Chapter 2, part 3

Ian hurried back down the hall to the garage and out to the parking lot. Ambulance 006 sat just outside the door; Ian had passed it in his earlier dash across the parking lot. 006 was an old ambulance, with rumpled fenders and a front bumper that some prior collision and twisted into a frown. A heavy pool of exhaust lay at its rear, and as Ian walked toward the cab he felt himself stepping from one world into another. What with all of the hurry that morning to not arrive late, he had lacked the time to notice his uniform, to feel self-conscious and proud of it. Now, the months of training, the months of waiting, the certainty of failure, everything collapsed into this short walk through the rain, and although Ian didn't feel particularly proud, he certainly felt self-conscious. Looking through the ambulance's windshield he saw an indistinct figure in the passenger seat, so he stepped around to the driver side. He grabbed the door handle, breathed, and opened the door. Cigarette smoke immediately enveloped him.

The smoke filled the ambulance's cab, obscuring the hazy figure in the far seat. A cigarette glowed briefly. "What do you want?"

Ian took a deep breath of the smoky air. "I'm Ian," he said, "Ian Steele? I'm your new partner?"

The figure considered this information. "Where were you last?" He asked eventually.
"Last?"

"What station were you at?"

Ian felt the rain soaking through his uniform. "I wasn't," he said, "I finished at the Academy back in -- with the last class."

Silence, again, except for the rain. "Make sure we’re DACed," the figure said, picking up a newspaper and ending the conversation.

“I’m working with a schmuk,” Ian said to himself. He cleared his throat. "I don't know where anything is," he said aloud.

More silence from the smoke-shrouded figure. Another bright glow from the cigarette. "Your name is Steele?"

"Ian Steele."

"Well, get in the back," said the man, and when they were both sitting in the patient care module: "the airway stuff is over there by the airway seat, at the head of the stretcher. The onboard O2 is the green knob -- don't ever use it."

"Never?"

"Never. Next to the O2 is the switches for the lights, the suction, that shit. Above the CPR seat is the locked cabinet for drugs. There should be two --"

"Locked?"

"The key is on your ring. There should be two yellow bags in there with --"

"Ring?"

"Your key ring? You got a key ring? From Green?"

"No. Should I have?"

The man's hand strayed to a shirt pocket that clearly held a package of cigarette, then pulled away, disappointed. Clearly, the man – Richter, according to the nametag on his chest – at least recognized the inappropriateness of smoking in the patient care area. “F--N--G,” he said, "it'll be in the office. There should be two yellow bags in there with number tags, holding the zippers shut -- just right the numbers down. If there aren't number tags, change them out."

"Change them where?" Ian asked. He did not ask where the numbers were to be written.

"The station. Any station, but if it's not this one you have to leave your station and unit number. Between the airway stuff and the drug box is trauma stuff -- gauze, tape, that shit. Between the drug box in the back door is linen and OB. Bed pans are in there somewhere, too. And the urinal.

"Below the bench is the main O2, Reeves, a scoop, and a splint pack -- two of everything. Stairchair is on the side door.

"On the back in the bus," he closed the doors behind them and pulled out a cigarette, first fishing the pack from the shirt pocket, and Ian took another opportunity to look at him: thick, but not fat; shorter than Ian; a face that Ian would later describe to Sara as weatherbeaten -- but probably no more than a few years older than Ian. A drooping mustache clung to the man's upper lip, and his uniform, though neither stained nor wrinkled, somehow gave the impression of being disheveled. “Perhaps part of this is due to his boots,” Ian thought. “They can't have ever seen a can of polish.” He had lit his cigarette with a 99¢ Bic lighter and was talking again.
"On the back of the bus is the spineboards, the KED, in that cabinet on the driver side. Passenger-side is the door to get the O2 tank out."

He pointed along the driver’s side of the module. "Back compartment is head blocks. In front of the wheel is flares, flashlights, that shit."

They walked around to the passenger-side. Here both compartments were stacked in front of the wheel well and the side door. "This is where you can put your stuff," Richter said as he unlocked and opened the larger, upper cabinet. "The brown bag on the lower shelf is mine. Don't touch it. Your shit goes on the upper shelf. The upper shelf." He closed the compartment and flapped his jacket. "The doors and compartments are always locked. Put your bag in the compartment, get your keys, DAC us, and let's go."

"What's the bottom cabinet?" Ian asked.

Richter took a drag from his cigarette as he stared at the compartment, and exhaled tendrils of smoke from the corners of his mouth. "Battery box," he said finally, and climbed into the cab.

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AUTHOR'S COMMENT: I'm not sure on the list of equipment - if it's too confusing and therefor off-putting. Thoughts, anyone?