Dead Watch

by Steve Liszka

  ‘Did you see that?’ Wesley said.

  Harrison looked out of his window. ‘What?’

  ‘Back there,’ Wesley craned his neck to see whatever it was they had just passed. ‘I saw some lights down the bank. I think a car may have gone over.’

  ‘You sure?’ Harrison said.

  Wesley shrugged. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Then, we better go and check it out.’

  While Harrison slowed the truck so he could find a spot to turn around, Wesley turned to the guys in the back.

  ‘Look lively!’ he shouted to them. ‘We could have an RTC here.’

  The others were up and ready for action in seconds. Such words were the sort of message that sent a flood of adrenaline into a firefighter’s system and instantly switched them on, in preparation for the job facing them. In his head, Dylan ran through the procedures for an RTC. For him, it was still a conscious process, for the rest of the crew, it had become second nature.

  No matter if it was a single car that had crashed into a wall or a twenty-vehicle pile-up, whether the car be on its wheels, side or roof, the rules always remained the same. As he put on his high visibility surcoat, Dylan went through each stage:

  Scene Assessment and Safety. This one’s a two-parter. Firstly, even before arriving at the incident, the OIC is already starting their DRA (Dynamic Risk Assessment) and weighing up the situation. In this early stage of the incident, they’ll have an awful lot going through their heads. How many cars are involved? Do they have enough resources? Which vehicle do they work on first? Which casualty in that vehicle do they work on first? Nine times out of ten, the passenger who’s shouting and screaming about their broken arm or leg is much less of a concern than the person sitting next to them who isn’t saying anything at all. It’s the quiet ones you need to worry about. Second, the crews have to consider their own safety before worrying about anyone else’s. You wouldn’t believe the number of firefighters that have been injured or killed at an RTC or car fire by some numbskull who couldn’t be bothered to slow down. For this reason, crews need to be as visible to oncoming vehicles as possible. Fluorescent jackets, cones, signage, lighting and a fire engine parked in a good fend-off position all help to stop them getting flattened.

  Stabilisation and initial access. Another two-hander. The vehicle needs to be stable before any work is done on it. Wedges, blocks and step chocks are used to achieve this goal. Making sure the handbrake is on is also a good one at this stage. Getting into the vehicle as quickly as possible is essential in saving life. Just tilting back an unconscious person’s head and opening their airway can be the difference between life and death. Opening a door, if it isn’t jammed, or getting your hand through an open window will help to achieve this goal.

  Glass management. Before you start cutting anything with the hydraulic rescue gear, you need to make sure all the glass in the vehicle is dealt with or, in other words, smashed, but in a controlled manner. The last thing you want is a window shattering on your casualty as you are cutting them out. Little oval shields called teardrops, and ground sheets are used to ensure the casualty remains safe.

  Space Creation. Simple things like sliding seats back or reclining them can drastically improve someone’s levels of comfort, thereby reducing stress and anxiety. Making space also creates opportunities for a dedicated casualty carer or paramedic to get into the vehicle and deal with any injuries.

  Full Access. This is where the cutting gear finally comes into its own. Removing doors and structural posts allow crews to get into the vehicle with a view to getting the injured party out. More often than not, a roof removal is often the most effective way of getting hands on them and also provides the easiest route out. A good crew, working simultaneously, will have the roof off in minutes when they get to this stage of the rescue.

  Immobilisation and Extrication. Another double-header to finish. If a casualty has suffered a neck injury, it only takes a few millimetres of movement to sever the spinal cord and cause permanent paralysis. The best way to avoid this, under the guidance of the ambulance crews, is to get them onto a long-board, or encased in the full body splint that paramedics seem to favour these days. Next, get them out. Usually, if a roof removal is involved, the long-board will be placed down the back of their chair. After lowering the seat, they can be slid out of the back of the vehicle on the board and taken into the ambulance. Most good OICs will have a plan B with regards to the extrication. If things go tits-up, and the casualty suddenly deteriorates, they’ll have to come out in a different, less controlled manner. There’s no point protecting someone’s spinal column if they are bleeding to death or unable to breathe.

  When they got closer, it quickly became clear that Wesley’s assessment was right. In a ditch to the side of the road, about fifteen feet from the cliff edge, was a car on its roof. It had been difficult to see from the raised view of the fire engine, but at normal car height level, it would have been impossible to spot. The car may have been there for minutes, but it could have been stuck in that ditch for hours.

  When the appliance stopped, Wesley got on the radio and called the incident in (this was known as a running-call), as the crew stumbled down the bank and took stock of the situation. Lenny had only glanced at it when he informed them the car in question was a BMW 7 Series that must have cost a small fortune.

  Newer cars tended to fare better in crashes than older ones. The technology involved meant that they were filled with safety systems to reduce the effects of a collision on anyone inside. Airbags and air curtains were located at most potential impact points in the car, with passengers enveloped in virtual roll cages made of high tensile steel. If you considered that the cars also had seatbelt pre-tensioners to limit their impact, it was amazing that anyone was killed in car crashes anymore. Except they were, all too often. The vehicles may have been safer than ever before, but when you considered the forces involved in some high-speed crashes, those developments could never stop the massive amounts of damage that could be caused to a car and its fragile passengers.

  Something else that firefighters learnt early on in their careers, was that the damage done to the vehicles involved was often not a true reflection of the damage done to its passengers. Every firefighter could tell you of an incident where a car had flipped three times or something equally spectacular and although totalled, the driver had walked away with nothing more than a scratch on their arm. Similarly, the often innocuous-looking prang could lead to a fatality if the driver was unlucky enough to bump their head on the B-post.

  Even though it had come down the bank and landed on its roof, the car was pretty much damage-free, other than a few minor scratches and bumps on the bodywork. The chassis looked to be intact, and the surrounding area didn't appear too torn up by the crash. Lenny tried the upside down front passenger’s door and was surprised to see it open without any resistance. He got onto his knees, looked in through the door and half crawled in.

  ‘How we looking in there, Len?’ Wesley asked him. ‘What do we need?’

  After a few seconds of shuffling around, Lenny came out in reverse and looked over his shoulder to his boss.

  ‘Nothing for us to do here,’ he said with a shake of the head. ‘This guy’s brown bread.’

  ‘Really?’ Wesley said.

  ‘Yep, looks like it’s the curse of Dead Watch for this poor fucker.’

  They had inherited their nickname more than a decade previously, following a number of particularly gruesome incidents in a relatively short time-frame. Just when it would start to lose its currency, another nasty fatality would come along and ensure the term remained in use for another few years.

  Lenny got to his feet and aimed his hand at the open door. ‘Be my guest.’

  Wesley took him up on the offer and knelt down to inspect the casualty. When he looked inside, he could see why Lenny was so adamant. The driver was a lump of a man, bigger than Lenny and probably meaner-looking, too, before his accident. He was suspended upsi
de down by his seatbelt and looked unharmed with the exception of the thick, sticky blood that caked around his temple. His mouth and eyes were both wide open, and when Wesley touched his face, it felt cold, with the effects of rigor mortis already starting to kick in. The man had been dead for at least a couple of hours.

  As Wesley regained his feet, Harrison looked down to him from the top of the bank. He had been busying himself making the scene as well-lit as possible and, after coning off the incident, had directed the vehicle’s lighting stem at the car.

  ‘You need the cutting gear down there?’ he asked.

  ‘We don’t need anything, thanks. It’s a Code One.’

  Harrison nodded. ‘I’ll pass it on to control and wait up here for the police.’

  ‘On a Saturday night? You may be waiting for some time.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing else to do.’ Harrison turned and disappeared from view.

  ‘Wes,’ Jo said, ‘you may want to take a look at this.’

  When he looked down, he saw the rest of the crew on their knees, staring into the back of the vehicle. ‘What is it?’

  Lenny looked up to him with a smile that stunk of trouble. ‘You gotta see this shit.’

  Wesley joined them and shared the view. In front of them lay a sports holdall that had emptied most of its contents onto the roof of the upside-down car.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Dylan nodded.

  Dozens of two-inch-thick bundles of twenty-pound notes decorated the car’s interior.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Wesley said in a whisper.

  Lenny looked around at the others. ‘Is anyone else thinking what I am?’

  Jo turned her head towards him. ‘Len! Don’t even think about it.’

  ‘Come on, guys, seriously. Look how much money’s there. Are we really going to let the Old Bill shove it in some evidence room for the next ten years? That cash could go a long way.’

  Dylan looked at the money and sighed.

  ‘Not you too,’ Jo said.

  ‘What? I didn’t say anything.’

  ‘Have you pair of idiots gone mad? We’ll lose our jobs. You know what, fuck that, we could go to jail. Please tell me you’re joking.’

  Lenny gave her his full attention. ‘Like I said, I’m just pointing it out, that’s all. This is a pretty fucking unique situation we’re in right here. This is drug money, it’s gotta be. That’s the only way an ape like that is gonna drive a car like this with that much money stashed in it, and now, he’s dead. It’s the perfect fucking crime, I’m telling you. We take this money, no one’s ever going to know a thing about it… I’m just saying, is all.’

  Jo turned to Wesley. ‘Boss, talk some sense into these boneheads, will you?’

  Wesley looked at his crew. ‘I say, we should take it.’

  ‘You fucking what?’

  ‘I say we should take it. It’s like Lenny said, it’s the perfect crime.’

  ‘Perfect crime? Please tell me you’re not serious.’

  ‘I am, but only if we all agree to it. And if we are going to take it, we need to do it now. The police and paramedics will be here soon, not to mention one of our own officers.’

  It was standard practice for an on-call officer to attend an incident that involved a fatality, otherwise known as a Code One in brigade speak.

  ‘I’m in,’ Lenny answered, before Wesley could finish.

  ‘Me too, I guess,’ Dylan said. ‘I’d rather we stole it than the government did.’

  Wesley nodded. ‘Me too.’

  Jo looked to each of their faces, waiting for one of them to smile and say it was a joke. The smile never came.

  ‘Oh, fuck the lot of you,’ she said. ‘Don’t put this on me.’

  ‘It’s the fairest way,’ Wesley said.

  ‘Fair? There’s nothing fair about what you pricks are doing to me right now.’

  ‘Then say no,’ Lenny said. ‘If you don’t want to do it, just say no, and we’ll walk away.’

  ‘But think of all those carbon fibre bike frames you could buy,’ Dylan added, attempting to liven the mood.

  ‘Shut the fuck up, Dylan,’ she snapped. ‘This is serious.’

  ‘Like I say,’ Wesley said, ‘it’s up to you.’

  Jo was quiet for a minute, then looked to the money, then back to the crew. ‘Do what you fucking like.’

  Wesley looked around like he was checking no one was watching them. ‘Okay, let’s get the money before someone turns up and spoils the party. Have you tried the back doors?’

  Lenny nodded. ‘Tried them. They ain’t going anywhere. We need to go through the front to get them.’

  ‘Dylan, you’re the skinniest,’ Wesley said. ‘Get in there and get the money out quick sharpish.’

  It was funny, but in all the time he’d been in charge of the watch, he had never come close to being as in control of an incident as he was at that moment. Dylan did as commanded and went in through the front passenger’s side on his belly, then crawled between the seats and placed the money in the bag. From up on the road, the rest of the crew became aware of the faint sounds of sirens.

  ‘Hurry it up!’ Wesley shouted to him. ‘I think we’ve got company.’

  Dylan scooped up the last few bundles of cash and rammed them into the bag. There wasn’t enough space for him to turn around, so he had to shuffle back out in reverse. As he got his legs through the gap between the seats, Lenny grabbed hold of them and yanked him out the rest of the way.

  ‘Careful, big man,’ he protested. ‘You nearly bust my kneecap then.’

  Lenny shrugged. ‘Sorry, but we need to hustle, that siren is getting closer.’

  He took the bag off Dylan and thrust it into Jo’s hands. ‘Quick, take this up the bank and chuck it in one of the lockers.’

  ‘Make sure it can’t be seen,’ Wesley added unnecessarily.

  ‘You better not show Harrison, either,’ Lenny said. ‘I don’t think he’s going to like this.’

  Jo looked at the faces of her crew-mates. ‘Anything else while you’re at it?’

  When no reply came back, she tucked the bag under her arm and leapt up the bank in half a dozen powerful strides. Luckily, Harrison had walked towards the red car with the flashing blue lights that was approaching them, and was oblivious to her presence. She opened the door to the back of the cab and, after flicking two quick-release catches, opened the locker underneath her seat. She quickly took out the casualty blankets that were inside and forced the bag into the empty space, before stuffing the blankets back in. As the car came to a halt, she closed the locker and went back out to see which officer had turned up.

  ‘Shit,’ she said when she saw who it was.

  Phil Collins

  Phil Collins got out of the car and initiated a brief conversation with Harrison. This wasn’t a fire brigade nickname that had been bestowed on him by his colleagues; he really had been christened Phil Collins, or Phillip, as he demanded to be called. Unfortunately for him, his demands were like a red rag to a bull. His wishes may have been respected by his more civilised fellow officers, but on the fire-ground, he was, and always would be, Phil. He had been the station manager of East Brighton for a couple of years, but since his job had been amalgamated with that of the station manager at Hove, he was spending far more time there. This development suited everyone at East just fine because Phil was not a well-liked man.

  Along with certain other officers, he had had what was known in the trade as “the chip” well and truly inserted. The chip was a legendary (some say fictional) device that was implanted in these people in their transition from being a working, operational firefighter to a deskbound officer. It was the thing that allowed them to forget what life had been like at Watch level. This way, they could not only go along with but energetically champion policies and ideas that only a non-operational manager could dream up and had no place on a fire station. The chip helped managers to engage in a level of doubleth
ink that Orwell would have been proud of, and none was a better practitioner of the art than Phil Collins.

  What was worse, and what people found even harder to swallow, was that during the strikes, Phil had been one of the managers who had quit the union and crossed the picket line to ride the resilience fire engines. Unlike most of the other officers who tended to keep quiet about their actions (something that had caused a massive divide between them and the front-line staff), Phil took great pride in this, making sure everyone knew he had been only too happy to help undermine their cause. No, Phil was definitely not a well-liked man.

  When he got to the bottom of the bank, he headed straight for Wesley, blinkering out the other Watch members. He tried to interact with firefighters as little as possible; his contempt for them was well known. Even talking to crew managers, like Jimmy, was distasteful to him.

  Lenny gave him a friendly wave. ‘Hi, Phil.’

  ‘It’s Phillip,’ he answered without turning his head. As with most of the managers in the brigade, he had history with Lenny.

  ‘What have we got?’ he asked Wesley without so much as a hello.

  Wesley swallowed hard before speaking. ‘Code One. Not sure what happened. There’s very little damage to the vehicle, so I doubt he was speeding. He’s taken a bump to the head, looks to have been dead for some time.’

  Phil nodded and looked away from Wesley to the car itself. He stared at it for some time before slowly bringing his gaze back. ‘I’m assuming that you’ve done a thorough search of the area?’

  When he saw the blank look on Wesley’s face, he quickly went for the jugular. ‘You did think of that, right?’