Malloy slipped, for what seemed like the hundredth time, and fell to his
knees, sliding a few feet down the muddied incline. He jammed the stock of
the shotgun into the ground and dug in his heels, barely managing to stop
his descent.
What's that old saying...one step forward, two steps back? Or is it two
steps forward, one step back?
Pete hauled himself to his feet. Fatigue cramped his muscles which were
cold from the chilling rain and the blustery wind. The jackhammer was still
in his head, pounding away, and his vision would turn fuzzy every few minutes.
It seemed to the exhausted officer that it was taking him forever to get
to the top of wherever it was he was going.
As he slogged his way up, Pete was desperately trying to picture the prisoner
in his mind. He was trying to remember where he was going with the prisoner.
Pete had already figured out, given the time of day, that he and Jim had
been doing extra duty, because they should have been off hours ago. He also
figured that they were doing a prisoner transfer either from or to the County.
But he had no recollection of anything that had happened to him over the
past few hours. Even the calls he and Jim had handled during the past shift
were fuzzy. The 459 call noted in Jim's pad continued to plague him. Malloy
had a gut instinct that the big guy in Jim's notes, who he had apparently
chased a long way, was the one he was looking for. But no picture of the
man would come to him. The pursuit, the booking that evidently followed,
or anything past that was a complete black spot. No description, no name,
no clothing came to him. Malloy stopped again as he felt himself slipping
and halted the slide before it really started. He drank in deep breaths of
air to stave off the relentless nausea. He pushed rain-soaked hair from his
face and wiped water mixed with blood from his eyes. His uniform was caked
with mud and soaked with water. He couldn't remember a time he'd felt more
miserable. Pete took a look back down the incline and saw only white fog
and rain. The wrecked black and white was completely invisible.
I've got to make it up there, if for no other reason to get Jim some help.
Nobody knows the unit is down there!
Pete started up the slope again, his thoughts torn between concentrating
on each step that he took and trying to remember his mission. Thoughts of
Jim trapped in the car would sneak in as well, but that served to motivate
him to move, move, move.
Three more minutes passed. Then five. More slipping, more pain, more
frustration dogged his steps as he kept moving, kept thinking. But there
were still no answers. Just as he was beginning to believe that he would
never reach the top, the blessed sight of asphalt greeted his tired eyes.
"Thank God!" he gasped, scrambling up the last few feet to wet but solid
ground. "Finally!" he halted for much needed deep breaths. He grasped the
shotgun with both hands and cocked the mechanism. Then he stood still, quieted
his breathing, and listened for sounds since he still couldn't see more than
two feet in front of him.
Malloy heard a variety of sounds. He heard the squawking, tinny sounds
of communication over CC units. He heard voices shouting commands. He heard
footsteps as they rushed over the wet pavement. He could hear the sounds
of equipment, like saws grinding metal and the clanking sounds of tools being
used. Those sounds buoyed his spirits somewhat; help was definitely within
reach.
Malloy couldn't quite determine what was being said, but he knew that rescue
units were busy here. It must have been one hell of a wreck. He hoped he
hadn't caused it. He could hear the sounds coming from both his right and
his left, so he supposed a very large area was being covered. He also supposed
it didn't matter which direction he went, as long as he found help. It crossed
his mind that he might not be able to remember where he came up, and that
might delay getting help to Jim. Pete looked quickly around for something
to mark the spot and found a broken car antenna. He jammed the antenna into
the ground, then fished in his pocket for his handkerchief. He quickly tied
it around the antenna and hoped the gusting winds wouldn't blow it away.
That task completed, Pete was still faced with the decision of which way
to turn. There was just something about being a cop that wouldn't let Malloy
choose to turn left. Keeping his shotgun at the ready, he moved off to his
right. Pete moved stealthily, but with purpose. His recent memories may
have fled him, but his police training was firmly in place. He took in his
surroundings in all directions and was tensed for action, all discomfort pushed
into the background.
A shadowy form appeared before him and he raised the shotgun higher. It
didn't take him long to determine that it was a wrecked car. Leading with
the gun barrel, he walked up to it and checked out the interior. There was
only one occupant, a very dead older man. Pete didn't even check for a pulse.
The officer was moving around the back of the car when a voice, close by,
startled him into ducking for cover.
"Rampart, the patient has stabilized. I have no ETA on transport."
Pete heaved a sigh of relief. It was a County Paramedic in contact with
Rampart Emergency. Now he could get Jim some help. The tired officer got
up from his crouch and quietly moved toward the voice.
Malloy was almost to the fireman before he could see him. The paramedic
was kneeling beside an unconscious woman, but he looked up quickly when Malloy
emerged from the fog.
"Excuse me," Pete spoke to the startled rescue worker. "Didn't mean to
scare you," Pete nodded toward the shotgun, "but I need your help."
"Of course," the paramedic answered. "You're hurt. Let me help you."
"No," Pete shook his head. "My name is Pete Malloy and I'm an officer
with LAPD. I'm looking for a prisoner who has escaped custody. Have you
seen a big man, handcuffed?"
"No, sir," the paramedic answered. His eyes were narrowed with concern.
"You're bleeding, Officer Malloy. Why don't you sit here and let me take
a look?"
"I'm all right," Pete protested. "But my partner needs help."
"Where is he? I haven't seen a city police car in this mess."
"We went over the side here. Our car is several hundred feet down the
slope. You can't see it because of the fog. My partner is trapped in the
backseat, and the car isn't stable. It's slipping further. And I don't
know what's down there because I can't see...and I don't exactly know where
I am."
"You don't know where you are?" the paramedic got up and walked toward
Pete, pulling a light out of his pocket. "You mean you can't remember."
"I'm afraid not." Pete's response was reluctant. He put a hand out to
stop the paramedic from looking at his eyes. "Please, sir, my partner needs
you much more than I do."
The paramedic stopped in his motion and smiled an indulgent smile at him.
"All right," he agreed quietly. "I understand. My name is Roy DeSoto.
I'm a paramedic with LA County...Station 51. My partner is working about
40 yards that way. He's carrying a handi-talkie that can put him in contact
with our captain. He can bring all the help you need. Just tell him what
you want. We'll get to your partner, don't you worry."
"Thanks, DeSoto."
"Just tell Johnny...uh, that's my partner, that you talked with me."
"I will. Listen, if you see this guy, stay out of his way. I believe
he's dangerous."
"What does he look like?"
Pete shook his head. "I haven't the foggiest."
DeSoto's eyes widened. "Then how...?"
Pete shrugged. "I don't know."
"You really need to have that head checked out. I'm sure you have a concussion."
"I agree with your diagnosis. But it'll have to wait. You said 40 yards
that way?"
"Right. Oh, and, Malloy...have him call for transport for my victim here."
"Okay." Malloy moved off into the fog. He quickened his pace, anxious
to reach the paramedic and some assistance. He had moved about halfway when
voices caused him to slow.
The voices belonged to two males, which wasn't unusual, given the amount
of firemen in the area, but the tone of the voices set some internal alarm
off in the police officer. He would have expected a tone of command, laced
with tension, and maybe a bit of frantic haste. But the tone he was catching
in these voices was none of those. Malloy heard anger and sarcasm in one,
desperation and a tinge of fear in another. Pete stopped, raised the shotgun,
and strained to make out the words.
"Don't...don't you do that! Leave her alone!"
"Shut up and get over here, hose jockey! You've got a job to do!"
"I will, I will...you...just.. move away from her."
"Can't do it. When I get what I want, she'll be safe."
"What IS it you want? I promised you some help!"
"See these?"
"Yeah....handcuffs."
Malloy stiffened. "Bingo," he said to himself.
*****
A few feet away from where Malloy had stopped, John Gage had become an
unwilling participant in Erik Jenssen's escape plans.
Still rubbing his knee, Johnny looked up in disbelief at the behemoth
of a man standing before him. The young man was absolutely huge, and the
paramedic had no doubt whatsoever that he could break the woman's neck quickly
and effectively. Thank God she was out, drowsing from the MS. The irrational
thought that it was weird the guy would threaten her neck when it was her
neck that was injured passed through his mind. A second random thought crossed
through next. Why was the guy standing with his hands behind his back?
"Did you hear me?" the man's voice cut through John's temporary reverie.
"I'll break her neck, I swear it!"
"Don't....don't you do that!" John recovered his voice. "Leave her alone!"
"Shut up and get over here, hose jockey! You've got a job to do!"
"I will, I will...you...just move away from her." John raised his hand
in a placating gesture and made his voice as humble as he could make it.
He attempted to smooth his face into a calming expression. He sure didn't
want to make this guy angrier than he already was.
"Can't do it. When I get what I want, she'll be safe."
"What is it you want?" John asked holding both his hands out. "I promised
you some help!"
"See these?" the big guy turned his trunk so that Gage could see behind
his back.
Handcuffs! Oh, God, the man's an escapee! John's heart sank. This
guy was not only big, he was bad news. "Yeah," John managed to keep his
voice calm. "Handcuffs."
"Good boy. And they say firemen are stupid!" he pierced John with a look.
"Now get up here and cut 'em off me!"
John's mouth went dry. He couldn't help but drop his jaw. "C...cut them
off you?"
"Aw, and you were doing so well. Did I stutter? Get up here and get these
cuffs off me!" the man was roaring in anger. "You got about two seconds or
I'm breaking your patient's neck!"
"Okay, okay!" John got to his feet quickly, wincing as a pain lanced through
his knee. "I have to, uh, get, uh, a tool." John pointed to the trauma box,
which Roy hadn't taken. Think, John, think...man, you've got to do something!
You can't cut this guy loose....he'll probably break YOUR neck. He doesn't
have use of his hands. You can throw the trauma box at him, knock him over...or
just push him over when you go to cut the cuffs...knock THAT guy over? Get
real, Gage! And if it doesn't work, you've killed your patient.
"Move faster, jerk!" the man yelled. "I got places to go and people to
see."
"I'm moving, I'm moving." Gee, what an idiot. I don't think he's playing
with a full deck.
John knelt by the trauma box and pulled out the largest pair of scissors
he could find. He thought they were strong enough to cut a link on the handcuff
chain.
Gage looked at the scissors and turned them over in his hand. It should
be easy to do something to this nut. He was going to have to stand behind
him to cut the chain. Why couldn't he just stab this guy? The man was
handcuffed, for God's sake. But could he risk his patient's life?
"Hey, fireboy! Stop daydreaming and get over here!"
John walked over to the escapee, stopping a few feet from his face. He
held out the scissors.
"Hey, those are dangerous!" the man objected. "What about wire cutters?"
"I don't have any wirecutters. Tools like that are back on my squad --
about 50 yards over there. Do you want me to go get 'em?"
"Right, wirecutters and 10 of your closest friends? No thanks. But I'm
warning you...if you even look like you're going to put those things anywhere
but on those cuffs, I'm not only gonna kill this woman, I'm gonna kill you.
And don't think I can't do it."
Of that, John Gage had no doubt. "I won't try anything," Gage promised,
but all the while his mind was whirling with possibilities. Where the hell
IS everybody? I thought ambulance attendants were on the way!
"Move around behind me, slowly, and cut the chain."
John hesitated. If he was going to make a move it had to be now. Just
jump him, Gage. Jump him now!
Gage took a slow step and tensed to charge the guy, when suddenly a shadowy
shape appeared to the side and slightly behind the prisoner. Gage froze and
turned his head toward the motion. A gruff, authoritative voice boomed from
the fog.
"Freeze, mister! Don't move a muscle! You've got a shotgun aimed right
at the back of your head!"
The very wet and muddy form of an LAPD officer formed out of the haze.
He was carrying a very big shotgun and it was aimed squarely at the prisoner's
head. Muddy or not, that officer was the most beautiful sight John Gage had
seen in a long time.
"Well, that piglet Reed was right!" the prisoner grinned. "You aren't
dead, Malloy!"
"No, I'm not," Malloy drawled, "but you will be if you don't back away
from the woman and get down on the ground."
"I think we have a standoff, here, Malloy," the prisoner continued to grin,
though he hadn't turned to face the officer.
The guy is crazy! He acts like he's enjoying this! Johnny was appalled
by the prisoner's attitude. There was a shotgun less than two feet from
his head and the guy was grinning!
"You see, I can break this woman's neck before you can react."
"You're not gonna do that," Malloy's voice was calm. "You're in enough
trouble. You've got no way out here. You're surrounded by firemen and law
enforcement. You can't win. Now stand down."
"How was piglet Reed doing when you left him?"
Huh? John was confused by the apparent non sequitir, but was
reassured when Malloy refused to respond to the bizarre question.
"I repeat," Malloy growled between clenched teeth. "Step away from the
woman and get face down on the ground."
"I hope I killed him." The prisoner again ignored Malloy's directive.
"One less pig to hassle me."
John looked over at Malloy. If the prisoner was trying to distract the
officer, it wasn't working. Malloy's face was set in stone, his blue eyes
staring down the barrel of the shotgun without wavering. John noticed that
the officer was injured -- a bleeding gash and a lump decorated the side of
his head. The blood was mixing with the rainwater that was pouring down his
face. The cop had to be hurting. Johnny was impressed with his poise.
Something about the officer's demeanor relaxed the paramedic, even in this
tense situation. Reed must be his partner and this guy did something to
him...he's trying to rattle Malloy. I've gotta do something to help!
"This is your last chance," Malloy warned. "Step away from the woman and
get face down on the ground."
"I've got a better idea," the prisoner countered. "You put down the boomer
and unlock these cuffs. Then I'll be happy to, ah, 'step away from the woman.'
Otherwise, my feet are getting restless. I'm about ready to snap her neck."
"You do that and you're going to get a head full of lead shot, pal."
"We'll see who's faster."
There was a tense silence. Gage tore his eyes from Malloy's face and looked
at the escaped prisoner. The big guy's expression was as determined as the
cop's. Johnny then looked down at the scissors in his hand. It was two against
one! He had to make a move. If the patient woke up, he didn't even want
to imagine what would happen. If only he had been able to get the collar
on her before.... The collar! The collar! Johnny could see the white
device lying on the pavement where he had let it drop when he'd been kicked
and the paramedic was suddenly struck with inspiration. "Uh, Officer Malloy,"
he spoke up.
"What?" Malloy responded, but he never took his eyes off his quarry.
"Ah, he can't break her neck."
"Why not?" Malloy asked. The shotgun held steady. His gaze never moved
from the prisoner.
"Yeah, why not?" the prisoner was staring straight into Johnny's face,
his eyes cold and vicious.
"I would have told you before now, but you've been doing all the talking."
Despite the chilly temperatures, John could feel sweat trickle down his back.
Gage, you're an idiot. This isn't going to work. Too late…
"You should choose your hostages more carefully," Gage continued, "because
this woman's neck is already broken."
The prisoner blinked, once, then snarled, "You're a lying bastard!"
"No, no, I'm not," John protested. "Look, you can see there, on the ground...the
white curved material...that's a cervical collar. You put those on people
with broken necks." Look, damn you, look!
The prisoner stared Johnny down for what seemed interminable seconds.
Unable to resist, however, he finally canted his eyes sideways where Johnny
was pointing.
That was the opening Johnny had been hoping for. Bolstered by the presence
of a policeman with a shotgun, he decided to gamble and make a move. With
the prisoner momentarily distracted, Johnny lunged at the brawny felon's legs.
Gage drove his head in between the man's knees and used his right arm to
pull the felon's left leg up and away from the victim. He threw himself up
and over, flying over the victim and knocking over the surprised prisoner.
They both fell to the pavement with a grunt. After that, things got wild.
The prisoner began bellowing curses and started to buck wildly, trying
to free his legs to get a kick at Gage. Johnny shifted his weight across
those massive limbs and tried to subdue him. It was like riding a tidal
wave. Within a fraction of a second, Malloy was in the picture. He, too,
put his weight into the struggling prisoner, pinning his upper body with
a knee to the mid-back. He jammed the barrel of the shotgun directly into
the base of the man's neck.
"It's over! It's over! You're down! Stop your struggling, now
! All I need is an excuse to pull this trigger, mister, and you'll stop
moving permanently!" Malloy's voice now held not only an edge of authority,
but of anger.
"And I'm pretty good with a pair of scissors," Johnny panted as he attempted
to pin those kicking legs. "Wouldn't take me but a second to turn you into
a soprano!"
"All right, all right!" the big man suddenly and unexpectedly relaxed.
"Just take it easy down there!"
John grinned up at Malloy as the officer turned and looked at the paramedic
clinging to the man's legs. "Guess you just have to know how to talk to 'em,"
he said breathlessly.
"I guess so," Malloy managed a weak grin in return.
"Name's John Gage -- fireman paramedic, LA County Station 51."
"Pete Malloy, LAPD. Sorry you got caught up in this little caper."
"Gage, what in the world are you doing?" Chet's voice sounded from the
fog and he suddenly appeared, escorted by two ambulance attendants dragging
a stretcher.
"It's a long story, Chet. Do me a favor and look in the trauma box. Get
a roll of one inch gauze."
"What for?"
"Just shut up and do it, Chet!" Johnny barked.
"Is he the patient?" one of the attendants asked.
"No, he's an escaped prisoner. She's the patient."
"Gage, are you getting delusional again?" Chet asked. He picked out the
gauze from the trauma box and held it out to Johnny.
"Malloy, can we wrap this guy's legs up?" Johnny asked, ignoring Chet's
jibe.
"Be my guest," Malloy shrugged. The position of the shotgun on the prisoner's
neck hadn't changed. "That won't hurt as badly as the shackles he's about
to be presented with."
"Can we take the patient now?" the ambulance attendant spoke again.
"The patient isn't quite ready. I've been a little busy. Just hang on,"
Johnny began wrapping the escapee's legs with the gauze as Chet stood staring.
"Before I came up on you, I met your partner, DeSoto, working on another
victim," Malloy turned to watch the wrap job Johnny was doing. "He said you
had a, uh, handi-talkie that could bring some help."
"Yeah, right. Chet get the HT there, by the box. Get us some help here."
Still looking confused and skeptical, Chet leaned down and picked up the
HT unit. "What do you need?"
"Two sheriff deputies, with leg shackles," Malloy instructed. "Oh, and
DeSoto wanted a stretcher for his victim."
Johnny nodded to the two attendants. "Why don't you guys go on and pick
up that victim? I've still got to put a collar on this one."
"About forty yards ahead, near the middle of the road," Malloy supplied.
The attendants moved off.
Chet made the call to the Cap as Johnny finished securing the prisoner.
"Well, pal, I don't think you're going to be going anywhere anytime soon,"
Gage stood and admired his handiwork.
"Except straight to jail," Malloy amended. He, too, stood, satisfied that
his prisoner was finally subdued.
For once, the prisoner had no smart-alec comeback.
"Cap's sending help," Chet reported. "Vince and his partner are close
by."
"Good. I've got to see to this victim." Johnny was back in full paramedic
mode. He retrieved the c-collar and knelt beside the woman.
"Is she going to be all right?" Malloy asked. "Does she really have a
broken neck?"
"I think she's gonna be fine," Johnny answered. "I'm really not sure if
the neck is broken or not. But I'm putting this on because I know something
isn't right with it. I medicated her with a painkiller before he showed up.
It knocked her out. Thank goodness."
The prisoner muttered something unintelligible.
"You're a city cop," Chet observed. "What are you doing out here? This
your prisoner?"
Malloy looked up at the fireman and nodded wearily. "Prisoner transfer.
Didn't go exactly by the book."
"Chet, help me get this woman on the backboard," Johnny requested.
Chet complied and just as the two had secured the woman, two ambulance
attendants showed up.
"Careful now, this woman has possible neck and back injuries," Johnny said,
holding the IV bag high as they lifted her onto the stretcher. The paramedic
turned to Malloy.
"I have to travel with this patient," he told the officer. "If I don't
see you again, thanks for bailing me out back there. You're my new best friend."
He flashed a grin at Malloy.
"I should thank you. You've got a good head on your shoulders. It took
a lot of courage to do what you did. I'm not sure what would have happened
if you hadn't acted."
"I'd shake your hand, but I'd rather you kept this guy covered."
"Consider it shaken. Thanks again."
"Anytime. Let's go, fellas."
*****
Malloy watched the young paramedic move off into the mist. Now that the
immediate crisis had passed, the officer was feeling every ache and pain inflicted
by the accident and the trip up the muddy slope. He was having to fight
to keep himself upright and alert. Standing here guarding the now mute prisoner,
whose name he still couldn't remember -- the sight of him had stirred no
memories -- he had time to think about Reed, trapped in the car, possibly
dying. Every emotional instinct Pete had was telling him to go back and
check on his young partner, but every professional instinct was overriding
them and demanding he do his duty.
"Are you okay, officer? Is there anything I can do to help you?"
Malloy looked over at the fireman Gage had called "Chet." He hadn't realized
the fireman hadn't left with the others.
"My name's Chet Kelly," the man offered.
"Pete Malloy, LAPD," Malloy responded. He paused, and noticed Kelly still
had the handi-talkie. "And yes, I think you can help me. My black and white
is off the side of the road, down the slope about 100 yards. My partner is
trapped in the back seat, and he's hurt pretty badly. The car's unstable
-- it was sliding further down the slope right before I got up here. Do you
think you could get some help down to him?"
"Of course. We didn't even realize there was anything down there...the
fog's so thick, we can't see and none of the victims have been coherent enough
to tell us anything about the accident." Chet picked up the handi-talkie.
"Engine 51, this is HT 51."
"HT 51, Engine 51. Go ahead."
"Cap, we've got a car off the road about 100 yards down the slope. Point
of exit is close to my location. It's unstable and has a badly injured victim
trapped in the back seat."
"Ten-four, HT 51. I'll send some men and ropes and you can check it out."
"Ten-four, Cap."
"Thanks," Malloy offered. "I can take you down there as soon as the deputies
take care of our friend here."
Chet opened his mouth to speak, but a clattering from the fog interrupted
him and the two ambulance attendants appeared, rolling the stretcher. DeSoto
was right behind them. The paramedic stopped short as he came upon the scene.
He motioned for the attendants to carry the victim on.
"I'll be right behind you, fellas," he called to the retreating men. "I
see you found your prisoner, Officer Malloy."
"Actually, your partner found him first. Or rather, he found your partner."
"Is Johnny okay?"
Malloy detected the edge of worry in DeSoto's voice. He supposed that
worrying about your partner was just a universal constant. Especially when
they were young and prone to rash action.
"You know Gage," Chet responded before Malloy could reassure DeSoto. "That
doofus always comes out smelling like a rose, even when he screws up."
"Yeah, I know Gage, and that's what worries me," Roy looked inquiringly
at Malloy.
"Your partner is fine. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, he's a hero.
He took this fella down for me." Malloy nodded confirmation as DeSoto's
eyes widened in disbelief.
"Just please don't use that word 'hero' around Gage," Chet pleaded. "We'll
never hear the end of it."
"Yeah, once my partner gets going on a subject, he's pretty hard to stop
sometimes," Roy agreed.
Malloy fought down a wave of emotion. "Mine, too," he whispered. And
I'd give anything if he were here right now, running on about any inane subject…
"I brought the cavalry!" Gage's exuberant voice sounded from the fog, interrupting
Malloy's thoughts.
"The cavalry indeed," Malloy thought as Gage came into view flanked by
two LA County Deputies carrying leg irons and two more paramedics with a
"10" on their helmets.
"Pete Malloy, LAPD," he greeted the deputies. DeSoto practically pounced
on the paramedics, pointing them in the direction of other victims.
"Vince Howard, LA County Sheriff's Department. My partner, Steve Lance.
Gage tells me you had a bit of excitement with this one."
"You might say that. I'd appreciate you taking this one off my hands.
I think I was bringing him to you anyway." Malloy motioned with the shotgun
toward his prisoner.
"You think?" Howard's dark face wore a puzzled frown.
Malloy looked a bit sheepish as he explained, "I took a lick on the head
and I'm having some trouble sorting out a lot of details. I'm afraid I can't
even give you his name."
This elicited another loud round of swearing from the big man.
"Just relax, buddy," Pete growled. "I don't need to know your name to
know you're bad news. What you tried to do to my partner is enough in my
book." Pete looked up at the deputy. "Tell you what. Have your dispatcher
contact my watch commander.. Sergeant William MacDonald, Rampart Division,
and he can tell you who this guy is and what the assignment was. Oh, wait,
he'll have gone home already." Pete searched his memory, trying to dredge
up Mac's home phone, but it wouldn't quite surface. "Damn, I can't remember
his home phone number."
"We'll call the precinct and take care of it. Lance, get this guy dressed
to go," Vince shoved the leg irons into his partner's hands. "You crack up
your unit?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Want me to let 'em know for you?"
"I'd appreciate it. I don't know what shape my partner's in; he's still
trapped in the car." Malloy took a deep breath. "He's married, and he's very
protective of his wife. Mac -- my watch commander -- should be the one to
tell her."
Vince nodded. "I understand. Relax, I'll take care of it."
"Okay, Vince, as soon as somebody cuts Gage's handiwork here, we're ready
to go." Vince's partner gave him a nod.
"I'll do it," Gage grinned, brandishing the scissors.
"Just make sure that gauze is all you cut!" the prisoner snarled.
A few snips later, the gauze fell away and the deputies hauled the massive
man to his feet and led him shuffling away.
Malloy finally allowed himself to relax. He lowered the shotgun, suddenly
feeling weak-kneed and fighting against it.
"I thought you fellas had to ride in with your patients."
"Well, we had a bit of luck with that," John told him. "I was just telling
Roy while you were talking to Vince. A carload of nurses carpooling to Rampart
was caught in the traffic. They volunteered to ride escort with victims so
we can stay and work in the field." He paused. "And my next victim is you,
Malloy. Let me take a look at that head."
"Go get my partner first," Malloy insisted.
"We're gonna take care of your partner," John assured him. "The rest of
my station is coming with equipment to get down the slope. Until they're
ready, we'll look at you. Chet, why don't you go make sure they find us."
"Right," Kelly jogged off into the mist.
"There's gotta be others out there in worse shape than me."
"Are you always this stubborn?" John had his penlight back out. "We have
two other squads taking care of victims. We're about to get your partner.
It won't take me three minutes to give you a look."
"All right," Malloy finally acquiesced.
"Why don't you sit down here?" John pointed to the bumper of the Buick.
Malloy lay the shotgun down on the decklid and lowered himself onto the
bumper. Once he sat down, he realized just how weak and tired he was.
"Look right here for me," John pointed to his own forehead. "Ok, good...now
follow the light with just your eyes. All right, great. I'm gonna get your
pulse and bp now. Roy, you got Rampart yet?"
"They're standing by."
"What's taking your men so long?" Malloy asked.
"Just relax, they're on the way. Be quiet, now and let me listen for your
bp." Johnny completed the procedure and called out the vitals to Roy. "Pulse
is 110, bp 140 over 90, respirations 16. Pupils equal and reactive."
Roy looked up at the officer. "How old are you?"
"How old am I?" Malloy repeated.
Roy smiled. "Don't be insulted. It's a routine question."
"Thirty-four. But I'm feeling about 80 right now."
"Headache?" Roy continued his questions.
"A killer."
"Nausea?"
"Yeah."
"Blurry vision?"
"You're batting a thousand."
"Still have that memory loss?"
"I'm afraid so."
Roy turned to the biophone as Johnny began to treat the gash on the side
of Pete's head.
"Rampart, this is Squad 51."
"We read you 51. Go ahead." This time the respondent was Brackett.
"Rampart, we have a male, age 34, suffering from head trauma. There is
bruising and a contusion on the left side of the head just superior to the
temple. Patient is conscious and coherent, but suffering from severe headache,
nausea and blurred vision. Patient also has short term memory loss. Vitals
are as follows: pulse, 110, bp 140 over 90, respirations 16. Pupils are
equal and reactive."
"51, start an IV with lactated Ringers TKO and transport as soon as possible."
"That's a TKO IV, lactated Ringers and transport as soon as possible.
Ten-four, Rampart."
"I don't need an IV," Pete objected.
"It's just a precaution. We need an open vein just in case." John reached
for
the drug box that was sitting next to the biophone, but turned when footsteps
and familiar voices sounded from the fog.
Chet appeared again, a coil of rope tossed around his shoulder. He was
flanked by Marco and Mike, who were similarly equipped.
"Where's the exit point?" Chet asked Malloy.
"I'll take you there," Malloy was looking past Chet at Lopez. He started
to rise, but Johnny's firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back.
"Oh, no you don't. You're in no shape. You're going to stay right here
and get your IV and then to the....is something wrong?" John followed Pete's
gaze.
"Is your name Sanchez?" Pete directed the question to Marco.
"Ah, no...Lopez."
"You have a cousin named Sanchez?" Pete asked Marco.
"Oh, please don't get Marco started on his family!" Chet moaned. "He's
got more cousins than hairs on his head."
"Unless I'm really hallucinating, you and this guy I work with are dead
ringers," Pete shook his head. "Except for the moustache."
"I'm sure I have a Sanchez hidden somewhere," Marco flashed a smile. "I'll
ask my mama."
Pete turned back to Johnny. "Let me at least show you where I believe
we left the road. I won't go down."
"All right. We'll set up there." John began gathering equipment.
Malloy let Johnny give him a hand up. He took the shotgun and led the
men to where he had come up. His makeshift signal was still there, the
rain-soaked kerchief fluttering in the wind.
"I didn't trust my memory," Pete explained.
"Good idea, man," Johnny nodded.
"The car is pretty much straight down," Pete told the firemen. "It's about
100 yards or so -- or at least it was. It's on its side -- passenger side.
My partner is in the backseat. His left leg is tangled in the driver's side
rear door. He's hanging by that and his seat belt."
"Did you notice any gasoline leakage?" Marco asked. That had been the
one bizarre miracle of the day -- not a single fire had resulted from the
MVA.
"No. But the rain would have washed it away, I suppose."
Roy began buckling a lifebelt around his waist and rigging ropes. "What's
your partner's name?"
"Jim. Jim Reed."
"How old is he?"
Malloy's voice was quiet. "Twenty-six."
Malloy acknowledged the look of sympathy that Roy gave him with a barely
noticeable nod.
"Don't worry. We'll get him out. It's going to be okay. Chet and I are
going to go down there. I'm going to see to your partner and we'll secure
ropes to the car. After we see the situation, we'll make a plan of action."
Roy looked over at Chet. "You ready?"
"Ready."
"Got the HT?"
"Got it."
"Let's go."
"Be careful," Johnny called.
"You bet." It was Chet who responded.
Malloy watched the two firemen as they disappeared down the slope, their
ropes belayed by their companions. "Go carefully," he thought, but go quickly.
"Please, God, don't let it be too late." *****
Roy DeSoto swore silently as he slipped in the mud yet again. He dragged
himself to his feet, shook rain from his face and continued his descent.
How the hell did Malloy make it up this slope in his condition? Roy
was amazed at the officer's tenacity. And the prisoner...handcuffed!
Roy and Chet had descended so far that neither the bottom of the slope
nor the top near the highway were visible. It was like a no-man's land of
white cotton candy. Roy had been in fire situations where the smoke was
thick. This wasn't quite that bad, but almost. At least fog is breathable!
But this rain! It's never going to stop. Mudslides are inevitable.
Beside him, Chet's feet went out from under him and Roy reached over to
help him up.
"This is insane!" Kelly cried. "How'd those people make it up without
ropes?"
"Desperation," Roy responded. "You okay?"
"Yeah...let's go."
It wasn't quite 100 yards to the car but by the time they reached it, it
felt more like 1,000 yards. Roy could understand how Malloy could have overestimated
the length. When they caught sight of the car, they were only a few feet
off to the right from where the wrecked radio car lay on its side. The two
men eased down to where they could assess the car's steadiness.
Roy's eyes immediately searched for the young officer through the fog.
When he got to where he could see, he found that Jim Reed was right where
Malloy said he would be. Careful not to bump the car, Roy snaked his hand
through the broken window to check for a pulse and was relieved when he found
one. It was rapid and weak, but it was there.
"He alive?" Chet asked.
"Yes. I need to get in there!"
"Not until we get it stabilized," Chet objected. "Look at it! You can
tell it's already been sliding and if you get in there it's going to start
up again." Chet paused. "If I remember this stretch of road correctly, it's
a long way down. We're almost too far for ropes as it is!"
"You're right," Roy agreed. "Let's see about getting it tied off, then."
"Okay."
The men surveyed the car, looking for the best place to secure the lines.
Roy wanted to turn the hood down, to try to alleviate some pressure on Reed's
seat belt, but there wasn't a place on the rear bumper to tie it off. They
had to settle for putting one rope through the broken rear door window frame
and the frame to the windshield and another one through the rear and front
door frames. Now came the task of getting back UP the slope to secure those
ropes.
Roy took the handi-talkie from Chet.
"Engine 51, this is HT 51."
"HT 51, Engine 51. Go ahead."
"Cap, we have the car tied off and we'll be bringing up the ropes. We'll
need to try to bring the engine or the squad through to secure."
"The squad's already waiting for you up top, DeSoto. Your partner's been
busy up here. I'm at the location directly above you. The officer wants to
know about his partner's condition."
"Tell him he's alive. But I can't get to him to get him out until we secure
the car."
There was a pause. Then Cap's voice sounded through the hand-talkie again.
"Ten-four, HT 51."
"Listen, Roy, you stay here with the victim. I can take these ropes up
myself."
"Are you sure? They're heavy!"
"I'm sure. Tell me what equipment you want sent down."
"You know we'll need a stokes. I can't treat him down here, so there's
no need for the biophone or the drug box. Send the trauma box, a backboard
and a c-collar, just in case." Roy mentally ran through a checklist. "Oh,
and a blanket."
"What about the door?"
"It's pretty bad. I think we're going to need the jaws so that means the
portapower, too. It's really hard to say."
"I'll be back as soon as I can. But we'll give you a call on the HT when
you can get in."
"Thanks." Roy watched Chet give the rope a tug, then start the long ascent
up the hill.
The paramedic moved his hand back to Reed's throat to check the pulse.
There was no change. The officer's breathing was labored and shallow and
Roy was concerned about the amount of blood covering the young man. He was
also shivering and wet. Probably hypothermic and shocky. That leg looks
bad, but I can't tell anything until I can get inside.
Roy didn't want to agitate the victim, but he wanted to know how deeply
unconscious Reed was. He decided to attempt to wake him.
"Jim. Jim Reed, can you hear me?" Roy tapped the unconscious officer gently
on the shoulder. "Jim?"
He got no response initially, but a second try elicited a groan from the
young man.
"Jim? Jim, can you hear me? I'm a paramedic, here to help you."
Reed's head moved and he mumbled something Roy couldn't understand.
"Don't move, now. Take it easy. I'm here to help." Roy kept a reassuring
hand on the officer's shoulder.
"Pete..?" Jim moaned, his voice barely audible. "Pete?"
"Pete's fine," Roy assured him, though he wasn't certain Reed could comprehend
anything. He was going to be in pain once he woke up fully, and he was a
long way from pain medication. "Your partner's okay. He's waiting for you
up top."
"Pete," Jim repeated, then fell still and silent again.
The ropes securing the car went suddenly taut and almost simultaneously
his handi-talkie squawked.
"HT 51, Engine 51."
"Engine 51, HT 51. Go ahead, Cap."
"We're all tied off up here. You can get in the car now. I'm sending
Gage and Lopez down with your equipment."
"Ten-four, Engine 51." Roy secured the handi-talkie and hoisted himself
up on the decklid of the squad car. He had already decided to go in through
the shattered rear windshield.
Roy's helmet and turnout coat protected him from the jagged glass. He
wriggled through the opening and slid into the floorboard next to Jim.
"Well, Jim, you're sure in a mess here," Roy spoke aloud, though Reed had
lapsed into unconsciousness again. The paramedic began a cursory examination
of Jim's body, looking for trauma. He was surprised that he found no broken
bones in the three free limbs, and the left lower leg was unbroken, as well,
though the ankle was swollen and probably sprained. He found only minor cuts
on the right side and back of his body, but his left arm was cut up pretty
badly with glass. Roy noted the dirty footprint on the young man's chest
and figured out what had happened. He opened up Jim's uniform shirt as far
as he could until the seat belt impeded progress, but he was able to move
his undershirt enough to see a deep bruise had formed on the chest. He
palpated the chest and found no obvious fractures, though there was another
deep bruise on the left side. Explains the shallow breathing. He's gotta
be hurting. Being unconscious is merciful.
Reed's nose was swollen and dried blood there testified to some type of
facial trauma. The upper lip was cut and still bleeding. On the left side
of his head there was a large lump and some contusions. And then there was
the leg.
Reed's left thigh was tangled with twisted metal from the door that had
punctured the interior padding. In the process, the door's handle had partially
impaled the leg. It didn't look to be deeply imbedded, but it was there,
nonetheless. That would have to be cut out of the door and taped before anything
else could be moved. The leg was bleeding, but not heavily, and there was
no bright red blood seeping from the wound. But Roy couldn't see the entire
limb because of the uniform pants and the metal.
DeSoto reached over and tried to lift the metal from around Reed's leg,
but his strength wasn't sufficient. If he had a better position from which
to work he might have been able to get it, but it was impossible to do so
from his crouch on the floorboard. He decided from that effort that a portable
saw would be easier and faster than trying to use the jaws. He reached for
the handi-talkie, but abandoned the call. Through the window, he could see
Gage, who was secured on a line and sliding down the incline.
"How is he Roy?" Johnny stuck his head in through the window. "Looks rough."
"Kinda hard to say. The worst thing is the leg, but he's got some major
bruising on the chest. Looks like the big guy kicked him."
Johnny nodded. "That's what Pete said. And trust me, Roy, the guy can
kick. I'm surprised he doesn't have a flail chest."
"Not enough leverage for the guy," Roy mused. He changed tacks. "We can't
treat him here. We're going to have to get him out and treat him up top."
"Wanna take him through the rear window?"
"Yeah. Soon as we cut him out. Did you happen to put a portable saw in
the stokes?"
"Sure did. Cap said to try that before we hauled out the portapower and
the jaws."
"I think it'll work."
"You going to cut from inside or out?" Johnny asked.
"Inside. The door handle is sticking in his leg. It's not too deep, but
it's deep enough. I'll have to cut that out of the door and stabilize it
first."
"You want me to do it?"
"No, I'm in here already. Just get him covered up and get the stokes ready
for the trip up."
"Speaking of the stokes, here it comes." Johnny went to steady the stokes
stretcher and pulled the saw Roy needed from the pile of equipment.
Lopez joined him within seconds. His uniform was muddy from a couple of
slips he'd taken on the way down, but he helped Johnny clear out the stokes
as Roy prepared to free the trapped officer.
"Give me the blanket!" Roy called. He took it from his partner and covered
Jim with it as best he could. He wrapped it around Jim's face, making a protective
hood.
"Stokes is ready. Where do you want me?" Johnny asked.
"Why don't you clear that jagged glass out of the back windshield and stay
close in case the saw wakes him up?"
"Right." Johnny retrieved his all-purpose tool and started knocking away
the jagged shards of glass remaining in the rear frame.
"I don't know what's going to happen when that leg comes free," Roy said
to Johnny. "Be ready for anything."
Johnny nodded and Roy started up the saw. He'd just started the first cut
when Reed, apparently startled by the sudden loud noise, began to thrash and
push at the blanket.
"Whoa!" Johnny reached in through the window and tried to calm him. "Take
it easy! Calm down!"
Roy killed the power and set the saw down on the floorboard. Reed was
awake, looking confused and agitated. Roy put a gentle hand on Jim's shoulder.
"Jim, my name's Roy and I'm here to get you out." Roy paused as the injured
young man blinked several times, seemingly trying to clear his head and get
his bearings. He moaned quietly once or twice as he began to come fully awake.
"I'm with the LA County Fire Department. I'm a paramedic," Roy continued
calmly and cheerfully. "Your leg is twisted in the door. I have to cut the
metal away to get you out. Do you understand me?"
There was a long pause as Jim attempted to draw himself to the here and
now from wherever he'd been. His lips moved silently a few times until finally
he spoke. "My....partner's...in..."
"Your partner is fine," Roy assured him yet again. "He's out of the car
and waiting for you up on the highway."
"Pete....okay?"
"He's just fine," Johnny spoke from the window. Reed turned his head slowly
to look at the other paramedic. "I just talked with him a few minutes ago.
He said to quit goofing off and get up there." Gage smiled at him.
Reed actually managed a shadow of a smile himself, then frowned. "Prisoner....escaped.."
"That's all taken care of, too," Roy said. "He's in custody."
Reed relaxed visibly.
"So, you see, all you need to do is relax and let us get you out of here.
You'll be at the hospital before you know it. Everything's going to be all
right." Roy retrieved the saw. "I have to use this to cut you out. Just
stay still and you'll be free in a jiffy."
"Okay." Reed nodded once.
"Are you in pain?" Roy asked.
"Some."
"Just hang in there. It'll be over soon."
Johnny reached in and adjusted the blanket to protect Jim's face again
and Roy went to work.
The cutting process took longer and was more tedious than Roy had anticipated.
The door handle came loose easily enough, and Johnny gave him the dressings
he needed to get it secured it to Reed's leg so that no further damage would
be caused when the officer was moved. The door frame itself was another matter
entirely. He had to work carefully to avoid flesh, and the metal was so
contorted, it took several angled cuts and some peeling away to free the
leg. Jim endured it all in stoic silence, staying very still and calm.
If he was in pain, he didn't show it. He would occasionally drift off, but
would awaken quickly. His only movements were involuntary shivering. Johnny
tried to keep the blanket wrapped around the young man, but by now even the
blanket was getting waterlogged.
Finally, after a long twenty minutes of cutting, the leg was free.
"Done!" Roy killed the power and handed it and his safety goggles to Marco
through the side window, where he'd been standing, helping to guide Roy from
the outside. "How you doing, Jim?"
"Okay." The response was weak and raspy. The sudden release of pressure
on the leg apparently was causing nerve endings to wake up, because Reed's
respirations went up sharply, as if he were keeping the pain at bay by tensing
against it.
Roy took the leg in both hands. He was relieved that the blood was still
merely trickling and not spurting. "I'm going to check this out before we
move you. I'm sorry, it's probably going to hurt." Roy reached in his pocket
and retrieved scissors to cut away the pants leg, careful to avoid the taped
handle. "Sorry about the uniform, too." he paused, studying and gently palpating
the thigh. "Well, this doesn't look too bad, considering...need to get this
bleeding stopped, but it looks like the major arteries were spared. You've
got some deep cuts, and I'm betting the femur is broken. But it's not compound."
He looked up at his partner. "Bring me some pads and tape, and a splint."
"Right." Johnny slithered off the car and went for the trauma box.
"I want you to know that you're going to be okay." Roy looked the officer
in the eyes and gave him his most sincere look. "Stay calm and you'll be
out of here before you know it. I know you're in some pain and there's going
to be more before we get you up top. But I promise you I'll do everything
I can for you just as soon as I can. Do you understand?"
Jim nodded weakly. "Yes," he wheezed.
"Here, Roy," Johnny appeared again and handed him the requested supplies.
"Thanks." Roy quickly applied the pads and taped them into place. "This
is just a stopgap to slow the bleeding while we move you. Now, I'm going
to put this around your leg to keep it stable. It's okay to yell if I hurt
you." The paramedic worked as swiftly and gently as he could. It took only
a few minutes to complete the task.
"Now let's get you out of here." Roy smiled at Reed, who was still remarkably
calm and quiet. "Johnny, can you support his upper body? He's going to sag
when I cut the seat belt."
"Sure." Johnny wriggled inside more, put his arms underneath Jim's and
then around the upper chest.
"Careful of the chest," Roy reminded.
"Okay, ready."
Roy sliced the seat belt with the scissors and Jim slid as the pressure
was released. Roy caught the lower body, but not before the jarring motion
caused Reed to gasp in pain.
"Easy now, easy. We're gonna take you right out that window and get you
in the stretcher. Hang on for a few minutes more."
Reed didn't respond.
"Let's go, Johnny...easy now...watch the sides."
"Marco, I need you!" Johnny called. "Help me with him!"
Marco hurried over and between the three of them, they moved and secured
Jim into the stokes as quickly and as easily as possible. The injured officer
drifted in and out of consciousness, reacting to the pain, but stayed still
and calm and the work went quickly.
When they were ready, Roy notified Cap over the handi-talkie. "Engine
51, this is HT 51. We're ready. Pull him on up."
