fic: Save the Sewer :: chapter three :: Wrong Side of the Wall
Sometimes a job just ain't so glorious-smelling... Claire's first job requires no dainty handling. She'll also need Warren's power, which could in fact end up killing them both.
CHAPTER THREE: WRONG SIDE OF THE WALL
Some time later, I heard Psychomet’s voice reaching us from a loudspeaker a safe distance away. “Guys, you got two minutes left and the traffic here’s a-”
“God dammit,” I called back on a gritted growl as Warren and I pushed our powers to their limits, “we’re almost done!”
Warren looked a bit manic as he chuckled and hacked his lungs out. “Where’s… the fire… huh?”
“This your idea of humour?” I snapped, my breath coming in thick white puffs. “You’re combusting and this damn pipe’s not going to hold much more heat and I’m-”
Warren powered down, holding out his hand with a tight expression that was entirely focused on the hole he’d been burning. “Drill,” he demanded. “This thing’s going to burst if I keep going. Need to clear the rest. Help me.”
I scooted in the frozen (not so much anymore) passage I’d made to the manhole. As I passed through, I fixed the melting structure, then leaned over to call to my acolyte. “Psych, I need the other drill!”
Psychomet’s freckled, red face appeared, along with the second drill that he handed down to me. “We’re seriously going to need to cool this black-top. My shoes are starting to smell.”
I nodded tightly, taking due note. “Later. Start hosing it down, I’ll take care of it later. Make sure the water’s not too cool.” Moving away as he saluted, I joined Warren.
Without a glance backward, he moved to the left. “Here, take the right. It’s thicker here. Be careful, hold the drill with both hands, like this, or you could hurt yourself.” He placed my hands where they should be on the instrument.
As I shot him a quick lewd grin, he rolled his eyes, then muttered just loud enough that I could hear, “Mind out of the gutter, Frost.”
“No can do,” I quipped, gesturing to our humble surroundings, and then started my drill grandly. The thing leaped with a roar and I braced myself as I directed the thing at the packed dirt and nauseous waste. We drilled in “silence” for what felt like years, but ultimately must have been just sixty seconds.
Somehow I heard Warren’s sudden shout, flipped the switch on my drill in the same instant, and then threw out my hands at the surging brown fountain. It held, but the entire pipe moaned with the mounting pressure exerted against its walls, so with a prayer and a whole lot of shaking fingers, we both picked up our drills and dug the hell out of the remaining blasted wall.
After a moment, when we’d cleared the entire mess, he patted my back and switched off my drill. “Haul ass!” he yelled over the ominous metallic scrapes beyond the ice sculpture. Fluids rained on us from small fissures here and there, and I had to agree that it was time to get the hell out of Dodge before it crapped on us, so to speak.
“We’re coming out!” I called to Psychomet, who probably didn’t even hear. And then we pretty much flew topside.
Last thing Warren did once we’d reached the relative safety of the exterior was to fireball the ice, and the whole thing let loose with a deafening crack and splash. He rolled onto his back afterward and sucked in a slow, trembling breath.
Beside him, I breathed out, “First mission: success.” A jet of water hit my face dead-center, and I sputtered. “Psycho!”
“Sorry ma’am,” he said - unapologetically, “work’s not done.”
As I sighed, Warren clapped my back and wheezed out, “You go. See you later.”
I’d felt the searing heat in his palm, saw they were red-hot. I lowered my voice. “You take a shower. Cold. And open the bedroom window. Fresh air.”
He rolled his eyes - yes, mother went unspoken - but didn’t comment further. We both rolled to our feet, feeling the evening's toll everywhere. As he wobbled off with another dry cough, I reluctantly turned away and, to the wide eyes of a growing audience a safe distance away, did a lightly freezing number to a road that hissed and melted my ice for quite some time.
I’m proud to say the road did not crack.
I’m not so happy it took hours.
Author's note: Next chapter is the epilogue, and it is going to be decidedly less intense, I promise. Also, I decided to go against a huge plot-intensive storyline where the villain would be found thanks to someone's power. I could at some point do a kind of second-epilogue or something, but we shall see. For now, you'll only get that one epilogue :)
Oh, also. I started the next chapter of Leaving Marks, but I definitely overshot last time saying I would probably post it before the end of the week. No way in hell will I have it ready by then! Blame Friday night's exam!
CHAPTER THREE: WRONG SIDE OF THE WALL
Some time later, I heard Psychomet’s voice reaching us from a loudspeaker a safe distance away. “Guys, you got two minutes left and the traffic here’s a-”
“God dammit,” I called back on a gritted growl as Warren and I pushed our powers to their limits, “we’re almost done!”
Warren looked a bit manic as he chuckled and hacked his lungs out. “Where’s… the fire… huh?”
“This your idea of humour?” I snapped, my breath coming in thick white puffs. “You’re combusting and this damn pipe’s not going to hold much more heat and I’m-”
Warren powered down, holding out his hand with a tight expression that was entirely focused on the hole he’d been burning. “Drill,” he demanded. “This thing’s going to burst if I keep going. Need to clear the rest. Help me.”
I scooted in the frozen (not so much anymore) passage I’d made to the manhole. As I passed through, I fixed the melting structure, then leaned over to call to my acolyte. “Psych, I need the other drill!”
Psychomet’s freckled, red face appeared, along with the second drill that he handed down to me. “We’re seriously going to need to cool this black-top. My shoes are starting to smell.”
I nodded tightly, taking due note. “Later. Start hosing it down, I’ll take care of it later. Make sure the water’s not too cool.” Moving away as he saluted, I joined Warren.
Without a glance backward, he moved to the left. “Here, take the right. It’s thicker here. Be careful, hold the drill with both hands, like this, or you could hurt yourself.” He placed my hands where they should be on the instrument.
As I shot him a quick lewd grin, he rolled his eyes, then muttered just loud enough that I could hear, “Mind out of the gutter, Frost.”
“No can do,” I quipped, gesturing to our humble surroundings, and then started my drill grandly. The thing leaped with a roar and I braced myself as I directed the thing at the packed dirt and nauseous waste. We drilled in “silence” for what felt like years, but ultimately must have been just sixty seconds.
Somehow I heard Warren’s sudden shout, flipped the switch on my drill in the same instant, and then threw out my hands at the surging brown fountain. It held, but the entire pipe moaned with the mounting pressure exerted against its walls, so with a prayer and a whole lot of shaking fingers, we both picked up our drills and dug the hell out of the remaining blasted wall.
After a moment, when we’d cleared the entire mess, he patted my back and switched off my drill. “Haul ass!” he yelled over the ominous metallic scrapes beyond the ice sculpture. Fluids rained on us from small fissures here and there, and I had to agree that it was time to get the hell out of Dodge before it crapped on us, so to speak.
“We’re coming out!” I called to Psychomet, who probably didn’t even hear. And then we pretty much flew topside.
Last thing Warren did once we’d reached the relative safety of the exterior was to fireball the ice, and the whole thing let loose with a deafening crack and splash. He rolled onto his back afterward and sucked in a slow, trembling breath.
Beside him, I breathed out, “First mission: success.” A jet of water hit my face dead-center, and I sputtered. “Psycho!”
“Sorry ma’am,” he said - unapologetically, “work’s not done.”
As I sighed, Warren clapped my back and wheezed out, “You go. See you later.”
I’d felt the searing heat in his palm, saw they were red-hot. I lowered my voice. “You take a shower. Cold. And open the bedroom window. Fresh air.”
He rolled his eyes - yes, mother went unspoken - but didn’t comment further. We both rolled to our feet, feeling the evening's toll everywhere. As he wobbled off with another dry cough, I reluctantly turned away and, to the wide eyes of a growing audience a safe distance away, did a lightly freezing number to a road that hissed and melted my ice for quite some time.
I’m proud to say the road did not crack.
I’m not so happy it took hours.
Author's note: Next chapter is the epilogue, and it is going to be decidedly less intense, I promise. Also, I decided to go against a huge plot-intensive storyline where the villain would be found thanks to someone's power. I could at some point do a kind of second-epilogue or something, but we shall see. For now, you'll only get that one epilogue :)
Oh, also. I started the next chapter of Leaving Marks, but I definitely overshot last time saying I would probably post it before the end of the week. No way in hell will I have it ready by then! Blame Friday night's exam!