by Danny
Danny Hearn:
I stumble over the remains of the house's back wall. It had been blown apart by fire from a helicopter, leaving little more than a pile of firewood separating the house from the outside world. Outside, I find myself staring at a row of low-flying helicopters, each with several mean-looking guns mounted on the front.
"Oh, shit!" I yell, diving to take cover behind a nearby tree trunk.
"Shit shit shit," I mutter to myself.
Calm down, Danny. Stop. Breathe. Think, Hal says.
"About what?! There's men and guns and choppers out there... they're bloody antique helicopters, too! They're, like, a hundred years old! And they're STILL pretty fucking scary!" I reply.
CRAP. Oh, CRAP. I don't fight. I have no idea how to fight. Apparently I have superpowers. And I still don't know how to fight.
I told you to think, Danny.
"About what?!"
You're in the woods, surrounded by trees. Really tall trees. And those choppers are flying pretty low.
I peered around the tree trunk. The choppers were circling the house. Maybe they hadn't seen me run out and dive behind the tree. Okay, they're concentrating on the house, believing they have all of us surrounded. I hope the other guys got out... can't do this on my own. I stand, and look up. Right. Tall trees.
"I can't climb this tree. The branches are too far apart."
Animals can climb trees.
"Okay, give me claws. Possum claws or something. Anything to climb a tree with."
I wince as pain strikes my hands. I look down and notice my fingers... changing. Hardening. Condensing. Within seconds, I was looking down at thick, tough, sharp claws. I grab the tree trunk with my right hand. My claws sink into the bark, gaining a good grip.
"Now, this is handy," I say. I throw my left arm up, and sink my claws in just above my right hand. I pull myself up, and throw my right arm up again. "This is tough on the forearms."
Yeah, well, being shot by government agents in helicopters is tough on the internal organs.
"Point taken."
About ten meters up, I find myself breathing heavily. Just keep going. Climb, you bastard, climb. I'm not sure exactly how long it takes me. I think it was about five or ten minutes. My arms are pretty damn tired by the end of it. But, eventually, I find myself standing on a thick branch, at the same level the choppers are flying at. I'm looking across at one of them. They continue to hover in a circle around the house.
There's... how many? Six. Six of them. Six helicopters. Six big, black, machine-gun-carrying helicopters.
What the hell are you so scared of? They're antiques. Back home, these sorts of things are in museums, and history textbooks.
I sit down, resting against the tree trunk.
No time for rest.
I stand again.
"Damn you, Hal."
I realize that they're still just hovering. After their initial attack on the house, they just... stayed there, waiting for us to come out. Could they really not have noticed me? They look like they're just waiting there for us to come out of the house. Surrounding us, almost daring us to come out and face them. I suppose they're not expecting us to climb stealthily up trees.
I suddenly notice why they didn't see me come out of the house. They weren't looking at the back wall. The pilots' attention was probably drawn by the whirlwind that was racing through the nearby embankment, picking off snipers.
"Tobias, you crazy bastard," I whisper, grinning.
Now or never, hot shot.
"Okay. Reverse the claws, and I'll go..."
I run down the branch, and jump off the end, toward the nearest chopper. Arms outstretched, I grab onto the landing gear. The chopper leans to the side. A man with a gun leans out of the side door, and looks down at me. The noise of the chopper's engine makes it impossible to hear him, but I'm pretty sure I see him mouth the words, "What the fuck?" I pull myself beneath the chopper, to protect myself from the man and his gun. I feel my grip on the landing gear slipping.
You know, gorillas have really strong arms.
"OKAY! GORILLA ARMS!" Within seconds, my arms are larger. Hairier. Darker. I have gorilla arms. The swelling of the arms rips the sleeves of my T-shirt. Damn. That's the second shirt I've ruined in as many days.
I swing my right arm upward, and grab the floor of the helicopter. I swing my left arm up, and grab the man's leg. I pull him out, and send him tumbling into the forest below. I pull myself up into the helicopter. Wrapping my gorilla arms around the front seat, I grab the pilot. He screams as I pull him out of the seat. He screams some more as I throw him out the side door.
"You're right. Gorillas do have strong arms. But you can reverse them now." I wince again as the pain takes hold for a second. Then my arms are back to normal.
I dive over the front seat, and grab hold of what I'm pretty sure is the steering mechanism. The helicopter swerves sharply to the left as I take control, right into the side of another helicopter.
The noise is deafening as the two collide. The screeching of twisting and scraping metal. The screaming of the pilot in the other chopper. The two giant machines start tumbling downward, out of control.
"EAGLE WINGS!" I yell, diving out of the tumbling wreck.
I feel myself falling for a second. Then the wings sprout out of my back, ruining what's left of my T-shirt. I hover in the air for a moment and watch as a flaming ball of metal plunges into Lake Michigan. I laugh as the pilot of the second chopper parachutes to the ground, having dived out at the last moment. He lands in the water, and I dive down to retrieve him.