Jason Low
presents
BLOOD, HEAT, & TEARS

Author's Notes:
Greetings, and thank you for reading. This is a story I wrote a long while ago,
as I wanted to write something that dealt with the fire service - my full-time
job. The story isn't as well written as I'd like it to be, but it stands as one
of my earliest original works that I can be proud of having actually completed.
I know it's not perfect, and please be gentle. Thanks!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

 The alarm tones cut through the night, rousing the crew of 81 Station. The
bunkroom lights came up and the dispatcher's urgent voice cave over the
loudspeaker.
 "81 Pump and Aerial, 26 Tank, 70 Pump, Rescue, and Medic, second alarm for a
house fire, map 3509 delta 5. 14890 280 Street southwest, that's 14890 280
Street southwest. Zone C16, tac C2, oh three oh one."
 The ten people that composed the pump and aerial crews leapt up, got into
their gear, and slid down the poles to the apparatus floor. They took their
assigned positions on the trucks. For Kim Lorne, a 6-month member of the
department, it was nozzle 'man'-the term still used, even though many females
were on the department now. Kim had only been on a couple dozen fire calls so
far, most of them grass fires and vehicle fires and the like. This would be her
third confirmed building fire.
 Captain Gerry Hutton, the man in charge of the pump crew, looked over his
shoulder as they left the hall, and saw the excitement in Kim's eyes. "Take it
easy," he said to his young charge. "Keep your head."
 "Roger, Cap," she smiled.
 It took them four minutes to travel to 146 Avenue and 280 Street southwest.
The dispatcher was calling again as they turned onto 280 Street. "81 Pump, 81
Pump, this is Fire Dispatch, urgent."
 Gerry pressed the Transmit button on the headset system. "81, go."
 "81, 84 Command is reporting firefighters trapped."
 Kim heard Gerry 'roger' the dispatcher over the headset as she rechecked her
air pack's shoulder harnesses, making sure they were tight. Her partner, Wes
McCall, checked her gear, then let her check his. She gave him a thumbs-up,
which he returned.
 "Dispatch, 81 Pump and Aerial are on scene," Gerry transmitted.
 "81, roger."
 Kim and Wes climbed down off the truck. They saw two firefighters spill out of
the front door of the blazing house, and hoped it was the missing pair.
 No such luck. The incident commander, Captain Earl Richards of Engine 84, came
up to Gerry. "Gerry, I need two to do a search. All my men are exhausted and
out of air."
 Gerry pointed to Kim and Wes, and they stepped forward to take orders from
Captain Richards. "Two in the master bedroom," he told Kim, "with possibly two
civilians there as well. Master bedroom's right at the top of the stairs."
 Kim nodded, then turned to Wes and repeated the information. "Two and two,
second floor, up the stairs and straight in!" she shouted through her mask.
 "Right hand search?" he asked her.
 "Yeah," she nodded. She turned and walked toward the front door. Even at three
in the morning, she could see the thick black smoke being forced from the
structure. Her mind immediately told her that the black smoke meant there were
hydrocarbons-gas or oil-on fire.
 As if to confirm it, Wes leaned in and pointed at the house. "See the smoke?
There's gasoline or something involved in there!"
 She nodded. "Could've been set." That was of no consequence at the moment;
more important was the location and condition of the firefighters and the
people they'd gone in to rescue. "Ready?" she said as they reached the doorway.
 "Let's go!" he urged.
 And they were in. The stairs were directly ahead of them, and hoselines snaked
upward. They crawled up the staircase and followed the one hoseline straight
ahead into the master bedroom.
 Kim dropped to her hands and knees, performing a perfect right-hand search.
She kept in touch with the wall with the back of her right (gloved) hand, and
Wes had a death grip on her left leg with his right hand. In that fashion, they
spread out and crawled along the floor of the room, performing a search,
heading to the right.
 It took them almost two minutes to search all the clutter in the corner of the
room. They continued along the next wall, and Kim put her left hand on
something soft. At first she thought she'd put her hand on a section of floor
that'd started to give way, but then she realized that she was touching
something made of rubber, cylindrical, about twenty centimeters across, and
with a twin right beside it.
 Firefighter's boots.
 "Got one!" she hollered at Wes, who scrambled up beside her. They could barely
see the man as they turned him over onto his back. An infant as lifeless as he
was spilled out of his arms.
 Kim picked up the baby while Wes took hold of the firefighter's air pack
straps. They heard a crashing noise and saw all the smoke start to rush to one
end of the room. They looked up and saw that the aerial crew had broken the
window from the outside, ventilating the room to the outside air.
 Kim crawled to the window and passed the baby to the firefighter on the
ladder. She returned and helped Wes drag the downed firefighter to the window
and push him through as well. She turned and blinked. Most of the smoke had
left the room and she could now see that all the room lights were on. The black
smoke had been so thick before that she'd thought there was no light at all in
the room. Now that the room had cleared out, she and Wes could see the
remaining two victims-the firefighter face-down on the floor beside the bed, on
top of which a woman in her 30s lay.
 Wes grabbed the second firefighter by the air pack straps and hauled him to
the window. Kim went to the bed and picked up the woman. Even though she and
the woman were roughly the same size, Kim had a hard time of it for two
reasons. One, the woman was dead weight-perhaps literally-and two, Kim was all
but exhausted from the burden of the air pack and the duration of the search.
 Still, it was her job, so she hoisted the woman up over her shoulder and made
her way back to the window. After passing the woman to the crew on the ladder,
she made a quick scan of the room, realized that Wes was already on his way
down the ladder (and therefore she was the last one in the room), and climbed
out onto the ladder.
 When she reached the ground, Kim tore her mask and helmet away and crouched in
the muddy back yard beside the young woman, beginning CPR. She looked up to
find someone to help her, but the crews from the two medic units were tending
to the fallen firemen, and Wes was doing infant CPR by himself. Kim turned back
to the woman and continued alone.
 It seemed like an hour, but she knew it had to have been less than ten minutes
by the time she heard more sirens, and knew that more medic units were
arriving. She looked at the woman's face, and the body's eyes suddenly opened.
 "Why didn't you save us?" the woman croaked.
 Kim jumped back, gasped in shock-
 -and woke up.
 Sweating profusely, she looked at the clock. It read 5:14, a good forty-six
minutes before she even had to think about getting up.
 (Well, I guess some things never change,) she thought, rubbing her face with
her hand. She was still having the nightmare, two years after the fact.
 She hoped nobody would think that she'd put in for this transfer because of
that call. She had other reasons, valid ones.
 (Oh, well. Time to start a new day, on a new shift, at a new station.)
 In the fire service, that amounted to a new life.
 
FIRST TOUR, FIRST DAY 0654

 The sun had just risen on another brilliantly great Saturday as Kimberly Lorne
walked to her job, her bright red gear bag slung over her right shoulder. She
smiled, eager to get to her new station. She was a Firefighter/EMT, formerly
from Station 81. She had just recently come up to the required seniority before
getting a transfer, and she requested a transfer to Station 50 and "C" Shift,
never expecting it'd happen.
 (The gods must be smiling on me), she reflected once more as she walked around
the corner and had the fire station in sight. A brown cedar building, designed
to fit in with the community, sat there. All four south-facing bay doors were
open and the fronts of each of the trucks there gleamed in the morning light.
 She quickened her pace slightly as she crossed the road in front of the
station and went to seek out the Station Officer.
 
 In between the pump and the ladder, S/O Jim Walters was shaking his head in
disbelief. "You call that washing a truck?" he snapped at the firefighter on
top of the bedded ladder. "Jesus Christ."
 "Cap, I haven't washed there yet," came the reply. "I'm still trying to get
some ashes out of the fly here." Fred Bell pointed to the ladder section.
"Somebody was using it as an ashtray yesterday when he was running the flag up
the ladder for Canada Day."
 "Pfah," Walters said, taking another drag and tapping the ashes on the ground.
He heard someone come up behind him and spun around. "What?!"
 He found a woman behind him. She shrunk back a little as he snapped at her.
 "Kim Lorne, sir," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm transferred here as of
today."
 Walters made a sound that was part laugh, part cough. "Yeah. Right. First
things first, Lorne, I want all my crew here at six-thirty, not seven. Got it?"
 "Absolutely, sir," she said, continuing to smile slightly. When it became
apparent that Walters wasn't going to shake her hand, she withdrew the offer
and stopped smiling.
 "Put your gear on the C shift rack and go be useful. You're driving the medic
this tour."
 She smiled and saluted, hoping she wasn't going over the edge (but guessing
she was). "Gotcha, boss." She turned and walked away, rolling her eyes when she
was out of the S/O's sight.
 
 The medic was already clean, even down to the wheel wells. The EMT on board
for C shift made sure he came in early each day shift to do just that. (Not
that they already had to come in EARLY early anyway, to please Nutcase Walters,
but anyway.)
 Today, Senior Firefighter/EMT Tom Wright was sitting on the squad bench, feet
up on the cot, watching his normal job-to check out every piece of equipment
onboard-be done by someone else. That someone else was Alex Perry, a
20-year-old probie who'd been detailed to ride as the third man on the
ambulance for the tour. Tom's eyes followed the probie around the back of the
ambulance as the younger man darted back and forth, suddenly 'remembering'
another piece of gear he'd forgotten to check.
 "Box 5, above the LifePak," Tom finally monotoned.
 The probie paused. "Right." He turned and realized he'd forgotten where the
LifePak was.
 Tom was shaking his head and smiling when the rear door opened and a familiar
face poked inside. "Good morning, gentlemen. I'm Kim, and I'll be your driver
for the day."
 Tom broke into a big grin, matching Kim's expression. "Hi," he said.
 The probie turned around in time to see Tom and this Kim person giving each
other a quick kiss.
 "Kim Lorne, this is Probationary Firefighter Alex Perry," Tom said. "Alex-Kim
is my SO."
 The probie was even more confused.
 Kim leaned on the end of the cot. "Not Station Officer," she smiled.
"Significant Other."
 "Ah," he nodded, and went back to work, having found the LifePak.
 "I take it your transfer came through," Tom said to Kim.
 "Yup," she smiled. "Gonna take me a couple days to get used to C."
 "We'll also need to go do some district familiarization," Tom said, knowing
full well that Kim lived in the area-as did he-and didn't need to learn it.
 She grinned and arched her eyebrows. "Too bad we have a probie with us this
tour." She was about to say something else when another person was in the
doorway behind her. The dark-haired, moustached man smiled warmly. "Hi, Kim,"
he said. He was Mike Adams, a B-shift firefighter/paramedic, just getting off
shift. She'd been on B-shift before she transferred, and since 81's area was
only a district away from 50's, she had met him more than once on calls.
 "Hi, Mike," she said. "I'm here on C now."
 "I'm sorry," he smiled. He looked at her uniform: Like all the other crew
members, she had on a dark blue short-sleeved work shirt, black uniform pants,
and black boots. Unlike the others at 50, she had a black tie on as well. "What
the hell is Gerry at 81 teaching you people these days?" Mike said tiredly. In
a flash, he'd pulled Kim's medic shears out of her hip holster and had cut the
tie off just below the knot. "We're a LITTLE bit more relaxed here at 50."
 Kim stood there, jaw hanging open, as Mike draped the cut-off pieces of tie on
her shoulder, over her left epaulet, and walked away. Inside the unit, Tom was
bursting into laughter, nearly rolling off the squad bench. She glared at him.
 "Oh, hon, relax," he said, trying to stop laughing. "Those clip-ons are a dime
a dozen. I've got eleventy thousand of them at my place. I'll give you one. We
don't use them here anyway-they get tangled up in too much." He stood up and
opened the back door of the medic. "I'm goin' to have some breakfast."
 Alex Perry was still standing there in shock when Kim tore apart the knot and
pulled the remaining piece of the real tie off in anger.
 
 John Franklin looked up as Tom entered the kitchen. "Oh, shit," he said. "Hide
the peanut butter."
 "Up yours," Tom answered, joking around just as John was. He did head right
for the bread and peanut butter, though.
 "Hey, you can't talk to me like that," John said.
 "You're not a Lieutenant yet, SIR," Tom pointed out. "Until then, I'm going to
take every opportunity I can get to berate a man of equal rank."
 "You're just sore 'cause I'm such a better senior man than you."
 "Bite me. Over."
 "Hey," Lieutenant Helen LaSalle said as she entered the kitchen, "It's Tom. I
hear you got Kim assigned here."
 "She asked for the transfer," Tom said, sitting down at the table with a
peanut butter sandwich. He snatched the remote out of John's hand and switched
the TV to the movie channel. "Jesus, that stock market crap is annoying."
 John took the remote back, turned back to the stock channel, and made a point
of turning up the volume.
 "It must be better for you two to be in the same station, on the same shift,"
Helen said, while she went to the counter to get some bread.
 "While you're over there, put your five bucks in," Tom told her, gesturing to
the margarine tub labeled "C". Obligingly, Helen pulled out a five dollar bill
and stuffed it into the kitty. "Yeah," he answered her statement.
 "Does Walters know?" John said, speaking about Kim and Tom's relationship.
 "He's the only one who DOESN'T," Tom said. "Even our probie knows now."
 "Speaking of which," Helen said, putting her bread into the toaster and
looking at the doorway. Alex was just walking in.
 Tom looked over his shoulder. "All done?"
 "Yup," came the reply. Alex didn't know where he was and wasn't allowed to
sit, so he just remained standing.
 Tom was reading the paper now. Not looking up, he said, "Where's the spare key
kept?"
 "Pardon?"
 "On every unit owned by the Fire Department, there is a spare key hidden
somewhere. Where is it on the medic?" Tom clarified, still engrossed in the
paper.
 "Uh.. Compartment 2, outside."
 "Where in that box?"
 "Um.. stuck to the spare tire rim in a hide-a-key box."
 "Good." After a moment, Tom thought to ask, "That's where the sheet SAYS it's
SUPPOSED to be. Is it there?"
 "Absolutely," Alex said, with more confidence now.
 "Fantastic." Tom was about to quiz the man some more, but the tones went off.
Alex jumped, and the rest of the crew sat there and listened for a moment.
 "50 Pump, 29 Hazmat, this is a fuel spill, map 1804 golf 1," the dispatcher's
voice came on. Helen and John got up and started walking for the apparatus
floor. "5 Balsam Avenue, that's 5 Balsam Avenue, at the Gas'n'Go, a 15 liter
spill of gasoline. Zone C15, tac C5, time oh-seven-oh-nine."
 "FIFTEEN LITERS??" Tom could hear Helen's protest as she climbed into the
pumper. "It'll evaporate before we get there!"
 Tom took the opportunity to snatch the remote and switch to
something-ANYTHING-besides the stock channel. He stopped at the NASA/space news
channel. He looked over his shoulder at the probie still standing in the
doorway. "F'r chrissake, get something to eat and sit down," he told the
younger man.
 Kim walked in, followed by Dave Stevens and Bill Borders. She threw the bits
of tie on the seat beside Tom, as if to indicate that the seat was taken. Tom
looked down at the fabric as she went to the kitchen counter, and he realized
something. "It was a REAL tie?" he said.
 "It was," Kim acknowledged as she got the bacon and eggs out, "and it died a
valiant death."
 "Aw, I'm sorry. I'll make Mike buy you another."
 "Don't worry about it."
 "Hey, Tommy boy, turn off Star Trek," Dave said. "Anything but that."
 "Hey, Super Dave, not so much," Tom countered. "I had to put up with John's
goddamn stock tickers for all of eight minutes. You can suffer through this for
a few more. We should be getting an MVA any time now, anyway."
 "Oh," Kim said, turning to Tom again. "I put my gear in Box 1. I didn't know
if you had a set space you wanted me to use, but that looked like the only real
free space handy."
 "That's fine," Tom nodded. "Probie, while you're up, get me a chocolate milk."
 Alex, still seated, looked at Tom. Then he got up and went to the fridge.
 They heard the pump mark at-scene over the tabletop scanner. "Fifteen liters
of fuel, huh?" Dave said. "Sounds like someone got a little excited."
 "Uh-huh," Kim nodded. She went to sit down beside Tom and saw that Dave was in
her chair. She set her food down on the table and used both hands to push Dave
and chair aside, to the left. "Alex, hand me a chair, will ya?"
 The probie obligingly picked up a spare chair and pushed it towards Kim. She
slid it in the newly created space and sat down. Tom was chuckling.
 
 Helen looked at the powdered absorbent on the ground as she listened to the
young gas station attendant. John Franklin was beside her, scribbling on the
clipboard, composing the incident report. A police officer was beside John,
doing the same thing for his own report.
 "So I dunno if he wasn't paying attention or what," the kid was saying. "I saw
him get into his car, and I thought he might be gonna sit and wait for it to
fill-we get a lot of that around here. Anyway, he starts it up and drives away!
The nozzle tore off the hose, and the hose started spewin' gas all over the
place, and by the time I hit the kill switch, I figure about ten or fifteen
liters went on the ground. I didn't want nothin' to blow up, so I dumped a
whole bag of Absorb-X on it."
 Helen could see that; most of the absorbent was loose and blowing every time a
gust of wind picked up. "You probably didn't need that much," she said.
"Besides, things only blow up in the movies." She saw the kid's expression
begin to fall, so she hastily added, "But you were right to use it,
nonetheless."
 The crew finished picking up the sodden absorbent material and put it in a
trash bag. John took it over to the clean-pak dumpster, and the rest of the
crew went back to the rig to prepare to return home.
 
 "Waitin' fer a call, waitin' fer a call, waitin' fer a call," Tom muttered.
"Not yet, not yet, not yet.."
 He finished reading the paper and pushed it aside, where Bill Borders snatched
it up. "NOW we can have a call."
 Nothing happened, except Dave snatched the remote away and changed to the
movie channel. "NOW we can watch something with some excitement factor."
 "Ouch. I am wounded. Don't you find the exploration of space exciting?" Tom
said. He opened his chocolate milk.
 The tones went off.
 "50 Medic, 50 Aerial, this is a rescue call, map 1978 charlie 1. 40450 128
Avenue Southwest. Man in a machine, respond delta, card 22. Zone C15, tac C10.
Time oh-seven-eighteen."
 The kitchen emptied as the people there went to their apparatus. Tom climbed
into the medic and wedged his chocolate milk into the cup holder. Kim got in
the driver's seat, and Alex got in back. Over at the aerial, Bill Borders was
driving, Dave Stevens was the senior man, and Rob Ayers and Roy Elliott were
with him in the back seat. Ray Kramer climbed into the officer's seat, and they
were ready.
 "Let's go," Tom said. Kim put the big medium-duty medic into drive and roared
out of the station just ahead of the aerial. "50 Medic and 50 Aerial are going
to 40450 128 Avenue, on a 22-Delta," Tom announced on the radio. "Do you have a
heavy rescue en route?"
 "50 Medic, we're just dispatching 29 Rescue now," came the response. "They'll
be underway shortly."
 "Roger."
 
 "Alex," Tom called out as they rounded the corner, heading onto the highway.
 "Yes?" the probie said, leaning into the cab.
 "I'm thinking that you'll do the assessment, and I'll be there for vitals,
moral support, and an extra pair of hands. Kim will take care of the histories
and so on, and the fire crew will be able to do whatever you need, okay?"
 "Okay," Alex nodded. "Fine by me."
 Tom looked at Kim. "Fine by you?"
 She shrugged. "No problems here."
 The radio crackled to life. "50 Medic, 50 Aerial, 29 Rescue," the dispatcher
called.
 Ray answered, then the lieutenant on the Rescue, and then Tom pushed the
transmit button. "50 Medic, go ahead."
 "50, an update for you: Your patient is a 38-year-old male who has been struck
by a lawn tractor. He is apparently trapped underneath it with his legs under
the deck and his lower trunk under the front wheels, lying face down."
 Kim winced as the dispatcher continued. "Patient is conscious and breathing
and hasn't been moved yet. We're attempting to give prearrival instructions
now, but we're running into some difficulties."
 Whatever the difficulties were, they weren't Tom's problem. Yet. "Roger,
Dispatch, we're about four minutes out."
 "Roger, 50."
 Tom looked over his shoulder at Alex again, who had the headset pressed to his
ear to hear the update. "What do you want to bring in?"
 "Trauma kit, C-collars, oxygen, and a longboard," came the answer.
 "Good, good," Tom nodded. "I'm going to take the drug box in too. We've got
three paramedics on the aerial, and they might be able to give something to our
patient if he needs it."
 Alex nodded. "Okay."
 
 The dispatcher called once more as the medic was turning up the driveway.
"Another update, 50: The caller is the patient, he's calling us from the
cordless phone in the front yard. He's alone at the residence."
 "Roger, Dispatch," Tom answered. "You can mark us and the Aerial on scene
now."
 "Roger."
 They could see the lawn tractor, and a guy in a red T-shirt-at least Tom hoped
the T-shirt was red-lying on his face underneath it. Kim stopped the medic in
the gravel turnaround at the end of the driveway, and the Aerial parked
slightly up the driveway, off to one side, so that the Rescue could get a clear
path to the scene when it arrived.
 Tom, with the oxygen and the medication kit, followed Alex, carrying the
trauma bag and cervical collars. Kim brought up the rear with the backboard and
the clipboard. The Aerial crew was getting their rescue tools out, with the
exception of Lieutenant Kramer, who was coming to the scene to stand back and
be ready to call his men in if needed.
 "Hello, sir," Alex said as calmly as possible as he walked around the tractor,
sizing it up, and knelt by the patient's head. "I'm Alex, I'm with the
ambulance. What's your name?"
 "Chris," the man managed. He was obviously in a great deal of pain.
 "Can you tell me what happened, Chris?"
 "I stopped to pick up my kid's toy and must've left the tractor in gear," he
groaned. "The next thing I remember is it drivin' up my back."
 "Okay, Chris. Can you take a deep breath?"
 Tom listened to the man take a deep breath without difficulty as he shone his
mini-light into the deck area of the mower from below. It had stalled when it
cut into the man's legs, but everything looked clear. And Alex was doing pretty
well in keeping Chris calm and getting the proper info.
 "Do you hurt anywhere?"
 "Yeah, my legs!" he blurted out.
 "Anywhere else?"
 "Just my LEGS, my legs," he carried on.
 "Okay, we're going to do something for your legs right away, Chris," Alex
said. "I just need to know if you hurt anywhere else, like your shoulders or
your back or head or anything."
 "No-no, just my gawdamn legs," Chris repeated.
 "Okay, Chris." Tom noticed, as he looked up, that Chris's wrist was in Alex's
hand, and Alex said to Kim, "Ninety-six." He looked at Tom and said, "Can we
remove it?"
 "I think so," Tom said. "It's clear." Tom leaned down. "Chris, I'm Tom. We're
going to lift your tractor off you with the help of some firemen. It's not
stuck into you anywhere, but you may feel some pain when we lift it off you.
Okay?"
 "Okay," Chris grunted.
 Ray had called the crew over, and the decision was made that the six of
them-the five firefighters and Kim-would literally pick up the lawn tractor and
carry it off somewhere else, while Tom and Alex kept an eye on Chris.
 Kim was at the front of the tractor, so she made the call. "Okay, on three.
One, two, three."
 They picked up the tractor. Chris hollered a bit.
 "Okay, Chris, that's all done," Alex reassured the man. "Don't move, okay? One
of my partners is going to hold your neck so that it doesn't get any more
injured than it might be right now. All right?"
 "Okay," Chris nodded, and Alex shook his head slightly. Tom smiled. He always
got that reaction too: "Don't move your head," and then a nod of compliance.
 As Ray got on the radio and cancelled 29 Rescue, Kim reached down and applied
cervical spine protection and Alex performed his physical survey as best he
could. After it was over, they could say with some certainty that Chris was,
except for his legs, pretty much uninjured. On the backs of his legs, his
heels, and the backs of his knees, though, he had multiple lacerations and
avulsions.
 "Tom, can you put some O2 on, 15 liters by nonrebreather, please?" Alex said.
 Tom nodded and started putting the O2 together as he heard Alex tell the
patient, "Chris, we're going to put some oxygen on you. It'll likely make you
feel more comfortable. Okay?"
 "Okay," Chris nodded again. Kim politely asked him to stop moving his head.
 After Tom put the mask on Chris, Alex got out a cervical collar. Kim asked Ray
to get the backboard brought in, and Tom helped Alex get the collar on. While
Alex dressed the injuries on the patient's legs, Tom spoke to him.
 "Chris, once Alex is done putting bandages on your legs, we're going to turn
you over onto your back and onto a spineboard. Once we get you secured to the
spineboard, we'll put you in the ambulance and take you to the hospital. Okay?"
 "All right," Chris said.
 "Do you need your place locked up or anything?"
 "Yeah, my keys are on the kitchen table. And can you call my wife on her cell?
She's out shopping with the kids."
 "We'll take care of that, too," Tom said. "Is her number around somewhere?"
 "Five five five six oh eight two."
 Ray, in Tom's line of sight, scribbled furiously on his notepad, then nodded.
 "Got it. One of the firefighters is locking up your house, and we'll bring the
keys with us to the hospital. Do you have your health card with you?"
 "Yeah, my wallet's in my back pocket."
 Tom looked at the man's jeans. The back pockets were torn open, but the wallet
was still there, and in mediocre shape. "Okay, fair enough."
 They were ready, and Chris groaned when they turned him over. Alex's bandaging
job ensured that the patient felt little pain from his legs contacting the
spineboard.
 "Okay, that's good," Tom said, partly to Chris and partly to Alex, as they
finished strapping Chris down. "Now, Chris, we're going to put a pair of foam
blocks beside your head so that my partner doesn't have to hold onto your head
all the way to the hospital. It might feel a little strange, but it's going to
help ensure you don't get injured any further than you are now."
 "I can live with a little strangeness if it makes me OK," Chris said.
 "Great."
 
 They loaded Chris into the ambulance and Bill brought the keys to Kim. She
gave them to Tom, who let Chris know he had them.
 "Ready?" Tom said to Alex.
 "Whenever you are," Alex answered.
 "Okay." Tom turned to Kim, who was looking back at them from the cab. "Let's
go."
 "Need me to use any color?" she said.
 She was asking him if he wanted her to use the emergency lights. "No, I don't
think so," he said.
 "Okay." The medic started to move.
 "Dispatch, 50 Medic is transporting to D-3," Tom announced on the radio.
 "50 Medic, roger."
 "Roger, Dispatch. Out to you; 50 Aerial, this is 50 Medic."
 "50 Aerial, go ahead."
 "Thanks for your help, guys," Tom said.
 "Not a problem," Ray answered. "50 Aerial out."
 
 At Memorial Hospital, the newest hospital in the area, designated Destination
3 on the computer, Alex led the way to the triage desk. A nurse approached and
Alex spoke to her.
 "Hi," he said. "This is Chris, he's 38. He was struck by a lawnmower.. the
riding variety. He suffered some lacerations and avulsions on his lower legs
from the blades, but his feet were mostly protected by his shoes."
 "Okay," she said. She looked at the video camera that showed her the
whiteboard at the main desk. "Exam....5," she finally declared.
 "Thanks," Alex nodded, and led his preceptors and patient towards Exam Room 5.
 When they got there, Alex started over again, and the nurse nodded. "Any
further injuries?" she asked.
 "None presenting," Alex provided. "No allergies, no meds, had breakfast at
six, has been on O2 at 15 by NRB for the past twenty-six minutes, C-spine
precautions taken due to the mechanism of injury."
 "Good," she said. By this time, Kim and Tom had transferred Chris to the
hospital bed, and apart from a bit of closure by Alex, the call was done.
 
 Alex, after having finished his report in the hospital, came out to find Kim
and Tom finishing cleaning the ambulance and rebedding the cot. Tom looked up
and said, "Good call, Alex."
 "Thanks," he said, sounding slightly dejected. "There's room for improvement,
though."
 "Sure there is," Tom shrugged. "There's room for improvement in all of us at
every call. You'll get it. You've got a good head on your shoulders."
 "Well, I should've definitely started O2 and C-spine a lot quicker, and I
could've delegated more to you while I did my primary survey."
 "See, exactly what I mean. Keep that in mind on the next call and you'll do
okay."
 Kim pulled the medic back out of the ambulance bay and onto the highway toward
50 Station. It was 0835.
 
1105
 
 John Franklin poked his head into the medic, where Alex Perry was practicing
with the equipment. "PROBIE! You in for lunch?"
 Alex looked up. "What is it?" he asked.
 John 'tch'ed. "It's a meal usually served at noon. C'mon, it's not a 'what is
it' question. Either you're in or you're out."
 "In, I guess."
 "Gimme five bucks, then."
 "Um.." Alex slapped all his pockets. "I'll have to go to my locker."
 John followed the probationary firefighter back to the rear of the living
quarters side of the station. As Alex fumbled with his combination lock, John
spotted Tom, Kim, and Helen all sitting in the training room/lounge, watching
TV. "Lunch," he said simply.
 "I'm in," Tom said, not taking his eyes off the television.
 "In," Kim added.
 "Out," Helen said.
 John smiled. "I guessed that," he told her and turned to the other two. "Five
each."
 Tom gave John a ten and took the five that Kim was holding out. "What is it?"
he asked John.
 "It's gonna be Burger King if people don't stop asking 'what is it'," John
shot back half-jokingly half-angrily, and turned away to get Alex's cash.
 Tom leaned forward. "Tell me again what we're watching."
 "I.. don't know," Kim answered. She looked at Helen for help.
 The loudspeakers beeped once. Alex jumped again, and the rest of them listened
to the intercom message.
 "Code 20, Code 21, apparatus floor. Paul, it's for you," came Melissa Dunn's
voice.
 "What's that?" Alex said as the other three got up.
 Tom spoke to him quietly, so the people just beyond the door, on the apparatus
floor, would not hear. "Code 20 is civilians in the house, code 21 is media."
Tom turned to Kim. "Um.. this one.. maybe you should go pretend to be busy
checking out the medic or something."
 She didn't argue; she figured Tom had a reason to suggest that to her. "Okay,"
she said as Helen led Alex out to the floor. Tom followed Alex, leaving Kim
standing in the hallway.
 She walked to the opposite door, bypassing the rest of the crews as they went
to gather beside the pump for the news shot. She went out onto the floor, and
as she passed the pump, she caught a glimpse of two news cameras, three
reporters, and a couple of newspaper photographers, plus a young couple holding
a child of maybe three years.
 Kim unlatched the hood on the medic and pulled it open, reaching in and
touching things here and there to create the illusion that she was working
while she listened to the people on the other side of the hall.
 "-and then someone was picking me up and carrying me out into the hall-"
 "-my baby still in the bedroom-"
 "-burned, but he still got her out to the window on the landing-"
 Kim smiled. "Thanks, Tom," she said quietly to herself, smiling. He'd not
wanted her to endure seeing the family Paul had rescued from some kind of house
fire recently.
 After it was over, and the news crews had taken their desired footage, the
others dispersed. Tom got sidetracked with the task of showing the family
through the fire trucks and giving them the tour, and Alex walked over to the
medic, watching Kim close the hood.
 "What was that all about?" Alex asked her quietly. "Tom sending you off, I
mean."
 Kim paused for a moment, then sighed. "When I'd been on the department about
as long as you've been now, I went on a house fire as part of the second alarm
crew. We were immediately called in to search for a mother and child and the
firefighters that went in to rescue them, and we found them, but it was too
late." Kim's eyes unfocused as she stared off into forever, remembering the
rest. "The nightmares started right away, and six days or so later, I got a
phone call from the prosecutor's office. They'd found, during the autopsies,
that the baby and the mother had been stabbed to death before we'd ever got the
call, like hours earlier. The baby's uncle, who lived with the family, had set
the fire to hide the murders, and let it burn for two hours before someone else
saw it from outside and called us. He was charged & convicted of four counts of
first-degree murder, and he's rotting away in jail now, while a bunch of us out
here are still lying awake nights, hoping the nightmares won't come back. But
they always do."
 
 Tom heard Kim's voice as he let the child play in the cab of the aerial. He
pretended to be interested in the young girl, but he was really listening to
Kim tell Alex about her demons.
 
 The remainder of the tour was typical: C-shift had about a dozen calls spread
over the next day and two nights, most of them medical in nature. There were a
couple of grass fires, a non-injury auto accident with fluids spilled, an
automatic fire alarm that turned false, a few public-service calls like getting
cats out of trees, and so on.
 The last night of the tour was largely uneventful. The crew managed to watch a
video, get training done, and listen to a call on the scanner (a four-alarm
blaze in 8 Station's district-they would be called on the fifth, which never
came) without one interruption. Most everyone even got a good night's sleep.
 Everyone, of course, except the medic crew. They went out on a non-emergency
Alpha call for someone with abdominal pain at four forty-five in the morning.
By the time they got back to the hall, it was six-thirty, and the A-shifters
were starting to come in. The night, and the tour, was over.
 Alex Perry was visibly relieved as he went to the lockers and picked up his
stuff. He slung his backpack on his shoulder, but Kim's head peeked around the
corner just then. "Probie!" she said loudly. "Come with me."
 He obediently followed her to the spare room that was used as the medics'
office. Tom Wright was there, sitting at the desk, arms folded. Kim sat down at
the other desk, and Alex just stood there, feeling like he would soon know what
a court-martial felt like. Or maybe a firing squad.
 "We've watched you very closely for the past tour, Alex," Tom said bluntly.
"We talked it over, and, to tell you the truth, I don't know how to say this,
so I'm going to let Kim tell you."
 Alex wished he would just code right there, with no chance of resuscitation.
 "We're rather impressed with your abilities," Kim said with as much emotion as
Tom had been using. Alex's heart just about stopped when he realized what they
were saying.
 "We both agreed that we've never seen a better student, with his wits about
him like you. You keep it up, and you're going to make paramedic someday."
 "Let's call it a passing grade," Tom said. "Congratulations, Mr. Perry."
 "Thanks," Alex finally managed. He couldn't think of anything else to say.
 "Well, this is days off now," Kim said, "and I have lots of planning to do,
and Drew and Dennis are already here, so why don't we all get out of here and
go to our respective homes?"
 With that, Alex thanked them again, said his goodbyes, got drenched and then
whip-creamed by John Franklin as a farewell gesture, and went on his way.
 Tom and Kim walked toward Tom's car. They tossed their gear bags in the trunk,
then went to their respective sides and got in.
 "Where have you been staying this past tour?" Tom asked her.
 "At my parents' place," she said, "same as always. Why?"
 "Well, are you ever gonna move in or what?"
 "With you?"
 "No, with the Pope," Tom said as he drove out of the parking lot and onto the
highway. "Of COURSE with me."
 "I never thought you'd ask," she said with relief. "You know how my parents
are."
 "Yeah, well, there'll be nobody to disturb us at my place."
 She suddenly had a grin to match his. "Just remember, you brought it up."
 
SIX DAYS LATER (SECOND TOUR, SECOND DAY) 1048

 "Hey," Roy said as he passed Tom in the hall.
 Tom cut him off as they both carried on in their desired directions. "Where's
Walters, right?" he said. He shrugged, his arms wide open. "Don't push our
luck. Just accept it."
 "What?" Melissa Dunn said as Tom emerged into the kitchen.
 "Roy just asked me where Walters was. I told him not to look a gift horse in
the mouth."
 "I hadn't noticed," Melissa said, looking around as if for the first time that
day. "Come to think of it, it has been quieter around here, and the stress
level two or three notches lower.."
 Nobody got to finish, because the pump, aerial, and medic were toned out for
an automatic fire alarm at that precise moment.
 The apparatus roared out of the station, heading for the mall, already the
third time that particular tour. Nine times out of ten, the alarms were false,
but they couldn't afford to fall prey to the 'cry wolf' syndrome, as Helen
LaSalle put it. So, as usual, the pump responded hot, with lights-and-sirens,
and the remaining rigs drove over in non-emergency mode.
 The call did turn out to be false, and as they cleared and were beginning to
return to the station, they heard an unfamiliar voice on the radio.
 "Shop mechanic to fire dispatch, over," it called out.
 "Go ahead," the dispatcher answered.
 "I'm at 50 with some new apparatus, and I need to get inside. Are they going
to be back here any time soon?"
 "50 Pump?" came the query from the dispatcher.
 Helen keyed the headset's transmit button. "We're about four minutes away,
Dispatch."
 "Roger," he answered her.
 The crews polled each other on the tac channel about what the shop mechanic
had for them, but nobody had any ideas at all.
 
 They returned to find a semi-trailer unit parked outside, decked in fire
department white-over-red.
 "Wow," Paul said. "What is it?"
 "Looks like the new 50 Mobile Command," Melissa declared, reading the
lettering on the side of the trailer.
 Helen radioed that they were available in quarters, simultaneously pushing the
button that would open the bay door. The mechanic, who had been standing by the
door waiting, walked inside. Momentarily, the door in front of Jim Walters' van
opened, and the mechanic drove it out and parked it in the street.
 "What the hell..?" Helen said, mostly to herself. They were parked, finally,
and the aerial and medic were just booking off at the hall as well. The
mechanic was backing the trailer into the recently-vacated bay.
 "What gives?" Helen asked the mechanic once he'd disconnected from the trailer
and drove his tractor out of the hall.
 "I just work here," he shrugged. His partner got in the Station Officer's van,
and the two of them drove away, leaving a bunch of confused firefighters.
 Momentarily, West Division Chief 3 Murray Smith pulled up and stopped in front
of the hall. He saw the trailer parked inside and the perplexed looks he was
getting and began the explanation right away.
 "All the stations that already had a semi-tractor for their tankers now has a
mobile command trailer, too," he said. "It's a combination command-post slash
field kitchen thing. It'll be responded only on a special-call basis."
 "What about Walters?" Ray piped up.
 The look on Smith's face was interesting, as if he was waiting to gauge their
reactions to what he was about to say. "As of 0700 this morning, the Station
Officer position has been eliminated. Most of the S/O's were reassigned to
either street duty or desk jobs."
 The surprised firefighters became suddenly happier. More than one high-five
was thrown.
 "So, as may be obvious, we have to promote a few people, to keep the chain of
command healthy and in good shape," Smith went on. It was only then that people
realized he was holding a package consisting of new epaulets-mostly Captain's
and Lieutenant's bars.
 "Helen," Chief Smith called out first. She stepped forward, truly surprised,
as the chief removed her lieutenant's epaulets and replaced them with
captain's. "Congratulations, Captain."
 "Thank you, sir," Captain Helen LaSalle smiled back, shaking his hand.
 
 Nearly everyone got a surprise. Ray Kramer and Wes Carter were both made
Captains, and John Franklin, Tom Wright, and Dave Stevens became Lieutenants.
Kim Lorne, Roy Elliott, and Paul Sheridan were made Senior Firefighters as
well.
 The chief congratulated them all once more, and then was gone, letting their
new promotions sink in.
 Kim found Helen a half-hour later, in the Station Officer's-correction; the
senior captain's-in other words, Helen's-office. Helen was going over the
paperwork she'd have to take over, and was grumbling good-naturedly about the
shoddy state of Walters' reports.
 "Hey, Cap," Kim said.
 "Hey, Kim," Helen shot back.
 "I know it concentrates a lot of our good people on one rig, but Tom and I
make a great team. Mind if John and I swap spots for this tour?"
 Helen smiled. "I kind of expected you'd ask me that as soon as you found out
that Walters was gone. I already talked with Johnny and Roy, and they're eager
to work together. Go ahead and switch your gear over."
 "Thanks, boss."

TWO NIGHTS LATER 0143

 The medic unit backed into 50 Station as silently as possible. Roy muted the
backup alarm, but the growling diesel was still cutting through the night.
 It had been one of the quietest nights on record in 50's history. The
dispatcher had taken advantage of that and had assigned 50 Medic two
hospital-to-home transfers in a row, inexplicably over the midnight hour. They
were tired, dead on their feet, almost, when the tones went off again.
 "50 Medic, this is an alpha response for a shooting, map 2161 echo 2, 248
Forest Hill, 248 Forest Hill. No P.D. available at present time, respond cold
until P.D. backup has been secured. Zone C15, tac C10. Acknowledge via radio."
 Johnny picked up the mike. "Dispatch, 50, roger," he said tiredly. "Going
alpha to 248 Forest Hill."
 The medic pulled out of the station again.
 
 Eight minutes later, they were in the community of Forest Hill. Nobody seemed
to be around; all the houses were dark, as they should have been, including
248. Still, the medic unit hung back about a block, as per standing orders, and
waited in the dark for the police to arrive.
 Both men's minds were well tuned to the task at hand, but they could also pass
the time they spent waiting. "Did you go to the game this afternoon?" Roy
asked.
 "Yeah," John nodded. "It was fantastic. Lacroix was damn near unconscious in
net. He stopped everything, like he was a brick wall. And Hamer and Thornton
each had hat tricks! Damn, what a g-"
 John's exultation was cut short as the medic's window suddenly exploded beside
him. He doubled over and made a strange coughing noise. It took Roy a full two
seconds to realize what had happened.
 "John? Shit! JOHN!" he shouted. Then his side window blew out too, and he
realized that there was a man with a gun standing right at the passenger door,
hanging onto the mirror strut, aiming at him.
 "SHIT!" he repeated. He jammed his thumb into the electronic transmission
selector, waiting what seemed like an eternity for the display to change to
DRIVE. He stood on the accelerator and sped away, shaking the medic back and
forth violently until he saw the gunman lose his grip and fall off, at
sixty-five kilometers an hour.
 Roy was so intent on watching the mirrors to see if the gunman would get back
up that he failed to remember the curve in the road, and managed to dump the
truck into the ditch.
 Both of them were belted in, but John was dead weight-hopefully not
literally-and flopped around pretty bad. Roy forced himself to exit the medic
and went around to John's side, hauling him out the passenger door. He had
intended on taking him to the patient module, but after the truck hit the
ditch, the module suddenly had a 40-degree pitch to its floor.
 Roy put John down unceremoniously yet as gingerly as possible in the ditch.
 "Hang on, Johnny, hang on," Roy blubbered. He was a total wreck. His partner
had taken a hit, he had come too damn close to getting hit himself, and they
didn't know if the shooter was still in the area or not.
 Roy was in no shape to treat John, but he did have the presence of mind to hit
the Emergency button on the radio.
 
 The lights came up as the tones sounded. "50 Pump, 51 Medic, West Division 3,
Code 200 Red, I say again, Code 200 Red, from 50 Medic, location by CAD is 248
Forest Hill. 248 Forest Hill, Code 200 Red, P.D. is responding as well. Zone
C15, tac C10, time oh-one-fifty-six."
 The entire station turned out to the apparatus floor, not just the pump crew.
As Tom, Kim, Paul, Helen, and Melissa boarded their apparatus, they looked back
at the concerned faces of the other members of the station crew.
 "We'll get back to you as soon as we know," Captain LaSalle told the others,
who then watched the pump scream into the night.
 
 "Holy shit," Paul said as he climbed down from the pump. The police were there
helping Roy treat John. Another Suburban full of police-three officers and a
canine officer-pulled up and dispersed into the night.
 Kim got off the truck and froze, staring open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
 Tom brushed past her, breaking the spell. Helen joined Tom in crouching down,
gently moving Roy aside and starting to work.
 51 Medic arrived promptly, and Kim noticed with surprise that the attending
medic that night was none other than one-week-veteran member Alex Perry. He was
paired up with Russ West, who was one of the best paramedics in the city, and
the way Rusty was talking to Alex, Kim knew that Rusty felt that Alex was doing
well-which meant that Alex was doing well, because Rusty was always right.
 Paul looked over his shoulder at Kim. "Melissa," he said, "Could you guys go
check the medic for anything that might help the cops?"
 "Yeah," Melissa nodded distantly, seemingly caught up in the same trance that
Kim had been in. She led her friend back to 50 Medic, its tail end pointing up
like a ship that was sinking.
 
 Several hours later, in the Memorial ER waiting room, the off-duty crew of 50
Pump stood and paced. Everyone was in bad shape.
 Helen was the senior captain, so it was to her that the doctor came.
 "Well?" she said.
 "He's going to pull through," the doctor said bluntly, which dropped the
tension in the room somewhat. "He took a point-blank forty-four shot to the
right anterior chest, though. It's a bloody miracle he made it this far-a
miracle known as you five. If you hadn't done what you did, he'd be downstairs
in the morgue now."
 She let that sink in for a moment, then continued. "He has a collapsed right
lung and a bunch of other damage. He's not going to be able to have any
visitors for a few days at least. And you know I'm not bullshitting you. I'd
never do that. You'll be able to see him when he's stable enough, and not a
moment earlier. Just be thankful he's alive for now."
 "We are," Helen said. "Thank you."
 "It's going to be okay." The doctor looked away for a moment. "Is the Chief
still here? I need to tell him."
 "Murray went to the men's room, I think," Tom piped up.
 "Okay. I strongly urge you all to go back to your station, or home, or where
ever the department lets you, and get some sleep. You're not doing anyone any
good by draping yourselves all over here. You need to keep yourselves together,
if not for John, then for yourselves."
 
 Ten minutes later, Tom walked out of the ambulance entrance and saw Helen
there, leaning against the wall, taking a long drag from a cigarette. It
shocked the living bejeezus out of him to see a health-food nut like Helen
smoking, but he chose not to bring it up at the present time. Instead, he
carried on to his intended target, Kim, standing further away from the
building, under a tree in the courtyard, in the darkness.
 "Kimmy-" he began, but he was cut off by her tear-choked words.
 "It should've been me."
 "What?"
 "It should've been ME," she repeated, fully crying now. "I begged to switch
positions with John for the tour, so that you and I could be together on the
same crew, and if I hadn't, it would've been me in there with Roy, not John. I
should've been the one to get shot! NOT him!"
 He tried to comfort his friend as much as he could.

FOUR DAYS LATER (THIRD TOUR, FIRST DAY)

 Tom and Kim checked over their apparatus with the same care they normally
used. Even moreso, in fact, truth be known, because it was a unit they hadn't
operated in a long time: the bush buggy. The Hummer was in tip-top shape, of
course, although the same could not be said for its operators. Kim was still
very upset, blaming herself for John's condition. He hadn't yet gotten well
enough to visit, but the reports that he had regained consciousness were very
welcome.
 The reason Tom and Kim had been switched over to the bush buggy was this: The
tractor unit, which normally carried the tanker trailer, the hazmat trailer, or
the new command trailer, depending on the incident, had been placed out of
service by Captain LaSalle. She had temporarily reassigned the tractor's crew,
one to take John's place until a per diem could be found in the system, and the
other to be a third man on the medic-subscribing to the theory of there being
strength in numbers.
 In one way, Tom and Kim didn't like the upheaval; on the positive side, at
least Helen hadn't been forced to separate them from each other. In normal
times, that would've been bad enough; during such a crisis, Tom figured that
Kim would completely break down if left unattended.
 Truth was, he wasn't that much better off.

THIRD TOUR, SECOND DAY 1442

 "What did I just hear?!" Paul Sheridan erupted as he came into the kitchen.
 "Shhh!" half the station complement ordered him. The scanner speaker crackled
to life again.
 "Shots fired! Shots fired!" came an all-too-familiar voice. Briefly speaking
to someone in the background, Roy could be heard hollering,"Get down! GET THE
FUCK DOWN!" Then, back to the radio: "Our unit's taken four and all three of us
are unhurt! I think the medic unit's had it, though."
 "50, Roger," a very excited dispatcher responded. "P.D. on the way. Is the
shooter still around?"
 "Unknown at this time!" Roy hollered back. "Get us outta here!"
 "Dispatch, WDC3," Murray Smith's voice came through. "We're ten blocks away;
we're going to try to scoop 'em."
 "Roger, Chief. Good luck."
 The entire world could have come down around the people gathered in 50
Station's kitchen/lounge right then; they simply wouldn't have noticed.
Everyone was devoting 100% of their concentration to the scanner.
 A long agonizing minute passed, and then Murray was on the radio again.
"Dispatch, we're clear. When P.D. gets here, you'll need to have them tow the
medic back to the shop, it's toast. We've got the crew here, and we'll take
them to 50 for a critical debrief and then try to find a spare medic for them."
 "Roger, Chief," the dispatcher said.
 "And can you try to find some kind of award to nominate my driver for,
please," Murray continued. "He did one hell of a job here."
 "Roger, Chief."
 
 After the critical incident stress debriefing had finished, Chief Smith took
the medic crew to the mechanical shop to pick up a spare medic unit. Four
minutes later, the pump, aerial, bush buggy, and boat were sent on a water
rescue call. They spent an hour looking for the subject, rumored to be clinging
to a rock in the Elbow River, near Highway 22, but could find no such person,
nor any indication that anyone had ever been there. Dispatch assured them that
one of the police helicopters was out doing a patrol and would search the river
for them with its infrared and video. 50 Station's apparatus started to return
with a half hour left before shift change.
 When they returned, Kim's eye caught the whiteboard, which had something
scrawled all over it. She looked directly at it, and blinked in surprise.
 It read as follows:

 THIS WON'T BE THE END
 I KNOW WEAR YOU ARE,
 AND I'M COMMING FOR U
 YOU'LL PAY FOR WHAT U
 DID TO ME-I PROMISE!!

 Everyone else saw it at the same time. The station seemed to get colder as
everyone felt a chill go down their spines. The night shift hadn't arrived yet,
it obviously wasn't a practical joke by them.. the station was entirely
unattended while they went out to find a phantom patient..
 They said very little to each other as they all packed up their stuff,
exchanged positions with the oncoming night crew, and went home.
 
THE NEXT NIGHT (THIRD TOUR, FIRST NIGHT) 1645
 
 Tom and Kim arrived at the station to see the door in front of the medic
rolled up. A beat-up old van-sized medic unit was inside, obviously the only
replacement rig left in the city; however, it was what was out front that had
their attention.
 A police cruiser.
 Tom and Kim parked and came in the back door, as usual; after tossing their
gear into the bush buggy and quickly checking it over, they went to the medic
and found out what was going on.
 "Constable Kevin Larkins," one police officer told them, shaking first Tom's
hand and then Kim's. "Harold and I will be going with your ambulance to all
calls until further notice."
 Constable Harold Russell came up, smiled, shook hands, and returned to his
task of making sure the shotgun was ready for use if needed.
 "I gotta tell you, I feel relieved," Tom spoke up to Larkins. "We've taken way
too much heat the past couple weeks."
 "Well, this might make you feel a bit more relieved," Larkins returned.
"Harry, get the trunk, willya?"
 Russell, in the car, pushed the trunk release. Larkins reached inside and
withdrew two bulletproof vests and handed them to the two firefighters.
 Tom and Kim hesitantly took the armor and looked at it.
 "You can wear it either under your uniform or overtop of it," Larkins was
saying. "But your chief and my sarge said that everyone in this station has to
wear one on the job until further notice."
 Kim looked at Tom as he looked back at her.
 
FOUR DAYS LATER (SECOND DAY OFF)
 
 Tom looked up as Kim came out of her parents' house with a box of clothes. He
blinked. "You don't really wear that when you're off duty too, do you?"
 Kim put the box in the back of Tom's car, then looked down at herself. "It
shows?" she asked.
 "Of COURSE it does," he said. "Under anything except turnout gear, you can
pick out a bulletproof vest a mile away. ..Listen, are you all right?"
 She took a moment to answer. Shaking her head, she said, "Just.. I'm..
nervous, I guess. That note on the board when we got back from the call.."
 "Kimmy, look at me." She did while he put his hands on her shoulders. "It's
okay to be scared, honey. But don't let on that you are-just keep on going like
nothing's wrong. We've still got a job to do. Besides, the shooter would be
crazy to try again. We've made the national news with this story. The chief of
police has vowed in a TV interview that we'll have police protection until this
case is solved."
 "But it's directed at just US, Tom!" she protested. "You guys see that, right?
Only 50 station, only C-shift, only the medic unit! Nobody else has had any
kind of incident, not other shifts, not other stations."
 "I know," he said, reassuring her as best he could. "Don't worry, it'll be
over soon. If the lunatic does try again, the cops with us'll have him right
away. We've got to concentrate on doing our job, and not worrying if there's
someone pointing a gun at us. Okay?"
 She nodded. "Okay."
 "Listen-let's get your stuff in the car, already, and we can go do something
together."
 She regained her wit as she headed back to the house, saying over her
shoulder, "Hey, I'm not the one standing out in the street watching."
 
 After they moved all of Kim's stuff into Tom's house, they went out for
dinner, and saw a movie to take their minds off their work. After that, at home
in bed, they found something which provided an even more pleasurable
distraction.
 
FOURTH TOUR, FIRST DAY 0704
 
 "All right, everyone, c'mere and listen up," Helen said, climbing up on the
side of the pump. Momentarily, the crews gathered and paid attention to their
senior captain.
 She spoke loud enough for all the firefighters and police officers to hear.
"John woke up early Monday morning," she said, allowing the subsequent murmur
to die down before she continued. "He's gonna be OK, but we won't be graced by
his charming presence for another few weeks. He's going to recuperate in the
hospital for another few days, and then he's got to take a week or two sick
leave until the doctor says he can come back to work."
 She took a deep breath, her tone switching slightly to that of someone who was
angry at the establishment. "Unfortunately, headquarters can't seem to find any
per diems to cover John's shifts. Therefore, the assignments from last tour
will have to stand for now, until someone in HQ can get off their butt and sort
the mess out. Rest assured I'll be on the phone with the offices as much as I
can all this tour to remind them."
 She slapped her own midsection, touching her uniform shirt and the bulletproof
vest underneath. "Finally, I know these things are uncomfortable and none of us
are all that excited about wearing 'em, but our police backup assures me that
it's the best plan for now, until this all blows over. Any questions?"
 There was a lack of any response at all.
 "Good. Carry on."
 
 A few hours later, after the morning cleaning duties were done and everything
was in order, Paul found Tom, Kim, Roy, Bill, and Dave all lying under a tree
in the grassy backyard of the station. They were all wearing their sunglasses.
 "What the hell is THIS?" Paul said.
 "Safety meeting," Tom said, moving only his mouth to respond.
 "Safety meeting?" Paul echoed.
 "Yeah," Kim answered. "Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt."
 "Well, since none of you gourmet chefs were anywhere to be found, I got the
lovely task of figuring out what to do for lunch. Who's in?"
 Bill and Dave had barely got their "in" responses out when the tones could be
heard from the loudspeaker on the back of the station.
 "50 Pump and Bush Buggy," the dispatcher's voice carried through the yard,
"for a grass fire, map 1181 golf 5. Take 34 Avenue west into the park, someone
will point it out to you down the bike path. Zone C13, tac C1, eleven-fifty."
 
 Tom and Kim headed out in the bush buggy, past the pump, and headed up the
highway. As they responded, they couldn't see any smoke in the reported area.
Still, they turned left on 34 Avenue and carried on into the greenspace down by
the riverbank.
 The park was packed with people, enjoying the hot summer day. Kim rolled down
her window as someone waved at them.
 "It's up the bike trail this way," the civilian said. "About two hundred
meters, on the right side, in the clear space between the bank and the trail."
 "Gotcha," Kim said, and maneuvered the Hummer onto the bike path, flipping the
siren on and off every so often to move inattentive citizens.
 "Do you want us to walk down and meet you?" Helen asked Tom over the tactical
radio.
 "We're not quite there yet," he answered her, "but if it's where this guy said
it was, it can't be that big at all-"
 He cut himself off as he saw a patch of grass burning on the side of the
riverbank, as promised, maybe ten meters wide by twelve long. "Yeah, Helen, we
can handle this," he said. "You guys might as well go home."
 "Suit yourself," Helen said back, and in moments, was on the unit radio
telling the dispatcher they were returning.
 Kim parked the bush buggy on the bank, tossing a suction hose in the river in
case they needed more water than the truck held. Tom, meanwhile, got a broom
from the rig and started swatting at the flames.
 Kim pulled a hoseline off the truck and started spraying water around the
burning grass. Within ten minutes, it was all out.
 "I like these easy ones," she said, putting a hand on Tom's shoulder to steady
herself while she climbed up into the back of the truck to redeck the hose.
 A loud noise came to them seconds later, followed by several more, and random
bits of the truck started to fly apart. As Tom figured out what was happening,
he found himself reaching for Kim's hand and hauling her forcibly out of the
bed of the truck to lie on the ground beside him.
 "Get DOWN!" he shouted.
 He looked up as the sound of gunshots was replaced by the sound of screaming.
Everyone in the park was screaming and running all over the place, except the
firefighters and one man across the way, nearer to the bike path, who seemed to
have his eye on the firefighters.
 Tom's gaze locked with his as Tom realized the man had something shiny in his
right hand, with the slide locked back.
 Even as he was realizing that he was staring at the shooter, Tom's mind was
telling him, (It's either empty or jammed.)
 Then, before he knew what he was doing, he found himself chasing the gunman,
who was also running at full speed down the bike path. Behind him, he heard
Kim's voice: "Tom!!"
 He didn't stop to look back at her. He was trying his damnedest to catch up
with the shooter. His rational mind was trying to point out that the gunman
might reload or unjam the weapon, but the side of him that was overpowering at
the moment was telling Tom that the bad guy wouldn't be running if he were
going to shoot again.
 The gunman sailed through the air and landed on a floating dock, then jumped
across to a footbridge crossing the river. Tom forced himself to make the same
acrobatic trick, then resumed the chase.
 Kim chose to take the long way-an extra five meters-to the junction of the
bridge and the bike path, taking time to shout into her radio, "50 Bush Buggy
portable to Dispatch! Shots fired at F.D. personnel, two members in foot
pursuit of suspect now! Get P.D. to the Elbow River west bank at 280 Street and
34 Avenue!"
 The dispatcher said something back, probably something like a polite,
proper-radio-procedures version of 'why the hell is a fire crew chasing a
gunman-stand down and wait for police'. Kim didn't hear it. She was trying to
catch her breath while still running full-tilt after Tom, who was still just
barely closing on the shooter.
 The shooter again cut the end of the footbridge short, tripping over a chain
on the handrail and tumbling to the bike path. The useless weapon clattered on
the pavement, then skittered into the grass as the now-unarmed suspect got to
his feet, glanced back at his pursuers, and then sprinted off again.
 "What the-" Kim gasped, but followed Tom nonetheless, as he kept up the chase.
She couldn't possibly have recognized the shooter, could she?
 They ran through a pleasant, somewhat densely wooded area, leaving dozens of
surprised civilians in their wake. The chasee tried to throw a few trash cans
across the path, but Tom and Kim hurdled them easily.
 On the other end of the forested park was Highway 22, and onto it the former
gunman ran. He got across the southbound lanes without incident, but was struck
by a passenger car as it screeched to a stop in the northbound lanes. He flew
about three meters and fell to the ground.
 The motorist was getting out, shocked, as Kim and Tom arrived. Tom darted for
the figure on the ground as Kim urged the driver to stay in his car. The police
were on scene in seconds, and Kim went to join the two cops and her partner.
 She gasped again as she finally positively recognized the person, even through
the injuries he'd suffered. It was Hector Abrams, the uncle of the baby who'd
died two-and-a-half years earlier in the fire.
 "What the f-" she began. It began to fall together. The note at the station,
the attacks only on C shift.. this guy was trying to get to her, not just
anyone on the crew. Her testimony had been what put him away, and now he had
apparently escaped and was trying to put her away as well.
 "What the hell are you doing?" one of the cops was asking Tom. Kim looked up
to see Tom performing a primary survey, evaluating the man's injuries.
 Tom fixed the cop in a stern gaze. "Much as I hate to do this, it's my job."
 
THREE DAYS LATER (FOURTH TOUR, END OF FIRST NIGHT) 0558
 
 Everyone was still sleeping soundly when the alarms went off.
 "50 Pump, Aerial, Medic, 51 Pump, Tanker, Aerial, 29 Rescue, West Division 3,
possible house fire, map 1050 charlie 7, in the development south of 34 Avenue
and east of Highway 22, the caller was on a cellular and could see flames near
one of the houses. Zone C13, tac C1, oh five fifty eight."
 The crews all turned out for the call, wide awake by the time they slid down
the poles and hit the apparatus floor. Tom and Kim headed for the pump; the per
diem fill-in assignment had finally come through, and thus the assignments were
back to normal.
 On the way to the call, the usual chatter ensued over the intercom. "Oh, by
the way," Paul said, reaching back to shake Tom and Kim's gloved hands.
"Congratulations on getting Abrams. I forgot to say so last night."
 "Thanks," Tom nodded.
 Kim added, "He goes to trial in six weeks. I hope you can both attend."
 Paul and Melissa nodded back. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
 "If you guys are done, we're about to arrive, and it's the real thing," Helen
proclaimed. The foursome looked up to see a house just off to the left of the
truck, with heavy fire blowing out the upstairs windows.
 "Melissa, mask up, pull the sixty-five, and wait for me," Helen said. "While
I'm doing my size-up, our two heroes here will mask up and take the forty-four
in to do a search. Paul, give me water on both lines as soon as they're
stretched."
 Everyone responded in the affirmative as Helen got on the radio and started
broadcasting orders to the other rigs, which were arriving at the time.
 When Paul stopped the truck, Kim and Tom climbed down and did one last check
of each other's gear. Tom handed Kim the nozzle, and helped her play out the
rest of the forty-four-millimeter-diameter hoseline. They gave Paul a thumbs-up
and the line was charged with water right away.
 "Ready?" Tom asked, as they watched the aerial crew cut a hole in the roof for
ventilation.
 "Go for it!" Kim hollered back, cracking the nozzle to get the air out of it.
 Tom tried the front door, and it was locked. He aimed the wrecking bar he'd
brought with him and forced the door open.
 Kim stood ready, but only heavy smoke rushed out at them. The two of them then
took the hoseline in and started their search. Melissa and Helen were twenty
seconds behind them with the sixty-five-millimeter line.
 The ground floor of the house was relatively clear of smoke, making the
primary search fairly easy: Nobody on the first floor. Kim and Tom stood at the
foot of the stairs leading to the second story. The entire upper floor of the
house glowed orange.
 "Let's do it," Kim shouted. Tom nodded, and that was that; they were off.
 They scrambled to the top of the stairs on their hands and knees, hitting the
visible fire with the water from their line, soon backed up by Helen and
Melissa, and Bill and Brian. Once the upstairs hallway had darkened down
somewhat, the two women left Bill and Brian on the 65 and came up to take the
44 from Tom and Kim, freeing the latter two up to do a search.
 And so they did, beginning with the bedroom on the right. Kim led the search,
and therefore found the first victim. An infant in its crib, up against the
wall, right next to a double bed. On top of the double bed, under the covers,
were two adults.
 Around the far corner of the room, they found a window, which they ended up
breaking. Kim felt a strange sense of familiarity as the smoke rushed out of
the room.
 On the other side of the window, they surprised the crew of 51 Aerial, who
were just about to break the window from their side. Instead, 51 took the
mother, father, and baby from Tom and Kim, and the latter two carried on with
their search.
 The next room to be searched was a bedroom centrally located, and in it they
found a teenaged girl. They were able to get her out of the window in her room,
to 50 Aerial's bucket. She was conscious, and talked about her brother being in
his room, the only room the search team hadn't checked yet.
 Their low air alarms went off just as they entered the room, but they didn't
need much time to find the twenty-year-old man, unconscious on his bed. For the
third time, they went to the window in the room, and the 50 Aerial crew had set
up a portable ladder there, and took the boy from them. Then, Tom and Kim
climbed out themselves and scrambled down the ladder, tearing their masks off
to get some fresh air.
 After they checked in with accountability control, so he knew that they were
out and safe, they went over to the medic units, fully expecting to see CPR in
progress, but they instead saw the most enjoyable thing either of them had ever
experienced: Four adults and one baby very much alive, getting oxygen, but
otherwise unharmed.
 Roy, in 50 Medic along with his per diem partner and the two children of the
house, saw Kim peering in the back window, grinned, and gave her a big
thumbs-up.
 Tom was caught off-guard and almost knocked to the ground when Kim suddenly
whipped around and squeezed him tight, laughing and crying at the same time.
When he realized why she was so ecstatic, he joined in, returning her embrace
just as joyously, celebrating Kim's victory over the demons that had plagued
her for so long.

END