Story-a-Week #7
Communication
Marshal took a deep breath and stepped into the room. He had caught the faint and unpleasant aroma from the connecting hallway. Once inside the room the sheer rancid force of the smell drew the breath from his lungs. He allowed himself to slowly inhale, and then vomited.
“Who…? Get… Dawson! Get that kid outta here!” The detective glared at Dawson. Dawson turned slowly toward Marshal.
“AY SAMMAY!” Dawson’s voice muffled through the police cap clutched over his nose and mouth, “KID’S UP ERE!”
“We have gaddamn radios, shshh” Detective Pratchett coughed, “shit.”
Dawson turned back to Pratchett, eyes wide, “Hey the kid can ‘ear yah!”
“YEAH I HEAR YAH!” Sammy was calling from from downstairs.
“WHAT..?” Dawson grabbed his radio with his free hand and held it infront of his hat, “what?”
There were a few moments of silence. Pratchett tried to say something but burst into a fit of coughing. Marshal ran out of the room. The radio in Dawson’s hand cackled to life with a gritty burst of static.
“I can hear you just… hey!” The radio died suddenly. The two men could hear a scuffling of feet down the hallway. Pratchett’s eyes were watering. Sammy walked into the room.
“You puke?” Sam was looking at Detective Pratchett, “the hell is that smell?”