Another exciting Prompt Friday
Write this scene. A cop is driving, and his car suddenly slows. His car and cellphone are dead. Someone starts shooting at him. Will he survive?
My Response
Detective Henderson Isles was cruising down the highway, the sun high and blinding. The car had finally cooled down. He checked the dashboard clock. It was 5:30 pm. He was making great time. He’d been undercover for a week, and he missed his four-year-old daughter. He was glad to be done with the assignment. He was abruptly pulled from the assignment, and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was a good thing. It was getting too weird anyway.
He was excited to see his daughter. He was going to make her favorite: spaghetti with meatballs. He hoped she didn’t drive his parents crazy. She could be quite a busybody. He loved her to death, though. She’d probably make him play tea party with her later.
Henderson was about to reach for the radio to turn it up when an RF Pulse Gun from an overhead drone fired a pulse through his car. The car coasted to a stop.
Henderson tried to start the engine, but nothing. He reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone, but it was dead too. That couldn’t be; he had a fully charged battery when he left the station.
“What the hell?” He didn’t like being a sitting duck. He checked his weapon and made sure a bullet was in the chamber.
He felt his car rock a little as a car flew past. The other cars on the road were fine. He didn’t like that. This wasn’t car trouble. Something was up. He looked out the window and through his back window. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
When the last car passed, he grabbed the door handle and thrust the door open and was out in lightning speed with his gun, searching. Before he caught the drone in his vision, it fired at him, and he dove for cover on the other side of his car.
The bullets pierced the car. Shit! How the hell was he going to get out of this? The bullets kept coming. Who was shooting at him? He had to calm himself. Think. He crept closer to the trunk of the car. That is when he saw it: a drone. He dropped to the ground.
The whump, whump of the blades overhead grew closer. Listening, contemplating. He cracked his eyes open just enough and lifted his gun with precision and fired. The drone shattered in a fiery mess littering the highway. He got to his feet with his gun drawn, looking for any more visible threats. Nothing but the passing cars.
Henderson lowered his gun but didn’t holster it. He pulled some glass from his arms and one small piece lightly embedded in his left cheek. He started walking. He waved his hand, trying to get somebody’s attention.
After ten minutes of walking and trying to get someone’s attention, a silver Ford truck pulled alongside the road. Henderson had his gun ready just in case the person wasn’t a friendly. A lean, built man with gray hair stepped out. He halted when he saw the gun in Henderson’s hand.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a cop, and I need help.” He holstered his weapon in good faith that this man would help him.
“Get in,” the man said with a raspy, deep voice.
Henderson walked around the other side of the car and got in. The man joined him and slowly pulled off the shoulder.
“So, who are you, son?” the man asked.
“I’m Detective Henderson Isles. You?”
“I’m Bob Fenton. So where are you headed, young’un?”
“Home to make sure my family is safe. Can I borrow your phone?”
***
42 Buck Lane
Marvelle, New Jersey
Henderson frowned as he pulled up close to the house and noticed a black sedan parked in his parents’ driveway. He parked on the street and hopped out of the car. He approached the porch and put his ear to the door to listen for any signs of trouble. When he didn’t hear anything, he unlocked the door, came in, and closed it quietly.
He continued listening for any sounds, but the house was quiet. Too quiet. It was never this quiet with his daughter in the house. It was too early for her to be asleep. He slowly walked through the house until he emerged in the kitchen.
He instantly tightened his hand on the gun. There, sitting at the table, was his ex, who had left their daughter on his doorstep four years ago. A little boy about his daughter’s age sat in a nearby chair, his eyes wide.
Vanessa stood, and that was when he saw the badge attached to her hip. A cop?
“We need to talk.”
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Take this prompt and expand on it. What different scenarios could Henderson face and still survive? Drop yours in the comments.
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