"Freedom Is Just a State of Mind"

Chapter Fifteen

Twenty-four agonizing hours later, in NASA's quarantine cubicle…

Of the two of them, John seemed to be taking the transition—from 'going non-stop' to 'not going at all'—the hardest.

The cooped up fireman had taken to viewing the doctor's videotapes whilst walking, because he simply could no longer sit still.

Roy had been using 'reading' as a distraction. That is, until his ever-increasing worry began causing all the words to run together. When he had to read the same paragraph twice, just to get the gist of it, he'd finally given up.

To release his 'pent up' energy, and to avoid climbing the cubicle's walls, he had also started taking long, leisurely walks on their treadmill.

The restless rescuers were keeping track of the miles they were traversing.

Between the two of them, they had covered a vast distance.

"I can see a sign up ahead," John jokingly announced, upon completing a combined total of fifty miles.

"Oh yeah. What's it say?" Roy insincerely wondered.

"Welcome To Riverside. Population: 1,853,420," his partner replied.

Roy looked smug. "I told you we would prob'ly reach Riverside, before news from Atlanta reached us."

His partner stepped off the treadmill and collapsed into an exhausted heap on his bunk. "Your turn."

Roy got stiffly to his feet and took his partner's place on the treadmill.

"What time is it?" Johnny mumbled.

"Why do you keep asking me that?" Roy irritatedly inquired. "Why can't you just 'look at the clock'?"

"Because that would require me to move more than just my mouth," John replied, with wry grin, and just lay there, staring up at their painted ceiling.

Roy rolled his eyes, but then obligingly glanced at his wrist. "It's twenty minutes past seven."

John's jaw slowly dropped. "But that means it's been—"

"—Over 72 hours," his fireman friend finished for him.

"I feel like an astronaut must feel, at T-minus 10 and holding," John realized, sounding every bit as miserable as he looked.

"Yeah," his buddy solemnly, and somewhat breathlessly, agreed. "Me, too."

"You think it's a bad sign, that it's taking longer than 72 hours?"

"Not necessarily…THEY said: At least 72 hours…Which means, it could be…even days longer."

Gage's sweat-glistening face instantly filled with concern and he snapped bolt upright in his bunk. "Whatever happened to your 'No, it couldn't!' attitude?"

"Guess I've just come to accept the fact…that I'm probably not…going to be spending Christmas…with Joanne and the kids," Roy breathlessly replied, his soft-spoken words reflecting the disappointment and heartache he was quite obviously experiencing.

His fireman friend's sadder than sad statement caused John's own heart to break. "You can't just 'give up'—just like that," he emphasized, with a snap of his fingers. "Look. THEY say that our minds possess tremendous amounts of potential 'kinetic energy'. Dr. Vandertine was right. We should never underestimate the 'power' of positive thinking. What a' yah say, we 'harness' that power…and use it to open that door?" he proposed, and pointed to their prison's sealed portal.

The corners of Roy's frowning mouth turned up somewhat and he gazed disbelieving back at his delusional partner.

John was not least bit deterred by his buddy's highly doubtful look. "Okay then. I'll do it—alone. I'm just gonna sit here…and stare at that door…until it opens." The fireman directed his 'fully focused' gaze toward the sealed entrance to their quarantine quarters, and started concentrating—very hard.

The thought of his partner 'thinking' the door open amused Roy to no end, and helped ease the tension of the moment—considerably. He kept right on walking, and staring at his friend—who was staring so intently at the little compartment's locked exit.

Several silent miles, and a full fifteen minutes later…

The walker continued to find his friend's expression of serious concentration highly entertaining. "Good thing I haven't been…holding my breath."

"Oh, hush," John lightly scolded. "Your 'negative vibes' are gonna interfere with my 'positive energy flow', here."

His breathless buddy's grin broadened. "You've got something…flowing over there…all right.

Roy's latest remark caused an exasperated gasp to escape from his 'concentrating' companion. But John's brow remained deeply furrowed and his intense gaze remained riveted upon the quarantine cubicle's locked portal.

A loud 'hiss'ing sound filled the compartment, and there was a slight change in pressure, as the airtight seal around the door was suddenly broken. The portal slid open and a breeze entered the cubicle, carrying along with it the distinctive aura of salty ocean.

Roy stepped off the treadmill and aimed a look of utter astonishment at his equally stunned partner.

The cubicle's dumbstruck occupants turned their attention back to the open door.

Dr. Jack McComas and Midshipman Cary Greyson were standing there on the carrier deck, doubled over in silent laughter.

"We were eavesdropping on you guys, when the news came in from Atlanta," NASA's Contagion and Contaminant expert explained, between mirthful chuckles. "And…well…we just couldn't resist. Besides, we had to inform you of the results 'somehow', and this seemed to be as good a way as any," he innocently added.

The two unquarantined Los Angeles County firemen/paramedics looked extremely skeptical as to the truthfulness of the still-grinning physician's last statement.

"Congratulations, gentlemen!" the doctor declared, stepping into the cubicle and extending his hand.

Both firemen took it and shook it.

"Your bodies' immune systems successfully conquered the virus, and you have been passing 'immunity' on to everyone you've had 'close personal contact' with."

The cubicle's guests glanced at one another again, this time, looking tremendously relieved.

McComas made a point of examining the little black book that lay open on one of the cubicle's counters. "There's been a slight oversight, gentlemen. Your signatures are missing from the hotel's Guest Registry."

"We aren't astronauts," Roy replied.

McComas sighed. "Yeah. I know. And it's a darn shame. Because the two of you would make damn fine ones! However, this is a 'guest' registry—not an 'astronaut' registry, and it's been a real pleasure to have you as our guests!" That said, the hotel's manager shoved the open book across the counter and passed them a pen.

"This just doesn't seem right," John muttered, as he and his partner reluctantly took turns signing the registry. "I mean, we're not from 'out of this world'."

The doctor's eyes sparkled with amusement and he and 'room service' swapped grins. "No comment," was all their hotel manager would say on that particular matter.

His firemen guests were forced to grin.

"Well, it's Christmas Eve, and I'm sure you're both anxious to get out of here. So, if you'll just remove each other's IV catheters…" McComas hinted, "the Health Department van is waiting down on the dock, to take you back to your fire station. You can keep the clothes, if you like."

"Thanks, Doc!" the freed paramedics replied, speaking in perfect unison.

Dr. Jack McComas and Midshipman Cary Greyson exchanged amused glances once again.

Once their catheters were removed and their clothes were changed, John and Roy re-shook their hotel manager's hand.

"Thanks for everything, Doc," John told him. "Your little...'hotel', here, certainly deserves its five-star rating."

"You are most welcome," McComas assured them. "I'm just glad it all turned out so well for you guys. Take care of yourself, John. Try to slow your pace a little and don't forget to take that prescription I gave you...or this," he added and passed the paramedic his Sign book.

"I already have one—"

"—You have two," McComas quickly corrected.

"Actually, I still only have one. The other Sign book I have is just borrowed," John explained.

"Bye, Doc," Roy spoke up. "And, thanks—again—for your hospitality."

The doctor grinned and waved.

The two paramedics took one last parting look around their hotel room, and then promptly 'checked out'.

Forty-five minutes of fast driving later…

The health department van deposited its unquarantined cargo in the pick up spot: Station 51's back parking lot.

"Thanks for the lift!" the two freed firemen told the vehicle's driver, in tandem.

The guy nodded and waved goodbye.

They watched the vehicle turn around and drive away.

"The first thing I'm gonna do," Johnny announced, "is call Toni, and find out if she's even still speaking to me."

"You're welcome to use my phone…" Roy offered.

Gage flashed his partner a grateful grin. "I appreciate the invite," he noticed that their engine crew's cars were absent from the lot, "but it looks like B-Shift was called in early, to replace us." The 'on-duty' paramedic pointed to the unfamiliar vehicles that were parked beside theirs. "Which means, I gotta bunk here for the next two nights."

"Why-y?"

"I promised Lorey I'd work B for him. Remember?"

"You can't work B for Lorey! What about your elbow?"

"My elbow is just dandy. It's not nearly as sore anymore. Don't worry. I promise, I'll keep it 'cushioned'," he added and swapped smiles with his 'mother hen' friend.

"Merry Christmas, Johnny!" Roy called out, as his partner began heading for their fire station's back door. 'Johnny's home away from home,' the family man silently realized.

"Merry Christmas, Roy!" John called back over his shoulder.

Roy slipped in behind the wheel of his little yellow sportscar. He couldn't wait to get home to his wife and kids—his healthy wife and kids.

Gage suddenly remembered something. "Oh. By the way…"

DeSoto rolled his window down.

"What are you giving Joanne for Christmas this year?"

"Me!" Roy replied with a grin, and tapped his chest a couple of times.

Johnny was more than a little amused to hear his partner's reply. "In that case, I suggest you drive extra carefully," he strongly advised. "It's too late now to get her something else," he lightly explained.

Roy's smile broadened.

His wryly-grinning buddy waved and then disappeared into the redbrick building.

DeSoto ignited his car's engine and then drove—extra carefully—off in the direction of his home…and his 'other' family.

The End

John stepped up to his locker and jerked its door open. The dreaded 'sprong' sound resounded in the room and he got a face full of big, fluffy-white snowflakes.

The flakey fireman's head slowly turned in the direction of another dreaded sound, that of hearty laughter. John cracked his eyes open and fluttered the flakes from his lashes.

Half of B-Shift's crew was crammed into the locker room's open doorway.

Gage gave the giggling group an icy glare and the front of his snowflaked shirt a cold stare.

The snowflakes were not melting. They couldn't melt. They were artificial—but very realistic looking.

So much so, that gazing down at them almost made him wanna shiver. The paramedic bent over and shook the flakes from his hair. Then he straightened back up and began brushing them from his chest and shoulders.

"Cap," he heard Chase Powell say, "There's this guy I know at work. Great looking hair—but that dandruff!"

The lineman's lighthearted comment evoked another round of robust laughter.

Gage flashed his fellow firefighters a grin and then glanced up at the top shelf of his locker.

There was a typewritten note taped to the bottom of the spring device's little shallow bowl. It said simply:

'Seasons' Greetings

From

The Phantom Bomber'

John Gage's grin returned and broadened. "Ho. Ho. Ho," he bemusedly declared and then left the locker room, to fetch a dustpan and a broom. It felt good to be free again.

But it felt even better to be home.

Author's note:

For the past two days now, we have been experiencing extremely windy weather. Sustained winds of 30 to 35 mph, with frequent gust of up to 50 to 60 mph. The high winds toppled trees-everywhere-and took out our power for over 26 and a half hours!

We finally got our electricity back around 2:30 this afternoon. We've had more fire calls in the last 48 hours, than we had in the last 48 DAYS. When the trees fall on the power lines, they catch on fire. When the lines come down on roads and highways, they create an extreme safety hazard. So I've been real busy battling potential brushfires and directing-and detouring-traffic. In between fire calls, I've been trying to get this E! fic' finished. It seemed like everytime I would pick up my pen and begin to write-my pager would go off. lolol It ain't easy trying to read and write with just the dim light of an oil lamp, either. Don't know how our ancestors ever managed. lolol

Sure hope the high winds die down SOON!

Also hope you have enjoyed this story. *fingers crossed*

Thanks for reading and reviewing! ((((readers)))))

Take care! *wave wave*

:)Ross7

P.S.

For those who were wondering why we 'put the lime in the barley fields and mix it all up' ;)...Alfalfa requires a certain PH in the soil in order for it to germinate and grow, and next spring, we will be reseeding the barley fields with alfalfa. :)