X-ray Chapter 7, part 2

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Two days later, Ian was back in the ambulance, once again working with Frank. Late in the day, they were called back to the station. There, in the garage, they met Three-Five Charlie, driving bus 408 and held late specifically to meet them, and a very unhappy Lieutenant Squadron. "Would one of you like to tell me," the Lieutenant began, "why there is pot in bus 408?"

"Oh, yeah," replied Frank. "There's a funny story about that."

Earlier that day he and Ian had been called to a crumbling row house for a woman acting strange. They met the anxious woman on the street. "He fell down," she told them, "He fell down he fell down. He was in the garden and he fell down and I can't wake him up and aren't you going to do something!?"

Ian looked at the building, the sidewalk, the street. Nowhere was there anything he'd call a garden, nor were there any fallen bodies. "Ma'am, ma'am, calm down," he said, "calm down. Where is he?"

"He's in the garden he's in the garden," she gestured into the house, pushing Ian inside and then squeezing past him to drag him through the house and up to a cramped apartmeent on the third floor. Frank gamely brought up the rear, struggling with bags, monitor and stairchair because Ian hadn't had a chance to grab anything before the woman had kidnapped him.

In the apartment, the woman dragged Ian through a small living room into what he could only describe as a greenhouse. Black trash bags covered over all of the windows, but bank after bank of flourescent lights shone down from the ceiling, making the room ofensibly bright. Beneath the lights grew a verdant blanket of potted plants, all of the same type.

Ian had little time for inspection, however, as the woman pulled him through the greenhouse to a small, smokey closet at the far end. Here, an older man in a white t-shirt and boxer shorts lay in a crumpled heap.

"He's not breathing. Boy he's sweaty. Did he fall?" he asked the woman as Frank worked his way past her to get into the room

"No, no fall. His heart, his pills. Do something!"

Ian quickly assembled the bag-valve mask, pulled the patient into a straighter position, and put two quick breaths into him. Then found some tubing and hooked the mask to their oxygen cylinder. Frank shook his head. "It's always the fat ones on the walk-ups," he said before he called for back-up and hooked up the heart monitor/defibrillator. Quicklook on the monitor showed an SVT, so Frank prepared to shock. "100 Joules, clear," Frank called, pressing the 'shock' button. While the monitor recharged he pulled out his IV kit.

"200 Joules, clear," Frank pressed the button again. "Do you smell that?" he sniffed at the smoke.

After a moment Ian recognised it, too. "That smells like- Jesus, can we get him out of here?"

Frank looked over the small closet, and then intot he greenhouse beyond. "No," he said. "Not really."

"V-fib," Ian broke in, his eyes attracted by the chaotic, irregular tracing that now took over the monitor's screen. "Am I tubing or are you?"

"I've got the monitor, you've got the airway." said Frank. "You tube. 300 Joules, clear."

Ian broke out the intubation kit, worked himself into a slightly better position, and thrust the assembled laryngoscope into the patient's throat, searching for the vocal cords.

"360 Joules, clear," said Frank, and when Ian didn't move fast enough, "I said clear!"

"One moment," said Ian, "I'm only half-way through the Jeopardy theme."

"What? Will you clear so I can smoke this guy?"

Ian didn't immediately respond, since he had found the cords and was advancing the tube down the patient's airway. "Jeopardy. You know, the TV show?"

"What the hell does Jeopardy have to do with contraband in Three-five Charlie's bus?" Lieutenant Squadron broke in on Frank's narrative.

"I'm getting to that," Frank said. "Don't get your panties in a bunch."

EDIT 10 Feb 2009: changed location to interior room.

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