[Original: Drabble] "Out of the Fire" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: Out of the Fire
Prompt: writerverse challenge #16 quick fic #5 (‘fire’)
Bonus: original story
Word Count: 984
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke and Howell walk their beat and come across some trouble.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Out of the Fire
Usually, Howell and I did our patrol around the city in our squad car, but sometimes when the weather was nice, we actually did walk our beat.
It was the middle of spring, which meant I was still wearing my winter coat and gloves, while my partner had his shirtsleeves rolled up. Well, I had one glove on- I’d taken off the other so I could eat the warm soft pretzel I’d gotten from one of the street vendors in their shiny silver carts.
“Want some?” I offered, holding it out to him.
He wrinkled his nose, scowling. “Perhaps no one has ever mentioned this to you, Officer Jones, but yellow mustard is a condiment, not a side dish.”
“But it’s good for you,” I protested. “Turmeric- that’s the stuff that makes it yellow- is supposed to help prevent cancer.”
“Cancer is not something either of us will have to worry about, given our conditions.”
Howell knew I was a vampire, just like I knew he was a werewolf, but it wasn’t polite to mention that in public.
“Still,” I said. “It never hurts to be careful.”
We rounded a corner into a residential block, a line of row-homes in varying states of repair. In the car, we just drove down the cross streets, but on foot we headed down the block- people got nervous when marked police cars were around, but felt safer when they saw uniformed cops strolling around. I didn’t really understand that logic, but I wasn’t senior enough to decide where we patrolled, so nobody had ever asked me.
We’d almost made it to the other corner when we heard a door slam and the sound of running feet. I whirled, hand to my sidearm, but it was only a woman in her pajamas, looking frantic as she ran from a middle home. “Help!” she screamed. “Help! Fire!”
Smoke began to curl from the home’s upper windows, growing thicker.
“Oh, thank god,” said the woman, spotting us. She grabbed Howell’s arm. “My house- fire everywhere- my daughter-”
Howell pulled away from her, gently. “Rookie,” he snapped, “Call it in!”
It took me a few minutes to explain the situation to dispatch and for them to give me an ETA on the firemen. I had just turned back to get a few more details from the woman, when a voice yelled, “Mom!”
“Tricia?” the woman asked.
Her daughter was about fifteen. She was fully dressed, and had come from the other end of the street. “I was at Amber’s,” she said. “I left you a note on the kitchen table…”
The mom hugged her, crying in relief, but I tapped Tricia’s shoulder. “Hey,” I said, “There’s no one else at your house, right? Just you and Mom?”
The girl nodded. “Yeah. What-?”
“Stay here and wait for the fire fighters. Tell them that Howell and Jones went inside. Got it?”
“But there’s nobody-”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. My partner was inside an empty, burning house and I had to find him.
“Howell!” I yelled, when I stepped into the living room. It was full of smoke, and I squinted through it. “Howell!”
The house was tiny and open-plan, so even with the haze I could tell that there wasn’t anything werewolf-shaped on the first floor, which meant he must have gone upstairs. The steps creaked ominously under my (average and perfectly healthy) weight, but I kept going.
“Howell-!”
I got to the upstairs hallway and nearly barreled into him. “Jones!” he barked. “I told you to call it in.”
“I did, sir. But the girl’s not here. She’s outside, and says the place is empty.”
“Damn,” my partner muttered- he didn’t swear much, for all his growling, so I knew it was bad.
The creaking sound, from the walls around us now, was getting louder, and I could also hear a distinct crackle that I was sure was actual fire. The air was getting thicker, like when you get into a closed car during a heat wave.
Howell pushed me back the way I had come, toward the staircase, but I hesitated. “Um, sir… the stairs, they didn’t seem that stable.”
“It’s the only way out,” he said. “No fire escape.”
“Well, that’s just great,” I said, but followed him.
I could see the wooden steps bending under my partner’s greater weight, and I tried to walk where he hadn’t, to spread out the damage. We’d almost reached the bottom when I felt the stairs shift under my feet- at the same time, I saw the blackened feet of a large cabinet at the first small landing collapse underneath it.
Two birds with one stone, I thought, and dived at my partner.
I didn’t weigh half of what Howell did, but with the height advantage, it was enough to topple him out of the way as the cabinet came crashing down. I rolled off of him, smacking up against a metal lampstand, super-heated by the flames, and I sort of got lost in the white-hot roar of pain.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting out on the sidewalk across the street, while Howell pulled off my jacket to examine the- oh, the charred skin all down my left forearm. “Sir-”
“Stay still, Jones,” he snapped, “What were you saying earlier about being careful?”
I turned away from my burnt skin, on the pretext of watching the EMTs approach us. “Oh, you know, sir,” I said, sounding mostly like I wasn’t still in immense pain. “All things in moderation.”
Howell rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”
I grinned. “Any time. Just… not too soon, okay?”
“Officer?” asked the EMT, crouching beside us.
Howell glared at him. “Take good care of her,” he ordered.
I grinned again, ignoring the EMT’s look. Coming from Howell, that was almost as good as an ‘I love you’.
THE END
Current Mood:
cynical
Prompt: writerverse challenge #16 quick fic #5 (‘fire’)
Bonus: original story
Word Count: 984
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke and Howell walk their beat and come across some trouble.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Out of the Fire
Usually, Howell and I did our patrol around the city in our squad car, but sometimes when the weather was nice, we actually did walk our beat.
It was the middle of spring, which meant I was still wearing my winter coat and gloves, while my partner had his shirtsleeves rolled up. Well, I had one glove on- I’d taken off the other so I could eat the warm soft pretzel I’d gotten from one of the street vendors in their shiny silver carts.
“Want some?” I offered, holding it out to him.
He wrinkled his nose, scowling. “Perhaps no one has ever mentioned this to you, Officer Jones, but yellow mustard is a condiment, not a side dish.”
“But it’s good for you,” I protested. “Turmeric- that’s the stuff that makes it yellow- is supposed to help prevent cancer.”
“Cancer is not something either of us will have to worry about, given our conditions.”
Howell knew I was a vampire, just like I knew he was a werewolf, but it wasn’t polite to mention that in public.
“Still,” I said. “It never hurts to be careful.”
We rounded a corner into a residential block, a line of row-homes in varying states of repair. In the car, we just drove down the cross streets, but on foot we headed down the block- people got nervous when marked police cars were around, but felt safer when they saw uniformed cops strolling around. I didn’t really understand that logic, but I wasn’t senior enough to decide where we patrolled, so nobody had ever asked me.
We’d almost made it to the other corner when we heard a door slam and the sound of running feet. I whirled, hand to my sidearm, but it was only a woman in her pajamas, looking frantic as she ran from a middle home. “Help!” she screamed. “Help! Fire!”
Smoke began to curl from the home’s upper windows, growing thicker.
“Oh, thank god,” said the woman, spotting us. She grabbed Howell’s arm. “My house- fire everywhere- my daughter-”
Howell pulled away from her, gently. “Rookie,” he snapped, “Call it in!”
It took me a few minutes to explain the situation to dispatch and for them to give me an ETA on the firemen. I had just turned back to get a few more details from the woman, when a voice yelled, “Mom!”
“Tricia?” the woman asked.
Her daughter was about fifteen. She was fully dressed, and had come from the other end of the street. “I was at Amber’s,” she said. “I left you a note on the kitchen table…”
The mom hugged her, crying in relief, but I tapped Tricia’s shoulder. “Hey,” I said, “There’s no one else at your house, right? Just you and Mom?”
The girl nodded. “Yeah. What-?”
“Stay here and wait for the fire fighters. Tell them that Howell and Jones went inside. Got it?”
“But there’s nobody-”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. My partner was inside an empty, burning house and I had to find him.
“Howell!” I yelled, when I stepped into the living room. It was full of smoke, and I squinted through it. “Howell!”
The house was tiny and open-plan, so even with the haze I could tell that there wasn’t anything werewolf-shaped on the first floor, which meant he must have gone upstairs. The steps creaked ominously under my (average and perfectly healthy) weight, but I kept going.
“Howell-!”
I got to the upstairs hallway and nearly barreled into him. “Jones!” he barked. “I told you to call it in.”
“I did, sir. But the girl’s not here. She’s outside, and says the place is empty.”
“Damn,” my partner muttered- he didn’t swear much, for all his growling, so I knew it was bad.
The creaking sound, from the walls around us now, was getting louder, and I could also hear a distinct crackle that I was sure was actual fire. The air was getting thicker, like when you get into a closed car during a heat wave.
Howell pushed me back the way I had come, toward the staircase, but I hesitated. “Um, sir… the stairs, they didn’t seem that stable.”
“It’s the only way out,” he said. “No fire escape.”
“Well, that’s just great,” I said, but followed him.
I could see the wooden steps bending under my partner’s greater weight, and I tried to walk where he hadn’t, to spread out the damage. We’d almost reached the bottom when I felt the stairs shift under my feet- at the same time, I saw the blackened feet of a large cabinet at the first small landing collapse underneath it.
Two birds with one stone, I thought, and dived at my partner.
I didn’t weigh half of what Howell did, but with the height advantage, it was enough to topple him out of the way as the cabinet came crashing down. I rolled off of him, smacking up against a metal lampstand, super-heated by the flames, and I sort of got lost in the white-hot roar of pain.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting out on the sidewalk across the street, while Howell pulled off my jacket to examine the- oh, the charred skin all down my left forearm. “Sir-”
“Stay still, Jones,” he snapped, “What were you saying earlier about being careful?”
I turned away from my burnt skin, on the pretext of watching the EMTs approach us. “Oh, you know, sir,” I said, sounding mostly like I wasn’t still in immense pain. “All things in moderation.”
Howell rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”
I grinned. “Any time. Just… not too soon, okay?”
“Officer?” asked the EMT, crouching beside us.
Howell glared at him. “Take good care of her,” he ordered.
I grinned again, ignoring the EMT’s look. Coming from Howell, that was almost as good as an ‘I love you’.
THE END
Current Mood:
cynical