The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fanfiction -- Part One: Fuel - 32

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Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.

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The Fire Triangle-A Zootopia Fanfiction

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Part One:

Fuel

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Chapter 4 - The Wizard of Chaos
(Pt. 1)

Dangit, what th'...?

Jerry Guilford growled and pressed his paws tightly against his ears. It was a futile effort at best and the pounding in his skull continued unabated. Grabbing feverishly for...he didn't know what, the thickset coyote rolled over in bed, and tumbled onto the living room floor.

"Dangall!"

Jerry had fallen asleep on the couch (again!); he didn't remember crashing here, heck he didn't remember coming home—but that was hardly anything new. He stood up, bracing with his paws on the arm of the sofa and stretched himself out, first the legs, and then his back. On the latter, he felt the old, familiar snapping sensation, somewhere down around the small of his spine, the legacy of a crash landing in a turnip field some fifteen years ago.

Folks said that was when he had first begun to turn ornery—there'd be some serious head trauma to go with those cracked vertebrae—but then folks said a lot of things about Jerry Guilford...and they could all go take a flying leap off a steel-mill catwalk as far as he was concerned.

Slowly, carefully, he straightened himself out again. There, that was better...except for all that blankety-blank pounding. Funny, it didn't seem to hurt as much as usual.

That was when Jerry realized something, the noise wasn't coming from inside his head; it was coming from the front door.

All at once he tensed, felt his neck fur standing up. Oh for crying out loud, NOW what? He'd been a good coyote; stayed the heck away from the Carrot Days Festival, and the rest of the Guilford clan had done the same. Jiminy Christmas, did they think he was stupid along with everything else? He wasn't about tangle with any dangfool wolverine, much less three of them...no matter what those dumb bunnies back at the Festival might say.

Bunnies...the bane of his existence! For the hundred thousandth time, Jerry cursed the day he'd come to this stinking rabbit-hole.

It had seemed like a good idea the time, moving his crop-dusting service from Wapiti WA to Bunnyburrow. Up until Jerry's arrival, the nearest crop-service planes had been stationed all the way over in Podunk, at least an hour away, even by air. As if that wasn't bad enough, Triburrow Aerial charged extra for the fuel they spent getting to and from the Burrow—and if you didn't like, it tough carrots, they were the only game within a hundred miles.

Not any more thanks to the Guilford brothers, Jerry was sure he'd hit on a moneymaker if not exactly a gold mine

At first things had gone well enough. Oh sure, there'd been the usual complaints of unreliability and poor customer service, but when weren't there always whiners? Eventually, slowly but surely, Sky-Yote Crop Services had built up a steady list of clientele.

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