arc

Engine 51 rolled into the base camp.
"Why don't you guys go into the canteen?" Captain Stanley suggested. "I've got to check in with the command post. I'll meet up with you in a second. Have something hot to drink waiting for me, huh?"
As John Glover, Chet and Marco headed for the tent that was serving as the canteen, Glover caught sight of the squad.
"Hey, the squad's here. Gage must be somewhere around," he announced. "I wonder if they've got Roy's replacement up here yet."
They filed into the canteen, traded cursory greetings with the two or three dozen firefighters and emergency workers occupying the tent, and headed straight for the food tables. There were cold sandwiches, apples and oranges, coffee and something that tasted like very strong grape Kool-Aid.
Glover took care of getting the captain's plate and coffee. Then the three 51 crewmen sat down and ate like ravens. Not a word passed between them. Several minutes later, Glover saw Captain Stanley enter the tent.
"Cap! Captain Stanley!" he called out to get his superior's attention.
Captain Stanley joined them. His manner was tense.
"I think your coffee's cold, Cap," Glover remarked. "Want me to get you another
cup?"
"No," Captain Stanley replied. "I'll get it myself in a minute." He drummed his fingers irritably on the table, and that was when his three crewmen knew that something was not right. Captain Stanley was not the kind of man who could hide his troubles easily, if at all. Bad news was coming. Their captain had only to decide how to put it.
But Marco was not going to wait. "What is it, Cap?"
"There's been some trouble," Captain Stanley replied. "Gage and Stoker are missing."
"Missing?" This came from Chet.
"Gage was sent out with 68's paramedics to help their engine locate a plane crash. Captain Moore radioed in about thirty minutes ago and reported that Gage had gone off on his own after Moore had called a halt to the search, and that Stoker went after him." He paused to calm his swelling anger. "That was the last anyone saw of them."
"Did Moore and his guys try to look for them?" Marco asked.
"Who knows?" Captain Stanley replied. His hands clenched into tight fists. "Oh, I'm sure he'll say they did everything they could."
"What did they say in the command post? Are they sending a team out to look for them?" John asked.
"Well, the area where they were last seen has been completely overrun. They've got aerial reconnaissance sweeping the area to the south. And the engine crews and the fire line crews have been notified to keep an eye out for them." Captain Stanley looked at the sandwiches on his plate. He was starving, but with no appetite. Distress was etched deeply in his features. "But I'm afraid it may already be too late. They're most likely gone, and I doubt it was the fire that killed them." With these words, he stood up and headed for the exit.
Chet, Marco, and Glover did not waste a second in following him. They caught up with him just outside the tent flap.
"What did you mean by that, Cap?" Chet asked. "What's going on?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Captain Stanley replied.
"Well, quite frankly, right about now, I'd believe anything," came Chet's heated rejoinder. "Those are two of my friends you're talking about, so if you know something, you should tell us!"
"They're my friends, too, Kelly," Captain Stanley replied, his own tone of voice equally harsh. "And I guess, as friends, you'd expect that Mike would have told you what's been going on! But he hasn't! He made the decision to go back to that station, but he didn't bother to tell you why! And the only reason I know why he went back is because I was there when the whole thing came to light! But if I hadn't been there, then I'm sure he would have kept it from me, as well! And now, it's come to this - two of my men missing; yeah, that's right, I still consider Mike to be mine. He never belonged with those bastards. And I swear . . . if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to expose this whole damned thing was what it's been all along!"
His three crewmen listened in bewildered shock.
At last, Glover asked quietly, "What are you talking about, Cap?"
Captain Stanley turned his fiery gaze from one man to the next. He could see the concern in their eyes. They had a right to know.
"Headquarters has been using Mike to get inside Station 68," he stated simply.
"To get inside?"
"Mike's crewmates are devil worshippers, and there have been-" He stopped abruptly.
An engine had just pulled up.
68.
The fury coursing through Hank Stanley's veins sent fire into his brain. He broke from where he was standing and headed directly for the engine.
"Cap? Cap!!" Chet called out, as he, Marco and Glover took off after their captain.
But it was too late.
No sooner had Captain Moore stepped down from the cab than Captain Stanley grabbed him by the collar of his turnout coat and threw him up against the engine.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" he ground out, slamming Moore again for emphasis. "You God-damned son-of-a-bitch!!"
Moore was caught off-guard, but he was not a weakling. He grabbed hold of the arms gripping him and thrust Captain Stanley back several steps.
"What do you think you're doing?!" he demanded.
In response, Captain Stanley launched himself at Moore once again.
"What did you do to them?!" he demanded.   "Where are my men?!"
"Your men?!" Moore spat back, struggling to hold Stanley at arm's length.
"Gage and Stoker!! Where are they?! Tell me what you've done with them or I swear, I'll tear you to pieces!!" Captain Stanley threatened.
These words, coupled with the unbridled fury radiating from their normally levelheaded captain, were enough to propel the three remaining 51 crewmen into action. They grabbed hold of their captain, pried his fingers loose from Moore's turnout coat, and hauled him back to a safe distance.
Moore was immediately surrounded by his own station-mates. Their fussing and expressions of outrage were cut short by Moore himself, as he waved a hand to silence them. He straightened his coat, collected his wits, and assumed a superior posture.
"First, let me remind you that one of those missing men is mine," he said with a venomous hiss. "And then, in case you weren't informed, the reason both men are missing is because they both disobeyed orders." He paused and assumed a pained expression. "And don't think you've got the market cornered on anxiety and concern, Captain Stanley. I'm just as worried about them as you are."
Captain Stanley jerked free and took an intimidating step forward. "You're full of shit, Moore. You've been full of shit since day one. But that's about to end. As soon as this is over, I'm going to bust the whole thing open! I know what you're doing over there! Headquarters knows what you're doing!" He took another step closer and lowered his voice to a dangerous tremor. "Stoker knew what you're doing."
Moore's face was impassive.
Captain Stanley went on. "I made a mistake by letting him go back, but now I have nothing to lose, do I? You've taken care of that . . . Stoker and Gage . . . you've taken care of both of them, haven't you? Well, I'm going to make sure the entire world knows what you've been doing-and what headquarters forced Mike into!"
Captain Moore stared with unflinching calm into Captain Stanley's eyes.
"You're ranting like a madman," he said evenly. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He motioned to his crewmen, and they followed him past Captain Stanley and into the canteen.
Captain Stanley watched them go. "Yeah, you keep pretending, you bastard. It's only a matter of time now."
"Cap . . . do you think-do you really think they've done something to Mike and John?" Chet asked, knowing he was not going to like the answer.
"They've been trying to get Mike out of the way for a long time," Captain Stanley replied. "Under these circumstances, they could make almost any death look accidental."
"But what about Johnny?" Marco asked. "Why would they get him involved?"
"That was just circumstance," came the agitated response. "He just happened to be called out with them . . . and if he got in the way of their plans, I'm sure they had no difficulty deciding how to handle him, too."
"Shouldn't we report this to someone?" Glover asked. "I mean . . . Cap . . . you're accusing Captain Moore of murder."
Captain Stanley turned a sharp eye to Glover. "Not murder . . . not yet." He paused. "Headquarters already knows about 68's. It was Chief Janlan who put Mike down there to spy on them . . . only he didn't tell Mike that that was the plan."
"But why would they send Mike down there to spy on them?" Marco asked. "If they already knew what was going at 68's, what did they need Mike for?"
"They needed proof. They wanted Mike to get the proof for them," Captain Stanley replied.
"Proof of what?" Glover asked. "Proof that they're devil worshippers?"
"I'm not sure." Captain Stanley shook his head miserably. "I don't know all the details, but someone sent an anonymous letter to headquarters a few months before Mike got to 68's. The letter warned about something evil going on inside 68's, but it wasn't specific-"
"And they've been using Mike to try and find out what it is," Chet concluded.
Captain Stanley nodded.   "That night Mike showed up at the station . . . that's when I learned about all of this. That's when Mike learned about all this. He'd had no idea that they had placed him in that station on purpose, with no concern at all for his safety. And then, after all he'd been through . . . Chief Janlan still convinced him to go back."
"But-but didn't the guys at 68's-weren't they suspicion when he came back?" Marco asked.
"Apparently, they were." Captain Stanley let the words fall heavily.
"Who's this coming?" Chet asked, noticing the approach, from the canteen, of an unfamiliar man, who, by his garb, was also clearly a firefighter, though certainly not from L.A. County.
He walked directly up to the four crewmen from 51.
"Are you Captain Stanley?"
Captain Stanley's "yes" was surly and curt.
"I'm Ray Herbst," the man announced, holding out his hand. "It's good to finally meet you."
Captain Stanley stared in dumbstruck silence for a moment, then replied, "To finally meet me?"
Herbst looked slightly taken back. "Well, yes-are you-didn't Mike Stoker used to work for you?"
Captain Stanley nodded slowly. "Yes, up until about ten months ago."
"Station 51, right?"
"Right." Captain Stanley made a gesture of confusion. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I have no idea who you are."
"No? Really? Mike never told you? Well, I'm surprised to hear that." He paused, and by his demeanor made it clear that he did not intend to go any further in the presence of the three crewmen.
Captain Stanley regarded his men. "Guys, why don't you go back inside, grab some grub to take back to the cantonment area. We've got a 24-hour stand-down."
Kelly, Lopez, and Glover were not pleased with this dismissal; but being that they had no choice, they did as they were told.
"How do you know Mike?" Captain Stanley asked, the moment his men were out of earshot.
"I don't know him personally," Herbst admitted. "We've only spoken once. I'm a station captain in Ogden, Utah. Mike's father is a very close friend of mine. We served together in Korea. Brian called me several months ago to tell me that Mike had run into some trouble at his job and was being treated badly by the department here in L.A.   He wanted to know if I had positions coming open in my own station that Mike could move into."
Captain Stanley was flabbergasted. "He did that?"
"Yes, he did," Captain Herbst replied. "And about two months ago, I had an opening. I called Mike personally and offered him the position. He was very grateful, very polite, but he declined. I didn't think it was my business to ask him his reasons for declining, so I just wished him luck, and we haven't spoken since.
"His father was shocked and disappointed, but I think he was more worried than anything else," he continued. "I don't know the situation, so I can't say if his worry is justified . . . but well, it sounds like things have been pretty hard on Mike since the accident."
"He turned you down?" Captain Stanley could not believe it. He clenched his jaw, nearly trembling with rage. How could Mike have turned down an offer to get out of 68's and still maintain his career as a fireman? Why on Earth had he chosen to risk everything by staying at 68's when a saving grace had been presented to him? His sense of moral obligation, his sense of duty - these could not have been his sole drivers in deciding to stay in a place where he was hated, where he was being used, and where the end result would still likely be his termination from service, for no promises had been made.
"I have to admit, I was surprised," Herbst replied. "I thought that Brian had already discussed it with Mike; but it was clear when I spoke to Mike that he had known nothing about it."
Captain Stanley was speaking only to himself now. "So, this whole situation could have been prevented." His voice was little more than a whisper.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" came Herbst's query.
Captain Stanley returned his attention to the man in front of him.   "Mike and another one of my men are missing. They became separated from the rest of their crew earlier today, and no one has seen them since."
The shock registered on Captain Herbst's face. He was silent for several seconds, then he rubbed hand over his forehead. "Oh, no . . . oh, this can't happen - not when they were finally mending the fence. They finally had a chance."
Captain Stanley understood Captain Herbst completely, and he did not pretend otherwise.
At length, Captain Herbst spoke. "What's being done to recover them?"
"They've got helicopters sweeping the area, and the crews in the area have been notified to keep an eye out for them," Captain Stanley replied.
"What area were they in when they disappeared?"
"Section 12 . . . up there on the Mantowah scenic road."
"We're headed into the area just south of there," Captain Herbst informed him. "We'll keep a lookout for them, as well."
Captain Stanley nodded his thanks.
Captain Herbst held out his hand. "It was nice to meet you, Captain Stanley. I just wish it could have been under better circumstances."
"I'm glad to meet you, too," Captain Stanley replied. "And please, call me Hank." A pause. "And be careful out there."

****

"Now we know," McCullough said quietly, sitting down at the table where his captain, Skora, Culver, and Eggers were already seated inside the canteen. "Stoker informed headquarters. They're onto us."
"Then why aren't they out here right now with the handcuffs?" Skora challenged. "The only one who's said a word is 51's captain. And how much do you think he really knows?"
"Enough to make him feel confident enough to threaten us," Eggers replied.
"Stoker doesn't have anything solid to use against us," Skora insisted. "So, he's told headquarters? That doesn't mean that he's given them any proof. All he's got are suspicions."
"We don't know that," Culver replied.
"Stop. All of you." Captain Moore's voice commanded immediate silence. "This is not the place. Eat. Eat your fill, because we're going back out."
"They're sending us out again?" Skora's voice was incredulous.
"No, they're not sending us back out. I'm sending us out." Captain Moore stated. "Engine 68 is on 24-hour stand-down before A shift comes on, but we're not going back to the cantonment area. We're going to pick up one of the men from the laddertruck and we're going back out. I'm not taking any chances. We're going to make sure we finish what we started."

****

The rain was still coming down, steady and with no signs of slowing.
Mike and Johnny were on the move again. They still headed in the direction of the ridge, although the fire's fate seemed to have been sealed by another force of nature. Yet, Johnny had suggested they still try to get to some high ground, which might afford a view of tree breaks, indicating roads.
The rain, their piece of good fortune, seemed to have done both of them some good. That and the fifteen-minute rest they had taken. Mike felt more energetic, and Johnny's alertness had rebounded.
By the time they came to the foot of the ridge, it was growing dark.
"There's no sense in going up this thing in the dark," Mike announced. "We won't be able to see if there are any roads, anyway. I think the best thing would be to stay down here for the night-find some sheltered spot-and go up in the morning."
Johnny agreed. "We could both use the sleep."
They followed along the bottom of the ridge, searching for anything that might offer some protection from the elements. They came shortly to a rocky overhang, the ground beneath which was still dry. There was about a five-foot clearance and enough space for both men.
Mike deposited Johnny on the ground and did his best to make sure he was comfortable, which amounted to very little under the circumstances.
Mike then sat down, took off his helmet, and stared into his lap, trying to quiet the competing voices in his head, trying to figure out the next step. But nothing was clear; he didn't even know what the options were.
"Mike?" Gage's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Mike glanced up at him for a brief moment. "Yeah."
Johnny waited a few seconds before speaking. "I wanted to say thanks."
Mike shook his head. "Don't say that, John. I don't know what you have to thank me for."
"How about saving my life?"
Mike shrugged. "All in a day's work," he replied, not liking the callous sound of his words, but unable to take them back.
Johnny simply grinned. "I still don't get you, Mike."
"What are you hoping to get?" came the good-natured reply.
"I don't know," Johnny said thoughtfully. "A way to figure you out?"
"To figure me out? I'm pretty predictable, John." A wry grin curled the corner of Mike's mouth. "Unlike some people I know."
"What people is that?"
Mike looked up. His manner was almost bashful.
"I have to admit, John . . . I wasn't too sure about you in the beginning."
Johnny thought this was funny and he grinned. "Oh, yeah?"
"I just didn't know what to make of you. I mean, the whole paramedic program was new. I'd never worked with paramedics before," Mike replied. "I didn't know what to expect. There was Roy, and he seemed responsible and dedicated . . ."
His voice fell off miserably as he glanced away, and he began to think he had made a mistake by bringing up the subject.
But then he heard Johnny's voice, without any derision or insult. "And then there was me."
Mike raised his eyes to see Johnny still smiling - and there was nothing false in that smile.
A slight blush rose in Mike's cheeks. "You, uh . . . well, I'd never worked with anyone like you before."
Johnny's silence invited Mike to go on.
"I mean, I could see right away that when you were on a rescue, you were all business. And you definitely knew what you were doing." Mike grinned with the recollection. "And you were always vocal, excited."
Johnny laughed in a short burst, until the pain forced him to quiet down.
"So, are you saying I'm overbearing, Mike?" he asked
"No," Mike replied.
"Just a little hard to take sometimes?
Mike inclined his head. "At times, yes. But I've gotten used to it."
Johnny was silent. This was as much as Mike Stoker would allow. Gushing words of praise, emotional displays - these formed no part of Stoker's everyday make-up. Johnny had seen before what it took to push Mike over the edge, and it was something he never wanted to see again. In this way, he was grateful that Mike's threshold for pain, both physical and mental, was so high as to be almost obscured from view.
On the other hand, this Apostolic-like tolerance made it extremely difficult, if not downright impossible, to ascertain when Mike was hurting and in need of help. His crewmates were left to guess - or perhaps 'guess' was not the right word. It was more like trying to discern a mountain through the eye of a pin. Mike did leave openings, but they were narrow, hard to find, and even harder to squeeze through.
"My turn?" Johnny asked at length.
Mike gave lopsided grin. "Sure, why not? I asked for it."
"The first time I met you, I remember thinking, 'Serious, all business, reliable'. A little too quiet, but that kind of grew on me." A smile. "I knew I could depend on you. You're one of those naturals, Mike. You're always in control."
Mike cleared his throat. "Not always. I don't feel very in control right now."
Johnny raised a doubtful eyebrow. "We're still alive, Mike," he stated. "We were in the middle of a forest fire. I can barely even move. Those lunatic crewmates of yours were after us. We haven't got a shred of survival gear between us. And we're still alive. I think you're pretty well in control."
"I didn't make it rain, John," Mike replied. "And I'll be honest, I was scared out of my wits when we were running from those guys. I kept expecting them to catch up with us. I don't know why they didn't." He fell silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically visionary. "Someone else is in control."
Johnny could not stop a smile from forming. "Are you getting deep, Mike?"
Mike shrugged. "Maybe," he replied. "This is too much for me to handle on my own."
"Well then, you'll get the help you need. You'll get us through this, Mike."
So, this was what it meant to be in charge, to have people depending on you, looking to you for guidance and reassurance.
Mike's thoughts oddly turned to his father and the stack of faded photographs his father kept hidden away in a shoebox in the back of the bedroom closet. Yet to Mike, they had never been hidden. He had sneaked in and looked at them often, in awe and sometimes even jealousy. They were of 2d Platoon, Bravo Company - his father's soldiers, the smiling faces of youth; the clean, pressed uniforms of smartly turned-out young men, before mortars and grenades and gunfire had decimated their numbers and left Brian Stoker bereaved and grief-stricken.
So, this was what it meant to be in charge?
From there, Mike thought of Captain Stanley.
How did Cap handle it? The pressure of deciding how much risk was worth a man's life? The responsibility? Did he feel guilt when one of his firefighters was injured? Had he ever lost a man? Did the rank of captain somehow confer a special coat of armor that made its wearer impervious to the dangers and emotional traumas of the job?
As much as Mike wanted to believe that he was perfectly ready to be a captain, there were times, like now, when, despite his own hearty assertions, he was not completely convinced that he wanted everything that came with the position.
Looking at Gage right now, he knew the paramedic's life depended on him. It was a brutal truth; but the situation wasn't going to go away on its own. On top of that, Mike knew that, if either of them were going to come out of this alive, they had to keep moving. As soon as the sun was up, they would have to press on.
"We'd better try to get some sleep," Mike announced, getting tiredly to his feet and crossing over to where Johnny was lying. He set out his helmet to catch the rainwater, knowing he and Johnny were going to need water soon, then crawled on his hands and knees under the ledge.
The rain had turned a furnace cold, and Mike could feel the coolness even through his turnout coat. Next to him, Gage had begun to tremble in fits.
"The problem with paramedics is . . ." Mike began with a chastising grin, as he unfastened the hooks on his coat, " . . . you never wear your turnout coats." He struggled out of his own coat and tucked it around Johnny's body. Then he lay down beside him, their bodies in contact, not only for the purpose of sharing body heat, but for the simple comfort that came from the surety of another's physical presence.
Thirty seconds passed without either man saying a word.
Then Johnny, despite his pain, spoke with a comical twinge in his voice.
"I wish we had a fire."
Mike grimaced at Gage's attempted humor. "Just go to sleep."

****

Johnny heard someone saying his name.
Ah, that's Mike. The thought drifted into his head. He sounds worried. I should answer him before he gets too upset and starts-
Someone was shaking him.
-shaking me.
Johnny opened his eyes.
Mike was staring down at him. His gushing breath of relief was audible.
"Thank God," Mike said under his breath. He maneuvered Johnny out from beneath the overhang and helped him to sit up. Or actually, he assisted him to stand, as the pain in Johnny's ribs was aggravated by sitting. Johnny leaned back and balanced against the steep incline of the ledge behind him.
Mike held out his helmet, filled with rainwater. "It may not be the purest stuff on Earth-I mean, my head's been in there-but . . ."
Johnny's laugh had a liquid sound to it. "I'd drink it even if Chet's head had been in there."
"I went up the ridge a little while you were sleeping," Mike said, nodding with his chin to a break in the trees not far up the side of the ridge. "There's a clear spot just up there, and I was able to get a pretty good look around, though this drizzle makes it hard to see very far. It looks like there might be a road cutting up the hill to the west . . . maybe a mile, mile and a half away. Do you think you can make it?"
The prospect of coming to a road - a mark of civilization and an increased chance of being found - gave Johnny a boost of, if not adrenaline, at least determination.
"Oh, I'll make it," he assured Stoker. "You may have to carry me the last few steps, but I'll make it."
They started out through a wood grown heavy and dank with water. The air was filled with a thick drizzle, which lent a twilight-ish aspect to the morning and mingled with the sweat that quickly began to form on the men's faces as they forged ahead, their movements not as rapid as the previous day's, yet spurred on by the hope of rescue.
It was more than two hours before they reached the cutting. Here, their efforts were rewarded, for there was, indeed, a road. It was a dirt road, roughened and pot-holed, but still passable.
"Doesn't look like it sees much traffic," Mike observed.
Johnny, out of breath and panting, replied with a nod as he hung onto Mike's shoulder with a white-knuckled grip.
"But they have to be out looking for us," Mike went on. "So, it's likely someone will be coming down this road eventually."
Another nod and a single word. "Sit."
Mike looked over at Johnny and felt a twinge of guilt. He had been so excited about finding the road that he had not noticed how badly Johnny was sagging.
"I'm sorry, John," he apologized, to which Johnny replied with a dismissive head shake.
It was starting to rain again - quite heavily. Mike could see no protection
on the road. Twenty yards down the shallow embankment below the road, there was a thicket; and this, although not ideal, would be better than no cover at all.
The two men made it down to the tightly-woven grouping of trees and shrubs and ducked inside, where it was only nominally drier.
"If anyone comes, we'll be able to hear them from here," Mike said, settling Johnny on the ground.
"Good," Johnny replied, his features contorted in a grimace. "Not going another step."
"You won't have to, John," Mike replied. It was more of a hope than a certainty.

****

Terrence McCullough leaned forward and squinted through the windshield. Even with the wipers on fast, the rain was falling at such a rate as to make the road exceedingly difficult to see. Behind him, Pennington was sitting in Stoker's seat, with Harris hunched next to him. Skora was in his place, and Eggers and Culver were poised on the rear running board. Captain Moore, in the passenger seat, had spoken hardly a word, except to give direction, since they had left the cantonment area.
Terrence shook his head slowly. "Captain, this is no good," he frowned. "We've been sweeping this area for four hours now. If Stoker and Gage are still alive, they're not here . . . and even if they were, once they saw that it was us, they wouldn't exactly come out to greet us." He gave a sideways glance at his captain. "And if any of the other units see us out here-"
"It will appear as nothing more than a concerned crew looking for one of their crewmates," Captain Moore cut him off. He scanned the map folded over his lap. "Let's head for this area here. We know they could not have gone this way-or if they did, they're certainly dead. But they may have come through here, along this valley. The map in the command post showed that the fire never reached this area."
McCullough followed their current route to where it came in juncture with the road that would lead them into their next search location. He drove slowly, probably more slowly than his captain appreciated; but from Terrence's perspective, the less ground covered, the better. He could not account for it, but he was sure that Mike Stoker and John Gage were not dead. They were still alive and somewhere out here in these hills. And if his companions happened upon them first, the outcome would be death. This time, Captain Moore would see to it.
Terrence suppressed a shudder. Why was he so weak? Why could he not oppose the men that he had once called friends? Did he have absolutely no strength to support his own convictions?
He might not have much of virtue on his side at the moment, but he did have his conscience. Already he was deciding that when this was over, when they returned to the station, he was going to do something. He was going to walk away. If the law and justice did not descend upon him too rapidly, he was going to leave this part of his life behind forever. This was not the way people were supposed to live, groping about in the dark when there was so much to be found in the light.

****

"Soon like a demon's pantomime
The place was raging.
See the silhouettes agape,
See the gibbering shadows
Mixed with the battled arms on the wall."

Louse Hunting
Isaac Rosenburg

Mike sat up suddenly. He had lain back with the firm conviction of staying awake, yet his body had had other ideas. But he was awake now, and he sat in absolute stillness, listening for the sound that had woken him up.
There it was - the constant, low rumbling of machinery.
Oh, he knew the sound! He knew it so well!
It was the sound of an engine, a Ward LaFrance.
"John? John!!" Mike reached over and shook him gently. "Wake up! Do you hear that?"
Johnny grumbled his displeasure at the disturbance.
"Someone's coming! John! Wake up!"
Johnny opened his eyes - two narrow slits - and groaned. "What-what is it?"
"I hear an engine! I'm going up to the road!" Mike announced. "You just stay here. I'll flag them down." He did not wait for a response.
Stepping out of the thicket, he found the rain still pouring down. The sky was dark and murky, and although a glance at his watch showed nine o'clock, it looked like evening time.
Mike scrambled up the escarpment. He could see the approaching headlights and moved into the middle of the road where he began to wave his arms.
He was acknowledged by a blast on the air horn.
Mike moved back to the side of the road and waited, relief fluttering through his insides, making him lightheaded and careless. It wasn't until the engine had drawn within a few yards that his wits reclaimed him, and he noticed the number gleaming in white between the two headlights.
Sixty-eight.
Mike stumbled backwards. He knew his mind was working, but his thoughts were moving so fast that they flashed through his head without individual recognition. But one thread of reason and necessity prevailed, and this insisted to Mike that he flee.
It seemed that every voice in the universe was telling him to run.
There was no hope in fighting these men. There was no hope in reasoning with
them. His only hope was to run, and not only for his own safety. He had to draw his pursuers as far away from Johnny's hiding place as possible, for Gage was helpless.
The sight of the passenger side door opening jolted Mike into action. He spun around and took off at top speed down the road.
Mike could hear the sound of the vehicle closing behind him. He leapt from the road, scurried down the embankment, and took off towards the line of the woods. He did not spare even a glimpse back towards the thicket where he had left Johnny lying, for fear of drawing attention to the place. He only hoped Johnny would have the presence of mind not to give himself away.
Mike could hear the sound of heavy footfalls slapping on the wet ground behind him. He ran faster, but beyond conscious thought was the unquestioned knowledge that he would not escape. They were not going to let him get away this time, even if it meant they had to chase him until he dropped.
And then it happened.
"Mike!"
There was no power behind the voice, but it was audible nevertheless. And recognizable. It was Gage's voice.
Mike cast a hasty glance back over his shoulder to see Johnny teetering at the edge of the thicket. He also saw one of his pursuers turning in Gage's direction. That instant of slowing up ever so slightly was enough for Stoker's crewmates to close the already shrinking gap. Mike caught a brief glimpse of Eggers' face as the latter sprang forward, tackling Mike around the waist, and slamming down on top of him.
Mike felt his chin hit something solid in the mire into which he had fallen. His teeth rattled, and his brain jarred within his skull.
On top of him, Eggers got to one knee. As Stoker lifted up onto his elbows, Eggers punched him twice on the back of the head, then he grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him out of the mud, flipped him over and delivered a roundhouse to the temple.
Mike lay dazed on the ground, staring up through eyes that refused to focus, trying to will his limbs into cooperation; but it seemed that nothing was working right. He had the impression that his arms and legs were moving, but he was not getting anywhere.
And then suddenly, the world tilted and spun, flying past his eyes in distorted images. A swell of nausea almost caused him to retch before the movement stopped, and Mike found himself facedown on the ground, struggling to pull his thoughts back into order.
"Mike?! Mike?!!"
"Johnny?"
"Mike?!! Let me-let go of me!!"
Yes, that was definitely Johnny's voice.
"Johnny?" Mike's own voice reverberated through his head, echoing over and over.
"Let me go, damn you! Let me-"
Johnny's voice fell off suddenly.
Mike turned his head to the side. He could see Johnny hunched on the ground, clutching his arms about his middle. There was a line of blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. And the man towering over him . . . that was Pennington.
"So, what now?" This voice belonged to Eggers; but Mike had no interest in making visual contact with the man. He was channeling what little strength he still possessed into trying to clear his head, to figure out precisely what was happening and what he was supposed to be doing.
Standing in a rough circle around him, Eggers, Culver, Skora and Harris briefly considered Eggers' question. The answer was simple enough.
"We have to get rid of them," Culver replied, vocalizing what was on all of their minds. "The captain made that clear. And I don't know about any of you, but I don't want him coming down here to make sure that we're carrying out his orders; so we'd better make this damned fast."
"It has to look like an accident," Pennington put in, from where he was still keeping an eye on Gage.
Eggers was already eyeing the stream at the bottom of the valley.   "There's our answer." He turned his attention to his crewmates. "There'll be no suspicions. Two men - one injured, both exhausted - caught in a flash flood . . . accidental drownings." A pause. "The river will wash their bodies downstream. No one will be any the wiser."
"That sounds good," Culver agreed. "Let's hurry the hell up, then!" He and Eggers leaned down and each took one of Stoker's arm, but Skora stopped them, planting a foot in the middle of Mike's back.
"Not so fast, Brothers," he said forcefully. "I've waited a long time for this, and I'm not going to let the chance go by this time." He reached down, sliding his hand beneath Stoker's body, fumbling for the fastenings on Mike's trousers.
"There's no time for this, Jason!" Eggers barked.
"There's always time," Skora replied. "And don't act like you haven't wanted to do it, too, Paul. Every single one of us has wanted this since the moment he walked into our station . . . and none of us have done a damned thing! Well, he's mine now-and I'm not letting the moment pass."
In the quiet that followed, no one objected. No one said a word.
Skora's expression was almost a sneer. "I thought so. When it comes down to it, all of us-every single one of us-always chooses to put our pleasure first."
It was at this point that Johnny, hearing the sinister words being spoken around him, forced himself to raise his head. He saw Skora's arms disappearing under Mike's waist, and he knew the scene immediately.
Only he was seeing himself.
He was seeing himself in Stoker's sudden, combative movements. He was seeing his own horror and fear reflected in Stoker's face at the realization of what was about to take place.
Instead of the muddy hillside, he was seeing the dim interior of a derelict packing plant. Instead of a ring of faces, he was seeing only one.   It was not Stoker's but his own voice that he was hearing, raised in cries of protest, made half-crazed by terror and rage.
And the voices of the men taunting Mike - these were boiled away until only a single hollow echo remained.
"You fucked with me, and I'm gonna fuck with you. Stay awake, skinny boy, I want you to feel this."
Barnes. Barnes, over and over again.
These words were the only things in his head as he watched, trying to force detachment from the nightmare playing out before him.   But he could not remove himself from the situation. He could not look away. He could not pretend it wasn't happening.
He watched as Stoker fought like a cornered animal, rolling and thrashing in the muddy wade of trampled earth. There was a viciousness and brutality in him that did something to rouse Johnny from his horrified stupor. Johnny raised himself up a bit, taking in the sight of the four 68 crewmen using their combined strength to flatten Stoker on the ground.
Mike's arms were twisted up behind him, and Eggers had one knee pressed against the back of his neck, effectively pinning him down. And yet, Stoker's struggles did not slacken. He was in less of a position to resist now that they had him down under their coordinated efforts, but the idea of capitulation never entered his head.
Skora moved into place and once again reached around Mike's waist, grappling for the removal of the interfering clothing, going with his victim's resistance, knowing full well that there was nothing Stoker could do to stop him, to stop them.   They were all going to have their turn, for Skora knew that once it started, it would not end until each of them had had a go.
Johnny continued to watch the scene unfolding before him. Mike's face, cheek flush to the ground, was caked with sticky mixture of mud and blood, through which Johnny was able to ascertain an unspeakable terror. Johnny knew the expression. It was his own - his own look, as he had imagined he must have appeared when . . . when . . . he refused to finish the thought. That event was in the past and there it would remain.
Only, Johnny had recovered. He had made the great leap. He had come through the ordeal strengthened and perhaps humbled by his need.
But Mike Stoker . . .
No, Mike would never make it through something like this. This was the worst thing that could happen to a man like Stoker. This was the mark that would push him over the edge. The past could not swallow up and diffuse an act of this sort - not in Mike Stoker's world. This would be the end of him.
Johnny edged forward on his knees. "Don't do this to him!" His voice sounded more like an order than a plea.
Pennington's grip on his wounded shoulder brought a shout of pain from Johnny's lips; but even as he twisted away, Johnny continued his entreaties.
"Stop it! You can't do this! You can't do this to him!"
Eggers looked up with an interested humor. "Are you volunteering to take his place?"
Johnny could hardly acknowledge the thoughts traversing his mind at that instant. His immediate answer had almost been "yes".   But following directly on its heels was a resounding "no". Johnny's eyes were still on Mike, still watching the rabid contest that was already lost, had been lost from the first instant.
In a moment, Skora would have access to his perverse pleasure; and Johnny was finding no hint, no clue whatsoever in Mike's eyes, to tell him what he should do. It then occurred to Johnny that Mike had no idea of the conversation that was taking place, so intent was he on his resistance.
Johnny could live through it again - if he had to.
If it meant that Mike would be spared the grisly cruelty of the act . . .
"You don't know what this will do to him!" Johnny burst out suddenly, ready to attempt anything to avert the act of self-sacrifice moving ever closer to the forefront.
"We don't care what it will do to him," Culver replied with a wickedness that turned Johnny's blood cold. "Just taking care of ourselves, right now."
"Doesn't make any difference, anyway," Skora added. "You'll both be dead when we're done."
"They should both be dead already."
Stoker's was the only head that did not turn at the sound of Captain Moore's voice. Moore stood with McCullough just slightly up the hill from where the rest of them were gathered.
"Captain!" Skora got to his feet.
"You disobeyed me," Moore said dispassionately. "All of you. You disobeyed."
"Captain-Sir, we didn't-can't you please try to understand?!" Skora implored, holding his arms out in supplication. "We've obeyed you the entire time. We've waited so long . . . and after all the agony he's caused-" his voice grew bitter and angry for an instant, "Don't we deserve our reward?"
Moore looked from one man to the next. "Do you all feel this way?"
Every response was affirmative.
"Very well, then . . . I will not keep you from your pleasure." He turned to McCullough. "Go back up to the engine. A blast on the air horn if anyone approaches."
McCullough did not respond right away. His eyes were fixed on the sight of Mike Stoker on the ground, straining against the hands holding him in place, his body exposed from waist to knees. It was ghastly. It was evil.
"Terrence, do as I tell you."
McCullough's head snapped up as if struck. "Yes, Captain." He took off up the hillside at a run. Coming to the engine, he ducked into the cab and grabbed the mic.
"Base, this is Engine 68. I've got an emergency situation at my location - Tower Pass, two miles east of the wildlife station. Send someone, anyone! Just get them here fast!"
He did not wait beyond the first words of acknowledgment, did not hear the inquiries after the manner of emergency.   Every second counted now, and he was not going to waste a single one.

****

They were hell-bent on torment.
Johnny understood that now.
They let Mike fight against them. They let him think he might break free. They pressed close upon him but always withdrew so that they might watch his attempts at escape. They did everything except what they threatened, thereby increasing their own excitement and reducing into further wretchedness the object of their abuses.
Stoker's movements had grown sloppy and strength-less. He knew he was being toyed with. His defiance was only a show now. His crewmates were in a position to do as they pleased, and when they had had their fill of this taunting cruelty, they would each have their moment.
Johnny's protestations fell on deaf ears. No one was inclined to pay him any mind, except to throw out the point that what lay in store for Stoker could certainly be enacted upon him, as well. And with Pennington keeping watch over him, able to reduce him to a screaming heap with the pressure of one hand, Johnny was forced into the position of a bystander. But he did not look away in his helplessness. Never once did he look away. If for only a second, he might meet Mike's eyes, the burden might be shared, a transfer of strength made.
But Mike never looked at him, not even for an instant.
Johnny found himself wishing they would get it over with. Get the whole thing over with.
"Get off of him!"
Johnny looked up.
Sixty-eight's engineer had come down the hill and was now standing by with an inch-and-a-half in his grip.
"Terrence-" Moore began.
"Step away from him, all of you," McCullough warned.
"What are you doing, Terrence?" Moore asked in a voice of practiced bewilderment.
"You heard me, Captain. I want all of you to get away from him. I'll open up-you know I will, so just get back, move away from him."
"Terrence, are you crazy? What's got into you?" Eggers asked. "You know what this bastard's been doing-spying on us! We have to get him out the way!"
"I'm going to say it one last time," McCullough said in a low voice. "Get away from him or I'll open up on you."
Captain Moore nodded, and the rest of his crewmen slowly moved away from Stoker as Pennington stepped away from Gage.
"There . . . we've done as you asked, Terrence," Moore said gently. "But please, tell me why you're doing this? We're your Brothers, Terrence. We're a family. You're part of us. Why are you doing this?"
"We're not a family. We're not brothers," Terrence replied. "You're a bunch of murderers-sick, disgusting-you're barely human!" He was shaking with rage and self-loathing. "I let myself believe in what we did! I convinced myself it was right! But it was evil! It was evil! It was evil and we worshipped it!"
"Terrence, you're letting your fondness for Stoker cloud your judgment," Captain Moore chided.
"My respect for Stoker cleared my judgment!" McCullough shot back. "And if you think I'm going to stand by and let you do this to him, then I invite you to go ahead and try it! In fact, I wish you would! Go on! One of you! Just lay a hand on him! Do it!"
"Terrence, what do you hope to accomplish here?" Moore asked, his voice still insidiously gentle. "You're one man. There are six of us. You can't possibly overcome us." He paused and held out his arm. "Come . . . let's just forget about this. We can pretend it never happened."
But McCullough was not budging. "Go to hell and burn, Captain. I've been given a second chance . . . and I'm not going to blow it."
Mistaking his meaning, Captain Moore jumped at a perceived opening. "Who's given you a second chance? What have they promised you, Terrence? Leniency? A suspended sentence? Don't be a fool, Terrence. You're as guilty as the rest of us."
McCullough shook his head. "No one's promised me anything," he replied. "My second chance didn't come from anyone down here."
A look of horror crept into Moore's face. "What do you mean by that?"
"I think you know exactly what I mean."
Johnny listened to the conversation going on above him as he crawled over to where Mike was lying completely still on the ground. Gage dared not speak a word, not even a whispered word of comfort. The situation was surpassing precarious, and other than a careful hand placed on the back of Mike's head, Johnny made no attempt to offer reassurances that were by no means secured.
"All of you . . . move together," McCullough went on. "Close together. No one's going to try anything. I'll blast every one of you, if you even think of trying anything."
"Terrence, what do you plan-" Skora began angrily, but he cut himself off at the sound of an approaching siren. He clenched his fists and turned a vicious glare on McCullough. "You fucking bastard!" With these words he leapt forward, only to be met by a stream of water that sent him careening back into his crewmates. He went down, taking Captain Moore and Pennington with him.
McCullough turned the water on Eggers, Culver, and Harris in turn, keeping them at bay; but when Skora, Moore, and Pennington regained their feet, he knew he could not hold them back.
Skora and Pennington were already circling wide. As McCullough turned to follow them, Eggers and Culver moved out in the other direction. Within a matter of seconds, as McCullough tracked after Skora and Pennington, Eggers and Culver took him from behind. Culver wrapped his arms around McCulloughs' chest, pinning his arms to his sides, while Eggers wrested the hose from his hands. But while McCullough might be a small man, he was sturdily built and infused with an Irish temper. He threw an elbow to Culver's ribs and flipped the man handily over his shoulder, before Skora and Pennington got a hold on him. With Eggers now on in possession of the hose, the entire crew of 68, including McCullough, looked to Captain Moore for the next move.
Moore came to stand in front of McCullough. He could see up on the roadway the arrival of an engine.
"Terrence, why did you turn against us?"
McCullough was direct. "Because what we were doing was wrong."
"I treated you like a son-"
"You treated me like the devil's minion that I was," McCullough spat back. A glance up towards the road showed three men descending the hill. "And I'm ready to pay for it, even if you're not."
The three men from the recently arrived engine drew nearer. They wore unfamiliar uniforms. The station number on their helmets was nothing recognizable as being from Los Angeles County.
When they were close enough to ascertain the situation, they all three stopped.
"I'm Captain Herbst," the front man announced. "We got a call that there was an emergency at this location." He looked from Moore to McCullough, still being held by Skora and Pennington, to where Gage was sitting awkwardly by Stoker, whose disarray was still apparent.
"I think we've got it under control," Moore replied with a smoothness that could only be the work of a master deceiver.
"No!" McCullough cried out, twisting in the arms that held him. "He's the one responsible for this whole thing!"
Johnny added his own accusations to McCullough's. "They were going to kill us!"
Captain Herbst was unmoved. His gaze returned to the unaware Stoker. "What-what happened here?"
Moore once again answered. "Stoker . . . there on the ground-he's one of my crewmen. He'd been missing since yesterday afternoon. He and Gage-" he nodded in Johnny's direction, "-they disappeared from the scene of a rescue, and we've been looking for them for the past five hours." He paused at the sound of another siren. "We found them only ten or fifteen minutes ago, and well-there was some trouble. I'd rather not go into it here. It, uh . . . it involves some rather delicate personal matters, and I wouldn't wish to cause anyone embarrassment-"
"That's bullshit!" McCullough shouted. "They didn't disappear! They ran! They ran because these guys were trying to kill them! And the only reason we came out here to look for them now was to make sure they were dead! And now-now-they were going to rape him! Rape him! Rape him and then kill them both!"
"Terrence, please . . . don't make this any harder than it already is," Moore said with manufactured sorrow. "It would be best if you didn't say anything right now, or you might incriminate yourself and your friends."
"He's telling the truth!" Johnny cried out. "How else-how else could you explain this?"
Captain Herbst turned and looked up at the roadway where two more vehicles were arriving. In front was a police car. Behind it was a red sedan - some bigwig from the fire department. He took a moment to savor the words that were coming next, then looked to Captain Moore. "Tell your men to let him go," he said serenely, glancing at McCullough.
Moore drew back in feigned shock. "Captain Herbst, I don't think you're aware of the true situation."
"I'm aware. Now, I think your men had better let him go. You can explain the true situation to the people who want to hear it." He glanced over his shoulder to see two police officers and two fire department officials coming to join him. He turned to his own two crewmen and motioned towards Gage and Stoker. Then, raising his handie-talkie, he called up to his engine.
"Engine 112, this is HT 112. Confirm we do need an ambulance. Two injured."
"10-4, HT 112. Will confirm," came the response.
Captain Herbst gave his report to the police officers while the two arrivals from the fire department approached Gage and Stoker and the two Station 112 crewmen who were attending them.
"Gage? Gage?"
Johnny's hatred was in place before he'd even looked up to see the owner of the voice. Raising his head slowly, peering up into the face of Steve Junkers, Johnny could express his rage in only a scathing epithet spoken in a mere whisper. "Lousy, rotting son-of-a-bitch."
"What happened here?" Junkers asked, ignoring the charge.
"Your proof," Gage replied bitterly. "You finally have your proof."
Beyond Junkers, Johnny could see Chief Janlan, who was very nearly at odds with the other man from 112's, the former hovering desperately over Stoker, waiting for details; the latter attempting to ward off such callous enthusiasm.
But Mike was having little to do with either of them.
He had managed to gather himself up somewhat, but his eyes were vacant and staring. His movements were abrupt and mechanical as he got to his feet; and no one dared tried to stop him as he began a labored walk up towards the road.
"Mike?" Johnny raised his voice a notch.
Mike gave no response. He continued walking.
Captain Herbst, seeing this and having finished giving his report to the police, intercepted Chief Janlan in his pursuit of Stoker. He took Janlan's arm and pulled him aside.
"Chief, my name's Raymond Herbst . . . I'm with Station 112 out of Ogden, Utah. That man . . . Stoker-I'm good friends with his father."
Janlan was impatient. "Yes? And what has that to do with anything?"
"Well, considering my connection with the family, I think you might want to let me handle this. He's in a bad state right now," Herbst replied, looking up the hill to where Stoker was still trudging along.
"What happened here?" Janlan asked.
"I can only tell you what I saw," Herbst said. He was looking Janlan directly in the eye. "But I think that can wait a minute or two. Peterson, there - he was with me. He can tell you what we saw. But right now, someone needs to be with Stoker. That's where I'm going."
"I'm going with you-"
"Chief . . . why don't you let me spend a few minutes alone with him first? Look, he's obviously in shock. I don't know how much they really did to him here, but give me a chance first?" Herbst suggested. "I feel it's the right thing for me to do."
"I appreciate your concern, Captain . . . uh . . ."
"Herbst."
"Herbst. Yes. But you don't know the background that led to this situation. You have no idea what's involved here-"
"I believe I do, Chief," Herbst replied. "Mike's father called me and told me Mike had run into some trouble and was being treated badly by the department. I even offered him a job at my station, which he turned down. And I couldn't figure out why." He paused. "But whatever his reasons, they must have been important enough to him to risk everything. And look at him now . . . even if he wins, he loses."
Captain Herbst broke away and hurried after Stoker.

****

"This gay machine of splendour 'ld soon be broken,
Thought little of, pashed, scattered . . . "

Fragment
Rupert Brooke

Captain Stanley's legs were trembling. He hated this sitting, this forced inactivity. He was already anxious enough; and now, this drive seemed interminable. In actuality, he had set out with Chief Entweiler less than ten minutes ago.
Captain Stanley and the rest of his engine crew had been sacked out in the cantonment area when Chief Entweiler had arrived unexpectedly with the announcement that both Stoker and Gage had been found - alive.
Captain Stanley's initial feelings of elation quickly faded as Entweiler went on. Although the details were sketchy, there had been some trouble, apparently, that merited the chief's immediate and personal attention. He was on his way to Tower Pass, and he thought it best that Captain Stanley accompany him.
And so Captain Stanley had set out with him, leaving behind three bewildered and rather put-off firefighters.
Entweiler must have his reasons for bringing him along, and Captain Stanley could not help running through the possibilities in his head, each scenario more dreadful than the one before it. But the drive out was nearly silent, Entweiler feeling that he had not enough facts to make a useful statement, and Stanley not completely convinced that he wanted to know the truth.
When, at last, they came upon the location, it looked like a scene from a crime movie. There were two engines: 68 and 112; two police cars, an ambulance, and with the arrival of Chief Entweiler's vehicle, two fire department sedans.
Captain Stanley noticed a stretcher being loaded into the ambulance. He was out of the car the moment the wheels stopped turning, and he caught the attendants just as they were about to close the doors.
"Hold on! That's one of my men!" he said forcefully, recognizing that it was Johnny who was on the stretcher. "How is he?"
"He's pretty banged up, some broken ribs, a broken ankle, but it doesn't look like anything life-threatening," one of the attendants replied. "He's exhausted, though-and pretty upset."
"Can I see him?"
"Sure. Just be quick about it."
Captain Stanley climbed into the back of the ambulance.
His initial reaction, upon taking in Gage's appearance, was rage. He had expected to be shocked, to feel sympathy - and while he did feel these emotions to a degree, the overriding sentiment was a fierce anger that required a good amount of exertion to keep under regulation.
"John?" he said quietly.
Johnny opened his eyes.   "Cap."
"Thank God you're alright," Captain Stanley went on, knowing that this was not a completely accurate statement, but the intention was clear. Gage was alive, when the expectation had been death. He was injured, but his injuries would heal. Certain tragedy had been transmuted to certain savior.
"Cap-you have-you have to make sure-" Johnny's voice was hoarse, and Captain Stanley thought he detected a ripple of contained emotion beneath the struggled words. "Don't let them go. They were going to kill us."
"They're in police custody, John," Captain Stanley assured him. "Everything's under control-"
"But they lie-" Johnny protested, breaking off into a painful cough.
"John-"
"No, Cap . . . Moore-Captain Moore-he'll make them believe!" Johnny insisted. "He'll make them-think he wasn't doing anything wrong."
"I won't let that happen, John," Captain Stanley promised with fierce determination.
Johnny's voice was a whisper now, and Captain Stanley had to lean close to hear him.
"They don't know what happened here."
Captain Stanley regarded Johnny for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to press for information, until Johnny made the decision for him and continued speaking without being asked.
"Mike told me-they're devil worshippers. They tried to kill us . . . they were doing to drown us." Johnny paused, collected his wits and his strength. "They were going to . . . they were going to do to Mike what Barnes did to me."
Captain Stanley drew back. "What?" His voice quivered with horror.
Johnny nodded an affirmation. He could not, would not speak the words again.
"John-did they-did they-"
"No, they never got the chance," Johnny replied. "But Cap . . . they tried. They were going to. If that other engine hadn't come along-"
"Take it easy, John." Captain Stanley was quietly insistent. "I'd better let them transport you. We'll be by as soon as we can. Don't worry, John. Everything's going to be okay."
Johnny's only response was a feeble nod.
Captain Stanley hopped down from the ambulance. He took one more glance before they shut the doors, and he could not help wondering what the events of the past twenty-four hours might do to Gage. Even without all the particulars of what had transpired, Captain Stanley could tell from what little he had heard, combined with Gage's agitated manner, that the ordeal had left its mark-on Gage, at least. A difficult time was ahead, for certainly John could not have witnessed such a scene as the one he had briefly described without having been thrust into a whirlpool of distressing memories, himself.
Captain Stanley placed his hand on the rear door of the ambulance, an odd gesture of connection - but one that, nevertheless, made him feel closer to the man inside. He waited until the ambulance had pulled away before turning, and heading for the man nearest to him, prepared to inquire after Stoker.
The first man he came upon was a fireman with the number 112 on his helmet.
"One-twelve? Are you one of Captain Herbst's men?" Captain Stanley asked.
"Yes," the man replied with a stout nod. "George Page."
"Is Captain Herbst here?"
"He's back behind the engine," Page replied. "He's with the other-"
"Captain Stanley!"
Captain Stanley flinched at the sound of Chief Janlan's voice.   He turned slowly to see the chief coming up the escarpment.
"Good, I'm glad you're here," Janlan said. "Listen, we need your help. Stoker's not saying a word. He's completely over the edge. Maybe you can do something to get him to open up."
Captain Stanley stared hatefully at Janlan, yet he refrained from argument. Instead, he asked simply, "Where is he?"
"Come on." Janlan lead Captain Stanley around the back of engine 112. And here they came upon Stoker sitting quietly on the rear running board. From the way Chief Janlan had described the situation, Captain Stanley had expected to find Stoker in the throes of hysteria. But instead, he sat ramrod straight, not moving - a statue.
Captain Herbst, sitting beside him, stood up at the appearance of Captain Stanley and Chief Janlan. He drew very close and said in a quiet voice, "Captain Stanley, I'm glad you're here. Did they tell you what happened?"
Captain Stanley nodded, his eyes still fixed on Stoker. "More or less."
"He's refusing to go in the ambulance," Captain Herbst went on. "He hasn't
said a word this whole time. We've just been sitting here. He won't let anyone take a look at him. I tried to clean him up a little - he won't let anyone touch him."
"Thanks for staying with him," Captain Stanley said. "I'll take it from here." He looked to Janlan. "I think it would be best if you weren't here, Chief."
Janlan, as much as he wanted information, could not argue the point.   "I'll be waiting." He left without another word.
Herbst waited until Janlan was gone. "I wish I could've done more. But he's in some kind of shock, and I just can't reach him. I'll be up front if you need any help." He disappeared around the corner of the engine.
"Mike?" Captain Stanley's voice was soft as he took a step closer. He reached out a hand and had barely touched Mike's shoulder, before Mike flinched away and got to his feet.
"I'm okay," Stoker murmured. He began walking away, heading down the road in a blind, thoughtless walk, like a man towards the gallows.
Captain Stanley could hear him still speaking - the same words over and over again, a record caught on a skip.
"I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay."
Captain Stanley went after him and this time succeeded in placing a gentle hand on his back.   "Mike?"
When he received no response to his inquiry, Captain Stanley placed himself in Mike's path, setting his hands firmly on Mike's shoulders, halting his movement.
"Mike, are you alright? Look at me."
Mike's voice was still a recording. "I'm okay. I'm okay."
Captain Stanley could see the manifestations of nervous exhaustion in Stoker's face and manner. He shook him slightly. "Look at me, Mike."
Mike raised his head and regarded his former captain.
But now that Stoker was looking at him, doing as he had been told, Captain Stanley found that he did not know what to say. He stared back at the empty eyes which regarded him, and not knowing what else to do, he drew Mike into a protective embrace, realizing that such an effort was too late in coming. Still, he held the man in his arms with a fierceness born of love, of brotherly affection - or perhaps it was more patronly than brotherly.
Whichever it was, its power was without dimension, able to withstand trial upon trial. And if Mike could sense anything through his misery, Captain Stanley prayed that it would be this affection, this willingness to help shoulder the burden . . . if only Mike would allow it.
There was movement. A clutching sensation as Mike reached up and clenched his fingers into the cloth of Captain Stanley's turnout coat. An intermittent trembling. The muffled sound of a man crying. Captain Stanley tightened his embrace. He did not say a word. Even when he felt the slackening of the body in his arms and realized that the trauma and hardship of the preceding twenty-four hours were now taking their toll, still he maintained his silence as he dropped to his knees, bringing his now unconscious charge with him.
He looked up to see Captain Herbst watching from near the front of the engine, and he motioned to him for assistance.
Herbst summoned the attendants from the second ambulance.
Less than a minute later, the ambulance departed the scene.
Less than five minutes later, the place was deserted.

onto part six