In which Delilah Weaver tags along on a trip to a mysterious island in the Pacific with her Aunt Mason, where she meets a young soldier named Reg Slivko, and a giant 316,000 pound gorilla called Kong.
Started: March 2017
Status: Ongoing
Highest Rank...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
DELILAH
Smoke.
That's the first thing I notice before my eyes blink open; everything smells like smoke, fire, and gasoline.
I open my eyes to find the world's fallen sideways – or at least, I have. The smoking chopper had landed on it's right side. As my vision fades from white, to hazy, the pain begins to swell. Pins and needles layer my skin, and I can feel bits of dried blood that had trickled sideways, towards the earth, probably scrapes from when we crash landed through the trees.
We?
Oh my god.
Suddenly terrified, I strain my neck to look all around. My feet and my shoulders are weighed down by gravity, which makes it hard to see much of anything. Mason?! I groan in agony as I realize that I'm still strapped into my seat, and that's why I'm still dangling sideways, at least four feet in the air. I reach my leadened arms towards the buckle, and try to press it open. The buckle won't click. I push again, and again, and again with all my might to no avail. "MASON!?" I scream, all the air flooding from my lungs. The air is thick, and my heart thuds faster. "MASON, HELP!!"
It gets harder and harder to breath. "HELP!"
"Anyone?" I whisper, choking on my shortened breaths.
I feel tears threaten to burn my eyes, and force myself to blink them away. Oh god, what if she's dead?
I shake my head, a dull ache setting deep into my skull.
No.
No. She can't be dead. She isn't dead, and I'm going to find her.
A shaky sigh escapes my lips, and for a moment, I focus on my breathing.
I'm going to find her. But first, I'm going to save myself.
With my new mission in mind, I peer through the smokey haze for anything that might help me escape from this stupid seatbelt. Nothing. There's nothing sharp enough among the debris of charred ash and broken branches that could cut through the belt. Wait– what if I loosen the straps until I can slide myself free?
Hastily, my fingers fumble at the seatbelt straps. I use up nearly every ounce of strength I have, and the strap barely loosens an inch. It leaves me breathless for a moment, but not defeated. That's something. I can work with this. I tug again, trying to slide the adjustment clip even further. All at once, it slides forward a good five inches and I groan as my bruised body falls sideways into the loosened strap. "Ow, gosh, shit!"
I squirm, trying to maneuver my way out of the tangled mess of seatbelt. Somehow, I manage to push through the pain and ease my thighs and torso out of the straps, using a metal bar from something on the chopper to pull the rest of my legs through until I'm free.
