages of advertising for high end real estate in the Los Angeles area. Hardly a subject she had an interest in but trying to make the best of it she began to thumb through the pages.

Reaching the end of the article he had been scanning, Joe folded the paper and placed his reading glasses in a pocket. Studying her profile, he quietly asked, “How are you doing Dixie?”

Dixie was reading the descriptions of listed residences, wondering what it must be like to live in a six bedroom house. Without looking up from the page, she replied, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll survive it Joe. I only have about seven more hours to go.”

With a shake of his head, he said, “That’s not what I meant. I know that you can take anything the hospital has to dish out and live through it. I guess what I’m asking is: how are you doing since you and Kel stopped seeing each other?”

This got Dixie’s attention and she quickly raised her eyes from the paper to Joe’s face. What she saw was concern for a friend. She was again reminded of what a kind and gentle man he was.

While others may have speculated that something was going on between the head nurse and Dr. Brackett, Joe had been the only person at the hospital who had known fully about their relationship. He and Kel had been friends long before Dixie had ever entered the picture and it was only natural that the three of them had begun to do things together socially. Eventually she and Joe had become friends. After the breakup she had found her professional relationship with Dr. Early unchanged. He was still the friend he had always been but in all this time there had never been any mention of what had once existed outside the hospital. Out of respect for Kel, she had never questioned Joe to find out if he knew the true reason behind their demise. It just wasn’t her style.

Dixie tilted her head up to him and gave him a smile. “Thanks for asking Joe, but I’m fine. You know how we argued. It’s better this way.” Picking up her coffee, she took a sip and added, “I guess I’ve managed to move on.”

Joe heard the slight tremor in her voice and knew she wasn’t being entirely truthful. She had been caught off guard and while her face revealed little, her eyes reflected a deep pain.

Kel had only given Joe sketchy details as to the end of his relationship with Dixie, but he had been able piece them together and knew what lay at the heart of it. He also harbored a sneaking suspicion that Kel’s feelings for Dixie ran much deeper than he was willing to admit.

“Dix,” he said, in a somewhat hesitant voice. “I want you to know that I think Kel made a mistake in letting you go. I know him well and can guess that it wasn’t just the arguments that drove you apart. Kel has many imperfections when it comes to the personal side of his life.” Trying to gauge her reaction to his words, he went on after a brief pause. “But Dixie, you were the best thing that ever happened to him. You gave him a humanity he lacked before.”

Dixie rose from the table. Why is it, she thought, that doctor’s always have the worst timing to bring up subjects that should either be left alone or discussed elsewhere? But looking down at Joe Early she couldn’t get angry. He was only trying to be a friend to her, she read that much in the look of sympathy on his face.

“I appreciate your kind words Joe. I really do. But I’m not so sure . . . despite any humanizing I may have done, Dr. Brackett’s bedside manner is still a bit lacking if you ask me.” Giving him a smile she turned to leave. “I’ve gotta get back to work.”

Laughing, Joe got up from the table. “Me too,” he said holding the door open for her.

***

1:00 a.m. found Dixie walking down the hallway of the emergency room, making yet another check that everything was still operating as smoothly as possible. The phones had been restored to the point that an outside line could now be dialed up but there was still no way to communicate within the hospital. The technicians working on the system felt they could get the internal lines and PA system back up by 5:00 a.m. The night had maintained a status quo of quiet and Dixie silently prayed there wouldn’t be anything catastrophic come up before then. At least Dr. Morton had stopped pestering her about the importance of internal communications. Around midnight he seemed to have found some other annoyance to occupy his time and God take pity on the nurse who was at the receiving end of it.

Moving past the ambulance bay doors, Dixie heard someone call her name. Turning she saw one of her favorite attendants, Harper, bring a scruffy stuporous looking man into the corridor. Other than the fact that he seemed to be having difficulty with his equilibrium, the man wasn’t showing any other outward signs of distress.

“Miss McCall, I found this guy laying outside the doors. Smells like he’s been drinking,” Harper said, trying to pull the man’s arm over his shoulder.

Dixie walked over and turned the man’s face up to get a better look at him. She quickly stepped back as a blast of alcohol hit her nose. “Whew! Sure does smell like he’s tied one on.” Taking the man’s other arm she said, “Let’s see if we can get him into one of the treatment rooms.”

Coming to Treatment Room 1 and finding it empty, they pulled the man through. Settling him onto the low examining stool, Dixie took in the glassy unfocused appearance of his eyes, something more associated with drug use than alcohol, and despite the fact the odor of whisky was almost overpowering, he wasn’t exhibiting the symptoms of a common drunk.

Taking a hold of his coat, she said, “Harper, help me get his jacket off and then roll up his sleeves. I’ve got a feeling there might be more going on here than just a hard night of drinking.”

They soon had the jacket off and Harper was sliding up the man’s left sleeve. Turning to Dixie, he said, “Look at this Miss McCall.”

Dixie followed the line of his finger to the long row of needle marks on the inside of the arm. None of the marks were fresh and she motioned with her head for Harper to roll up the other sleeve. Finding the same results, Dixie stood back and bit her lip. While there was evidence that at some point in the past the man had been an IV drug user; he had either stopped or was using another part of his body to administer it.

Crouching next to him, she gently put her hand on his arm and asked, “What’s your name? Can you tell me what you’ve been doing tonight?”

The man lifted his vacant eyes slightly at the sound of her voice and turned away. Dixie sighed. It didn’t appear she was going to get anywhere with a few simple questions.

Standing, she smoothed her skirt and turned back to Harper. “See if you can find a doctor. I’ll go ahead get a start on his vitals.”

“Miss McCall, are you sure you should be left alone with him,” Harper asked. “He doesn’t look too good and you never know when one of these guys will have some kind of personality change.”

“Well, with the internal lines down, one of us has to go. If you go, I can get a head start on what the doctor will need.” Giving their patient a downward glance and still finding him, by all appearances about a million miles from Rampart General, she added, “Besides, he seems docile enough.”

Harper looked at her unconvinced. He knew that Miss McCall was the best emergency room nurse there was but she was also one stubborn lady. There was no point in arguing with her when she had made up her mind.

“All right, Miss McCall. I’ll be back in a flash,” he said, hurrying out of the room.

Dixie turned back to the man seated on the stool. In a soft, gentle voice she told him: “My name’s Dixie. I’m just going to take your pulse and blood pressure. It won’t hurt and there’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”

Placing her fingers against his wrist, she noted a brief flicker of comprehension in his eyes before they returned to their glassy stare. Finishing with his pulse, she wrote it on the chart she had started and tossed it to the examining table. As she walked to the counter to get the BP cuff and stethoscope, she found his eyes following her. Maybe he’s not a million miles away, just a few hundred, she thought.

Making her movements slower and more deliberate, so as not to startle any part of his conscious that might be reviving, she went back to him. Kneeling, she began to gradually wrap the BP cuff around his upper arm, murmuring, “It’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Dixie looked up with one of the reassuring smiles she reserved for patients only to have it quickly fade. In the few seconds her head had been bent, the man’s entire demeanor had changed. His eyes were filled with terror and his mouth had opened in what appeared to be silent scream. As she watched, his left hand curled around the chart she had left on the table, the movement of his body so subtle she had not detected it while applying the cuff.

Before she could get to her feet, Dixie felt the chart slam into the right side of her face, the force of the blow knocking her over. Blinking away tears of pain, she said to herself, “Boy Dix that was stupid. Why didn’t you sit him on the treatment table rather than the stool?”

Raising herself to her elbows, she found the man was standing over her, the BP cuff dangling from his right left arm. He was emitting a low gibberish she found impossible to understand and his eyes were wild with fear as he stared at her. Ripping away the cuff, he threw it at her and said in a clear voice, “Fucking bitch.”

Now that I understood, Dixie thought, slowly pulling herself to her feet. After the outburst he seemed to have taken an interest in the rest of his surroundings and with his back to her, she took a step toward the door. A slight, almost imperceptible squeak of her shoe had him turning around to her once again.

Grabbing an arm, he pulled her close to him, shouting, “Bitch!”

Dixie felt his whisky laden breath against her face and tried to pull away.

“Let go of me,” she said, in a sharp voice.

The man obliged her with a hard push. Finding herself off balance, Dixie reached for an instrument dolly to try stop her fall only to have it roll then tumble down with her. As her shoulder thudded against the floor and the contents of the dolly scattered around her, she once again heard the low gibberish.

Placing her hands carefully among the litter of instruments and broken vials, Dixie rose to her knees. She now had only one desire: to be as far away from this room as possible. As she eased away from the dolly, she felt a hand bury itself in her thick hair and a pressure against her back that sent her gasping to the tiles.

“Bitch! I’ll show you” a voice above her cried, before sinking into an unintelligible muttering.

As her feet fought to find a toe hold so that she might at least turn over and attempt to make this a fair fight, Dixie thought she heard the door open and a voice she knew well say, “Miss McCall, I’m having a hard time . . .. Oh, my God! Miss McCall!”

Harper! Thank God he had come back!

Harper took in the scene before him and without hesitation ran to pull the man away from the struggling woman. As he reached out a hand to lock it around the collar of the assailant, the man he had once considered a patient rose and took it in a firm grasp.

Dixie rolled over just in the time to see Harper’s shocked expression before the man slammed him into wall. She shuddered as she heard Harper’s head crack against the drywall. In a voice she didn’t recognize as her own, she heard herself scream, “Harper! No!”

A dazed Harper struggled weakly against the seemingly super human strength of the man only to find himself unceremoniously thrown through the treatment room door. Hitting the wall opposite the door and crumpling to the floor, Harper felt a blanket of darkness overwhelm him, his last conscious thoughts on the nurse trapped inside with a mad man.

Dixie rose to her feet finding no escape from the nightmare she was locked in. The man stood before her now, his expression one of pure hate. She tried to back away from him, but his hand found her and he delivered a hard slap across her mouth.

“Bitch,” he said, as he watched her stagger into the examining table.

Tasting blood, Dixie leaned against the table breathing hard as she watched her attacker slowly bear down on her. Whatever his perception of her, his intentions were clearly reflected in his face and she felt her mind momentarily gag. Killed by a patient while on night shift her obituary would read. There was no way she could readily accept that.

Gripping the edge of the table until the knuckles of her hand turned white, Dixie prepared to deliver a blow of her own -- to what she knew was a very sensitive part of his body. As he drew closer, she raised a knee and silently prayed that her aim would be true.

As the gap between them closed, Dixie realized they were no longer alone. Two security guards were rushing to the man’s side as a wide-eyed Sharon Walters screamed, “My God! Stop him!”

The man, oblivious to their presence, took another step toward her only to have his approach halted by strong hands locking around his arms. “Bitch,” he screamed. “Bitch! You can’t stop me! It’s no use!”

Dixie released her hold of the table and tried to regain her composure. As she watched the man began to struggle in the guards’ grasp, ranting. For the first time, she found herself lacking compassion for a patient. Fear and anger had replaced whatever concern she may have earlier felt.

“Get him out of here,” she spat out.

The guards nodded in unison. “Right away ma’am,” one of them said, dragging the man from the room. As the left they, his voice rose to a frenzy. He had now found himself facing new demons and he seemed ready to take them on.

Dixie felt a light touch on her arm and turned to see Sharon, eyes still enormous but in control. “Come on Miss McCall, let me help you over to the examining table,” she said.

Sinking wearily onto the table, Dixie could see her crumpled nursing cap lying near the upturned instrument dolly, its wheels still spinning. Other than those two out of place items the room reflected nothing of its earlier terror. But there was something else, someone else.

Harper!

“Sharon, please go check on Harper. I think he may have been hurt and . . .”

Sharon, who had picked up Dixie’s wrist in order to take her pulse, raised a hand to stop the supervising nurse from going further. “It’s ok Miss McCall. Harper alerted us to the problem here and Dr. Morton is with him. Now we need to get you checked out. I’ll go get Dr. Brackett.” Dropping Dixie’s wrist she quickly turned to leave the room.

“Sharon, no,” Dixie said, her tone sharp. While she knew Kel would probably act in a completely professional manner she didn’t want him to see her like this, she felt too vulnerable. Seeing the student nurse’s bewildered expression, Dixie added, “I know I need to be looked at, hospital policy, but I’d rather it not be Dr. Brackett. I mean it Sharon.”

Sharon nodded and turned back to the door. Dixie sighed as she watched the young nurse leave, hoping her instructions had been clear.

Hurrying down the hall, Sharon found herself in a state of confusion. The head nurse had just been worked over by a patient, something she herself had never considered happening in a hospital, but was also insisting she didn’t want the best emergency room doctor to examine her. Shaking her head in attempt to make sense of it, Sharon ran squarely into Dr. Early.

Taking her arms to steady her, Joe said, “Hey slow down. I know the PA’s out but . . .” Getting a better look at the student nurse, he noticed that she seemed to be experiencing some anxiety. “Sharon, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, Dr. Early,” Sharon said, breathlessly, “it’s Miss McCall. She’s in Treatment Room 1. She was attacked by a patient. I don’t think she’s been badly hurt but . . .”

“Come on,” Joe said, taking her arm to lead her back down the hall with him.

Pushing open the treatment room door, Joe found Dixie sitting on the examining table dabbing at her lips with a tissue already spotted with blood. Her usually immaculate bun had come loose and wisps of hair clouded her features but through them he could see a bruise on her right cheek. As he approached her, she gave him a weak smile.

“Joe,” she said, her voice filled with relief.

“Sharon, start getting a set of vitals,” he said, pushing aside a strand of blond hair so as to get better look at her face. “Dix, did you hit your head? Lose consciousness? Do you think anything’s broken?”

Dixie shook her head and laughed wryly. “No. Aside from the fact that I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck and there’s been a very serious injury to my pride, I think I’m all right. I’ve just been banged around a little.”

Joe flicked on a pen light and began to check her eyes. “Any headache, blurred vision?”

“No,” Dixie answered. “Well, maybe a slight headache but I think that may be expected. I’ve been under a little stress.”

Smiling, Joe clicked off the light. Turning serious again, he asked, “What happened Dix?”

“I guess I turned my back on the wrong patient. He seemed quiet enough so I wasn’t worried. My mistake. Before I knew what was happening he was slamming me around the room.” She stopped, a look of concern filling her eyes. “Joe, can you please check on Harper. I think he hit his head pretty hard. Sharon said Dr. Morton was with him but I’d like to be sure he’s all right.”

Joe turned to Sharon and asked her to find out Harper’s condition.. “Now, I want to be certain that you’re all right,” he said, continuing his examination. “Tell me more about what happened.”

So, as Joe Early checked her out, Dixie calmly related the events as best she could.

“And that’s it,” she finished with a shrug. “The security guards hauled him off before I had a chance to inflict any damage on him. Probably lucky for him”

Sharon re-entered the room looking pleased. “Dr. Morton says Harper has suffered a mild concussion but he’s going to be fine as long as he take’s it easy for a while.”

Dixie closed her eyes and silently thanked God that the attendant had not been severely injured.

“Thanks Sharon,” Joe said, completing his examination. “Can you get our patient 900 milligrams of aspirin and a glass of water?” Pulling his stethoscope from around his neck he looked at Dixie. “You were lucky Dix. Aside from an ugly bruise and scrape on your right cheek you’ve got a split lip, along with a cut on the inside of it. All three will probably be pretty tender for a day or two. You’re also going to feel stiff once the muscles in your back and shoulders start to lose some of their tension. Oh, you’ve got a few bruises in those locations too. Other than that and a headache, you’re fine.”

Dixie sighed. “Thanks Joe. I guess I’d better get back to work.”

Joe shook his head. “No. I want you to sit here for a few minutes and try to relax. Your pulse and blood pressure are elevated from the adrenaline rush you experienced. Once we get those lowered I want you to call it a night and go home.”

“But Joe . . ..”

“You’re not relaxing,” Early said sternly. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with some ice for your lip.” Motioning for Sharon to follow him, he caught Dixie giving him a sour look.

Outside he took Sharon aside and spoke to her quietly. “Sharon, I want you to find Dr. Brackett and if he’s available ask him to come here. Have him see me first before he goes into the room though.”

“But Miss McCall said she didn’t . . .”

“I can guess what she said but I’d like you to get him anyway,” Joe interrupted. “Oh, Sharon,” he said, as she began to walk away. “It won’t be necessary for you to come back.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Sharon acknowledged with a nod and headed down the hallway being careful to watch where she was going this time. Her confusion about what had taken place in Treatment Room1 was mounting. While Miss McCall had it made clear she didn’t want Dr. Brackett, Dr. Early was now insisting that he be brought there. Attempting to make sense of it, she turned a corner to find Dr. Brackett speaking with Dr. Lazarin. Feeling the nervousness that always came over her when dealing with the ranking ER physician, she tentatively approached.

“Excuse me Dr. Brackett, but Dr. Early would like you to assist him in Treatment Room 1 if you’re available. He would like you to meet him outside the room.”

Brackett gave the student nurse a questioning look then shrugged. “Guess I’d better go see what Joe needs. I’ll talk to you later Steve,” he said.

As Dr. Brackett walked away, Sharon felt herself relax. At least he didn’t asked what the problem is, she thought.

Nearing Treatment Room 1, Kel saw Joe standing outside it. “What’ve you got Joe,” Kel called. “Nurse Walters said you needed me but that I was to meet you outside the room. What’s the mystery?”

As Kel drew even with him, Joe placed a hand on his friend’s arm, saying in a soft voice so as not be to overheard, “It’s Dixie. A patient attacked her.”

The words hit Kel as if they had been issued by Joe’s fist rather than his mouth. Not waiting to hear more he pushed his way to the treatment room door. Only the pull of Joe’s hand on his arm stopped him from going through. Spinning around he heard Joe say: “Wait Kel.”

Feeling his patience slipping, Kel snapped, “What is it Joe? What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s fine Kel,” Joe reassured him. “Just some cuts and bruises.”

Kel hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until his heavy exhale at the words “she’s fine.”

“But Kel, from I can gather the guy intended to kill her, probably as the result of a drug induced hallucination. We both know Dixie’s a tough character but I think she’s more upset about that fact than she realizes. I thought she might need someone to talk to which is why I asked you to come.”

Kel felt his jaws clench and his hands roll into fists as a bolt of raw anger shot through him. The thought of anyone wanting to harm his “Angel in White” let alone kill her was incomprehensible. Once again he turned to the door only to have his progress impeded by Joe’s grip on his arm.

“Kel,” Joe said, using the gentle voice that worked so well with patients, “you’re going to have to hear me out before I’ll let you go in there.”

Kel nodded, struggling to rein in the rage that was coursing through him. If nothing else, Joe knew more about the situation than he did.

Joe waited for his friend to regain control of his anger then continued in the same gentle tone. “Kel, I think Dixie will open up to you more than anyone else and maybe you can offer her a comfort no one else can. But Kel, I only want you to go in there if you can put on your best bedside manner.”

“Joe, I want to see her. Talk to her. I think I can give Dixie, of all people, the best bedside manner I’ve got.”

Joe could read the sincerity in his eyes and relinquished his hold on Kel’s arm. “Ok Kel. Just remember, she’s had a traumatic experience.”

Kel didn’t hear him. The instant he felt Joe’s hand release him he headed for the door. Dixie was on the other side of it and he needed to see her with his own eyes.

Stepping through, Kel first noticed Dixie’s nursing cap lying among the instruments from the overturned dolly but what he saw next made him stop in his tracks. It wasn’t the scrapes and bruises that marred her beautiful face that brought him to a halt. No, those he had been expecting. What he had not anticipated was the look of complete vulnerability that passed across her features before she could mask it with her usual cool professionalism.

Seeing Dixie arch a questioning eyebrow he realized he had been staring and she must be wondering if he had only come to gawk at her.

Walking over to the table he gave her a half smile. “Hi Dix,” he said quietly. “Looks like you’re having a pretty rough night.”

“What are you doing here Kel? News must travel faster in the hospital than I thought.”

“Joe asked me to take a look at you” he answered, a hand straying to the blood spatters on the collar of her uniform. What took place in here Dixie?

“But Joe already examined me. I’m fine Kel, really,” Dixie protested. “I just need some ice.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Kel said, his hand lifting from her uniform to the cut on her lip.

For the second time that night Dixie found her scratched and bruised face being examined. Well aware of the fact that her injuries didn’t require a second opinion she couldn’t help wondering why Joe had asked Kel to see her. Kel’s examination also seemed rather cursory, as if he were there for some other purpose. Still, his soft touch was having an effect that Joe’s hadn’t. In his hands the reoccurring images of the nightmare she had experienced briefly disappeared.

When he had finished, Kel stepped back from her and crossed his arms. “How’d this happen Dix,” he asked in this same quiet voice he had used before.

Dixie felt herself stiffen at the question but tried to laugh it off. “Like I told Joe, I guess I picked the wrong patient to be left alone with. When I sent Harper to look for a doctor the man seemed so completely out of it I wasn’t worried.”

Of course Kel thought. With the PA and internal lines still down there had been no way for them to alert anyone to the fact they had a patient. She might well have died because of it. That fact lead to sense of irritation at her actions.

“Dixie, you’re an experienced nurse. You know better than to allow yourself to be left alone with a questionable patient!” Kel heard his voice rise, all of it’s earlier quiet gone.

Dixie’s face flushed with anger. “Yes, Doctor I do! But at the time I didn’t see him as a ‘questionable patient.’ I also was trying to do my job which is to find out as much as I can about the patient before the doctor arrives,” she shot back..

Kel looked away from her. Joe had asked him here to try to help her, to offer some comfort yet all he had managed to do was start an argument. His short temper had gotten the best of him. The anger he had felt against her attacker had instead irrationally been projected onto the one person who currently needed him the most. Hoping his outburst hadn’t done more harm, he took a deep breath and turned back to her.

“I’m sorry Dix,” he said, his voice regaining the quiet inflections it had held when he first entered . “I guess I once again left my charm outside the door. I shouldn’t be trying to find fault with your decisions. It’s just that . . .” he broke off, seeing a tear roll down her face.

It was quickly followed by another and Kel reached out a finger to wipe it away. The look of vulnerability he had glimpsed earlier had returned. This time, however, she was unable to hide it from him. She had run out of fight.

“No, Kel,” Dixie said, shaking her head. “You’re right. I was careless. I could have gotten both Harper and myself killed.”

“Dix, don’t,” Kel said, placing a hand on her shoulder and blaming himself for her current train of thought.

Dixie appeared not to have heard him. “I did something I’d probably have a long talk with another nurse about,” she went on, her voice becoming choked by the tears she could no longer hold back.

“But Kel, I’ve never looked into the eyes of anyone who wanted to kill me before and . . . and it scared me . . . Kel, I’m still afraid.”

“It’s all right, Dix,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “You have every right to be frightened.”

For an instant she remained rigid, then with a sob she slid off the table into his embrace burying her face against his chest.

Holding her trembling body tightly he began to stroke her hair. “It’s all right, Dix. Go ahead and cry,” he murmured softly into her ear. “I’m here and you’re safe. I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

Dixie never saw the tears that stung Kel Brackett’s own eyes as he held her. Nor was she aware of the emotional turmoil he felt as she cried. All she knew was at that moment she needed him -- needed to feel his arms around her and to hear him say everything was all right.

***

At Station 51 the alarm suddenly intruded on the peaceful snoring the men.

“Station 39. Station 51. Multi-car accident. The San Diego Freeway, southbound lanes, near the La Tiejera Boulevard Exit. The San Diego Freeway, southbound lanes, near the La Tiejera Boulevard Exit. Time out 03:17.”

Groaning, Johnny swung his legs out of bed and began to pull on his turnout pants. It figures, he thought. He had been dreaming of sweet revenge on Chet Kelly when the alarm had sounded. A gorgeous brunette had also been playing a role in it but he’d better not think of that right now. He only hoped he would still remember the dream after they finished clearing up the accident.

Hurrying to catch up with Roy, he swung himself into the squad. As they pulled into the deserted street, Johnny stifled a yawn.

Roy glanced at his partner. “You ok,” he asked as Johnny pulled out the map. Not that it was necessary -- they were both quite familiar with the area they were heading to.

“Yeah,” Johnny yawned. “I’m just having kind of a hard time waking up. Guess I was sleeping pretty hard when the call came in.”

“I know,” Roy agreed. “We should have guessed there’d be some kind of early hour run. It’s been too quiet all day.”

Johnny nodded and studied the map. It was his turn to not feel like making conversation.

Within five minutes they could see the circling emergency lights of a Highway Patrol car. In their glow approximately six cars appeared to be locked together.

“Man, this could be a bad one,” Johnny said, as Roy killed the squad’s engine and both men got out.

The engine pulled up behind them, Captain Stanley quickly surveying the scene. “Johnny, Roy, you guys better start checking cars for victims. Chet, Marco, give them a hand for now until we get a better idea of how serious this is”

Grabbing crow bars, fire extinguishers and some of their medical equipment they began to move among the automobiles.

Coming to the first car, Roy and Marco found a man of about 60 trying to adjust his radio. Muttering to himself, the gentleman didn’t seemed at all pleased with the blast of static it was emitting.

“Are you all right,” Roy asked, as Marco shined a flash light through the open window.

“Get that thing away from me,” the driver shouted. “I hate bright lights!”

Marco apologetically switched off the light as Roy asked again, “Sir, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, but since it doesn’t look like I’ll be going anywhere for a while I thought I’d try to find some classical music or news to make the wait bearable,” the man responded in a grouchy tone of voice, once again fiddling with the dial.

“Sir, if you’ll just step out of the car we can check you out, just to make sure,” Roy said, beginning to pull the door open.

The driver immediately slammed it shut. “I’ve told you young man, I’m fine. I intend to wait here until the tow truck arrives. You can’t trust those cretins with your personal property!”

Roy and Marco looked each other. There was nothing left to do but move on to the next car.

Johnny and Chet, working the other side of the accident, had come upon a car crumpled into the retaining wall. Peering through the passenger window Johnny saw an agitated teenage boy with blood running from a gash in his arm. As Chet shined the flashlight over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of a young woman pinned beneath the steering wheel.

Chet nudged Johnny away from the door and inserted the crow bar he was carrying. With a quick yank he had it open.

Johnny knelt beside the boy. “It’s ok,” he said, examining the gash on the boy’s arm. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“My leg,” the boy gasped, “it’s bleeding too. Please my sister . . . help my sister.”

Johnny took the light from Chet and shined in down on the boy’s left leg. A laceration was visible just above his knee. Crouching next to the boy, Johnny carefully took his arm. “Does it hurt when I move your arm? How ‘bout your leg?”

“No, I’m fine. Please help Linda,” the boy begged. “She hasn’t moved since the accident.”

“Ok, we’re going to get to her,” Johnny told him. “Let’s just make sure you’re ok.” Chet had already moved around to the other side of the car, beginning to pry the door open.

“Hey Johnny, we’re going to need some help here,” Chet called. “She’s really wedged in there.”

“Ok,” Johnny replied, “you go get it and I’ll stay here with them. Bring back the rest of our equipment too. I think we’re going to need it.”

Leaving the boy, Johnny went to the other side of the car to check the young woman. Sliding between the door and retaining wall, he eased Linda’s head back from the steering wheel. A large hematoma was clearly visible on her forehead. With her torso and legs pinned beneath the dash, it was impossible to tell if she was losing blood there due to the limited space he had to work in.

“Is she going to be all right,” the boy asked.

Johnny considered the question. Taking the woman’s pulse he decided that it might be best to ignore it. Instead he asked a question of his own.

“Hey, what’s your name? I don’t think you’ve told me.”

“Jeff Miller,” the teenager answered.

“How old are you Jeff?”

“Fourteen.”

“How old’s Linda?”

“She just turned twenty-one. She thinks she knows it all now.”

Johnny smiled at the comment. “I bet she does.” Checking the young woman’s eyes, he posed another question in the hope of keeping the boy distracted. “Well, Jeff it seems kind of late for the two you to be out. What were you doing driving around at this hour?

“We were coming back from my grandmother’s in Bakersfield. I told Linda I thought we should wait to come back tomorrow but she had a big date or something that she needed to rush back for. I think she fell asleep . . maybe she caused this whole thing. I don’t know.”

Finishing his examination the best he could, Johnny sat back. The young woman’s condition appeared to be serious but until they could get her out of the car and he got in touch with Rampart there was nothing more he could do. Damn it! Where in the hell is Chet?

“Linda’s dead isn’t she?”

Looking across the seat Johnny saw Jeff staring at him. The teenager’s eyes were wide and it was clear he was loosing control.

“No Jeff, Linda’s not dead,” he said sharply. “But she’s badly hurt. Right now we both need to stay calm. It’s the only way we can help her. Do you understand that Jeff?”

The boy bit his lip and nodded. He’ll be all right for now Johnny thought.

Standing up he saw Chet, Stoker and the Cap hurrying toward the car. All three were loaded down with equipment.

“What you got Pal,” Captain Stanley asked, setting down the biophone and kit among other things.

“There are two victims, Cap,” Johnny told him. “The boy’s all right except for some deep cuts. His sister’s pinned beneath the steering wheel and dash though. She’s got a probable concussion and maybe some internal bleeding. I’m can’t be sure. But we need to get her out of there fast!”

“All right,” Captain Stanley said. “John, you and Chet get the boy out of there.”

As he and Chet lowered the boy to the pavement a few feet away, Johnny could read the apprehension on his face. “It won’t be long now Jeff,” he said. “But you’ve gotta stay tough a little longer.”

Jeff nodded, blinking back the tears he could feel brimming in his eyes.

Returning to the car, Johnny found the Cap placing a blanket over Linda to protect her from any flying glass while Chet and Mike positioned the jaws.

“This is going to be rough,” Mike commented. “With the car so close to the wall it’s going to hard to maneuver the jaws.”

Cap nodded but a quick appraisal of the of the situation left them no choice.

“We’re just going to have to work in a tight space. I don’t want to take a chance moving the car. If the steering column came loose any movement could push it further into her.”

Mike Stoker started the jaws. “Ok,” he shouted above their roar. “Let’s do it!”

Johnny watched as Mike worked to get the young woman free. He felt that they were loosing precious minutes but there was no choice. Finally, he heard Chet shout: “She’s clear!”

Johnny quickly slid in through the passenger side and eased the unconscious body down onto the seat. Pushing long dark hair away from Linda’s face he began a thorough examination of her. Gently, pressing against her abdomen he noted a tenderness there.

Looking up at Chet and Stoker’s faced framed in the door, he said, “All right, let’s get her out of here. Easy though.”

With trained hands the three men guided the woman’s body out, placing her on a blanket.

Johnny began to get a set of vitals. Feeling a hand on his shoulder he looked up to see Roy crouching beside him. “Need any help,” Roy asked. “We’ve got things pretty well cleared up on the other side. There was only one serious injury and 39’s taking it to Rampart.”

“Thanks Roy,” Johnny said. “Can you take a look at her brother while I finish checking her out?” Johnny motioned with his head to where Jeff sat a few feet away, watching the unfolding events with rapt attention.

“Sure.”

Roy stood and walked over to the boy. “Hi,” he said. “My name’s Roy. I just want to get a look at you. Make sure that nothing’s wrong besides those cuts.”

The boy didn’t look at him, his eyes were glued on his sister. “Is Linda going to be all right? The other fireman said she was badly hurt.”

Roy shook his head. “I don’t know. But I can tell you one of the best paramedics in the County is with her now. You just need to stay calm.” Squatting next to the boy, Roy began to cut away his shirt sleeve.

Finishing his examination, Roy patted the boy’s hand, saying, “I’ll be right back.”

Going over to where Johnny had just completed his own examination, Roy asked, “How is she?”

Johnny looked up, wiping a trickle of sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand. “Not good. Her vitals are low. I’m sure she’s bleeding internally. Also a probable concussion. Her brother?”

“He’s going to need some stitches but other than that he’s fine. I’ll get on the radio to Rampart,” Roy answered, going to the biophone. Establishing the link he called into the mouthpiece, “Rampart this is Squad 51.”

Dixie’s familiar voice came through. “Rampart Base. Go ahead 51.”

“Rampart, we have two additional victims from the earlier automobile accident,” Roy began to relay. “One female, one male . . .”

***

Dixie had been about to take Joe’s advice and go home when the emergency room became flooded with patients. Of course, she thought glancing at the clock, 2:30 a.m. the “bar hour.” It was a term she had heard an older nurse use when she was still a student and it had stuck with her. While not everyone that was brought in during this time was suffering from a bar-related incident nevertheless the ER always seemed to begin filling up during the early morning hours when the clubs closed. Now there was the complication of the victims of the freeway accident beginning to trickle in. Add all of that to the still unresolved problem with the communications and things could quickly get out of control. Dixie’s conscious wouldn’t allow her to leave under those circumstances, no matter how lousy she herself felt.

With all of the treatment rooms full, stretchers holding those less seriously injured lined the hallway. Dixie walked with Carol through them, trying to make sure that everyone was as comfortable as possible. Pausing by a gurney containing a teenage boy, she looked down into a freckled face filled with anxiety.

“Hey, what’s wrong,” she asked, brushing dark brown hair from his forehead.

“My sister,” he said quietly. “I think she’s dead. The fireman who helped us said she was hurt badly. I told her not drive tonight but she had to get back to the city. Now . . .” he broke off biting his lip. You have to stay calm Jeff

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Linda Miller. I’m Jeff Miller. Please, if you know anything . . . please tell me.”

“Well, Jeff Miller, I can tell you that Linda is most definitely not dead. The doctor is with her now. She’s going to need surgery but we’re pretty sure she’ll be fine,” Dixie said, giving him a reassuring smile.

The boy gulped with relief. “Thank you,” he said, taking her hand from his face and holding it between his own. “Thank you so much.”

Dixie gave him another smile. “No problem. I’m glad I could help.”

She began to walk away to check on other patients only to feel his grip on the hand he still held tighten.

“Please,” he almost pleaded, “can’t you stay? Just for a minute?”

Dixie looked at his stoic expression and was reminded of why she had become a nurse. It was times like this, the chance to be of some small comfort to someone, that made it all worth it. Even night shift.

Glancing at Carol moving among the stretchers, she made a quick decision. “All right.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeff said, tears beginning to spill from his eyes. “It’s just that I’ve been so worried about Linda. I know I’m just her stupid little brother. That’s what she always tells me. But I still love her even though we fight.”

Dixie put her free hand against his face. “It’s all right Jeff. I’m sure she loves you too.”

“My dad says I’m too old to be crying,” he said, his eyes searching her face for understanding.

“No, Jeff,” she replied, her voice filled with compassion. “Sometimes everyone needs to cry, no matter how old they are. So go ahead, there’s no one else here to see it but you and I.”

Jeff looked at Dixie, seeing in her expression that it was no longer necessary to remain calm, to be strong. Flinging his arms around her he began to weep uncontrollably.

Dixie held him, waiting for the storm to pass. When she felt his sobbing subside she lowered him back to the stretcher. “Feel better now,” she asked.

“Yeah,” Jeff answered, wiping his eyes.

Dixie felt a light touch against her back and turned her eyes up to Kel Brackett.

“We can take him in three now Dix,” he said.

“Are you the doctor that’s been with my sister,” Jeff asked.

“His sister’s Linda Miller,” Dixie explained, seeing Kel’s puzzled expression. “She was brought in suffering from possible internal bleeding and a probable concussion.”

“Rest assured young man,” Kel said, placing a hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “Barring any complications she should be fine. You can thank the firemen who treated her for that.”

Jeff closed his eyes at the news but quickly opened them as he felt himself being rolled away. Stretching a hand toward Dixie, he asked “Are you coming with me?”

Catching up with the stretcher, Dixie took his hand and looked toward the treatment room. Nurses Bart and Lindstrom were waiting outside and she knew her presence was neither necessary nor desired.

Dixie shook her head. “No, Jeff. But I’m leaving you in very capable hands. I’ll be by to see you later.”

Reluctantly he released his hold on her. “Promise,” he asked.

“You can count on it,” she called out as he was wheeled into the room. Turning to resume her duties, she found her path blocked by Dr. Brackett.

“Yes Kel,” Dixie asked. “what is it?”

“I was just wondering how you’re doing,” he said, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “You can’t be feeling too great.”

“I’m fine Kel, just a little tired,” she answered with a bright smile. “Maybe it was better that I stayed on duty. Talking with Jeff Miller seems to have brought everything back into prospective.”

You’re beautiful Angel in White, despite the scrapes and bruises, Kel thought, focusing on the warm glow in her eyes, and can still make the best of any situation.

For an instant, they held each other’s gaze until Dixie, with slight shake of her head, broke the contact.

“Now if you’ll excuse me Doctor,” she said, starting for the base station, “I’ve still got some work to do before I call it a night.”

***

Roy had been delayed in arriving at the hospital to pick up Johnny and was having a difficult time locating him. Finally pushing open the doors of the deserted cafeteria, he found his partner with a cup of coffee filling out a supply request.

“You done with that,” Roy asked, taking in Johnny’s feet resting comfortably on an empty chair while he casually wrote out the list of drugs they needed.

“Oh, yeah,” Johnny answered, with his typical lopsided smile. “I heard on the handy talkie that you were called on to treat something minor so I thought I’d get things in order. Thought I’d have a cup of coffee while I waited.”

“Come on,” Roy said, pulling the chair from beneath Johnny’s feet, “let’s get the supplies and get back to the station.”

Reaching the base station they could see Dixie’s head bent over a stack of paperwork and Johnny called out, “Hey Dix, guess we need some supplies.”

Looking up with a cheerful expression she saw them take a step back, both men staring at her bruised face and swollen lip.

Odd, Dixie thought, suddenly becoming self-conscious about her appearance, I didn’t seemed to shock any of the patients.

“My God, Dix,” Johnny exclaimed, “what happened?”

“Oh, I had a little run in with a patient,” she answered, going to the cabinet. “What do you guys need?”

“Man, that must have been some patient,” Johnny said in an aside to Roy. “Hope he looks . . .”

Roy elbowed his partner in the ribs and began to read off the list of supplies. Dixie’s demeanor made it clear she didn’t welcome them delving further into it. With the gossip channels that existed between the paramedics and the hospital he knew they would soon have a version of what had taken place, albeit an exaggerated one. There was no need to press her now.

Glancing from his partner to the nurse, Johnny decided to follow Roy’s lead and changed the subject.

“Dix, how are the Miller kids that we brought in,” he asked.

Not turning from the cabinet she answered, “The boy’s fine -- just needs some stitches. The girl’s in surgery but from what I hear she’ll be all right.”

“That’s good to hear. I was pretty worried about the girl.”

“Ok, here you go. Just sign on the dotted line,” Dixie said, turning back with the box of supplies.

“Hey Roy . . .,” Johnny began

The PA system took that opportunity to squawk back to life.

“Attention Rampart. This is Jefferson Communications. This is just a test but it looks like we finally have you guys back up and running. Sorry for the inconvenience and the delay.”

Roy looked over at Dixie, seeing a wide smile of pleasure on her bruised face. “Now that’s some welcome news,” she said.

Roy nodded his agreement. “I bet it is. Come on Johnny,” he said, picking up their supplies. “We’d better head back to the station.”

Johnny didn’t appear to have heard and Roy tapped him on the shoulder. “You remember the station? The place we work out of?”

Realizing that he’d been lost in thought, Johnny shook himself and looked up at Roy. “Oh yeah. It’s just . . . Roy, I was having this dream about me and a gorgeous brunette performing the ultimate revenge on Chet when the run came in. You know, that Miller girl had dark brown hair and was pretty good looking. Do you think . . .”

“No,” Roy answered dryly, once again surprised at the turn his partner’s imagination had taken. “No, I don’t think so. Come on, let’s get back to work.”

Johnny gave Dixie a wave good-bye and hurried to catch up. “Now Roy, you have to admit it’s a pretty bizarre coincidence,” she heard him say. Shaking her head in amusement, she picked up the phone to check the internal lines for herself.

***

Dixie stepped from the hospital into the cool morning light and paused, feeling her shoulders slump with the overwhelming tiredness she had been fighting. It had been a long night and over the last hour she had begun to feel the muscles in her back and shoulders stiffen, as Joe had said they would. A long soak in a hot tub sounded like a heavenly prescription and after it she might just be able to sleep through the day.

Behind her the doors opened as Kel Brackett walked out loosening his tie. Seeing Dixie standing there, her back to him, he stopped watching the sunlight play across her hair. From the time he had been called to the treatment room he had found himself experiencing an unexpected outpouring of feeling toward her. He found himself wanting to talk to her, not in the capacity of doctor and nurse but as they had in the past; to have a quiet dinner alone with her and let down the hard exterior he tried to maintain; to once again hold her in his arms and hear her laughter at something on television; and more than anything, a desire have her again as a friend, not the professional friendship they had at the hospital but his best friend. Maybe he wanted to hear her say “I love you” and this time repeat the words back to her.

As she took a step toward the parking lot he came to a decision and bridged the gap between them, taking her arm in his hand.

“Look’s like it’s going to be a beautiful day Dix,” he told her, looking up at the cloudless sky.

Dixie stopped, glancing down at the hand on her arm then up at its owner. Squinting in the light she tried to decipher what was in his eyes. Finding herself unable to get a clear read on whatever he may be thinking she looked from his face to blue horizon. “Yes Kel, it does. Too bad we won’t be awake to enjoy it.”

Kel chuckled still holding her arm.

“Kel,” Dixie asked in a low voice, shifting her gaze from the skyline to the gray concrete underfoot, “did you hear anything about the man who attacked me? Anything about his medical condition that may have caused it?”

At her inquiry, Kel felt his earlier intentions slide to the back burner. Not only did she deserve an answer but her posture clearly indicated she was exhausted and probably in some pain. Now wasn’t the time to burden her with his own confused emotional state.

Will there ever be a time Dix, a voice inside silently asked as he looked down at the top of her golden head. Is it too late for the two us to sort through all that I feel for you? Would you even consider it?

Pushing aside these questions, Kel cupped her chin with his free hand and lifted her face to him. “Yeah Dix, I did,” he said. “The toxicology report indicates he took a large dose of acid then decided to sip on some Jack Daniel’s. By the time you were left alone with him the hallucinations had taken over and you couldn’t have known he’d become violent. You’re in no way responsible for what happened to Harper or yourself.”

“I guess I won’t take any of it personally then,” she said, a faint smile accenting her swollen lips. “I’m just glad Harper’s going to be all right.”

Kel’s grip on her arm tightened. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Reaching the Mustang she drove, he took the keys from her and unlocked the door. “Get some rest Dix. You need it,” he said, pulling the door open for her.

Always the gentleman, Dixie thought, as she looked at the hand offering her keys back to her. Taking them from him, she slid them into the pocket of her coat and took his still outstretched palm into her own.

“Thank you for being there for me tonight, Kel.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for Dix,” he said, placing a kiss against her unbruised cheek, “Now go home and get some sleep. Another night shift is fast approaching.”

***

Part II: “Holly Holy” Night
- Neil Diamond

Roy backed the squad into the station, killing the lights. They were returning from what had been their third run, an apparent heart attack that had turned out to be an acute case of indigestion, of a night shift that had only just begun. Next to him he saw Johnny looking at his watch before getting out.

“Man,” Johnny told Roy as they headed to the ready room. “It’s only 10:00 and it’s already been busy. I think we’re going to be in for a long night.”

Before Roy could say anything, a needling voice rose behind them.

“What’s the matter Gage? Things gettin’ a little too tough for one of L.A.’s finest paramedics,” Chet asked, walking past them to the refrigerator.

“No Chet,” Johnny answered. “The tough part is having to deal with simpletons like you after completing three runs.”

Chet’s head was buried in the refrigerator. “Oh, that really hurt Gage,” was his muffled reply

Waiting for Johnny to think of a better comeback, Roy decided to call it a night. While Johnny and Chet’s bickering was of a friendly nature it could go on for hours. Roy reached the conclusion that he was tired after spending some time trying to catch up on never ending yard work and his family obligations. “I think I’m going to turn in,” he told his partner.

“Yeah, doesn’t sound like to bad idea. It beats listening to Chet,” Johnny said, heading out with Roy.

Chet had emerged from the refrigerator with an apple, milk carton and loaf of bread. “Hey, come on you guys,” he said to their retreating backs. “The night is still young. How ‘bout some poker I’m sure Mike would like to join us. All of us here at 51 can’t get enough of watching Johnny lose at cards”

At the mention of poker and cards, Stoker’s head had shot up from the manual he had been reading. He wouldn’t mind a few hands of poker. Chet also had a point. Gage was a lousy player who didn’t lose graciously. Mike took a perverse pleasure in beating him.

Johnny spun around but whatever reply he had was lost in the alarm.

Four stations were called before they heard the own identification.

“Station 51. Structure fire. Pavilion Hospital. 1742 17th Street. Cross street Highland. Pavilion Hospital. One Seven Four Two 17th Street. Time out 20:11.

All four sprang into action, Chet trying to find someplace to set his armload of groceries. In the garage Marco was already climbing aboard the engine as the Cap acknowledged the call. Roy jumped behind the wheel and hearing Johnny slam the passenger door pulled out of the station.

“How big of a hospital is Pavilion,” Johnny asked his partner.

“I’m not sure,” Roy answered. “It’s a small private hospital. Still that would mean probably at least a hundred and fifty beds and an ER.”

Johnny nodded. “That’s what I thought. This could be rough one, especially if the fire’s fully engaged. What’d I tell ya Roy? This is going to be a long night.”

Steering through the light traffic Roy tried to offer some encouragement. “Maybe it’s just a grease fire in the kitchen and they’ve called everybody out just as a precaution.”

“No Roy. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”

Over the radio they heard dispatch relay that Engine 18 had reached the scene and was moving to the east end of the hospital while requesting the next engine proceed to the west. They also asked that the next incoming squad go to the east to assist with the evacuation there.

Johnny listened as Captain Stanley called in their ETA along with that of the other responding stations. It soon became apparent that they would be the next the arrive.

“Squad 51,” the Captain’s voice cracked through the radio, “proceed to the east end of the hospital to assist with the patients there. We’ll go the west side.”

“Squad 51, 10-4,” Johnny acknowledged. “Engine 51 can you determine if area hospitals have been alerted to the situation here and can send personnel to assist with triage?”

“Good thinking, Gage. I’ll radio it in.”

As each headed in their separate direction, Roy glanced over at his partner. “Sometimes Johnny you can be surprising.”

Johnny looked out window at the growing shape of the hospital. The second story windows reflected a glow of flames, localized to the center of the building.

“I was thinking of us Roy. Do you want to spend the next hours trying to treat the large number of victims we’re going to have with only three squads responding and the handful of doctors and nurses that they’ve probably got on staff here? Not to mention limited supplies?”

Not finding an answer to his questions, Roy pulled in close to what appeared to be a makeshift treatment area. A doctor and two nurses were bent over the currently small number of patients but a trickle of evacuees could be seen coming through what were obviously the ambulance bay doors.

Throwing on his turnout coat and grabbing some equipment, Johnny was unable to suppress the feeling of dread that came over him as he looked toward the burning building.

“Come on Junior,” Roy said, seeing his hesitation.

“I’m right beside you Pally,” Johnny answered, stepping up next to him.

***

Dixie emerged from Treatment Room 4 where she had just finished administering a tetanus shot to a seven-year-old girl who had managed to throw herself into a pile of barbed wire while trying to pop a “wheelie” on her bicycle. Fortunately none of the scratches had been too deep and didn’t require stitches. Right now though, the girl was strongly cursing the nurse in a child’s vocabulary for inflicting additional pain upon her. Dixie smiled to herself. She didn’t mind when a child grew angry with her over some simple treatment. In a way they were like animals, having little comprehension of the benefits a shot would give them.

Heading down the hall to the base station she found herself feeling positive about the current night shift. She had slept through most of the day, something she hadn’t experienced in a long while, and then spent some time carefully applying makeup to the bruise on her cheek. While the scrape was still clearly visible, the shadow of the bruise had been greatly diminished. That coupled with an earlier ice pack on her lip, which at least shrank it down to close to its normal size, left her feeling more confident about her appearance. While not a vain person, she still liked to look her best.

Reaching the base station she found Kel and Joe locked in discussion. As she slid onto the stool behind the desk, Joe said, “I’m on it,” and quickly walked away while Kel began to rapidly scribble on a pad. Something’s happened, Dixie thought, as she watched him.

Finishing Kel tore off the sheet and was startled to find Dixie’s questioning eyes staring at him from across the desk. He had been so involved in the present emergency he hadn’t noticed she had taken her customary seat.

“What’s wrong Kel,” she asked, taking in his obviously tired appearance. “Are you ok? You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I’m fine. I just seem to have caught a case of your inability to sleep during the daylight hours,” he answered wryly. Now was not the time to inform Dixie he had spent most of the day tossing and turning as thoughts of her filled his head.

“Dix, Pavilion Hospital is on fire,” he said, his expression becoming grim. “I’m taking a small team over to help with the patients. I want you to come with us. Put together a list of drugs you think we’ll need and get a couple of other nurses who would be good in this kind of situation.”

Dixie’s eyes widened in surprise. A burning hospital went far beyond the normal structure fire. Not only would there be a large number of injured at the scene but Rampart would soon begin fill to with a large influx of patients as they became a receiving area for those that had been at Pavilion.

“Kel,” she asked, “don’t you think it’d be better if I stayed to coordinate things from this end? We’re going to be pretty overwhelmed here.”

Kel shook his head. “No Dix. You’re the best triage nurse I know. We’ll need you there. Pick whoever you feel would be the most competent to handle things here.”

Dixie nodded as Kel headed off to complete the preparations. There was no time to waste. Quickly she compiled a list of medical supplies, handing it to Sharon Walters to fill, hoping they had everything in sufficient quantities. Then scanning the nurses’ duty roster she decided who was best suited to go with them to Pavilion.

Assembling the emergency room nursing staff in the lounge she filled them in on the situation. “Ok, that’s it. Carol, you’ll be in charge here. Judy and Michelle, you’re coming with me to Pavilion.” Seeing the three of them nod their acknowledgment, she went on. “It’s going to be a long night but I know I can count on all of you to get the job done. Now, there’s not much time so let’s get moving.”

Leaving the room, Dixie stopped briefly by the base station, loosening the pins that held her cap place. Setting it carefully to the side, she pulled on the old black cardigan she had earlier draped over the back of a chair. Giving the white cap a final glance, seeing it as the last link to all that was familiar, she made her way through the heightened activity on the floor to the doors.

The last to reach the ambulance that was transporting them she took a seat between Kel and Joe, looking around at the other members of the team. Besides the three of them and the nurses, Mike Morton was also present. Oh joy, she found herself thinking unkindly, he’ll probably manage to blame the already traumatized patients for the fire.

Kel’s deep voice cut through her thoughts. “Ok, ladies and gentlemen, here’s what we can probably expect to find. Pavilion currently has about 170 patients, a large number of them elderly, along with an unknown number of staff on duty. They’ve also got an ER which may have been busy at the time of the explosion and . . .”

***

The ambulance soon pulled into the far reaches of Pavilion’s parking lot. Dixie stuck her head through the doors first, glimpsing the flames that shot through the center of the building to the third floor. The outer wings remained untouched, probably due to the large contingency of Fire Department engines surrounding them.

Hopping down from the ambulance Dixie pulled at her skirt, not for the first time wondering why she didn’t wear a uniform that consisted of slacks more often. Straightening she found herself looking into the face of a young fireman.

“Have you brought a nurse with you,” he hurriedly asked. “We could use one over here.”

“I’m a nurse.”

“Good,” he answered quickly leading her away to the west-end of the hospital.

Framed in the ambulance doors Kel watched her go. Before he had to time to follow or at least call her back, the face of John Gage appeared before him. “All right! Rampart’s finest,” he exclaimed, extending a hand to help them down. “Come on, we need you guys over at the east-end.”

As the five of them began to follow him, Kel stole a backward glance in the direction Dixie had been taken. “Dix,” he whispered, “be careful tonight.”

Reaching the bevy of waiting victims he pushed her from his mind and joined Joe in trying to assess the injuries.

***

Dixie finished wrapping a bandage around the head of a nurse about her own age who had been hit by flying glass when the explosion had occurred. “There, Alice. That should do it.”

“You’ve got quite the touch Dixie McCall of Rampart General,” Alice said, fingering the bandage. “Any chance you’d like to come work for us after we rebuild?”

“I doubt it,” Dixie replied, with a smile. “I’ll see you later. For now, just try to wait here quietly for an ambulance -- it may take a while.”

“Ha,” Alice snorted. “Now that’s an understatement. But what can you expect, given the circumstances!”

Patting Alice’s shoulder in a gesture of empathy, Dixie rose to her feet and began to make her way to the next victim while Sandy, the young nurse she had been working with, fell into step beside her. For the last hour they had found themselves assigned to treating victims with superficial wounds suffered during the explosion and patients whose illnesses were not too severe. It was routine but Dixie didn’t allow herself to be lulled by it. The hospital still wasn’t completely evacuated and though the fire department was doing its best, the center of the building remained consumed by fire.

“Nurse! Please nurse,” a nearby voice shouted.

Turning toward it, Dixie saw Captain Stanley and Marco Lopez of Station 51 hurrying toward them. She had only met the Captain a couple of times but liked him. He was a kind, competent man, much like Joe Early. He also understood the necessity of the paramedic program, a fact that had instantly won him over to her.

“What is it Captain,” Dixie asked as he ran up to them.

“Oh, Miss McCall, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said, catching his breath. “We found an orderly who seems to be suffering from numerous broken bones caused by the explosion. We don’t want to move him without supervision since he’s currently in no immediate danger from the fire. There are no paramedics in the vicinity and doctors seem to be a rare commodity right now so I’m trying to find a nurse who’s willing to go in there.”

Beside her, Dixie heard Sandy say, “I’ll go.”

“No Sandy, I’ll go. I’m the ranking nurse and I have more trauma experience,” Dixie said, admiring Sandy’s courage but also seeing the fleeting fear that passed across her face.

“Ok. Get her ready Marco, fast.”

Marco lead her to the engine and quickly he helped her into a turnout coat and helmet, both of which were too large.

“Hold still while I tighten this under your chin,” Marco said adjusting the helmet straps. “All right Cap, we’re ready,” he called, giving the strap a final tug. The helmet slid down Dixie’s forehead, but it was as tight as it would go without choking her.

“Ok. Marco, I want you to hang on to Miss McCall. Don’t let go of her for anything. You ready,” Captain Stanley asked, looking at Dixie.

Dixie pushed the helmet out her eyes and nodded.

“Let’s go then,” Cap said, “and quick.”

Somehow Marco found her right hand amid the sleeve of the turnout coat that was covering it and together they ran the short way to the hospital entrance.

Inside, Dixie’s eyes began to water from the haze of smoke that hung in the air and she stopped to wipe at them but Marco’s hand in hers pulled her on. Making a sharp turn to the left, they entered a stairwell packed with the last of Pavilion’s evacuees. While the majority were staff that were finally finding themselves free to leave, there was still a large number of patients among them.

Easing past a stretcher carrying a woman who had to be least 80, Dixie looked at the faces of those leaving the hospital. All held an air of determination to reach the outside.

And I’m heading in the wrong direction, she thought dryly as Marco guided her around the obstacle.

Reaching the door that lead from the stairway into the third floor, the Cap motioned for them to stop as he placed a hand against it. Finding it cool he opened it and they entered the far end of the west wing of the hospital. The air was free of the smoky haze that had been present on the ground floor and Dixie allowed herself to take a deep breath of it. The earlier smoke coupled with a feeling of mild claustrophobia from the crowded staircase had left her feeling slightly dizzy.

They went a short way down the empty corridor before turning into a patient room. On the floor, Dixie saw a blond man of about twenty-five lying amid a tangle of dirty sheets he had just finished changing when all hell had broken loose. Whoever had checked the room when the floor was being evacuated had obviously looked in and seeing that the beds were made had moved on. Beside the orderly, Chet Kelly squatted trying to offer some words of comfort.

Dixie knelt down next to Chet. “What’ve you got,” she asked, pushing back the helmet that insisted on sliding into her eyes. Slipping the strap over her chin, she pulled it off.

“I took his pulse and respiration about a minute ago. Pulse was 110, respiration 20. He’s complaining of pain in his left ribs and hip.”

Dixie nodded. “Ok. See if you can find me a BP cuff and stethoscope. There should be one at the nursing station near the stairs.”

“Right,” Chet said, quickly getting to his feet.

Turning her attention to the injured orderly she found him conscious but with a somewhat ashen complexion. He was also perspiring profusely.

Rolling back the overlong sleeves of her coat, she placed her hands against the base of his neck and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Alan,” he answered.

“Can you move your head for me Alan?”

Slowly he turned his head.

“Ok. Do you feel any pain in your back?”

Seeing a shake of his head, she posed a final question. “Alan did you hit your head or black out?”

“No. Just my ribs and hip. Are they going to get me out of here soon? They’re killing me but I don’t want to be burned alive!”

“Shh, don’t worry,” Dixie told him, placing a hand against his cheek. “We’ll have you out of here in no time. We just want to make sure that we move you in the best possible way.”

Feeling a gentle prodding at her shoulder she turned to take a BP cuff and stethoscope from Chet. Wrapping the cuff around Alan’s left arm, she took her own set of vitals. Finding them almost identical to what had earlier been reported she began a visual examination. Alan was lying with his body slightly on it’s right side which made it difficult but she had no desire to move him until she was sure as to the extent of his injuries. Pulling open his shirt she could see a swelling on his rib cage. Lightly pressing her hand against it she detected two cracked ribs. While they weren’t serious the hip was another matter. It was resting at an odd angle and when she placed her hand on it he began to scream.

“Don’t! Please don’t touch it,” he sobbed.

Dixie pulled back her hand. There was no need to go on. Alan had obviously suffered a serious fracture when he fell, probably as a result of the sheets lying around him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, brushing a hand across his damp brow. “But I had to be sure before we move you. Alan do you have any allergies to medications?”

“Just penicillin. It gives me a rash,” he answered.

“Well, we won’t be giving you that,” she said, giving him one of her reassuring smiles. “I’ll be right back.”

Sighing heavily Dixie rose to her feet, turning to the cluster of firemen.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” she informed them. “He’s suffering from some cracked ribs and a badly fractured hip. We’re going to need a backboard or something like it to take him out on. I’m not sure if there’s a backboard in this part of the hospital but anything stiff and strong enough to take his weight will do.”

“We’re on it,” Chet said, heading out the door with Marco.

“I’m going to need to start an IV and give him something for the pain. Right now if we start moving him around he’ll likely slip into shock,” she continued to the Cap.

“What do you need and I’ll get it.”

Dixie shook her head. “I think it would better if I go. I know what I need and where to find it. Can you stay here with Alan?”

Captain Stanley didn’t like the idea. The air in the room had taken on a tinge of smoke, which meant the fire was moving in their direction and the last thing he needed was an unsupervised civilian wandering the halls. It had been the purpose behind having Marco keep a hold on her when they came up, to make certain she didn’t get lost. Still he had to concede she had a point. Time was clearly of the essence and she would be quicker at getting the drugs than he would. Someone also needed to remain with the patient to calm any fears that might arise there.

“Ok,” he said, giving her a nod, “you’ve got 3 minutes. Chet and Marco should be back by then and if you’re not here I’ll come looking for you. And put the helmet back on”

Slipping the helmet into place, Dixie turned back to him and smiled. “It will probably take two,” she said, stepping into the hall.

Reaching the nursing station, she pulled open the cabinet holding the IV solution and shoved an appropriate bag into the pocket of her turnout coat. Finding the drawer that held the syringes she added one of them to another pocket. Stepping to the other side of the station, she gave a tug at the cabinet holding the vials of medications only to find it locked. Unbuttoning the turnout coat, she reached past the cardigan underneath for her own set of keys. While this wasn’t her hospital maybe the manufacture of these types of cabinets had a universal locking mechanism. Placing her key in the lock she gave it a turn only to hear it snap off.

Glancing around for an alternative she saw a heavy chair. Picking it up and turning her face away, she hurled the chair against the glass doors of the cabinet. It worked. Shards of glass flew out and she felt a sharp sting as a piece hit her exposed calf.

I’ve really got to start wearing a uniform consisting of pants, she thought, quickly examining the scratch on her leg. It was about an inch long but not deep.Good, I won’t be needing treatment myself. Just a new pair of nylons.

Turning her attention back to the cabinet, she carefully reached through the shattered glass for a vial of morphine sulfate and began to run back to the patient room, pausing long enough to grab a roll of surgical tape and scissors. If a backboard wasn’t available they might be needed to tape Alan securely onto something else.

She arrived at the room just in time to see Chet and Marco wheeling in a stretcher with something that looked like the top of someone’s desk resting on the cushion.

“It’s the best we could do Miss McCall,” Chet said lowering the stretcher. “We pried it off of a table down the hall.”

“It’ll work,” Dixie told him, kneeling down to start the IV. “All right Alan. I’m going to give you something for the pain then we’re going to get you out of here.”

Captain Stanley’s anxious face crouched down beside her. “How long will it take,” he asked, as she finished. “The fire’s moving and we need to get out of here.”

Sliding the helmet that was once again obstructing her vision as far back on her head as she could, Dixie told him, “Not long. MS is mild but fast acting.”

Taking Alan’s wrist she checked his pulse and respiration. “Alan, how’s the pain,” she asked.

“Better,” he said. Dixie noticed that he wasn’t sweating as profusely and his vitals were down. It was time to go. The aroma of smoke was becoming heavier.

Chet and Marco had already placed the “backboard” beside the injured orderly. “All right you guys, let’s get him on it. Very carefully,” she ordered. “Alan, this may hurt some but we need to get you out of here.”

Alan nodded and braced himself as Dixie took his shoulders and Marco his feet. Gently they eased him onto the backboard that Chet slid under him. Dixie felt Alan wince and a groan escaped from his lips but that was all. The MS had done its job. Grabbing the tape and scissors she quickly applied it to key areas in the hope he would remain secure on the board. When she finished, the two firemen strapped him onto the stretcher.

“Chet, you and I’ll handle the stretcher. Marco, you take Miss McCall. Don’t let go of her,” the Cap instructed them. “Ok, let’s get out of here.”

The crowded stairwell they had encountered when they had climbed up to the third floor was now deserted but maneuvering the stretcher was more awkward than a Stokes would have been and it slowed their progress. Following behind, Dixie and Marco waited for them to clear the second floor landing. Wearily, Marco leaned his back against the wall only to quickly straighten and place his free hand against it.

“Hey, Cap,” he shouted. “This wall’s hot! The fire must be on the other side. We’ve got to move!”

“All right Kelly, let’s go,” Captain Stanley said, all thoughts of bringing their victim out the slow and easy way abandoned.

Alan’s moans of pain floated back to Dixie. A part of her ached for him at the sudden rough treatment but there was nothing for it. It was either that or the five of them risked burning up in the structure.

Feeling Marco’s nails dig into the tender flesh of her palm she gave him a long look. His exterior revealed only the professional he was but his bone-crushing grip on her hand said something entirely different.

“Don’t worry Miss McCall,” he said, seeing her gaze turned to him. “I’ll make sure you get out of here all right.”

“I know you will Marco,” she replied, trying to reassure him of her faith not only in him but the Fire Department, God, and whoever else may care if they lived or died.

Reaching the ground floor, Chet set the front of the stretcher down and peered through the small window in the door.

“I don’t know Cap,” he said panting for breath. “I don’t see any fire but there’s a lot of smoke. The door’s warm but not hot.”

“In that case, we go through. We know there’s no way out above us except the roof. Go!”

Both men picked up the stretcher again as Chet Kelly kicked the door open. Hurrying through they found a crew manning hoses trying to put out the flames that were leaping around the ground floor entrance.

“Holy shit,” a fireman from Station 9 cried. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Trying to get out,” Captain Stanley shouted above the roar of the fire. “Can we make out through this entrance? We’ve got an injured man and a civilian with us.”

“Yeah, but hurry! This end is going up fast. We’ll cover you!” The crew turned their hoses on them.

There was no time to waste. Chet and the Captain heaved the stretcher up and began to run as best they could while Marco pulled a gasping Dixie along behind. She could feel a spray of water hitting her back as they approached the doors but didn’t find any comfort in it. Flames were rapidly encroaching on their exit. The Captain and Chet went through first carrying the stretcher. Seeing the flames growing closer she felt a momentary panic and but for Marco’s insistent tug on her hand might have succumbed to it.

“Come on! We have to go through,” he shouted

Dixie found herself running with him toward the doors. A scream rose within her and found its voice as they drew closer. Marco pulled her through the doors and kept his tight hold on her until they reached the stretcher team, a good twenty feet away from the building. All of them stood for a second, coughing from the smoke.

“See, Miss McCall,” Marco grinned over at her as he wiped sweat and soot from his face. “I got you out there!”

Dixie stepped over to him and gave him a hug of gratitude. “I never doubted that you would Marco,” she said, giving him a light peck on the check. “I will be eternally in your debt!”

Marco’s dark features blushed in embarrassment. “Ah, it was nothing.”

Finding her knees somewhat wobbly, Dixie decided it was an time to sit down and check on her patient.

“Are you all right Alan,” she asked, putting out a trembling hand to him.

“Wow! You guys are incredible! I thought for sure we were goners,” he exclaimed. “I still hurt, but man, I want to thank you all!”

“You can thank the firemen,” Dixie said, smiling up at the three men encircling them. “They got both of us out of there.”

A doctor with a nurse in tow soon reached them and Dixie quickly filled them in on Alan’s condition along with the drugs she had given him. Watching them begin to check him over, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. Pushing back the ever annoying helmet, she looked into the face of Captain Stanley.

“They can handle it now,” he said, helping her to her feet. “After what you’ve been through you need a break.”

Leading her to what had been set up as a rest area, he poured them each a cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking a sip of the hot liquid finding that it tasted incredibly bad yet incredibly good all at the same time.

“No. Thank you. If I had known how bad it was going to be at the end, I never would have asked you to go in there. You’re one hell of a nurse Dixie McCall.”

Dixie smiled at his words and shook her head. “No I’m not but I’m glad I could help.”

Pulling off the helmet that was again making its presence known, she placed it against the rough counter holding the coffee pot, reminded of the nursing cap she had set aside at Rampart. She had stepped away from its familiar surrounding into the abyss of unknown at Pavilion and had thus far managed to survive. But her own recent experience lead to questions about those she had initially arrived with.

“Well, I’ve gotta get back to work,” Captain Stanley said, tossing out the remainder of his coffee.

“Captain,” she asked, taking a hold of his turnout coat as he turned to leave. “Do you know about what has taken place on the east-side? I understand Gage and DeSoto are there and I think several friends of mine are also working that end.”

Captain Stanley could see the concern reflected in her face and wished he could be of more help. “I’m afraid I don’t know too much. The last report I had, and it was a while ago, was that the fire hadn’t spread as far into the wings at that end. They’re dealing with more seriously injured patients though. The ER, ICU, CCU, all of that was located in the east wings.”

Dixie nodded. “Thanks Captain. I guess I’d better get back to work too.”

Heading for the medical base station to find out where she would be the most useful, she struggled against a growing worry for the rest the team from Rampart. While she was concerned about all the members, thoughts of a certain handsome but sometimes difficult doctor fast became the primary focus.

Finding herself unable to bring to a halt to the images that were flooding her consciousness, she stopped and offered up a whispered prayer. “God, please be with Kel tonight. I love him too much for anything to happen to him.”

Adding a quick “Amen,” she finished her walk to the medical station, becoming once again the cool, calm nurse.

***

Kel Brackett looked over at Johnny Gage and shook his head. “It’s no use Johnny. We’ve lost him,” he said, setting aside the defibrillator paddles. “His heart just wasn’t strong enough to take the added complication of smoke inhalation and the trauma of the fire.”

“Yeah Doc, I know,” Johnny said, ceasing the CPR he had been performing on an elderly man who had been hospitalized with a mild heart problem. “I just hate losing somebody like this.”

“We all do Johnny,” Kel told him, rising from the dead man’s side. He too felt bad about the death. The man had been evacuated from the hospital in an agitated but stable condition. He had suffered some mild smoke inhalation, which they had treated with oxygen application. Leaving a nurse to wait with him for an ambulance, Kel hadn’t given the man a second thought. An hour later, without warning, he had gone into a full arrest.

Kel ran the sleeve of his white coat across his forehead, trying to clear away the weariness that was setting in. Since their arrival, the remaining five members of the team from Rampart had been overwhelmed by intensive and critical care patients. Many of Pavilion’s staff had also suffered injuries, ranging from mild to serious, and were in need of treatment. But he was proud his team and the paramedics who were assisting them. They were all performing admirably in a difficult situation.

In the glare of one of the spot lights that had been set up he noticed Roy DeSoto hurrying toward them.

“Johnny, come on,” Roy called, running toward the squad. “There are some men trapped in there and we’re needed to get them out.”

Johnny quickly got to his feet, giving Dr. Brackett a parting glance. “Sorry, Doc. Gotta run,” he said, before racing to the squad to get his gear.

“Not a problem,” Kel said to the paramedic’s retreating form. Thinking for a second, he yelled: “Hey! Thanks for all your help! You guys have been great tonight!”

Helping Roy into his oxygen tank, Johnny commented, “Man, who would have thought a year ago we’d be hearing him say that.”

Finishing with his straps, Roy heaved Johnny’s tank out and began to help him. “Yeah. I know,” Roy answered. “It took a lot to change his mind though. Remember?”

When their equipment was in place, both men ran to the ambulance bay doors. Inside they found Captain Devers of Station 110 coordinating the firemen who were to rescue those trapped inside.

“Ok men,” he told the assembled crew. “we’ve got three firemen trapped under a collapsed ceiling on the fourth floor. They’re near the center of the building so it’s hot and there’s going to be a lot of smoke up there. We know they’re alive so let’s get them out of there. Gage, DeSoto, you two take the pry bars and saw. McGregor, you and Wilson will handle the hose. And be careful, I don’t want to lose any more men in there. Now move it!”

Running up the stairs, Johnny nudged Roy. “Remember that bad feeling I told you about earlier. Well, it’s back with a vengeance,” Johnny said.

“Hey, relax Partner,” Roy told him, his breath a little ragged from exertion. The saw was getting heavier by the minute. “It’s going to be ok. We’ll have them out of there in no time.”

Reaching the fourth floor landing, McGregor and Wilson pushed through the door and motioned for the paramedics to follow. Stepping into the hallway, Johnny felt the bad feeling he had been carrying around all night take a on a new dimension but there were men trapped somewhere up ahead and it was his job to get them out. He fell into a jog next to Roy as they began their journey to the center of the burning building.

***

Kel Brackett had watched the two paramedics enter the structure then had been called over by Mike Morton to consult about a patient. As the two doctors talked, Pavilion Hospital was for the second time that night rocked by an explosion. The concussion from the blast knocked Kel off his feet and he found himself staring at the cracked pavement. Turning his head, he saw Mike Morton lying in a similar position.

“You ok, Mike,” he asked, climbing to his feet.

“Yeah, Kel,” Morton answered, brushing off his clothes as he stood. “I’m fine but what happened?”

The doctors found themselves gazing up into an inferno. The recent explosion had collapsed the center of the hospital, sending flames through the east wing. There were shouts coming from the areas of the parking lot closer to the building where the Fire Department had been trying to put out the blaze.

Kel knew that all the patients and staff had been evacuated from the area but there were still firemen in there, two of whom he considered friends. But there was also someone else he couldn’t trust not to be inside the burning building. A person he cared about more than anything else, maybe even loved.

Dixie. Where are you?

***

Roy found himself wondering if maybe Chicken Little hadn’t been right and the sky was falling as a shower of debris fell around him, sending him to his knees. He could feel the floor trembling beneath him and knew there had been another explosion. Pushing away the ceiling tiles that had managed to pile themselves around him he saw Johnny sitting against a wall next to a crash cart which was lying on its side.

Roy crawled across the floor to his partner. “Johnny, are you all right? Did the cart hit you,” he asked, looking into Johnny’s dazed brown eyes.

Johnny shook his head trying to clear his ears of the ringing that was peeling through them. “I’m ok Roy. Just got the wind knocked out of me. How are you?”

“I’m all right, just a few bumps and bruises,” Roy answered, rising to his feet and holding out his hand to help Johnny up.

As he stood, Johnny felt a twinge of pain in his right ankle. Putting a hand on Roy’s shoulder to steady himself he said, “I think I twisted my ankle too.”

Gingerly putting his weight on it, Johnny flinched but didn’t feel the shift of broken bones. Managing a heroic Gage grin, he looked up to Roy’s worried face. “It’s not broken, just a sprain. I can make it.”

Roy nodded. “Good. Now I wonder what happened to Wilson and McGregor,” Roy said looking at the hose stretching around a curve in the hall.

As if on cue, the two fireman rounded the turn at a run, pulling the hose with them. Blood was streaming from a gash on Wilson’s forehead and McGregor seemed to be nursing his left elbow but neither man was allowing his injuries to slow him down.

“Gage! DeSoto,” Wilson shouted. “Turn around! There’s a wall of fire back there that nobody can get through!”

Coming to a stop by the two paramedics, McGregor caught his breath and added, “Yeah, we’d better get our air masks on too. This whole place is going to be filling with smoke and fire real soon.”

Johnny and Roy looked at the other men in amazement. “But what about the trapped firemen. We’ve got to try . . .” Johnny began.

McGregor cut him off. “We’ve already tried. That fire’s hotter than hell and probably just as lethal. If the explosion didn’t get them, the fire did.”

Seeing the look of disbelief on Johnny’s face, McGregor placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Gage, but sometimes there’s nothing that can be done. It’s just harder when it’s our own. Now we’d better get cracking before we join them.”

Johnny and Roy pulled on their air masks. There was no time to waste. Later, when they had reached safety, they could allow themselves to think about their fallen comrades but not now. The four men headed for the stairs.

They made it to the third floor landing. Beyond it the stairwell was engulfed in flame. Placing a hand on the door leading to the floor beyond, McGregor looked at the men around him. They had no choice but to go through it. As fast as the fire was moving they would never make it to the roof or probably even the next floor in time.

Wilson readied the hose, hoping that a section of it hadn’t been burned up in the blaze. A billow of smoke wrapped around them as they stepped through, McGregor and Wilson leading the way.

Johnny was painfully bringing up the rear, each step sending a throb of pain through his ankle. The smoke was now so thick he could barely see and he had lost sight of the others. Only the heat of the fire at his back kept him moving in the direction he thought they had taken. Growing more disoriented and fighting a sense of panic he felt a hand reach out, pulling his arm over a shoulder.

“Come on,” he heard Roy’s muffled but familiar voice say. “Let me give you a hand.”

Together they made it to the far southwest corner of the floor, the area that had determined as the farthest they could get from the fire. Johnny once again thanked whatever higher powers there were that Roy DeSoto had taken him on as a partner. He knew that it was not only duty but friendship that had sent Roy back for him.

Entering what appeared to be an abandoned office they found Wilson manning the hose while McGregor pounded at a window with his oxygen tank. His injured elbow was impeding his progress against the heavy glass however, and Roy quickly took it from him, slamming the tank against it with all his strength again and again until he felt it shatter. Sticking his head through the remaining fragments he shouted to anyone who could hear him below: “Up here!!!! For God’s sake, up here!!!!”

Roy could see startled faces in the parking lot. He couldn’t understand the shouts from the firemen below but there at least appeared to be a flurry of activity. Now, if only they’d only hurry!

Johnny stepped up next to Roy and peered out the broken glass. The heat in the room was growing more intense. It was only a matter of time now before it became part of the blaze that was raging around them. He doubted that anyone could survive the jump from the fourth floor window but found himself beginning to calculate the odds. Then he saw something which improved their chances of a escape. A snorkel truck was operating near them. Watching the basket swing in their direction, he silently prayed it would pull around in time.

Behind them he heard Wilson turn on the hose. For perhaps thirty seconds water shot through it then nothing. Somewhere the line had ruptured. Wilson dropped the line in frustration and pulled off his air mask. “All right you guys,” he shouted. “We’re running out time here!”

The door was beginning to glow with the heat of the fire and it wouldn’t be long before the room became engulfed. Wilson joined the crowd at the window. A back draft would soon be created from the rush of air coming through it but it was their best hope.

Slowly the basket of the snorkel truck lowered to them. There was no time to allow for safety protocol. When it came within a foot Johnny pulled was through the window, grabbing a hold of the railing to be pulled inside. Wilson and McGregor quickly followed. The last to leave, Roy looked behind him. The fire had come through and was now licking the outer furnishings of the office.

Diving through the window, he managed a loose hold on the basket. For a second he felt himself dangling above the parking lot until strong arms pulled him inside.

“It’s ok, Roy. I’ve got ya,” Johnny said, helping him into the enclosure.

As they began to lower a belch of fire shot from the window, filling the air with a shower of sparks and glass. The back draft had taken over.

Reaching the ground, Johnny tapped Roy on the shoulder. “Hey Roy,” he said. “You know that bad feeling I’ve been carrying around all night?”

“Yeah. What about it,” Roy answered, falling into step behind Wilson and McGregor as they headed for the battalion station. If nothing else, he needed a few minutes to sit down and try to forget the recent events.

“It’s gone now. I think we’re gonna make it.”

***

Johnny and Roy had found themselves routed from battalion to the aid station as a precaution. Both were anxious to get back to work, as there was still a lot to do, and the wait they experienced before they were examined by Dr. Brackett seemed to last forever.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Kel proceeded to give their prognosis in his utmost professional manner. “Johnny, you’ve got a mildly sprained ankle and some bruises. Keep that ACE Bandage in place and you should be fine. Roy, a few minor contusions and some bruising to your left side where you hit the rail of the basket. Gentlemen you are both cleared to return to duty.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Johnny said grimly, looking at his shoes. “I just wish we could have made it to those other men’

“Yeah,” Roy said, equally somber. “It’s hard knowing that we were so close and if it hadn’t been for the explosion might have gotten them out of there.”

Kel bit his lip and nodded. “Did you know them?”

Johnny shook his head. “Not really. They were from Station 73, a long way from our neck of the woods. They were called in on the second alarm. But they were part of the brotherhood of firemen. Like McGregor said, ‘it’s harder when it’s your own.’”

“Come on Johnny,” Roy said, pulling on his turnout coat and helmet. “There’s still work to do here and we’re clear for duty.”

Johnny managed a weak smile and rose to follow Roy. “We’ll see ya later Doc. I’m sure we’ll be needing some supplies very soon after tonight.”

“All right. But you guys take it easy for the rest of the night, or I guess morning. And be careful,” Kel said in parting.

Both men gave a wave, heading back to their job.

Kel watched them go as he picked up the used cotton swabs and antiseptic. He didn’t envy them the rest of the night ahead. The fire was far from contained so their job was far from over. Tossing the cotton swabs into a box that was serving as temporarily trash can, he walked over to where Joe Early was standing with a cup of foul smelling coffee.

“So what’s next Doctor,” he asked.

Sniffing at the cup, Joe replied, “It’s pretty quiet now Kel. For the time being all the serious injuries and patients have been transported. There are still minor injuries coming in and others waiting for ambulances.” Still not quite sure of the coffee, Joe gave the doctor opposite him a long look. “Why don’t you take a break Kel? You’ve been hard at it since we got here.”

“Right Joe,” Kel answered. “I’ll just ask the patients to wait while I take a stroll in the garden.”

Joe took a small taste of the coffee and set it aside. “That’s too awful even for me and I thought I’d had the worst there was,” he said, raising an eyebrow at the cup. Turning back to his friend he went on, “I’m serious Kel. We both know that you can function above and beyond the average individual in a crisis but there’s nothing here that can’t be handled right now. So take a break. Maybe you could wander over to the west side and check on things there. From what I’ve heard they experienced a large number of injured after the second explosion and they might need a hand.”

Joe gave the cup of coffee a final look, as if surprised there was a brew so bad he couldn’t drink it, and began to walk toward the medical base station. Kel watched him go, considering the advice that had been given. He knew he could use a break, his entire body was tight with the tension brought on by the volume of people he had treated. There was something else though and he wondered if Joe might somehow be aware of it. The last time he saw Dixie she was being lead to the west wings of the hospital and a concern for her safety had been with him ever since. Beyond the fact he knew her well, past experience had shown she would not hesitate to put herself in danger if she felt it was necessary.

Coming to the conclusion that Joe was right, he needed a break, Kel s