Toby's contribution

Toby Wendtland
The Day the Earth Stood Still
Ricardo Montalban pushed the stick forward and the helicopter dove forward at a forty five degree angle. Ricardo’s walkie crackled to life, “Suspect is driving a white Ford Bronco, heading south on the 405.” Leveling his descent, Ricardo spotted the vehicle he was searching for tearing past the other vehicles on the road. “Got him,” said Ricardo out loud, though no one was with him. Up here in the free airs Ricardo was liberated to pursue his life’s passion, reading magazines from back to front as he idled in hover above the world below. Beside him in the cockpit were several copies of Sports Illustrated and Entertainment Weekly, all were lying face down in the passenger seat.
Down below the white Bronco sped up and the law enforcement helicopter began to lose ground. Ricardo accelerated the chopper, both gyros near maximum output. Still the Bronco gained ground on him. “He tasks me. He tasks me and I shall have him! I’ll chase him ‘round the moons of Nibia and ‘round the Antares Maelstrom and ‘round Perdition’s flames before I give him up!” Below, several police cars had joined the chase and were trailing behind the Bronco. “Oh not all at once,” said Ricardo and he positioned himself right over the speeding car.
The radio crackled to life again. “Suspect has contacted police and is willing to turn himself over…escort him along the freeway…non lethal force.” Escort, Ricardo thought to himself, escort? “No, you are in a position to demand nothing. I am in a position to grant nothing.” The police cars now made a cavalcade behind the white Bronco and Ricardo saw that it looked like a v of flying geese.
Ricardo sat back in his pilot’s chair and then looked over at the seat next to him at the stack of upside magazines. He knew something had to be done, but what? But then he knew. Chronology. Chronology was always the bitch of these situations. The landscaped faded from outside the helicopter and Ricardo saw a long line of events involving the man in this Ford Bronco. They stretched out before him thanks to the sight that had been given him from years of cultivating his magazine reading habits that started with the last page and ended with the first. “This cannot stand,” yelled Ricardo and he pushed the stick all the way forward.
The helicopter accelerated at terrible speed and ate up the distance between itself and the Bronco in a heartbeat. Ricardo made his aim true and then unfastened his safety harness. To the Bronco in front of him Ricardo said, “To the last I will grapple with thee…from Hell’s heart I stab at thee! For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee!”
A barn swallow flew through the airs beside the freeway enjoying the perfect California weather. He felt compelled. Yesterday another swallow, his good friend Jimmy, had shows him a new game where if you flew straight at a car on the freeway, a small jet stream would bounce you over it and you’d escape unscathed. The barn swallow veered to his left and flew across the first lanes of traffic to get into the oncoming traffic. The barn swallow flew at a height of fifty and saw his target, a green Jeep. The barn swallow accelerated and flew down, headed straight for the Jeep, he hit the jet stream and was thrown up in a moment of exhilaration, but then he saw it. In front of him he saw a helicopter crash right on top of a white Ford Bronco, both passengers looking terrified. The barn swallow flew away as fast as he could. “Wasn’t that Khan and the Juice?”