Gaz, Iggy, and I shot up, fast, from where we’d been innocently hanging out. We’re always better off in the air. Of course jaws dropped, eyes popped, small children screamed, etc., when we suddenly whipped out wings and took flight. I guess we’re unusual even for LA.
The three of us against a couple hundred Flyboys? I don’t think so. Sure, maybe sixty, or even eighty, no problem. But not two hundred. Not even if Max were there.
Well, okay, maybe if Max were there. Maybe the two hundred. But she wasn’t there.
Anyway, Gaz, Iggy, and I instinctively implemented a tried-and-true plan of action, Plan Delta, which we’ve used any number of times and have down to an art.
Basically it means “run like hell.” Or rather, “fly like hell.”
We flew. We zipped out of there like lightning. The Flyboys don’t seem to have altitude problems—they followed us easily up into 747 cruising altitude, where even I was getting a little short of breath. Like the Erasers, they’re not too nimble, but they’re wicked fast and scarily strong.
One of Iggy’s newest explosives took out about fifty of them, and sorry to all those folks showered by bits of Flyboy metal and flesh matrix down at that MTV party on the beach. The rest of them tore after us, and we couldn’t outrun them.
Then I saw the Hollywood Hills. We flew right for the sign and, at the very, very last second, screamed into a direct vertical climb. I mean, my belt buckle scraped one of the letters. But the three of us made it, shooting straight up like rockets.
The Flyboys were not so fortunate.
One after another, they plowed right into the sign, setting off electrical charges that shorted them out and made quite a few of them explode like metallic, furry popcorn. And if you think that’s a gross description, be glad you weren’t there, being pelted by the little pieces. I think only about six or seven of them managed to avoid the carnage, and I have no idea what happened to them.
After we’d busted our sides laughing, we blew out of there, and now we’re hiding. Again.
Us: roughly 200. Hard to tell with all the parts flying.
Them: 0
Take that, you whitecoat schmucks. Now you owe California a new Hollywood sign.
—Fang, somewhere in the West
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Busted-up Hollywood
108 comments
Kewl dude 326 said...
O man Fang thats so awesome, i mean when u guys popped all the flyboys. i would a been bustin my gut 2. Keep flyin, man.
San Diego
11:51 AM
Sugargrrl said...
Dear Fang,
I’m so glad your alright. I hate those flyboys and hope they all crash and burn. If u need a place to stay in Roanoke, Virginia, just e-mail me.
12:14 PM
Heather said...
We should all make posses and search everywhere for labs and Schools and stuff! There are millions and millions of kids in the world, and we can fix what the grown-ups have polluted and destroyed! Landfills and oil slicks and endangered species and wiping out forests and driving gas hogs and not caring about the environment and not caring about animals! Their time of destroying everything is over! It’s time for Green Kids to unite!
Heather Schmidt