Peter was starting to panic. Here he was trying to set a record as the youngest pilot ever to circumnavigate the globe solo (at 21), and now he found himself completely lost.
He had started in his hometown of St. Louis, and made it to New York, and then across the Atlantic with little trouble. Likewise, Europe had proved a piece of cake. He started heading south at that point, and had just started to cross over the Indian subcontinent when, seemingly out of nowhere, he flew right into a monster of a storm, the remnants of a typhoon. He was able to manage for a while, hoping to fly out of it sooner rather than later, but the storm just kept getting worse. And to top it off, he had flown a hundred miles off course.
Not knowing what else to do, Peter grabbed the radio. "This is Redhawk 32! Is anyone there? Over!"
Nothing but static greeted him.
"I repeat, this is Redhawk 32! I am a solo pilot needing assistance! Over!"
Still nothing.
Peter wiped the sweat from his brow, and started to talk to himself.
"Okay, all I have to do is just keep flying. This storm can't go on forever, and I'll make it out as a stronger pilot."
Suddenly, a huge bolt of lightning came flying to the sky and struck his left engine.
"CRAP!" Peter yelled, as he jumped in his seat. He looked out the window, and saw the propeller sputter, then stop.
Peter swore to himself. The plane started losing altitude fast, and started to enter into a nosedive. Peter grabbed on to his stick, and tried to remember what they taught him in flight school. He couldn't think clearly, all his training was useless. He just pulled back on the controls and prayed.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
Peter woke up, breathing heavily. He sat up with a start, and grimaced in pain.
He was alive. Somehow, he had survived the crash. But where was he.
Slowly, he came to his feet. He looked around. He was in a clearing in the middle of a jungle of some sort, that much was obvious. A few hundred yards away, he saw the smoldering remains of his plane, crashed into a tree. The force of impact must have knocked him from the cockpit. He had several cuts and scrapes on his face, and his ankle was sprained, but, miraculously, he was still alive. And not too much worse for the wear.
As he stood there, shocked, wondering what to do next, he became aware of a loud noise in the distance. At first he thought it was the thunder, but the storm had diminished and was going away, and this noise was getting closer.
He whirled around, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. He looked to the north, and saw trees rustling. Something was coming. Something BIG.
Peter immediately started limping away, trying to find a place to hide. After a few seconds, he saw a tree with a hollow trunk, and he ran towards that, and hid inside.
He looked out through the cracks, and was stunned when, out into the clearing stepped a...
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