B22C15 - Bullets

I slammed the hole in the wall that Marco had started. This time it went down easier. Two hits and the wall collapsed inward.

BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!

Four bullets hit me in the head. I felt them as hammer blows.

I backed away from a phalanx of disciplined, determined-looking men. There were three of them. Behind them, looking mystified, was the most powerful man on Earth.

I swear I had to fight down this ridiculous urge to say, "It's an honor to meet you, sir!"

But blood was flowing down my face and I was feeling dizzy. The bullets had done some damage.

I backed up, dragging bits of plaster and pieces of splintered wood with me. I backed up into a soldier sliding down a rope that seemed to drop out of the sky. I could hear the helicopter directly overhead. More ropes coiled down and more black-uniformed men slid down.

These guys were armed to the teeth. It was time to leave.

<Jake!> I yelled into the darkness. <Jake! The reinforcements are coming in!>

<Time to bail!> Jake yelled to everyone. <Everyone back to the beach!>

Brahahahahahahahahat!

Automatic weapons were firing. I felt my left rear leg catch fire. At least that's what it felt like.

I staggered back and the injured leg almost collapsed. I was hit, and badly.

<Come on, Marco, let's get out of here!>

<But I didn't even get to see the President,> he complained.

<Marco, this really isn't the time.>

We turned and crashed back through the trellises and shrubbery and out onto the windswept, soggy beach.

A human staggered in front of me. He was mud-smeared and ankle-deep in wet sand. And he was furious. Tony, the White House protocol chief. Except that we knew Tony had been acquired by Visser Three as a morph.

And judging by the screamingly enraged look on "Tony's" face, this was Visser Three.

For a frozen instant, we locked eyes. He knew what I was. I knew what he was.

<I guess we can assume the banquet has been canceled, Visser,> I said. <Now, let's see how fast you can run!>

I went for him, but I stumbled. I was in worse shape than I'd realized. He scampered back, realizing I couldn't catch him. He bounced up and down with rage, shouting, "I won't kill you when I catch you, Andalite! I will make you beg for death!"

No time to sit and exchange pleasant conversation. Besides, we weren't even supposed to talk to Yeerks. We didn't want them realizing we weren't Andalites.

Down the sand I saw the others, some staggering, some seemingly unhurt. I left Visser Three ranting and raving and took off on three good legs. We ran for the water's edge, bullets whizzing after us, and plowed into the surf.

I began demorphing instantly, even as I continued to motor out against the waves. Demorphing would save my life. The bullets should drop harmlessly away, but even if they didn't, all the damage they'd done would be repaired.

I was giddy. I was going to survive! I was laughing, laughing at the sheer, insane rush of it all. No weariness now, just mad, frantic glee at having escaped alive.