Second Chance Cowboy

Chapter 20

PT was never as grateful as he was when he heard his radio crackle to life after what felt like an eternity in his own private little hell.

“Ron?  Are you there buddy? Ron?”

PT had held the radio in a death grip since he had started running from his lookout spot.  He guessed it was a reflex, like rigor mortis.  His muscles had clenched, and until that moment, he hadn’t realized he still clenched the stupid thing.  He squeezed his arm up between them and Ron spoke.

“I’m here. Frank? “

“Ron!”  PT could hear the cheers from ICP.  “How many of you made it?”

“Don’t know yet.  Hold on.”  PT left the talk button depressed as Ron shouted, “Roll Call!”

One by one the men started calling out.  PT held his breath as he waited.  He knew how hot it had gotten in his stone coffin.  He couldn’t imagine how it must have been inside the shelters exposed to the blaze.  With each name called, cheers went up from ICP and PT sent up his own silent prayer of thanks.

All twenty one of them made it!  Their own cheers went up with immense shouts of joy from ICP.  He thought he had never been more grateful when he first heard the radio crackle.  He was wrong.  He was so grateful now, he actually wept. 

As he emerge from his coffin and followed Ron to where the men were gathering, he saw from the white streaked faces that he wasn’t the only one.  They were a somber group extremely aware of how lucky they were to be alive.  They hugged and silently wept as they packed up and prepared to hike out.

About a quarter of a mile out, they heard the welcome sound of a helicopter and they were lifted out one at a time by harnesses.  PT stayed with Ron who was the last to go up. 

“Hey!” PT held out a hand and helped pull Ron aboard.  “They have arranged this first class transportation for us to the airport where we get ambulance transport to the hospital for check-ups.  All of us, no exceptions.”

“Is that so?  Well, I can understand.  I’ll let the medic’s check me out at the airport, but unless there is a presidential order, I’m not going to the hospital.  I have to get back to ICP. There’s a blaze that still needs its ass kicked, especially after that sucker punch.  Are you with me?”

“I don’t know yet, Ron.  Let me think on it.”

“No problem. We’ve got plenty of time.  Look.” Ron pointed to a ring of ambulances and fire trucks.  “Looks like we’re at the MASH unit.”

PT shook his head at the lame joke.  But he had to agree, it did look like a modern 4077th.  The medics were all standing ready with gurney’s to whisk them all away for medical attention.  He hoped that the gurney wasn’t mandatory.  As they got closer he saw the sun glint off the aluminum stands and the IV drips.  He groaned.  He was no fan of needles, having had his share during his rodeo days.

As his luck would have it, the gurneys and the IV drips were both mandatory.  They were wheeled over and given the once over by a doctor.  All of them were then transported to the hospital via ambulance where they were checked into rooms for observation and further treatment.   Some of them had minor burns and abrasions.  A few of them needed a stitch or two and all of them required treatment for fatigue and dehydration. 

With the aid of the sleeping pill, PT thought the hospital cot he was in was more comfortable than any bed he’d previously slept in.  As he closed his eyes and drifted off, he felt the tension of a three-day-adrenaline-high leaving his body.  In his mind, he relived the last three days and even with the sleeping medicine, he awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.