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‘TIL HELP ARRIVES
By Willowwind
The monotony of the interstate began to lull Bob Fuller to sleep. The clear blue sky, green rolling hills, and constant whir of tires on pavement had a definite effect. Then, something odd caught his eye. Something just didn’t look right. It looked like . . . yes, it was, . . . an accident. He grabbed the mike to alert the Project 51 tour bus, tailing along behind him, as he slowed to pull over and help.
The air brakes puffed as the big bus slowed to a stop on the side of the road, pulling in behind the little red utility truck. Kevin, who had been reading in the back, pushed the narrow door to the driver’s compartment open. "What’s going on? Why are we stopping?"
The two-way radio sputtered, "I think there’s an accident up there. I’m gonna check it out." The voice belonged to Bob. It was his turn to drive the Squad. As he opened the door and exited the truck, he felt like he was back on the show, his mind wandering back to the halls of Rampart Emergency and Johnny and Roy bringing in a patient. This time it was real.
Kevin looked ahead to see two vehicles, one on its top and the other sticking out of the ditch on the shoulder of the interstate, its taillights still blinking. "I’ll get Randy," the words spilled out in a rush. His buddy was catching up on some sleep between stops.
Tony, the bus driver, pulled the lever to open the bus doors and leaped out, half running as his feet touched the pavement, heading toward the scene. Kevin hurried to the sleeping rack.
"Wake up, come on." Kevin commanded, urging Randy, shaking his shoulder hard. "We need you out here."
"Wha . . . what do you want?" muttered the dark-haired actor, rolling over in the warmth of his bunk and fanning at Kevin with one hand. "Go away."
"Get up and help us. There’s a bad wreck out here. We need you."
Suddenly, as if an alarm went off inside him, Randy sat straight up. "Wreck? I’m coming." His lanky frame bolted towards the front door as he wiped sleep from his brown eyes.
Kevin retrieved the first aid kit from the dash of the bus and ran out the door to the overturned vehicle, feeling a rush of air as his partner sped past. Randy was, surveying the scene. It was apparent the victim, a 30ish female, was wedged between the steering wheel and the seat. He quickly assessed his victim, finding apparent chest trauma, and a fractured tibia that had punctured the skin. She was semiconscious, moaning and trying to move around. "Don’t move, okay? Just lie still and calm down. We’re going to help you."
A half grin crept to Randy’s lips. "You know, I feel like we’re doing the show again."
"Kind of feels like it," Kevin replied, pulling the first-aid kit open. "Only 20-something years later," he chuckled.
Bob and Tony assessed their victim, suspecting a head injury since the guy was thrashing his arms about, as if he were fighting an imaginary battle. "Hold still, we’re trying to help you," Bob commanded. He turned to the stocky bus driver. "Get on the phone and call 911, we need some help." Tony turned and loped back to the bus.
All Bob could do was talk to the victim and try to keep him still. The actor shook his head slowly. Oh, where was Joe Early when you needed him . . .?
"We need more than this." Randy held up a Band-aid and pushed the meager first aid box away. "Get the trauma kit from the squad."
Kevin opened his mouth to protest that the kit was part of the display, yet he knew in the back of his mind just how serious this was. "We’ll just have to replace what we use," Kevin said. He sighed and headed to the Squad. As habit would have it, not only did he pull out the trauma box but the biophone as well. He was half way back to the car when he realized what he’d done. He shook his head, smiling to himself, and went right on, knowing time here was too precious for any delay.
"Help’s on the way. I brought the crowbar too. Maybe we can pry the guy out of this trap," Tony said, approaching the actor.
"Maybe the boys can use that. I just . . . need to . . . keep this . . . guy still ‘til help gets here. He’s not trapped," Bob replied, pointing to Randy and Kevin. Tony nodded and took the crowbar to them.
Kevin grabbed the tool, muttered thanks, and began to maneuver it in the steering wheel to move it back off the victim. "We have to get some room in there. "
"Yeah, it’s crushing her," Randy said, pushing on the back of seat in effort to free the woman. "How long does it take to get some help around here anyway?" He barked, as time was dragging, so it seemed. He continued pushing against the car seat, waiting for it to give a fraction of an inch as a trickle of sweat ran down his tanned cheek.
Exhausted, Randy turned to the orange box on the ground next to him, opened it, picked up the phone, and then threw it down. Kevin jumped a little. "That won’t do us any good, there’s no Rampart around here."
A smile spread across Kevin’s round face, "And Doctor Brackett’s not there anyway, he’s at the other car."
In the distance they all heard sirens. Kevin looked at his partner and grinned, "Won’t be long now." The pair watched a fire engine and ambulance passed the scene going the opposite way. "Where are they going?
"We’re here." Kevin’s blue eyes showed great concern.
"Just as long as they get here soon. I think she’s going into shock," Randy replied, gently patting the victim on the shoulder.
The wail of sirens got closer and faded as Engine and a Paramedic Unit from Station 8 rolled up behind the tour bus.
A tall, stocky firefighter rushed up, asking what they had. Randy replied, "Chest trauma and broken leg here, I don’t know what they’ve got over there. This one‘s pinned. . . can’t get her out."
He was breathless. "We’ll handle it from here. You all have done enough," The man drawled.
Within a few minutes both victims were removed from the twisted vehicles, the medi-vac helicopter had landed and whisked both victims away to the local trauma center.
The tall firefighter sauntered over to the actors standing outside of the tour bus to thank them. As he approached, a smile came over his face and he called over the rest of the responders. "Aren’t you guys . . . .?"
They had been discovered. All they could do was smile.
"Hey, you guys know who our rescuers are?" The firefighter replied. "Remember the old TV show, Emergency?"
"Well . . .."
The group talked a bit and the captain invited the actors and their bus driver over to the station for dinner, adding, "It’s the least we can do for your help." They jumped at the chance for a home cooked meal. Kevin mumbled something about the last restaurant they’d eaten in.
Dinner was terrific. Better than Chet’s chili or Marco’s Irish stew. It was a regional dish called Hot Brown. They ate like starving wolves.
"And now for the entertainment. …" the captain said as he ushered the boys into the bay.
They all looked at each other, confusion registering on each face, wondering what to expect. Were they the entertainment? They took chairs along the wall, near the door. A few seconds later, the tall firefighter came in, followed by five other guys, civilians as it were, and each had a musical instrument case.
The tall firefighter opened a case, taking out a banjo, put it on his lap and began to pick a tune. The other five followed and before long there was a full-scale jam session taking place. The actors enjoyed the impromptu jam session immensely. Afterwards the captain explained that the jam session was a usual occurrence, something to pass the time, and that the tall firefighter was known in the area for his musical abilities.
The boys explained to the members of Station 8 about the Project 51 tour and that they were on the way to the Smithsonian with the Squad and its cargo. "As soon as we stop at the store and replace what we used at that wreck." Kevin said. Luckily, the captain allowed them to replenish the Squad’s trauma kit from the station’s supply.
Before they pulled out on the tour bus, the actors signed autographs for everyone at the station. The tall firefighter handed them a cassette tape. "Something to pass the time," he said, smiling. The bus pulled off from the station, Kevin propped his feet up and slid back into the comfortable chair to sleep, as Randy popped the tape into the cassette player, climbed into his bunk, and closed his eyes, letting the banjo carry him off to dream about his days on Emergency!