The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fan-Fiction -- Prologue, Escape From Zoo York

The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fanfiction -- Prologue, Chapter 5

Success—the door popped open all the way!

...with a thump and scrape of metal on asphalt that must have been audible from here to Pawkeepsie; there was no way all the cops upstairs wouldn't have heard it too; at any second he'd feel strong paws seize him by the tail and haul him up into the daylight.

A second passed, two seconds passed...nothing.

Then a familiar, if not quite welcome refrain brought the young fox back down to earth.

"Attention inside the building, this is the Zoo York City Police Department..."

He pulled himself up and peered cautiously over the rim of the exit-hole.

The lid was lying just beside it, an odd set-up to be sure; there were no hinges to be seen, but neither was it unattached like a mammal-hole cover; instead the hatch-cover was held to the wall of the shaft by a chain, like an old-fashioned, rubber bathtub stopper. Dylan wondered how he could have missed it before, and then decided that it didn't really matter. (He could also see for the first time that the lid had been painted to resemble the surrounding blacktop.)

He pulled himself up a tiny bit further.

Over on his right the young fox could see the front side of Finagles, the 'Closed for Spring Cleaning' banner torn and laying mockingly askew, as if to proclaim, "Correction, make that 'Closed For Good!'"

When Dylan looked to his left he saw finally why the cops hadn't nailed him yet. There, about five feet away, standing between him and the police line was a light-pole pylon the size of a fuel-storage tank. As for anyone having overheard him, what are you kidding me? Between the rumble of all those vehicle engines and the non-stop drone of the Police PA, ("Throw down your weapons...!") the hatchway covering could have been as big as a bank-vault and the cops wouldn't have heard it crack open.

Dylan turned again, looking straight ahead... and saw a van barreling straight towards him! He grabbed the chain and pulled himself hurriedly back inside the chute, closing the lid behind him. At once something heavy rolled over it, peppering him with rust-flakes as it thumped to a halt.

He gave it a quick moment, and then tried the hatch again.

It refused to budge...but why? It wasn't jammed...it hadn't even closed completely; he could see a needle-thin crescent of light where the covering hadn't quite matched up with the exit.

So why wouldn't the darn thing move?

It took the young silver-fox only all of three seconds work it out, and then he wanted to bite somebody.

"Agggggh, grrr, I don't believe this! A zillion stinkin' places to park and you had to stop with your tire right HERE?!"

But then he heard the voices; the first one deep and righteously angry—and then two more, both of them high and indignant.

"Heyyy," Deep voice all but bellowed, "What the heck do you two think you're doing? Get that rig back behind the police line and right now!"

"Hey yourself," high-voice number one responded archly, "We're a news team and we have every RIGHT to be here." He sounded to Dylan like someone who walked with a swagger.

"A FAKE news team." Deep voice sneered, "And even if you weren't, there's no press allowed on this side of the barricades."

"We're embedded reporters, officer!" the second high voice insisted, nasal as a head cold and also female—and also clearly belonging to some kind of rodent species.

"It's 'Sergeant' Miss," Deep voice informed her, curtly, "not 'Officer'; that's number one. Number two, there's no such thing as an embedded police reporter, and number three, you two aren't any kind of news reporters, so...."