[Original: Drabble] "Up the Hill" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: Up the Hill
Prompt: writerverse challenge #16 january table of doom, prompts ‘bruised and battered’ & ‘inner workings’& ‘walk in the park’
Word Count: 652
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke takes a tumble.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Up the Hill
I had just enough time to wrap the kid in my jacket before we both went tumbling over the cliff.
Okay, it was more like a mildly steep hill than a cliff, but it was a long way down, completely covered in rocks, and they were sharp. I tried to keep my knees tucked in, both arms tight around little Patrick, with moderate success, until I hit the bottom, backside first, and got the wind knocked out of me.
For a moment, I just lay there, trying to get my breath back. Then, Patrick gave a muffled sob against my shoulder and I struggled to sit up.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” I gasped, and he quieted a bit.
A quick check told me that Patrick was uninjured- he’d been wearing a jacket, too, so between his and mine, he’d had enough padding to avoid the rocks- but I wasn’t so lucky. Nothing was broken, as far as I could tell, but everything hurt, even a few places I didn’t know I had.
I looked back up the hill. There was a path about fifty feet away, not much more substantial than the hill itself, but the crumbling thread of blacktop did seem a little more sturdy. What I really wanted was to just sit there until somebody came to get us, but I knew that wasn’t really an option. Howell had his hands full with the suspect, and he’d never send a civilian like Patrick’s mom down a hill like that, especially without knowing what she’d find at the bottom.
Which meant that it was pretty much up to me.
I reached for my radio to call my partner and let him know I was okay, only to find that it had broken on my trip down the hill. No wonder my shoulder hurt.
“Great,” I muttered. “Just great.”
“Ma?” asked Patrick, still sitting in my lap.
“Yeah, kid, we’re gonna head back to your mom.”
“Ma,” he said again, firmly.
Good, we had a plan.
I got, very painfully, to my feet and started up the path. I nearly fell twice on my way over, sliding on loose rocks, but I made it to the asphalt ribbon, which was at least solid, even if it was full of very large cracks.
Less than twenty feet up, my knees began protesting such abuse. I had probably bruised a few ribs, with the way that just breathing was starting to hurt, and everything was getting a little too bright, in that way it did when I’d hit my head. I didn’t think I had a concussion, but it hurt like hell.
Patrick hadn’t seemed to weigh that much when I’d first picked him up, or even when he’d landed on my diaphragm, but he seemed to get heavier with every step. But he was as much a comfort as a burden, still bundled up in my jacket, little fingers curled into the fabric of my uniform shirt, little puffs of breath warm against my neck.
“Almost there, buddy,” I muttered, until the top of the hill was only a few feet away. I could see our patrol car still sitting there, and another one just beyond it. Howell was handing over the now-handcuffed suspect to a second pair of officers, too far off for me to identify, so it was Patrick’s mom who spotted us first.
“Oh, my god!” she said, and came flying toward us, scooping little Patrick out of my arms before I knew what was happening.
Without his warm weight in my arms, my knees started to buckle, but something caught me before I hit the ground.
“You look like hell, Jones,” Howell’s voice rumbled in my ear.
“Thanks, sir,” I mumbled, only half-sarcastic.
“You’re welcome,” he said, moving to stand just behind my shoulder- to help hold me up as Patrick’s mother fell on me in a grateful hug.
THE END
Current Mood:
mellow
Prompt: writerverse challenge #16 january table of doom, prompts ‘bruised and battered’ & ‘inner workings’& ‘walk in the park’
Word Count: 652
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke takes a tumble.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Up the Hill
I had just enough time to wrap the kid in my jacket before we both went tumbling over the cliff.
Okay, it was more like a mildly steep hill than a cliff, but it was a long way down, completely covered in rocks, and they were sharp. I tried to keep my knees tucked in, both arms tight around little Patrick, with moderate success, until I hit the bottom, backside first, and got the wind knocked out of me.
For a moment, I just lay there, trying to get my breath back. Then, Patrick gave a muffled sob against my shoulder and I struggled to sit up.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” I gasped, and he quieted a bit.
A quick check told me that Patrick was uninjured- he’d been wearing a jacket, too, so between his and mine, he’d had enough padding to avoid the rocks- but I wasn’t so lucky. Nothing was broken, as far as I could tell, but everything hurt, even a few places I didn’t know I had.
I looked back up the hill. There was a path about fifty feet away, not much more substantial than the hill itself, but the crumbling thread of blacktop did seem a little more sturdy. What I really wanted was to just sit there until somebody came to get us, but I knew that wasn’t really an option. Howell had his hands full with the suspect, and he’d never send a civilian like Patrick’s mom down a hill like that, especially without knowing what she’d find at the bottom.
Which meant that it was pretty much up to me.
I reached for my radio to call my partner and let him know I was okay, only to find that it had broken on my trip down the hill. No wonder my shoulder hurt.
“Great,” I muttered. “Just great.”
“Ma?” asked Patrick, still sitting in my lap.
“Yeah, kid, we’re gonna head back to your mom.”
“Ma,” he said again, firmly.
Good, we had a plan.
I got, very painfully, to my feet and started up the path. I nearly fell twice on my way over, sliding on loose rocks, but I made it to the asphalt ribbon, which was at least solid, even if it was full of very large cracks.
Less than twenty feet up, my knees began protesting such abuse. I had probably bruised a few ribs, with the way that just breathing was starting to hurt, and everything was getting a little too bright, in that way it did when I’d hit my head. I didn’t think I had a concussion, but it hurt like hell.
Patrick hadn’t seemed to weigh that much when I’d first picked him up, or even when he’d landed on my diaphragm, but he seemed to get heavier with every step. But he was as much a comfort as a burden, still bundled up in my jacket, little fingers curled into the fabric of my uniform shirt, little puffs of breath warm against my neck.
“Almost there, buddy,” I muttered, until the top of the hill was only a few feet away. I could see our patrol car still sitting there, and another one just beyond it. Howell was handing over the now-handcuffed suspect to a second pair of officers, too far off for me to identify, so it was Patrick’s mom who spotted us first.
“Oh, my god!” she said, and came flying toward us, scooping little Patrick out of my arms before I knew what was happening.
Without his warm weight in my arms, my knees started to buckle, but something caught me before I hit the ground.
“You look like hell, Jones,” Howell’s voice rumbled in my ear.
“Thanks, sir,” I mumbled, only half-sarcastic.
“You’re welcome,” he said, moving to stand just behind my shoulder- to help hold me up as Patrick’s mother fell on me in a grateful hug.
THE END
Current Mood:
mellow