fffI do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em.

To Save A Life

Written by: Kianda

Chapter One

He felt the chill clear through to his bones.

Why was it so cold? Thinking his wife had stolen all the covers again, Roy DeSoto attempted to slide closer to his wife's side of the bed for the warmth he'd find there. The LA County paramedic's eyes opened as deep throbbing pain registered throughout his body. As the fog of darkness lifted it turned out he wasn't home in his bed, but trapped in an inconceivable nightmare.

Dread coursed through his veins like a slow poison. Where was he?

Roy's scrambled brain slowly started to function. His thoughts centered as he calmed, becoming less confused. He remembered a fire. Yes, the warehouse fire. Cap had ordered them out of the building so how had he ended up entwined inside this prison of rubble?

His clouded mind threw a switch and the lights came on. He'd fallen into the basement when the floor of the warehouse collapsed! Fear assaulted his senses, stronger this time, causing his stomach to clench which in turn had him fighting off nausea. Johnny! Did he fall too? Instantly he stilled. No, his sluggish mind revealed. He'd managed to push his partner clear before the floor collapsed.

How long had he been trapped? Minutes or was it hours? He had no clear answer.

Office furniture lay scattered about so it told him he was in an office room. He estimated how close to an exit the office would be. The room shouldn't be so hard to find. He shouted only to have it end in painful coughing. God, this is bad he thought.

He forced his mind to relax taking stock of his situation.

A compressed wooden blanket enclosed his body, inter-woven with plaster, metal, and cans. It impeded free movement. How had he survived? Frankly, he should be dead. Victims needing rescue had fallen from lesser heights without all the added debris on top of them and didn't survive.

Attached to his back his air tank became a saving grace. Snagged by debris it kept him close to the floor, but somewhat upright, or the outcome would have been very different. Being in an awkward tilted position helped his breathing. If he'd landed flat to the floor he'd have had no chance. Roy would have laughed at the absurdity of the thought had he enough air in his lungs.

The combined mixture of smoke, ash, and plaster dust came down as a dirty fine snow. It settled on everything, reminiscent of a bush fire's aftermath. The effect of swirling powder cast a shrouded darkness over the enclosed space—desolate and dying—a possible tomb.

His air mask and helmet were both gone, buried like him, somewhere in the rubble. Without his air mask for protection, the particles of dust and dense smoke invaded his lungs like a territorial army, causing him to cough, the spasms unrelenting.

Instinctively the paramedic began a self-assessment thinking his way downward.

A warm wetness ran into his eyes. His head felt squashed inside a hydraulic press, dizziness, and continual nausea all but screamed concussion.

His arms felt laden and he soon had a reason. His left arm lay pinned underneath him, and the way it throbbed, probably broken. His right one held by a large chunk of plaster covering his chest—tingled persistently.

A steady throbbing ache pulsated in the low region of his back. Intermittently, the ache would become a sharp gripping pain radiating outward running up the entire length of his back.

Several of his ribs all on his left were possibly broken.

Both his legs pinned beneath a sizable wooden beam that lay across the lower half of his body, and probably fractured considering how he landed. Both were numb, the weight he figured suppressing his pain. The prospect of his legs cut off from circulating blood frightened him most of all.

The simple act of thinking through his injuries left Roy weary. Having medical knowledge was a double-edge sword. Suffering from severe injuries and trapped, he could do nothing to help himself.

Listening intently, he desperately needed to hear sounds of a rescue in progress. Outside noises usually prevalent during a major structure fire were conspicuously absent. Had the fall affected his hearing?

He closed his eyes against a sudden onset of pain seizing his belly. Roy knew what the outcome could be. Blunt force trauma to the abdomen meant possible internal injury.

Time now became the enemy.

Subtle noises, none of which offered hope of a rescue but affirmed the fall hadn't damaged his hearing, filtered in.

He'd been in sticky situations before and rescued, this was no different he kept telling himself.

Tremors shook him contradicting his last thought. His body reacting to the trauma it received was slipping into shock.

I have to do something, he argued with himself.

"Not a good idea," a little voice warned.

Ignoring the fact he shouldn't move around he focused on his right arm and tried dislodging what rested on top of him. His goal was to reach the HT he prayed was still inside his turncoat pocket. As he tried to lift up on the plaster holding him tight, it shifted slightly, giving Roy confidence. In the next breath, his confidence turned into a strangled moan as streaks of white molten agony flooded into his lower back. Darkness encroached. He fell into the void.

Time passed. . . .

A murky grayness greeted him when he came around again. It took him longer to focus, his thoughts muzzy.

Please hurry he silently implored. I can't hold out much longer.

Growing weaker, a rapid debilitating exhaustion swept over him. Eyes closed, all fear faded into the background.

I'm dying.

The thought of death held little sway over him. Every firefighter lived with death as a possibility. It came with the job. The firefighter-paramedic experienced his share of harrowing near misses, had cheated his dark nemesis of its final prize a couple of times now…

The icy, ever patient, and greedy hands of death hovered near… It murmured his name softly enticing, daring him to let go and step into the gray. Roy ignored its bewitching invitation. No! He wasn't ready to give in, but time was running out.

Important memories fought for dominance, one in particular stood out among the others.

Both he and his partner John Gage had worked together as paramedics for a few years now. Both knew the other well enough to discuss anything, at least this was what the senior paramedic hoped.

Roy had finally overcome his reluctance to discuss what weighed heavily on his mind. The near electrocution he'd suffered eight months ago was the closest he'd ever come to dying. He needed to have a plan in place to protect his family, to have all his ducks in a row so to speak.

Roy didn't air his private issues with anyone other than his wife. Sure, he'd talk with Johnny about his family, sometimes even complain, but Men didn't have everyday conversations like this as a rule. The subject of dying, while not avoided, just didn't come up. The two had sat at the kitchen table of Station 51. The engine was gone when they returned from Rampart, and they were alone foregoing the usual coffee break. The day turned out to be a real scorcher, so they'd opted instead for a nice tall glass of ice-cold lemonade. It had been the first quiet break they'd had all day.

"Hey Johnny, let me ask you something."

"Yeah, go ahead," his fellow paramedic answered.

Roy knew he had to jump right in or forget the thing. He took the plunge. "Do you ever think of dying?"

The unexpected question and serious subject startled the younger paramedic. His whole body tensed. Eyes going wide he looked at his friend sharply. "What? Are you serious?" Uncertainty creeping into his voice he said, "has the heat gotten to you? What brought this on?"

"I've been thinking about it ever since my, accident."

Sudden understanding dawned. Roy didn't need to explain. It wasn't likely Johnny would forget he almost died.

The senior paramedic lowered his gaze, suddenly fascinated by the little rivulets of condensation running down his sweating lemonade glass.

Johnny gazed at his best friend before answering. "Sometimes I do," he said serious inflection lacing his words, "especially following a run gone badly or when I wind up in Rampart." Chewing on his lower lip, "I don't have a wife or children who depend on me, so it's not the same for me as it would be for you Roy. I don't dwell on it much, its bad luck. Where are ya going with this?"

"I'm sorry Johnny; maybe I should just forget it."

"No, Roy, you obviously have thought about this for sometime. What is it?"

Nodding, taking a deep breath, Roy pressed on, "I wouldn't ask but I know I can rely on you. I need to know someone will be . . . I need you to do something for me. Can you do that?"

"You're really starting to weird me out with this. Just say it."

Now that he had his friends complete attention Roy found himself floundering.

"Roy?" Johnny prompted his head cocked slightly to the side.

A lone finger ran up and down his glass as he contemplated an answer, "if anything happens to me—m—my dying wish would be for you to make sure everything's taken care of, okay? I need to know my family will be okay and taken care of by someone they love." Roy looked up then and had glimpsed a look of amazement, and something else, fear, before his friend was able to mask it.

"Roy nuthin' is gonna happen to you!" Johnny's hand automatically ran through his thick dark hair, alerting Roy he'd upset his friend. "Man—this is heavy."

"I know," Roy said soothingly, but if it ever does —"

"Okay, okay," his anxious friend, conceded, his hands rose in a placating manner, "Roy, you know I would do anything for you and your family, ya didn't have to ask." Looking at his close friend suspiciously, an uncertain gleam in his eyes, Johnny inquired cautiously, "is something going on I should—um—know about? Is anything wrong?"

"No. Nothing is wrong." Seeing the look of genuine concern, he added quickly smiling, "I'm fine, junior. I feel better since I've asked you."

"Jeez! I'm glad you feel better," Johnny muttered taking another long drink from his glass. "Ya just took ten years off my life with this conversation. Let's talk about something else, 'cause, nothings gonna happen to you, not if I can help it."

The memory slipped away as easily as it came, leaving in its wake the return of his present surroundings.

Irritated eyes no longer burned from the thick swirling smoke present when he'd first awakened. The gray shadowy haze in the room thinned. It appeared brighter, infusing him with the possibility the fire was out.

Whispering of sound penetrated Roy's oppressive stillness. He could hear water dripping down the debris. He felt icy water saturate his clothing the shock of it against nerve sensitive skin caused him to shudder continuously, adding to his misery.

Desperately trying to drive out the dust and smoke threatening to smother them, his polluted lungs set off brutal coughing spasms. With each one, a hot poker stabbed into his wounded back and side.

Just when he was, thinking things couldn't get any worse, a sharp creaking, and groaning from above alerted Roy to another collapse. A heavy object slammed into his hazardous cocoon.

Unconsciousness claimed him quickly.