[Google Doc version]
A small bump jostles Michael awake. His eyes open to find trees flying by through the passenger window. He stretches and glances to his left. Jesse is behind the wheel.
“Morning,” she says, noticing Michael’s movement. They are taking shifts in the driver seat, and she is charged with the day.
He looks forward and sees an open highway before them. The few sparse cars on it sit motionless—forsaken. “How far are we?” he asks before yawning.
“Uhh… about two hundred miles left—almost there,” Jesse answers.
In the back of the van, is thousands of rounds of ammunition, dozens of firearms and grenades, several sets of body armor, and, in a special case separated from the rest, a very rare laser guided rocket launcher. All of it: vital supplies for the resistance, bound for the front lines.
“Want me to take over?”
“Nah, it's only 5 P.M,” she replies.
Now that there is no one to disturb, she decides to play some music. “Hey, could you put in a CD. …The solid blue one in the front.” There is nothing on the radio but static and propaganda.
“Sure.” He pops open the glove box and grabs a small CD book. It’s almost full with well over two dozen inside—all part of Jesse’s collection. Some are full albums, but most are custom mixes she made herself.
He slides the solid blue disk out from its plastic sheath and inserts it into a slit in the dash. Jesse then cycles to track 9 and presses play. The organ of “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd fills the cabin of the van.
A plastic bag crinkles over the music. Jesse is snaking on a bag of gummy bears stuffed into the left cup holder of the center dash. They are 5 years past the sell by date and very tough for it, but still worlds better than nutrient paste.
Michael reaches for some, but she quickly pulls the bag away before he can get to it.
“Mmm-mm!” she hums with her mouth full. She takes a moment to swallow. “Nah-uh. Your fat ass said you didn’t want any,” she teases.
Michael realizes he dug his own grave, and now Jesse is making him lie in it. He knows what's coming. He looks away with a quiet smile and takes his beating. Frankly he should have seen this coming.
“You could have grabbed your own bag, but noooo. You said you were on a diet. Said you were trying to eat better,” she jokes with an exaggerated tone. “Then you gave me some crap about how unhealthy these things are.”
After a moment, Jesse puts the bag back, but now in the cup holder closer to Michael, just as he knew she eventually would.
“Thank you.” He picks out a green one and eats it.
“Goes on a diet, then eats gummy bears for breakfast.”
“Ohh shut up,” he says with a smirk.
For a while they ride in relative quiet—simply listening to the music. That is until Jesse begins to softly sing along to lyrics. The singing grows much louder as Michael then joins in.
“'Cause I'm as free as a bird now,” they sing, dancing in their seats. “And this bird you cannot change. Oh-oh-oh-oh! I’m a bird you cannot change.”
But then Michael stops.
“And this bird you cannot change.” Jesse sings alone.
Michael hears… something. He tries to focus on the sound.
“Lord knows, I can't change.” She continues. “Lord, help me, I can't cha-a-a-a-a-…”
Michael presses pause.
“...a-a– What? Why’d you stop it, this is the good part?” She asks mildly agitated.
“Shh-shh. You don’t hear that?” he asks softly.
Jesse listens, then she hears it too—dull, rapid and regular, almost thuds. “You think there's something wrong with the engine?” she guesses. But it isn't coming from the engine; it's coming from behind them.
Michael checks his side mirror, and then his heart sinks.
“Ohh shit… H.C.!”
Jesse’s eyes immediately widen. She looks for herself. There, flying about 100 meters behind the van and closing in, is a hunter chopper with its gun aimed right at them. The sound they hear is its rotors cleaving through the air.
“What!?” She speaks frantically, “No no no they aren't supposed to be out here how did they find us!?” “Fuck, what do we do!?” “Michael!?”
But Michael does not respond. He just stares awestruck at the image of the chopper in the mirror. …Like a deer in headlights, feeling the adrenaline spreading through his veins.
She tries to get his attention. “Mike! Michael!” She starts yelling.
“MIKE! WHAT DO WE DO!?”
The heli opens fire. A pulse round blows the mirror right off the door shattering it into innumerable plastic and glass shards. That wakes him up; the clarity hits him like lightning.
He slams the play button! [play this while you read]
“FUCKING DRIVE!!!”
Jesse stomps the gas pedal into the floorboard pushing Michael into his seat.
Pulse rounds pelt the roof of the van making it sound like they are driving in a hailstorm. The only thing preventing the pair from being ripped to bloody shreds is a thin, thin sheet of aluminum.
The barrage stops as the autocannon reloads.
Michael gets out of his seat and starts clamoring through the partition window.
“The hell are you doing!?”
“Exactly what you think,” he says determined. He awkwardly wiggles free of the window and flops onto the floor of the van as the chopper begins another burst.
Jesse swerves the van across several lanes.
Bullets impact the concrete but still many hit the van. They leave deep dents, but stop just shy of punching through.
Michael notices. “We need to keep our distance!” he shouts while struggling with a ballistic vest. “The roof will hold, but if it gets on top of us and drops bombs, we're screwed!” he yells, slapping on a helmet.
He kicks open both back doors, the rocket launcher on his shoulder. He levels it with the chopper and fires.
A missile explodes out of the tube and zips towards the metal beast. The rocket hits it dead on, but the chopper trudges on, albeit smoking.
“Dammit!”
The heli revs its cannon, readying its revenge.
Michael takes cover in the back of the van and reloads as pulse rounds hammer the top.
Jesses ducks her head and cringes at the sound. “Are you sure the roof can take it!?”
“Nope!”
He emerges and launches another rocket.
The helicopter powers up its gun and banks right to buy itself time. Michael, chasing it with the laser. It throws a barrage of pulse at the missile—every shot a miss. The rocket gets so close, but the heil guns down in just the nick of time.
“It– it shot it out the air!” he says in disbelief.
“They can do that!?”
The chopper lowers its altitude—almost to the road—for a better angle on the inside of the van. The gun revs up as it’s aimed directly at Michael.
“Shit!” Hiding deeper inside won't save him this time. He frantically reaches for one of the doors and slams it shut. He ducks behind it without an instant to spare as the gun lets loose!
Pulse rounds ravage wooden crates flinging splinters and wood chunks across the cargo. He feels every hit on the door as a forceful thumping on his back. Glass shards rain on him as bullets rip through the window mere inches above his head.
The hell storm ends.
Jesse looks into her side mirror.
The chopper is still gaining on them—now only 40 meters away.
She has the pedal down as far as it will go, but the needle won't go past 90. Jesse slams a closed fist onto the steering wheel. “Come on you slow piece of Fuck! Move!”
Michael sends another. As it travels he hears the auto cannon begin to charge, this time aimed at him. It will fire for a just moment before the rocket hits, but he can't take cover, not without losing tracking.
He makes a split-second decision: he hides as much of himself behind the door as he can and bets his life on the gun’s inaccuracy!
An intense light ruptures from its muzzle! Pulse rounds whizz by his head as the rocket gets closer. Closer. Almost!
A bullet hits Michael in the head. His body falls backwards behind the door.
Jesse sees it happen in the rear view-mirror.
“MIKE!!!” she screams in horror.
“Ugh. I’m fine! I’m fine!” he says groggily. It had rung his helmet like a bell but he is still alive.
He looks at the chopper. The missile hit! The heli’s engine spits flames but still flies on. Just one more, Michael thinks.
But he’s out of time. “Hurry!” Jesse cries as Michael reloads. By the time he finishes, the chopper is already directly above them.
Michael awkwardly leans out the back of the van, trying to not to fall onto the 90-mph belt sander of concrete. He tries to get an angle over the roof, but the launcher is too unwieldy. “I can’t get a shot!” he shouts, panicking.
Just then, the bomb hatch swings open! This would be the kill shot; they all know it.
Jesse gets an idea, a mad one.
“HOLD ON AND GET READY!”
At the last possible moment she slams the hand break!
The chopper slips in front of them, dropping a bomb as it does. It explodes on impact with the pavement mere feet in front of the van! The blast, shattering the windshield!
Jesse yanks the wheel to the right performing a handbrake turn! She whips the van around180 degrees, almost tipping over, and comes to a dead stop with its back to heli!
“NOW!”
Michael takes aim as the heli begins to turn around. If he misses, they wouldn't have enough time to get back up to speed.
He lets out a deep, focused, exhale. And pulls the trigger.
His aim: resolute and steady; the missile flies straight and true. The bright yellow blaze of its engine: like a shooting star.
Through unblinking eyes, Michael guides righteous death soaring towards the steel harpy.
Boom!
Michael lands a decisive strike on its tail rudder, blowing it clean off!
“YES!!!” He jumps, throwing his fist in the air.
The chopper spins helplessly out of control, shedding pieces as it comes apart in the air. It veers off into the forest and crashes against the trees. The pair hear wood and steel violently become undone, followed immediately by an explosion.
Their heart rates slow and their breathing relaxes, as “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd fades out to its end.
This was made for the winter art contest.
Any suggestions or feedback would be greatly appreciated <3
In Free Birds (2013), two turkeys go back in time to the first Thanksgiving to get turkeys off the menu. That's right, they're going back in time to the first Thanksgiving to get turkeys off the menu!
A small bump jostles Michael awake. His eyes open to find trees flying by through the passenger window. He stretches and glances to his left. Jesse is behind the wheel.
“Morning,” she says, noticing Michael’s movement. They are taking shifts in the driver seat, and she is charged with the day.
He looks forward and sees an open highway before them. The few sparse cars on it sit motionless—forsaken. “How far are we?” he asks before yawning.
“Uhh… about two hundred miles left—almost there,” Jesse answers.
In the back of the van, is thousands of rounds of ammunition, dozens of firearms and grenades, several sets of body armor, and, in a special case separated from the rest, a very rare laser guided rocket launcher. All of it: vital supplies for the resistance, bound for the front lines.
“Want me to take over?”
“Nah, it's only 5 P.M,” she replies.
Now that there is no one to disturb, she decides to play some music. “Hey, could you put in a CD. …The solid blue one in the front.” There is nothing on the radio but static and propaganda.
“Sure.” He pops open the glove box and grabs a small CD book. It’s almost full with well over two dozen inside—all part of Jesse’s collection. Some are full albums, but most are custom mixes she made herself.
He slides the solid blue disk out from its plastic sheath and inserts it into a slit in the dash. Jesse then cycles to track 9 and presses play. The organ of “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd fills the cabin of the van.
A plastic bag crinkles over the music. Jesse is snaking on a bag of gummy bears stuffed into the left cup holder of the center dash. They are 5 years past the sell by date and very tough for it, but still worlds better than nutrient paste.
Michael reaches for some, but she quickly pulls the bag away before he can get to it.
“Mmm-mm!” she hums with her mouth full. She takes a moment to swallow. “Nah-uh. Your fat ass said you didn’t want any,” she teases.
Michael realizes he dug his own grave, and now Jesse is making him lie in it. He knows what's coming. He looks away with a quiet smile and takes his beating. Frankly he should have seen this coming.
“You could have grabbed your own bag, but noooo. You said you were on a diet. Said you were trying to eat better,” she jokes with an exaggerated tone. “Then you gave me some crap about how unhealthy these things are.”
After a moment, Jesse puts the bag back, but now in the cup holder closer to Michael, just as he knew she eventually would.
“Thank you.” He picks out a green one and eats it.
“Goes on a diet, then eats gummy bears for breakfast.”
“Ohh shut up,” he says with a smirk.
For a while they ride in relative quiet—simply listening to the music. That is until Jesse begins to softly sing along to lyrics. The singing grows much louder as Michael then joins in.
“'Cause I'm as free as a bird now,” they sing, dancing in their seats. “And this bird you cannot change. Oh-oh-oh-oh! I’m a bird you cannot change.”
But then Michael stops.
“And this bird you cannot change.” Jesse sings alone.
Michael hears… something. He tries to focus on the sound.
“Lord knows, I can't change.” She continues. “Lord, help me, I can't cha-a-a-a-a-…”
Michael presses pause.
“...a-a– What? Why’d you stop it, this is the good part?” She asks mildly agitated.
“Shh-shh. You don’t hear that?” he asks softly.
Jesse listens, then she hears it too—dull, rapid and regular, almost thuds. “You think there's something wrong with the engine?” she guesses. But it isn't coming from the engine; it's coming from behind them.
Michael checks his side mirror, and then his heart sinks.
“Ohh shit… H.C.!”
Jesse’s eyes immediately widen. She looks for herself. There, flying about 100 meters behind the van and closing in, is a hunter chopper with its gun aimed right at them. The sound they hear is its rotors cleaving through the air.
“What!?” She speaks frantically, “No no no they aren't supposed to be out here how did they find us!?” “Fuck, what do we do!?” “Michael!?”
But Michael does not respond. He just stares awestruck at the image of the chopper in the mirror. …Like a deer in headlights, feeling the adrenaline spreading through his veins.
She tries to get his attention. “Mike! Michael!” She starts yelling.
“MIKE! WHAT DO WE DO!?”
The heli opens fire. A pulse round blows the mirror right off the door shattering it into innumerable plastic and glass shards. That wakes him up; the clarity hits him like lightning.
He slams the play button! [play this while you read]
“FUCKING DRIVE!!!”
Jesse stomps the gas pedal into the floorboard pushing Michael into his seat.
Pulse rounds pelt the roof of the van making it sound like they are driving in a hailstorm. The only thing preventing the pair from being ripped to bloody shreds is a thin, thin sheet of aluminum.
The barrage stops as the autocannon reloads.
Michael gets out of his seat and starts clamoring through the partition window.
“The hell are you doing!?”
“Exactly what you think,” he says determined. He awkwardly wiggles free of the window and flops onto the floor of the van as the chopper begins another burst.
Jesse swerves the van across several lanes.
Bullets impact the concrete but still many hit the van. They leave deep dents, but stop just shy of punching through.
Michael notices. “We need to keep our distance!” he shouts while struggling with a ballistic vest. “The roof will hold, but if it gets on top of us and drops bombs, we're screwed!” he yells, slapping on a helmet.
He kicks open both back doors, the rocket launcher on his shoulder. He levels it with the chopper and fires.
A missile explodes out of the tube and zips towards the metal beast. The rocket hits it dead on, but the chopper trudges on, albeit smoking.
“Dammit!”
The heli revs its cannon, readying its revenge.
Michael takes cover in the back of the van and reloads as pulse rounds hammer the top.
Jesses ducks her head and cringes at the sound. “Are you sure the roof can take it!?”
“Nope!”
He emerges and launches another rocket.
The helicopter powers up its gun and banks right to buy itself time. Michael, chasing it with the laser. It throws a barrage of pulse at the missile—every shot a miss. The rocket gets so close, but the heil guns down in just the nick of time.
“It– it shot it out the air!” he says in disbelief.
“They can do that!?”
The chopper lowers its altitude—almost to the road—for a better angle on the inside of the van. The gun revs up as it’s aimed directly at Michael.
“Shit!” Hiding deeper inside won't save him this time. He frantically reaches for one of the doors and slams it shut. He ducks behind it without an instant to spare as the gun lets loose!
Pulse rounds ravage wooden crates flinging splinters and wood chunks across the cargo. He feels every hit on the door as a forceful thumping on his back. Glass shards rain on him as bullets rip through the window mere inches above his head.
The hell storm ends.
Jesse looks into her side mirror.
The chopper is still gaining on them—now only 40 meters away.
She has the pedal down as far as it will go, but the needle won't go past 90. Jesse slams a closed fist onto the steering wheel. “Come on you slow piece of Fuck! Move!”
Michael sends another. As it travels he hears the auto cannon begin to charge, this time aimed at him. It will fire for a just moment before the rocket hits, but he can't take cover, not without losing tracking.
He makes a split-second decision: he hides as much of himself behind the door as he can and bets his life on the gun’s inaccuracy!
An intense light ruptures from its muzzle! Pulse rounds whizz by his head as the rocket gets closer. Closer. Almost!
A bullet hits Michael in the head. His body falls backwards behind the door.
Jesse sees it happen in the rear view-mirror.
“MIKE!!!” she screams in horror.
“Ugh. I’m fine! I’m fine!” he says groggily. It had rung his helmet like a bell but he is still alive.
He looks at the chopper. The missile hit! The heli’s engine spits flames but still flies on. Just one more, Michael thinks.
But he’s out of time. “Hurry!” Jesse cries as Michael reloads. By the time he finishes, the chopper is already directly above them.
Michael awkwardly leans out the back of the van, trying to not to fall onto the 90-mph belt sander of concrete. He tries to get an angle over the roof, but the launcher is too unwieldy. “I can’t get a shot!” he shouts, panicking.
Just then, the bomb hatch swings open! This would be the kill shot; they all know it.
Jesse gets an idea, a mad one.
“HOLD ON AND GET READY!”
At the last possible moment she slams the hand break!
The chopper slips in front of them, dropping a bomb as it does. It explodes on impact with the pavement mere feet in front of the van! The blast, shattering the windshield!
Jesse yanks the wheel to the right performing a handbrake turn! She whips the van around180 degrees, almost tipping over, and comes to a dead stop with its back to heli!
“NOW!”
Michael takes aim as the heli begins to turn around. If he misses, they wouldn't have enough time to get back up to speed.
He lets out a deep, focused, exhale. And pulls the trigger.
His aim: resolute and steady; the missile flies straight and true. The bright yellow blaze of its engine: like a shooting star.
Through unblinking eyes, Michael guides righteous death soaring towards the steel harpy.
Boom!
Michael lands a decisive strike on its tail rudder, blowing it clean off!
“YES!!!” He jumps, throwing his fist in the air.
The chopper spins helplessly out of control, shedding pieces as it comes apart in the air. It veers off into the forest and crashes against the trees. The pair hear wood and steel violently become undone, followed immediately by an explosion.
Their heart rates slow and their breathing relaxes, as “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd fades out to its end.
This was made for the winter art contest.
Any suggestions or feedback would be greatly appreciated <3