[Original: Drabble] "Mutual Protection" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: Mutual Protection
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 march mini table of doom, prompt #15 “I’m with you to the end”
Word Count: 728
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Warnings: non-graphic injuries
Summary: Zeke and Howell are caught in an explosion.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Mutual Protection
Howell and I had been called to a complaint of squatters in the warehouse district. There had been several complaints before, alternating from the tech start-up to one side of the offending building and the international shipping concern on the other, both of which had people working late enough to see lights in the warehouse that was supposed to be closed for renovations.
The housing market being what it was, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find people taking advantage of whatever opportunity they could. And I’d have been equally unsurprised if it had been a bunch of kids looking for a place to do stupid and/or illegal things with less risk of parental involvement.
Of course, it was neither.
It seemed quiet when we got out of the car, but we were alert, scanning the area, weapons holstered but prepared to grab them at a moment’s notice. I rapped hard on the metal doors of a truck loading dock with the butt of my flashlight and Howell yelled, “Philadelphia Police!”
There was a loud crash from inside and the sound of running feet. The company that owned the warehouse had given us permission to enter the building three complaints ago, so I threw open the door, drew my weapon, and let my partner lead the way inside.
It was mostly empty, everything having been moved out during construction, but I saw a stationary light off to one side, in what looked like the staff area. The kitchen was a mess, pans and bottles and containers everywhere, and as he came around the half-wall that separated it from the main warehouse, something on the stove crackled ominously.
“Get down!” Howell shouted, even as he tackled me, rolling us both behind the half-wall.
And the warehouse exploded.
Well, maybe not the whole warehouse, but certainly enough to make a difference. When the ringing in my ears stopped, I tried to get up, only to find myself pinned by Howell’s motionless weight. I’ll admit, I panicked for a moment, until my partner groaned and opened his eyes.
“You okay, Jones?” he asked.
“Am I okay?” I retorted, swatting at some singed patches on his uniform. “Are you okay?”
“I’m-” Howell tried to get up, but his leg collapsed underneath him. I was lucky he hadn’t gotten far, or I wouldn’t have been able to break his fall. “Okay.”
“You need to call this in, sir,” I said. “And I’ll take a look at your leg.”
Howell didn’t argue, which was a bad sign, but his leg seemed okay, just a twisted ankle, in my inexpert judgment. But he was still so pale…
I half-listened to my partner tell Dispatch to send the fire department, while I looked him over. He had sat up, but was still favoring his left side, a tightness in his voice that meant he was biting back continuing pain.
“…remaining on scene. Howell out- Ah!”
He hissed in pain when I touched his side, and I used the opening to untuck his uniform shirt, revealing the ragged scrape underneath. It didn’t seem to be bleeding badly, but I rifled through my pockets for a clean handkerchief to press against it.
“Jones,” said Howell. “You need to get out.”
“What? Sir…” I looked around. Most of the damage had happened during the initial explosion, knocking down walls and scattering what little equipment was left. A hole in one wall was letting in air, but it seemed to be feeding the places that were still on fire more than it was helping us breathe. “No, sir. I’m staying with you until they find us.”
“Jones-”
As if on cue, something popped loudly nearby and a piece of scaffolding came crashing down, not six feet away. I leaned over Howell, pulling his head down to my shoulder and trying to cover his wounded ribs, and I felt small bits of projectile debris hit my back.
“Jones-” Howell tried again, but I didn’t let go until it was quiet again.
“You can’t walk,” I said bluntly. “It would be dangerous for me to try and move through this as it is to stay here, but at least here, I can look out for you.”
He scowled. “Sometimes, I think I taught you a little too well, Hezekia.”
I smiled, hearing fire sirens in the distance. “Never, sir.”
THE END
Current Mood:
cynical
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 march mini table of doom, prompt #15 “I’m with you to the end”
Word Count: 728
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Warnings: non-graphic injuries
Summary: Zeke and Howell are caught in an explosion.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Mutual Protection
Howell and I had been called to a complaint of squatters in the warehouse district. There had been several complaints before, alternating from the tech start-up to one side of the offending building and the international shipping concern on the other, both of which had people working late enough to see lights in the warehouse that was supposed to be closed for renovations.
The housing market being what it was, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find people taking advantage of whatever opportunity they could. And I’d have been equally unsurprised if it had been a bunch of kids looking for a place to do stupid and/or illegal things with less risk of parental involvement.
Of course, it was neither.
It seemed quiet when we got out of the car, but we were alert, scanning the area, weapons holstered but prepared to grab them at a moment’s notice. I rapped hard on the metal doors of a truck loading dock with the butt of my flashlight and Howell yelled, “Philadelphia Police!”
There was a loud crash from inside and the sound of running feet. The company that owned the warehouse had given us permission to enter the building three complaints ago, so I threw open the door, drew my weapon, and let my partner lead the way inside.
It was mostly empty, everything having been moved out during construction, but I saw a stationary light off to one side, in what looked like the staff area. The kitchen was a mess, pans and bottles and containers everywhere, and as he came around the half-wall that separated it from the main warehouse, something on the stove crackled ominously.
“Get down!” Howell shouted, even as he tackled me, rolling us both behind the half-wall.
And the warehouse exploded.
Well, maybe not the whole warehouse, but certainly enough to make a difference. When the ringing in my ears stopped, I tried to get up, only to find myself pinned by Howell’s motionless weight. I’ll admit, I panicked for a moment, until my partner groaned and opened his eyes.
“You okay, Jones?” he asked.
“Am I okay?” I retorted, swatting at some singed patches on his uniform. “Are you okay?”
“I’m-” Howell tried to get up, but his leg collapsed underneath him. I was lucky he hadn’t gotten far, or I wouldn’t have been able to break his fall. “Okay.”
“You need to call this in, sir,” I said. “And I’ll take a look at your leg.”
Howell didn’t argue, which was a bad sign, but his leg seemed okay, just a twisted ankle, in my inexpert judgment. But he was still so pale…
I half-listened to my partner tell Dispatch to send the fire department, while I looked him over. He had sat up, but was still favoring his left side, a tightness in his voice that meant he was biting back continuing pain.
“…remaining on scene. Howell out- Ah!”
He hissed in pain when I touched his side, and I used the opening to untuck his uniform shirt, revealing the ragged scrape underneath. It didn’t seem to be bleeding badly, but I rifled through my pockets for a clean handkerchief to press against it.
“Jones,” said Howell. “You need to get out.”
“What? Sir…” I looked around. Most of the damage had happened during the initial explosion, knocking down walls and scattering what little equipment was left. A hole in one wall was letting in air, but it seemed to be feeding the places that were still on fire more than it was helping us breathe. “No, sir. I’m staying with you until they find us.”
“Jones-”
As if on cue, something popped loudly nearby and a piece of scaffolding came crashing down, not six feet away. I leaned over Howell, pulling his head down to my shoulder and trying to cover his wounded ribs, and I felt small bits of projectile debris hit my back.
“Jones-” Howell tried again, but I didn’t let go until it was quiet again.
“You can’t walk,” I said bluntly. “It would be dangerous for me to try and move through this as it is to stay here, but at least here, I can look out for you.”
He scowled. “Sometimes, I think I taught you a little too well, Hezekia.”
I smiled, hearing fire sirens in the distance. “Never, sir.”
THE END
Current Mood:
cynical