rabidsamfan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rabidsamfan) wrote2009-05-10 01:55 am
rabidsamfan) wrote2009-05-10 01:55 am
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Snow Day part 10
"Well, I can smell something burning, anyway," Gonzo said, patting Stan on the back. "You're making progress."
"It just won't burn," Stanley fretted. "I've tried and tried, and all I get is a few sparks."
"Maybe the kindling isn't small enough," Gonzo said. "You've got to start with the littlest stuff first."
"I'm just useless. I don't know anything practical. I don't know anything but doctor stuff," Stanley started to turn away, and Gonzo had to keep a hold of him.
"Stan, why don't you let me try feeling the tinder and the kindling, to see if it's small enough. That way you'll know you're doing it right," Gonzo suggested.
"I just don't know anything about it," Stanley said again, but Gonzo could hear and feel him gathering up bits and pieces for Gonzo to touch.
Gonzo tugged off his mittens and held out his hands, and Stanley poured a handful of torn up rags into them. "This is the tinder."
"Right," Gonzo said, but he had almost forgotten the fire. When Stanley's hands had brushed his, they had been dry. Dry and hot. Far too warm, in fact, for a man who had been trying to light a fire barehanded for twenty minutes in 25 degree weather. Gonzo thought about trying to feel Stanley's forehead, but decided against it. Stanley feverish was bad. Stanley trying to cope with the possibility of a subcranial hematoma might be worse. It wasn't the best idea in the world to try to reason with someone who was starting to bleed into the brain.
"Is it small enough?" Stan asked.
"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Stick it onto the fire and see if that helps." Gonzo said.
Stan took the rags, and Gonzo thought he detected more clumsiness from the right hand than the left. Hemiplegia would be another really bad sign, but Gonzo wasn't sure how to test for it. His mind raced frantically as he tried to think through his options. He couldn't leave Stanley here and try to go for help, even without the mountain lion, he'd be risking letting Stanley slip into a coma. And he couldn't send Stanley on alone -- Stanley wouldn't go. If they tried to go on together, he'd be putting more stress on Stan's injuries, not to mention his own. If they stayed here and holed up, waiting for rescue they'd be stressed too, and it might take a lot longer for Trapper to come looking here than it would take to walk out. Gonzo flipped a mental coin.
"Stan?"
"Hmm? It's just sitting there, Gates."
"No, I was just wondering if you felt up to walking some more. The fire's not working. We should just get out of here before the lion comes back."
"I guess," Stanley didn't sound enthusiastic, but he didn't protest either. "If you say so."
"Give me a hand up then," Gonzo said, holding up his hands.
Stanley stood, very carefully, and took Gonzo's hands in his own, pulling harder with his left when his right didn't seem to get a very good grip. "Your hands are cold."
"I'll put my gloves back on," Gonzo said, unhappy at the confirmation of his diagnosis. He did so and then turned so that Stan could hold onto his shoulders from the back. "Just steer me onto the road, and keep me out of the trees. I'll do the rest, okay, Stan?"
"Okay." Stan tried not to lean too much onto Gonzo; Gonzo was hurt after all; and they started along the road.
Behind them, the embers which had been blocked from the wind by Gonzo and Stanley's own bodies, freshened and glowed as the breeze reached them, and a tiny tongue of flame touched the shredded underwear that Stanley had dropped over the twigs.
"They could have come into the area half a dozen ways," Trapper concluded. "Can't we try to get a chopper up, now?"
"Might be our best bet. Ray's got a license, and he can get access to the chopper they keep at district within an hour. Let me give him a quick buzz." Mike went over to the radio and flipped a switch on the microphone. "Mendocino South to Mendocino North, over."
There was a short pause, and then the speaker crackled. "Mendocino North here. What's up, Mike?"
"Can you pop over to district and grab the whirlybird for a quick looksee at the roads coming into the forest? We've got a jeep gone missing and two doctors in it."
"This the fellows you've been beating the bushes for all day?"
"Yep. Last known position was Santa Clara at 6:30 p.m. The driver knows the area though, and might have tried coming in on one of the campground roads. I'm going to go down and look, but it would be faster if you got the bird."
"Sure, I can grab it. Say again, your party is missing since 6:30 Papa Mike yesterday?"
"That is correct." Houlihan looked over to Trapper and shrugged.
There was a short silence, and then Ray came back on the air. "Any chance your party might try to take the pass road if the gate was open?"
"Stand by." The ranger turned to Trapper. "Would Gates take a road that he knows is usually closed in winter if he saw that the gate was open?"
"How many miles would it save?" Trapper asked, after a moment of thought.
"Forty three," Houlihan answered.
Trapper tried to imagine himself in Gonzo's shoes, knowing that the jeep was in good shape, and seeing a barrier he expected to face fall away; and being tired into the bargain. "It's possible. Likely, even. Why?"
Mike didn't take the time to answer him. "Ray, that's a yes. Was the gate open?"
"Roger. And the sign hasn't been replaced yet. I'm still working on the new one. Those damn vandals..."
"Well if they broke down on the pass, we'll just take the snowmobiles up and get them," Mike said, reasonably.
"Haven't you been outside yet this morning, yet, Mike?"
"Negative. What's wrong, Ray?"
"The pass slid last night. That whole big cirque went and it took out a hell of a lot of trees and road with it. If your parties were on the pass last night they're probably under half a damn mountain's worth of snow."
"Hang onto me, Stan!" Gonzo repeated. "Don't just keep stopping like that."
"I'm trying," Stanley said, in a petulant tone. "It's hard. And my feet hurt."
Gonzo stopped pushing forward and turned to feel for Stanley. The other man was a couple of feet back, and Gonzo could feel him swaying uncertainly. Gonzo found his hand and tried leading him forward, and that seemed to work. "Come on, it's just a little further. We'll find Trapper and he'll take care of everything. Maybe your dad will come back from New Zealand, too."
Stanley made a little snorting sound, "Not likely. He wouldn't even come back if I were dead. Just tell ‘em to pop me into the freezer ‘til it was more convenient." Gonzo didn't have to see to know that Stanley was pouting. "He wouldn't have to tell any of his friends. They don't even know I exist. And he wouldn't have to tell any of my friends ‘cause I don't have any."
"That's not true, Stan," Gonzo protested.
"But if I'm dead then you're dead and then John won't like me anyway," Stanley concluded with the skewed logic of delirium. "So no more friends. Poof! All gone."
"You've got more friends than that," Gonzo said. "What about Gloria and Ernie and Jackpot? They like you."
"They do?" Stanley was surprised. "I thought they thought that I'm an overbearing pompous jerk."
Gonzo shook his head. "You always surprise me, Stan. Why would you think that?"
"‘Cause I am one," Stanley said as if it were perfectly reasonable. "I'm a supervisor. Supervisors are like that. Arnold's a pompous jerk too, sometimes. He's always asking me to do stuff that nobody else wants to do."
"So why do you do it?" Gonzo asked.
"Well, somebody's got to. And everybody else is doing important stuff. I'm jus' playing doctor." The last two words came out in a sneering tone that Gonzo strongly suspected echoed Riverside Senior's comments to his son, and Gonzo suddenly wanted to get a plane ticket to New Zealand so he could go and kick the man.
He stopped and turned to face Stanley, remembering not to give in to the urge to shake him, and said, "Stanley Riverside, I want you to hear something, and I want you to remember it. You are a damn fine doctor. Did you hear me? You're not a play doctor, you're a real doctor, and you have saved a lot of lives. Including mine. And if your father can't figure that out, then he's a fool. Any other father on the planet would be proud of you. Heck, I'm proud of you, sometimes, just because we work at the same hospital. Trapper is too."
"But Trapper likes surgeons best," Stanley said confusedly. "He's proud of you."
"He can be proud of more than one person at a time," Gonzo said. "Trapper cares about you, Stan. It would hurt him like hell to lose you. Now come on. Let's go find him."
"All right," Stanley said, but instead of moving forward he quietly collapsed.
"Stan!" Gonzo pulled off the ski mask and the bandages, trying to see what was wrong. It was a mistake. He couldn't see anything more than light and glare and a vague dark blur that was Stan sprawled across the snow, and opening his eyes cracked another blister and sent fluid stinging across the cornea of his left eye. He held the heels of his hands a couple of inches away from his re-closed eyes and swore brokenly while he waited for the pain to subside enough for thought.
"It just won't burn," Stanley fretted. "I've tried and tried, and all I get is a few sparks."
"Maybe the kindling isn't small enough," Gonzo said. "You've got to start with the littlest stuff first."
"I'm just useless. I don't know anything practical. I don't know anything but doctor stuff," Stanley started to turn away, and Gonzo had to keep a hold of him.
"Stan, why don't you let me try feeling the tinder and the kindling, to see if it's small enough. That way you'll know you're doing it right," Gonzo suggested.
"I just don't know anything about it," Stanley said again, but Gonzo could hear and feel him gathering up bits and pieces for Gonzo to touch.
Gonzo tugged off his mittens and held out his hands, and Stanley poured a handful of torn up rags into them. "This is the tinder."
"Right," Gonzo said, but he had almost forgotten the fire. When Stanley's hands had brushed his, they had been dry. Dry and hot. Far too warm, in fact, for a man who had been trying to light a fire barehanded for twenty minutes in 25 degree weather. Gonzo thought about trying to feel Stanley's forehead, but decided against it. Stanley feverish was bad. Stanley trying to cope with the possibility of a subcranial hematoma might be worse. It wasn't the best idea in the world to try to reason with someone who was starting to bleed into the brain.
"Is it small enough?" Stan asked.
"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Stick it onto the fire and see if that helps." Gonzo said.
Stan took the rags, and Gonzo thought he detected more clumsiness from the right hand than the left. Hemiplegia would be another really bad sign, but Gonzo wasn't sure how to test for it. His mind raced frantically as he tried to think through his options. He couldn't leave Stanley here and try to go for help, even without the mountain lion, he'd be risking letting Stanley slip into a coma. And he couldn't send Stanley on alone -- Stanley wouldn't go. If they tried to go on together, he'd be putting more stress on Stan's injuries, not to mention his own. If they stayed here and holed up, waiting for rescue they'd be stressed too, and it might take a lot longer for Trapper to come looking here than it would take to walk out. Gonzo flipped a mental coin.
"Stan?"
"Hmm? It's just sitting there, Gates."
"No, I was just wondering if you felt up to walking some more. The fire's not working. We should just get out of here before the lion comes back."
"I guess," Stanley didn't sound enthusiastic, but he didn't protest either. "If you say so."
"Give me a hand up then," Gonzo said, holding up his hands.
Stanley stood, very carefully, and took Gonzo's hands in his own, pulling harder with his left when his right didn't seem to get a very good grip. "Your hands are cold."
"I'll put my gloves back on," Gonzo said, unhappy at the confirmation of his diagnosis. He did so and then turned so that Stan could hold onto his shoulders from the back. "Just steer me onto the road, and keep me out of the trees. I'll do the rest, okay, Stan?"
"Okay." Stan tried not to lean too much onto Gonzo; Gonzo was hurt after all; and they started along the road.
Behind them, the embers which had been blocked from the wind by Gonzo and Stanley's own bodies, freshened and glowed as the breeze reached them, and a tiny tongue of flame touched the shredded underwear that Stanley had dropped over the twigs.
"They could have come into the area half a dozen ways," Trapper concluded. "Can't we try to get a chopper up, now?"
"Might be our best bet. Ray's got a license, and he can get access to the chopper they keep at district within an hour. Let me give him a quick buzz." Mike went over to the radio and flipped a switch on the microphone. "Mendocino South to Mendocino North, over."
There was a short pause, and then the speaker crackled. "Mendocino North here. What's up, Mike?"
"Can you pop over to district and grab the whirlybird for a quick looksee at the roads coming into the forest? We've got a jeep gone missing and two doctors in it."
"This the fellows you've been beating the bushes for all day?"
"Yep. Last known position was Santa Clara at 6:30 p.m. The driver knows the area though, and might have tried coming in on one of the campground roads. I'm going to go down and look, but it would be faster if you got the bird."
"Sure, I can grab it. Say again, your party is missing since 6:30 Papa Mike yesterday?"
"That is correct." Houlihan looked over to Trapper and shrugged.
There was a short silence, and then Ray came back on the air. "Any chance your party might try to take the pass road if the gate was open?"
"Stand by." The ranger turned to Trapper. "Would Gates take a road that he knows is usually closed in winter if he saw that the gate was open?"
"How many miles would it save?" Trapper asked, after a moment of thought.
"Forty three," Houlihan answered.
Trapper tried to imagine himself in Gonzo's shoes, knowing that the jeep was in good shape, and seeing a barrier he expected to face fall away; and being tired into the bargain. "It's possible. Likely, even. Why?"
Mike didn't take the time to answer him. "Ray, that's a yes. Was the gate open?"
"Roger. And the sign hasn't been replaced yet. I'm still working on the new one. Those damn vandals..."
"Well if they broke down on the pass, we'll just take the snowmobiles up and get them," Mike said, reasonably.
"Haven't you been outside yet this morning, yet, Mike?"
"Negative. What's wrong, Ray?"
"The pass slid last night. That whole big cirque went and it took out a hell of a lot of trees and road with it. If your parties were on the pass last night they're probably under half a damn mountain's worth of snow."
"Hang onto me, Stan!" Gonzo repeated. "Don't just keep stopping like that."
"I'm trying," Stanley said, in a petulant tone. "It's hard. And my feet hurt."
Gonzo stopped pushing forward and turned to feel for Stanley. The other man was a couple of feet back, and Gonzo could feel him swaying uncertainly. Gonzo found his hand and tried leading him forward, and that seemed to work. "Come on, it's just a little further. We'll find Trapper and he'll take care of everything. Maybe your dad will come back from New Zealand, too."
Stanley made a little snorting sound, "Not likely. He wouldn't even come back if I were dead. Just tell ‘em to pop me into the freezer ‘til it was more convenient." Gonzo didn't have to see to know that Stanley was pouting. "He wouldn't have to tell any of his friends. They don't even know I exist. And he wouldn't have to tell any of my friends ‘cause I don't have any."
"That's not true, Stan," Gonzo protested.
"But if I'm dead then you're dead and then John won't like me anyway," Stanley concluded with the skewed logic of delirium. "So no more friends. Poof! All gone."
"You've got more friends than that," Gonzo said. "What about Gloria and Ernie and Jackpot? They like you."
"They do?" Stanley was surprised. "I thought they thought that I'm an overbearing pompous jerk."
Gonzo shook his head. "You always surprise me, Stan. Why would you think that?"
"‘Cause I am one," Stanley said as if it were perfectly reasonable. "I'm a supervisor. Supervisors are like that. Arnold's a pompous jerk too, sometimes. He's always asking me to do stuff that nobody else wants to do."
"So why do you do it?" Gonzo asked.
"Well, somebody's got to. And everybody else is doing important stuff. I'm jus' playing doctor." The last two words came out in a sneering tone that Gonzo strongly suspected echoed Riverside Senior's comments to his son, and Gonzo suddenly wanted to get a plane ticket to New Zealand so he could go and kick the man.
He stopped and turned to face Stanley, remembering not to give in to the urge to shake him, and said, "Stanley Riverside, I want you to hear something, and I want you to remember it. You are a damn fine doctor. Did you hear me? You're not a play doctor, you're a real doctor, and you have saved a lot of lives. Including mine. And if your father can't figure that out, then he's a fool. Any other father on the planet would be proud of you. Heck, I'm proud of you, sometimes, just because we work at the same hospital. Trapper is too."
"But Trapper likes surgeons best," Stanley said confusedly. "He's proud of you."
"He can be proud of more than one person at a time," Gonzo said. "Trapper cares about you, Stan. It would hurt him like hell to lose you. Now come on. Let's go find him."
"All right," Stanley said, but instead of moving forward he quietly collapsed.
"Stan!" Gonzo pulled off the ski mask and the bandages, trying to see what was wrong. It was a mistake. He couldn't see anything more than light and glare and a vague dark blur that was Stan sprawled across the snow, and opening his eyes cracked another blister and sent fluid stinging across the cornea of his left eye. He held the heels of his hands a couple of inches away from his re-closed eyes and swore brokenly while he waited for the pain to subside enough for thought.