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Entry tags:
FIC: Run (Emergency, Gen, PG 8/10)
Title: Run
Pairing: non, gen, friendship fic
Summary: A call that turned out not to be a call after all, but someone still needed help…
Spoilers: Set just after first season.
Notes: We saw on many episodes that Johnny Gage really didn't like guns. I thought it might be fun to figure out why.
Previous Parts: 1/10, 2/10, 3/10, 4/10, 5/10, 6/10, 7/10
"I don't know," Stevie hiccupped, his eyes glued to Squad 18 transferring Jake into the stretcher. "Doug…he took him outside and…and then he came back alone."
Roy's insides churned. He heard Marco mutter something in Spanish. Roy's hands were automatic as he adjusted Jake's drip, checked the leads and trailed alongside the stretcher into the newly arrived ambulance. Stevie looked dazed at the sight of patrol cars and fire trucks huddled in the only available clearing.
"Did you hear a gunshot?" Vince asked Stevie. He had come back empty-handed minutes before; he lost Doug to the yard's metal labyrinth.
Roy felt cold. He stared at Stevie. Even the head shake Stevie made didn't undo the knot in his chest.
"We're ready," Sanchez reported as he climbed into the back of the ambulance. No one insisted Roy should be the one in there.
Wet eyes turned towards Vince.
"Please," Stevie whispered. "I gotta go with Jake. I promise I won't do nothing."
Vince studied Stevie for a moment, lips pursed before he slowly nodded. "Adams," he called out to one of the officers who had arrived minutes before. "Take the Carson kid with you to Rampart?"
"You got it, Vince."
The teenager grasped Roy by the wrists before Vince could warn against it. Handcuffs clacked as he gave Roy's hands a shake.
"He tried to tell me. The other fireman guy. He told me to call if Jake got worse. He tried to warn me but I didn't believe him. He made Doug so mad when he wouldn't give Jake the drugs but Jake made Doug promise not to kill him."
Roy nodded numbly.
Stevie's face was wet, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I really don't know where he is. Doug knew but he's…" Stevie choked. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Come on," Vince said. He gently pried Stevie's hands off Roy. "You follow that officer. He'll take you to Rampart in a few minutes."
The young man's apologies trailed behind him as he was guided to a patrol car.
Roy sat on the step of their engine. He felt numb, his mind blank. He cupped the pin with both hands.
"We got men searching the premises for the b—for John," Vince told Cap in a quiet voice.
"We can search too," Marco declared.
"Sorry. Can't. Carson might still be out there. This place is a maze."
"Cap—" Mike protested.
"Vince, my men could stay together and search one area and your guys the other. We'll cover more ground."
"Sorry, Captain, but—"
"Hey," Chet said suddenly. "Ain't these like those things this morning?" The fireman rose from his crouch to lift up two fistfuls of paper.
Roy lifted a heavy head and frowned. He levered off the step, shrugging away the concerned looks thrown his way. He took one from Chet and smoothed out the wrinkled slip.
Frog 1G9.
"Kelly, did you have these in your pocket?"
"Those are evidence," Vince pointed out, his voice disapproving.
"I gave every sheet to that Detective Richards when we found them. These were under the engine."
Roy fingered the sheet and studied the smudged scrawl. The lettering was crooked, running into each other. He stared out into the yard, at the piles of flattened cars reaching up towards the sky.
Roy's eyes widened.
"I'm so stupid," Roy whispered.
"Roy?" Chet called out as Roy pivoted on his heel and raced to the patrol car pulling out. He shouted, slapping his palms on the driver side window until the vehicle slowed to a stop. Adams rolled down his window, his freckled face puzzled.
"Let me talk to him," Roy said urgently, his head jerking back towards Stevie in the back.
The teen gaped wide-eyed as Roy ripped open the passenger door and stuck his head in.
"Was it the car?"
"W-what?"
Roy waved the paper at the boy. Stevie flinched.
"There was a car parked on 316 when we got there. A green—something. I thought it looked like a rusty—The car. Did you take my partner here with that car? A green car?"
"Y-yeah, it was J-jake's—"
Roy didn't wait for Stevie to finish. He slammed the patrol car shut, shouted an apology over his shoulder to Adams as he ran back to Cap.
"The car!" Roy gestured with the slip. "They took Johnny here in their brother's car. This car." He pointed to the lettering. "'Frog 1G9'. It's a partial plate. It's a green Cadillac, maybe a Buick. It wasn't parked outside—"
"So it must be in here," Vince finished. He spun around, his radio to his mouth. "All units…"
Roy sagged back into the engine. He smiled weakly at Cap as the older man dropped a hand to his shoulder.
"I should have realized sooner." Roy clutched tighter to the citation sheet.
"We at least know where to look now," Cap answered quietly.
Roy looked at his fist, at the paper. The tightness around him didn’t lessen.
"Cap," Roy said softly. "He's in that car. I know he is."
"Then we'll find him."
"You people are crazy," Vince grumbled to Hank.
Hank silently agreed but he said nothing as his men lined up in search and rescue formation. This wasn't a wooded area like Arrowhead but the mountains of improperly stacked cars were sure to be just as daunting.
Vince only agreed to let 51 search for their lost comrade, provided he came along. Mindful of the lone brother still out there, his men agreed and even armed themselves.
Kelly chose a crowbar. He hefted it in his hands like a baseball bat. He stalked DeSoto (the idiot chose an armboard as his weapon. Forget locking him in his locker. He was chaining him to the squad. Both of them.), even making a point on stepping on DeSoto's shadow. Apparently, Kelly didn't think an armboard was a weapon either.
Lopez decided a hammer and a wrench could hold up against a gun. Except he kept them in his back pocket because he wanted both hands free to brush over every wreck he could reach, as if the twisted metal would give up its secrets.
Stoker had wanted to charge a line and carry that with him until Hank pointed out that no matter how mad he was about Big Red, it wouldn't justify to HQ blasting Doug Carson with 800 PSI of water. It would probably kill the guy. Besides, it wasn't practical to be hauling around that much feet of hose in a yard this vast. To Hank's consternation, Stoker didn't immediately concur. He reluctantly chose the pole cutter instead, which was promptly left tucked under Stoker's arm as the engineer peered into each green vehicle he could find.
Hank chose the ax.
By God, he was leaving this wretched place with all his men.
Everyone checked each car for the right color. DeSoto was in the lead despite Vince's protests, the crumpled citation held tight in his hand like it was a map to El Dorado.
Vince's radio crackled with negatives as one by one, officers reported in. Hank watched as the shoulders of his men slumped then straightened out almost immediately after.
"Cap. There's a green car in the compactor," Kelly whispered. He pointed to something to their right.
DeSoto's head whipped around.
"Doesn't work," Vince said hastily. "From what that Carson kid told me, nothing in this place has worked this past year."
"Car's all rusted in there," Stoker reported. "That's been in there for ages."
DeSoto turned back as if he'd never looked in the first place but Hank caught him giving the compactor another glance when they drew closer. Kelly stole a peek. Even Hank couldn't help himself to crane his neck a little to reassure himself it was indeed empty as they walked past.
"There!" Lopez's sharp eyes once again proved his worth when he pointed to something in the distance.
DeSoto squinted.
And broke out into a run.
"Roy!" Vince warned. He shot Hank an exasperated look before he ran after Roy, his gun loosely gripped with both hands.
"Johnny?" DeSoto had already checked the front of the car by the time they reached him. He was now bent over the trunk, knocking at the lid. He jerked his hands back with a hiss.
"Cap." Lopez raised a mangled twist of familiar paper. "This was jammed into a hole by the keyhole."
Hank dropped to his knees and peered into the opening where there used to be a taillight. He could make out a shape, black, strings, leather—a boot!
"I think I see him!" Hank rapped on the trunk. Damn. DeSoto was right. The metal surface scalded his knuckles. "John? We're out here with you! Hang in there, buddy."
"Key's broken in the lock," Lopez reported.
"Cap, can you reach inside?" DeSoto asked as he stepped back. "Chet, I need your crowbar."
"We'll get your equipment," Stoker declared. He and Lopez jogged back the way they came.
"Vince," DeSoto said breathlessly as he dug one curled end into the lip of the trunk. Kelly leaned his weight on the bar with DeSoto. "I need the biophone that's back in the shed. See if they have any ice or cold water. Anything."
Vince nodded, already turning around. He ran, talking into his radio as he took off.
"Cap?" DeSoto gasped. "Chet, once more…Heave!"
Hank carefully snaked his hand into the gap and gingerly felt the leg there. He felt a twitch.
"Roy," Hank said carefully as he pulled his hand out. He didn't even grimace as the jagged edges of plastic scratched across his knuckles. "Feels like he's having spasms." God damn it all.
DeSoto's eyes narrowed, his mouth set to a grim line. Hank scrambled to his feet and threw in his weight into the bar.
"Together," Hank ordered. "One. Two. Heave!"
With a groan, the lock wiggled out of its hole, the trunk lip curled in, forming an 'O' before one more vicious upward jerk popped the lid open with such force, they all staggered back. By some miracle, DeSoto held onto the pry bar. But as soon as the paramedic righted himself, he threw the bar away and scrambled to the trunk.
Feet frozen to the dirt, Hank found he couldn't come closer. Kelly seemed to have the same problem but he found the ability to speak.
"Roy? Is Johnny…"
DeSoto's shoulders shook as he leaned into the opened trunk. Hank couldn't see his face with his head bowed. There was a cold lump in the pit of his stomach when the paramedic didn't immediately answer.
"Roy?" Hank spoke up when the wait became too much of a knife digging into his ribs.
There was a full body shudder before DeSoto straightened a little, his arms still deep in the trunk.
"Chet," DeSoto's voice was deceptively calm. "I need your help. I don't feel anything broken so I think it's safe to pull him out. Grab his legs. We gotta cool him down."
Hank wanted to whoop, his face stretching from the broad smile on his face. It faded, however, when Gage was lifted out of the trunk. His face was flushed far too red without a fire to blame, hair plastered to his skull giving him an almost depleted look.
"Is he all right?" It wasn't clear if Lopez or Stoker asked when they returned.
"He will be," DeSoto said tightly. "Get his boots off. I need the burn kit. And all the saline you can carry."
"I got his boots," Hank offered as Lopez and Stoker took off again for the squad. Thank God they decided to bring it into the yard.
DeSoto never acknowledged Hank. He sat behind Gage, propping the younger man up against his chest. He was murmuring into his partner's ear while he stripped the sweat soaked blue uniform shirt off Gage. DeSoto was careful, but his actions still held an air of urgency as he tore the shirt open, scattering buttons in its wake. It was disturbing to see Gage so complacent, being moved around, limbs flopping like those rescue dummies they used for drills. He trembled every so often like he was cold.
Hank busied himself undoing the laces on the boots, grunting when Vince, then Lopez and Stoker returned with everything their arms could carry.
"We got men spread around us. Carson's not going to be able to ambush us," Vince announced. He dropped to one knee and opened up the biophone box. "Rampart, Squad 51."
That's right. Hank'd forgotten about Doug Carson.
Gage was set on the yellow burn blanket on the ground. It was wrapped loosely around him as Kelly poured saline over the material. DeSoto was pointing out IV lines for Lopez and Stoker to grab. Vince was repeating everything Rampart and DeSoto was telling him. And Hank? All he could do was hold Gage's darn boots as the rest of his men took on every task DeSoto called out.
"What's the ETA on the ambulance?" DeSoto asked hurriedly as he pierced skin to set up the IV line. Hank grimaced. Somehow, it never looked as painful on other victims. DeSoto must have agreed because he rubbed one trembling bicep and muttered an apology into Gage's ear.
"Thirty minutes."
"What?" DeSoto's head shot up.
Vince looked like he wanted to take Hank's ax to the biophone. His mustache wiggled into a decidedly downward tilt. "That last ambulance was the closest. Highway, multiple car collision. Most of them were sent to it."
"Roy, can he wait that long?" Hank demanded but the wide-eyed, barely hidden panic on DeSoto's face already answered. Thirty to get here, thirty to reach Rampart. Hank's head spun.
Before DeSoto could say anything, Gage gave a violent jerk, legs kicking up, unraveling the burn blanket as they thrashed.
"No, no, no," DeSoto wrapped his arms around Gage's shoulders, his mouth a hair's breadth from Gage's ear. "Come on, come on," DeSoto chanted, "Don't do this. Sh, it's okay. We got you. No, no, no. Come on, partner."
"Cap."
Hank could hear DeSoto asking Rampart what to do. He hoped they knew because other than a prayer, Hank was at a loss. He lifted gritty eyes to a grim-faced Kelly.
"I can get them there in twenty."
"Go," Hank barked. He snatched the biophone even as everyone grabbed a bit of the burn blanket to carry Gage to the squad.
"Rampart. Squad 51 will be transporting the patient themselves. ETA twenty minutes."
"10-4, 51."
Part 9-->
Author's Acknowledgment:This never would have been finished without my beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ldyanne, who's has to endure grammar tenses, rewrites, major delays and "what if" questions from me. Thank you, babe!
Feedback is like cookies. I like cookies. -lol-
Pairing: non, gen, friendship fic
Summary: A call that turned out not to be a call after all, but someone still needed help…
Spoilers: Set just after first season.
Notes: We saw on many episodes that Johnny Gage really didn't like guns. I thought it might be fun to figure out why.
Previous Parts: 1/10, 2/10, 3/10, 4/10, 5/10, 6/10, 7/10
"I don't know," Stevie hiccupped, his eyes glued to Squad 18 transferring Jake into the stretcher. "Doug…he took him outside and…and then he came back alone."
Roy's insides churned. He heard Marco mutter something in Spanish. Roy's hands were automatic as he adjusted Jake's drip, checked the leads and trailed alongside the stretcher into the newly arrived ambulance. Stevie looked dazed at the sight of patrol cars and fire trucks huddled in the only available clearing.
"Did you hear a gunshot?" Vince asked Stevie. He had come back empty-handed minutes before; he lost Doug to the yard's metal labyrinth.
Roy felt cold. He stared at Stevie. Even the head shake Stevie made didn't undo the knot in his chest.
"We're ready," Sanchez reported as he climbed into the back of the ambulance. No one insisted Roy should be the one in there.
Wet eyes turned towards Vince.
"Please," Stevie whispered. "I gotta go with Jake. I promise I won't do nothing."
Vince studied Stevie for a moment, lips pursed before he slowly nodded. "Adams," he called out to one of the officers who had arrived minutes before. "Take the Carson kid with you to Rampart?"
"You got it, Vince."
The teenager grasped Roy by the wrists before Vince could warn against it. Handcuffs clacked as he gave Roy's hands a shake.
"He tried to tell me. The other fireman guy. He told me to call if Jake got worse. He tried to warn me but I didn't believe him. He made Doug so mad when he wouldn't give Jake the drugs but Jake made Doug promise not to kill him."
Roy nodded numbly.
Stevie's face was wet, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I really don't know where he is. Doug knew but he's…" Stevie choked. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Come on," Vince said. He gently pried Stevie's hands off Roy. "You follow that officer. He'll take you to Rampart in a few minutes."
The young man's apologies trailed behind him as he was guided to a patrol car.
Roy sat on the step of their engine. He felt numb, his mind blank. He cupped the pin with both hands.
"We got men searching the premises for the b—for John," Vince told Cap in a quiet voice.
"We can search too," Marco declared.
"Sorry. Can't. Carson might still be out there. This place is a maze."
"Cap—" Mike protested.
"Vince, my men could stay together and search one area and your guys the other. We'll cover more ground."
"Sorry, Captain, but—"
"Hey," Chet said suddenly. "Ain't these like those things this morning?" The fireman rose from his crouch to lift up two fistfuls of paper.
Roy lifted a heavy head and frowned. He levered off the step, shrugging away the concerned looks thrown his way. He took one from Chet and smoothed out the wrinkled slip.
Frog 1G9.
"Kelly, did you have these in your pocket?"
"Those are evidence," Vince pointed out, his voice disapproving.
"I gave every sheet to that Detective Richards when we found them. These were under the engine."
Roy fingered the sheet and studied the smudged scrawl. The lettering was crooked, running into each other. He stared out into the yard, at the piles of flattened cars reaching up towards the sky.
Roy's eyes widened.
"I'm so stupid," Roy whispered.
"Roy?" Chet called out as Roy pivoted on his heel and raced to the patrol car pulling out. He shouted, slapping his palms on the driver side window until the vehicle slowed to a stop. Adams rolled down his window, his freckled face puzzled.
"Let me talk to him," Roy said urgently, his head jerking back towards Stevie in the back.
The teen gaped wide-eyed as Roy ripped open the passenger door and stuck his head in.
"Was it the car?"
"W-what?"
Roy waved the paper at the boy. Stevie flinched.
"There was a car parked on 316 when we got there. A green—something. I thought it looked like a rusty—The car. Did you take my partner here with that car? A green car?"
"Y-yeah, it was J-jake's—"
Roy didn't wait for Stevie to finish. He slammed the patrol car shut, shouted an apology over his shoulder to Adams as he ran back to Cap.
"The car!" Roy gestured with the slip. "They took Johnny here in their brother's car. This car." He pointed to the lettering. "'Frog 1G9'. It's a partial plate. It's a green Cadillac, maybe a Buick. It wasn't parked outside—"
"So it must be in here," Vince finished. He spun around, his radio to his mouth. "All units…"
Roy sagged back into the engine. He smiled weakly at Cap as the older man dropped a hand to his shoulder.
"I should have realized sooner." Roy clutched tighter to the citation sheet.
"We at least know where to look now," Cap answered quietly.
Roy looked at his fist, at the paper. The tightness around him didn’t lessen.
"Cap," Roy said softly. "He's in that car. I know he is."
"Then we'll find him."
"You people are crazy," Vince grumbled to Hank.
Hank silently agreed but he said nothing as his men lined up in search and rescue formation. This wasn't a wooded area like Arrowhead but the mountains of improperly stacked cars were sure to be just as daunting.
Vince only agreed to let 51 search for their lost comrade, provided he came along. Mindful of the lone brother still out there, his men agreed and even armed themselves.
Kelly chose a crowbar. He hefted it in his hands like a baseball bat. He stalked DeSoto (the idiot chose an armboard as his weapon. Forget locking him in his locker. He was chaining him to the squad. Both of them.), even making a point on stepping on DeSoto's shadow. Apparently, Kelly didn't think an armboard was a weapon either.
Lopez decided a hammer and a wrench could hold up against a gun. Except he kept them in his back pocket because he wanted both hands free to brush over every wreck he could reach, as if the twisted metal would give up its secrets.
Stoker had wanted to charge a line and carry that with him until Hank pointed out that no matter how mad he was about Big Red, it wouldn't justify to HQ blasting Doug Carson with 800 PSI of water. It would probably kill the guy. Besides, it wasn't practical to be hauling around that much feet of hose in a yard this vast. To Hank's consternation, Stoker didn't immediately concur. He reluctantly chose the pole cutter instead, which was promptly left tucked under Stoker's arm as the engineer peered into each green vehicle he could find.
Hank chose the ax.
By God, he was leaving this wretched place with all his men.
Everyone checked each car for the right color. DeSoto was in the lead despite Vince's protests, the crumpled citation held tight in his hand like it was a map to El Dorado.
Vince's radio crackled with negatives as one by one, officers reported in. Hank watched as the shoulders of his men slumped then straightened out almost immediately after.
"Cap. There's a green car in the compactor," Kelly whispered. He pointed to something to their right.
DeSoto's head whipped around.
"Doesn't work," Vince said hastily. "From what that Carson kid told me, nothing in this place has worked this past year."
"Car's all rusted in there," Stoker reported. "That's been in there for ages."
DeSoto turned back as if he'd never looked in the first place but Hank caught him giving the compactor another glance when they drew closer. Kelly stole a peek. Even Hank couldn't help himself to crane his neck a little to reassure himself it was indeed empty as they walked past.
"There!" Lopez's sharp eyes once again proved his worth when he pointed to something in the distance.
DeSoto squinted.
And broke out into a run.
"Roy!" Vince warned. He shot Hank an exasperated look before he ran after Roy, his gun loosely gripped with both hands.
"Johnny?" DeSoto had already checked the front of the car by the time they reached him. He was now bent over the trunk, knocking at the lid. He jerked his hands back with a hiss.
"Cap." Lopez raised a mangled twist of familiar paper. "This was jammed into a hole by the keyhole."
Hank dropped to his knees and peered into the opening where there used to be a taillight. He could make out a shape, black, strings, leather—a boot!
"I think I see him!" Hank rapped on the trunk. Damn. DeSoto was right. The metal surface scalded his knuckles. "John? We're out here with you! Hang in there, buddy."
"Key's broken in the lock," Lopez reported.
"Cap, can you reach inside?" DeSoto asked as he stepped back. "Chet, I need your crowbar."
"We'll get your equipment," Stoker declared. He and Lopez jogged back the way they came.
"Vince," DeSoto said breathlessly as he dug one curled end into the lip of the trunk. Kelly leaned his weight on the bar with DeSoto. "I need the biophone that's back in the shed. See if they have any ice or cold water. Anything."
Vince nodded, already turning around. He ran, talking into his radio as he took off.
"Cap?" DeSoto gasped. "Chet, once more…Heave!"
Hank carefully snaked his hand into the gap and gingerly felt the leg there. He felt a twitch.
"Roy," Hank said carefully as he pulled his hand out. He didn't even grimace as the jagged edges of plastic scratched across his knuckles. "Feels like he's having spasms." God damn it all.
DeSoto's eyes narrowed, his mouth set to a grim line. Hank scrambled to his feet and threw in his weight into the bar.
"Together," Hank ordered. "One. Two. Heave!"
With a groan, the lock wiggled out of its hole, the trunk lip curled in, forming an 'O' before one more vicious upward jerk popped the lid open with such force, they all staggered back. By some miracle, DeSoto held onto the pry bar. But as soon as the paramedic righted himself, he threw the bar away and scrambled to the trunk.
Feet frozen to the dirt, Hank found he couldn't come closer. Kelly seemed to have the same problem but he found the ability to speak.
"Roy? Is Johnny…"
DeSoto's shoulders shook as he leaned into the opened trunk. Hank couldn't see his face with his head bowed. There was a cold lump in the pit of his stomach when the paramedic didn't immediately answer.
"Roy?" Hank spoke up when the wait became too much of a knife digging into his ribs.
There was a full body shudder before DeSoto straightened a little, his arms still deep in the trunk.
"Chet," DeSoto's voice was deceptively calm. "I need your help. I don't feel anything broken so I think it's safe to pull him out. Grab his legs. We gotta cool him down."
Hank wanted to whoop, his face stretching from the broad smile on his face. It faded, however, when Gage was lifted out of the trunk. His face was flushed far too red without a fire to blame, hair plastered to his skull giving him an almost depleted look.
"Is he all right?" It wasn't clear if Lopez or Stoker asked when they returned.
"He will be," DeSoto said tightly. "Get his boots off. I need the burn kit. And all the saline you can carry."
"I got his boots," Hank offered as Lopez and Stoker took off again for the squad. Thank God they decided to bring it into the yard.
DeSoto never acknowledged Hank. He sat behind Gage, propping the younger man up against his chest. He was murmuring into his partner's ear while he stripped the sweat soaked blue uniform shirt off Gage. DeSoto was careful, but his actions still held an air of urgency as he tore the shirt open, scattering buttons in its wake. It was disturbing to see Gage so complacent, being moved around, limbs flopping like those rescue dummies they used for drills. He trembled every so often like he was cold.
Hank busied himself undoing the laces on the boots, grunting when Vince, then Lopez and Stoker returned with everything their arms could carry.
"We got men spread around us. Carson's not going to be able to ambush us," Vince announced. He dropped to one knee and opened up the biophone box. "Rampart, Squad 51."
That's right. Hank'd forgotten about Doug Carson.
Gage was set on the yellow burn blanket on the ground. It was wrapped loosely around him as Kelly poured saline over the material. DeSoto was pointing out IV lines for Lopez and Stoker to grab. Vince was repeating everything Rampart and DeSoto was telling him. And Hank? All he could do was hold Gage's darn boots as the rest of his men took on every task DeSoto called out.
"What's the ETA on the ambulance?" DeSoto asked hurriedly as he pierced skin to set up the IV line. Hank grimaced. Somehow, it never looked as painful on other victims. DeSoto must have agreed because he rubbed one trembling bicep and muttered an apology into Gage's ear.
"Thirty minutes."
"What?" DeSoto's head shot up.
Vince looked like he wanted to take Hank's ax to the biophone. His mustache wiggled into a decidedly downward tilt. "That last ambulance was the closest. Highway, multiple car collision. Most of them were sent to it."
"Roy, can he wait that long?" Hank demanded but the wide-eyed, barely hidden panic on DeSoto's face already answered. Thirty to get here, thirty to reach Rampart. Hank's head spun.
Before DeSoto could say anything, Gage gave a violent jerk, legs kicking up, unraveling the burn blanket as they thrashed.
"No, no, no," DeSoto wrapped his arms around Gage's shoulders, his mouth a hair's breadth from Gage's ear. "Come on, come on," DeSoto chanted, "Don't do this. Sh, it's okay. We got you. No, no, no. Come on, partner."
"Cap."
Hank could hear DeSoto asking Rampart what to do. He hoped they knew because other than a prayer, Hank was at a loss. He lifted gritty eyes to a grim-faced Kelly.
"I can get them there in twenty."
"Go," Hank barked. He snatched the biophone even as everyone grabbed a bit of the burn blanket to carry Gage to the squad.
"Rampart. Squad 51 will be transporting the patient themselves. ETA twenty minutes."
"10-4, 51."
Part 9-->
Author's Acknowledgment:This never would have been finished without my beta
ldyanne, who's has to endure grammar tenses, rewrites, major delays and "what if" questions from me. Thank you, babe!Feedback is like cookies. I like cookies. -lol-