Chapter Text
“Didn’t I say last time that I didn’t want to go to another brushfire?” John Gage shouted to his partner over the sound of bulldozers and crackling fire.
Roy DeSoto’s teeth gleamed white in his soot blackened face. “I seem to remember something like that. Too bad you forgot to tell the chief.”
The paramedics were working the front line, digging a fire break. They had been at it for quite a while and were due to rotate to paramedic calls.
It was none too soon for Johnny, who was exhausted from a three day hiking trip. He had planned to rest during the remainder of his week’s vacation to recover only to be greeted at his door by his partner. They had been called up for the fire.
Multiple brushfires in the hills to the north of Los Angeles had combined and were spreading out of control. Firefighters from all the surrounding departments had been called in to help halt the Beast.
“Gage, DeSoto, you’re relieved. Head back to base camp for your rotation.” Station 84’s captain took their shovels, handing them off to firefighters in the bright yellow turnouts of the Pasadena Fire Department.
The two Los Angeles County Fire Department paramedics climbed on the back of the transport truck. Roy took a swig of water from his canteen. He held it out to his partner. Johnny shook his head, leaning back against the stacked salvage covers.
“You need to drink some water, Johnny. You know that as well as I do,” Roy commented.
“Yeah, I know. I will, Roy, just let me take a breather.” John never opened his bloodshot brown eyes.
Roy looked at his friend with concern. He was well aware of the reason behind the fatigue. He also knew there was nothing he could do to help, except be there and keep an eye on Johnny for signs that he was overtired.
Although the ride was bumpy, Johnny fell asleep. He looked so uncomfortable that Roy gently repositioned the covers to allow the younger man to recline more. Exhausted, Johnny never woke while being moved about. As they headed back to base, the truck would periodically stop to allow other weary firefighters to climb on. Conversation was non-existent; nods were exchanged as well as an occasional tired smile.
Roy shook Johnny’s shoulder when they finally arrived at the base camp. By the time he managed to rouse the dark haired man, all the other firefighters had slowly climbed off the truck. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We’re there.”
Johnny stared blankly at his partner. “Wha?”
“We’re at base. Time to get something to eat.” Roy handed the canteen over. “And to drink.”
Without a word, Johnny took the canteen and chugged the remaining water. “Thanks.” He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, reminding Roy of his son Chris.
“You’re welcome. C’mon, let’s get some food before the others eat it all.” Roy clapped his friend on the back, letting his hand rest on Johnny’s shoulder as they walked to the makeshift mess hall.
“Hey, Roy! Gage! Over here!”
Roy searched for the source of the voice and saw Chet Kelly waving madly from across the tent floor. He was sitting with the rest of Station 51’s crew. Roy acknowledged him, nudging Johnny to get his attention. “I think Chet’s saving us some seats.”
“Great,” Johnny muttered, then grinned. “At least he’ll keep me awake.”
They got their food, sandwiches, hot soup and cookies, and made their way across the floor of the canteen to where their station mates waited. “Hey, Cap.”
“Hello, Roy. How’re you going, John?” Captain Stanley asked.
“Makin’ it, Cap. How are you guys?”
“Wiped out,” Chet answered.
Marco nodded. “We aren’t making any headway. I heard they’re calling in departments from the north to help.”
“We’ll be lucky if we manage to save half of the houses along the edge of the San Gabriel Mountains.” Their captain sighed. “They’ve evacuated Monrovia and, from what I’ve heard, they may have to do the same in Burbank.”
Mike Stoker, their very quiet engineer, spoke. “We’re losing. If the weather doesn’t change soon, the fire will overrun Burbank, Glendale, Monrovia, and from there, on to Los Angeles.”
The other firefighters sat stunned, both by Stoker speaking up and by what he had to say. Yet they couldn’t deny that the drought and careless campers had combined to cause the worst brushfires known in the history of California.
“We need rain. Lots of it,” Stoker continued. “But according to the weather forecasts, we only have more days of sunny, hot and very dry.”
The conversation faded away as the men concentrated on eating and finding a place to sack out for a quick nap. Then it would be back to work for the crews of both Engine and Squad 51.