“Talbot—” he grunted through swollen and bleeding lips.
Talbot raised an eyebrow, amused. “Yes?”
“You’re making me angry.”
And Talbot really, really wanted to laugh at that. “Oh, am I?”
Banner managed a pained nod, then made what undoubtedly passed for a threat when coming from a ninety-pound weakling who was literally getting his head kicked in.
“I don’t think you’ll like me when I’m angry.”
At which point Banner staggered to his feet, and Talbot took a quick step forward to drive a punch into Banner’s gut.
It didn’t land.
It was at that moment, that terrifying moment, as Talbot found his fist immobilized by a strength that dwarfed his, and was only growing exponentially with every passing second, that he fully and truly appreciated the wisdom of the old axiom: “Be careful what you wish for. You might get it.”
. . . Hurt me hurt us hurt me pain make him pain hurt smash crush him let out out get out smash yes yes . . .
As the sweat poured down Banner’s body, it soaked his shirt, and then the shirt ripped and there was
. . . pain so much pain good out stretching bending ripping rip tear smash . . .
exhilaration and a feeling of release, and Bruce Banner was a man who had been blind his entire life and was suddenly blessed with vision, and it was a vision filled with rage and anger and joy and lust and fury, pure unbridled fury, a volcano of fury exploding, an ocean of fury that wouldn’t be held back anymore, and there was Talbot shaking and clearly terrified and he didn’t matter anymore, nothing mattered anymore except
. . . Betty . . .
and the name, that name slammed through the pain, cut across the hot wires of Banner’s wrath like a great pair of pliers, giving the transformation form and purpose and direction.
. . . smash him smash SMASH . . .
Talbot, a grown man, was whimpering like a child.
For all his research, for all his conviction that he had covered all the angles and anticipated everything that could possibly happen, he had never come close to truly guessing just what it was that he’d had a hand in.
All at once, he had an inkling of what it was like for those first scientists testing atomic bombs, and coming face-to-face with the potential for unprecedented destruction they had helped unleash.
The major difference was, in this case, that the face involved was green and snarling and filled with undiluted rage.
The face still bore some resemblance to Bruce Banner’s, but it was widening and flattening out. It was like watching Homo sapiens devolve, tumbling down the evolutionary ladder and enjoying every rung of the plunge. There was rending and tearing of cloth, the shirt splitting down the back, the sleeves becoming mere rags. He’d been wearing a pair of sweatpants, and they at least were stretching somewhat, but the lower legs were being torn apart.
Banner was screaming, but it was hard to tell whether it was in pain or in release. His skin tone was changing completely, skewing from pink to light green and then to a deep jade. Insanely, he let out a loud, primal, vibrant laugh, then more screams of pain, more transformation, bigger, bigger, then a deafening roar.
Talbot hadn’t come straight to Banner’s home. He’d gone to the lab first, and he’d heard a word bandied about by some of the security guards. A word whispered in fear and dread by men who’d claimed they’d caught a glimpse of a slope-shouldered, slouching beast of a creature. Talbot had discounted much of it as fish stories, these tales of a hulk. He’d been sure that Banner had gained some sort of strength, undergone a transformation, but one had to allow for exaggeration even in the cases of eyewitnesses.
There had been no exaggeration. What there had been was the Hulk.
. . . kicked hurt hurt when kicked kick him smash kick . . .
Talbot fell back onto the couch, throwing his arms up as if such a pathetic defense could even begin to ward off the advancing green Goliath. The Hulk, not even slowing down, delivered a furious kick to the couch that sent it, and Talbot, crashing through the front window and out onto the lawn.
. . . out out Betty out . . .
Driven by imperatives he couldn’t begin to articulate or comprehend, the Hulk exited the house by the most expeditious means possible: He simply walked through the front wall. It didn’t slow him down for a millisecond. Wood and plaster shattered before him, sending debris flying everywhere, and then he stood there covered in white powder and howled into the darkness like a great primal ancestor of mankind, spat back up from prehistory.
The MPs barely had time to react to the sight of Glen Talbot making his explosive appearance on the front lawn, propelled via a couch, before they were confronted by a howling monster. It looked around with feral intensity, as if seeking something to tear apart with its massive bare hands.
Acting as one, they whipped out their guns and started firing. The Hulk flinched, more from the noise than anything else, and perhaps propelled by a residual memory that these little flying pellets were supposed to be lethal. They were, as it turned out, anything but. At most they were vaguely irritating, bouncing harmlessly off his green hide, and the Hulk made wide, sweeping gestures with his arms as if brushing away a swarm of wasps.
. . . hurt little hurt hurt them . . .
Somewhere within the primal recesses of his brain, the Hulk make the connection between the small, stinging bits of lead and the men who were standing there with hunks of metal in their hands pointed at him. They were a good ten feet away, but the distance afforded them no protection at all as the Hulk vaulted it in one jump and plowed through them, tossing them aside with a swing of each arm. One went down with a loud crack, breaking several of his ribs. Another tried to leap out of the way and got caught in the sweep of an arm that was like a tree trunk, only harder, and was sent flying across the lawn to land in a heap some yards away.
Talbot said nothing. Curled up on the broken couch, trying to make himself as small as possible so as to avoid being noticed, he wasn’t even breathing. To him, the pounding of his heart was too loud.
He needn’t have worried. With the end of the immediate attack, the Hulk forgot about them completely. Instead his nostrils flared as he sniffed the air
. . . Betty Betty Betty . . .
as her name pounded through his mind. There was no longer any connection to the immediate threat from his father, no clear comprehension that a woman named Betty whom he loved was in mortal danger. Instead it was simply a word he associated with a certain feeling, like hunger or pain or anger, and it was a feeling that was uppermost in what passed for his thought processes
. . . Betty . . .
and it would have been impossible for Bruce Banner, with all his analytical ability, to decide whether the Hulk knew what to do next because—his senses hyperaccelerated by the transformation—he was actually able to pull Betty’s scent from the air, or because he was functioning off some rudimentary memory of a happier time.
Ultimately, Bruce’s talent for analysis had about as much relevance to the Hulk’s actions as a remora’s presence might have on which direction a shark decided to swim. The creature glanced around for a moment as street lights lit up around him. The lamps startled him for a moment, but just as quickly they too were forgotten.
The ground beneath the Hulk’s feet began to rumble, as if an earthquake was approaching, and the Hulk’s breathing began to increase. His entire body tensed, he crouched, threw his head back and let out an explosive howl of unfettered primal joy. And then he was airborne. The launch itself occurred with concussive force. All up and down the block, houses trembled and dishes shattered and people staggered around thinking that there had been a seismic shift of some kind.
And there had been. But it had been a shift in the very nature of what man was capable of achieving. It had been the unleashing of a force that was, in its own way, as devastating as the dropping of Fat Man and Little Boy on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. They had lived through it, a
nd didn’t even know what it was that they had lived through, nor did they understand just how lucky they were.
Nor did the Hulk understand anything, as he arced through the air for two miles at a clip, before angling downward, striking the ground at some new and equally vulnerable location—highway, delta, railroad track, wherever—then hurtling skyward once more. Only two things registered in his mind:
. . . Betty . . . smash . . . Betty . . .
But whether that meant the Hulk was going to destroy anything that might be threatening Betty or whether he was intent on smashing her himself, no one could have said.
The starlight played across his skin, causing bizarre patterns to emerge as he melted into the night.
dogs of war
The thing Betty Ross loved most about the cabin was the quiet. No sirens, no babies crying or people shouting. All was calm and serene. The only thing around were the noises of the wildlife, and admittedly there had been a time when that had been disconcerting. Many were the nights when she was startled awake by screech owls or howling coyotes. Perhaps “quiet” was something of a misnomer at that, for the sounds of life in the forest were almost constant. Before too long, however, Betty had not only adjusted to them, but she’d come to appreciate and enjoy them. In fact, the steady backdrop of animal noises routinely lulled her to sleep, and this night was no exception.
She had built a nice, roaring fire in the fireplace and then, tossing on sweats and a T-shirt, had curled up on the rug to watch it and think about all that had occurred. She knew it was entirely possible that an MP might show up outside the cabin at any time. It wasn’t as if her father didn’t know about the place. But considering that she had ditched her unwanted shadow in a spirited car chase that involved extensively ignoring the speed limit and, most entertainingly, a high-velocity blast through a railroad crossing just under the descending barrier, it was entirely possible that she had sent a message to the army even they were capable of comprehending.
Her thoughts didn’t stray far from Bruce and his father as she lay there, contemplating the flames. She remembered when she and Bruce had been up here, and she had nestled in his arms, during that brief time when anything in their relationship seemed possible. Amazing how quickly it had all come unraveled.
She also kept running through her mind her encounter with David Banner. She couldn’t help but feel that she had experienced a narrow escape, but not quite. That was to say, she hadn’t quite escaped. But even she couldn’t quite wrap herself around the notion that there was something she was overlooking, some bit of business that could come back to bite her.
Betty tried to come up with some definitive plan of action, but her thoughts were simply too scattered, too unfocused. Before too long, the mesmerizing effect of the fire tired her eyes, and she settled into a deep sleep.
It wasn’t the noise that woke her some time later.
It was the lack of noise.
She didn’t realize it at first. All Betty knew when she awoke with a start was that something was wrong. The fire had burned down, but there was still some light filtering through the window from the full moon. Light, warmth, a secure place . . . everything was as it should be, but something was still off.
That was when it occurred to her. There were no noises coming from the forest at all.
At all.
At. All.
Everything, every small creature trying to avoid being eaten, every predator rummaging for prey, everything that walked or flew or crawled through the underbrush had ceased making the slightest sound. It was as if they had all fled the area, or else had become completely quiet, withdrawing into themselves so as not to attract the attention of . . .
. . . of what?
Then she heard a noise, and felt relief for a brief second because it seemed to indicate that everything was normal after all. The noise, however, was a rustling that sounded as if it was being produced by something—bigger—than was normally the case. As big as a bear, or perhaps still larger.
Other than that rustling, she couldn’t hear a thing.
Betty thought about every horror movie she’d ever seen, where the idiot heroine mindlessly thrusts herself into the midst of danger by walking guilelessly toward it, waving a flashlight. Growing up, she’d seen such films and shook her head at the stupidity. “Idiot plots,” she had muttered while her friends watched, enraptured.
So she was vaguely surprised to find herself scrounging for a flashlight, gripping it firmly, shoving her car keys into her pocket, flipping on the outside lights, and stepping away from the cabin to try to discern what was approaching. On the surface of it, her actions were utterly mad. But she couldn’t really just stay cowering in the cabin; if there was, indeed, some sort of extremely large animal out there, it could easily be able to smash through the windows and corner her within. In her car, at least, she would be mobile.
That would also be the case if the animal were an extremely dangerous type—such as a human being. So after running all the options through her mind, she was forced to conclude that the action she was now taking—as demented as it might seem—was the best one available to her.
Nothing leapt upon her as she emerged from the cabin, playing the beam of the flash across the woods. Perhaps it was indeed just some dumb animal, frightened by the brightness of the beam. Nevertheless, just to give herself an out, she made her way toward the car, consistently turning 360 degrees as she did so, in order to see as much around her as she possibly could. When she made it to the car, she put her back against it and studied the dark forest edge and the black dense water of the lake, both of which lay in front of her.
“Hello?” Betty called softly.
She paused, listened. The wind whispered gently, and other than that there was no sound at all, not even the rustling she’d heard earlier. The pale beam of the flashlight slowly arced across the trunks of the massive redwood trees that surrounded the cabin. Still nothing.
Betty began to laugh softly to herself. Here she was, getting ready to jump into her car and speed away lest she be harmed by nothing at all.
She began to walk back inside but then stopped and turned. She’d caught something out of the corner of her eye just as the flashlight was making a final pass over the trees. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was something that wasn’t quite right. Not when compared to the trees around it.
She frowned, keeping the beam steady. “What the hell . . . ?” she murmured, and took several steps forward.
There were two broad-trunked redwoods, but there was something else—a bizarre tree or vegetation—in between them. It was as massive as the trees themselves, but the surface was smooth rather than rough, like bark. And it was the most curious shade of green, and it . . .
It breathed.
It . . . was alive.
Impossible. Get in the car, run. Impossible.
Her feet, however, refused to move. She was literally rooted to the spot. Her arm, however, was still functioning, and slowly she angled the beam, moving it up and over what Betty was beginning to realize, to her horror, was the chest of a living, breathing creature. Up went the beam, over pectorals the size of children and arms the size of cannons. Up toward what would be the face, but at that point Betty had no idea what to expect. If the beam had revealed a creature laughing dementedly while waving a flaming pumpkin head, she likely would have taken it in stride.
The face of the green-skinned individual was lost in shadow. She could, however, see the general outline of the creature, and more than that she saw the beam reflected in the glowing green eyes. Those eyes narrowed in suspicion and mild confusion. It stared at her in a way that seemed to reflect a rudimentary degree of recognition—most likely, she thought, because it was recognizing her as a late-night snack.
At that point, Betty screamed, stepping slightly backward, and dropped the flashlight as the monster turned and approached. And “monster” it most certainly was. There was no disputing that this beast was something unknown to,
and outside of, nature. An abhorrent, lurking thing that would just as soon rip her apart as waste any time at all on her.
As she backed up, she stumbled over a tree root. Her arms flailed out as she fell backward, and the creature was right on her, grabbing her before she could hit the ground so that it could rend her limb from . . .
And the monster held her.
That was all. Just held her, at an angle. They looked, insanely, like a pair of dancers caught frozen in the midst of a graceful dip. But there was nothing the least bit genteel about the beast that was holding her in the palm of one hand.
She tried to move, but couldn’t. The creature wasn’t holding her immobile; she was simply too terrified to budge. And the monster was staring into her face, as if whatever the beast wanted was hidden in her eyes.
They remained that way for a long moment. Then, as gently as a mother easing her child into a crib, the creature brought Betty up so that she could stand on her own two feet. And still it never looked away from her. It appeared to be . . . recognizing her somehow. But from where? Betty wasn’t exactly in the habit of spending inordinate amounts of time with huge, green, forest-dwelling monstrosities.
She gave out a small, startled gasp as the creature lifted her gently onto the top of her car. She sensed the strength in the arms; the monster could have crushed her with no effort at all. Instead it was handling her with almost touching delicacy.
Once she’d been set down atop the car, the change in altitude provided her with a new perspective, namely one of eye-to-eye. The monster stared fixedly at her, almost as if it was trying to determine something.
Abruptly Betty saw the creature’s face fill with a mixture of terror and anger. It turned and sniffed the air. It was ludicrous of her to even think of addressing the monster, and yet she started to ask what was wrong. But it swiftly placed its hand over her mouth. Reflexively she started to struggle as she realized that the creature might try to strangle her. But it didn’t even seem to notice her resistance as it just held her, and then it lifted her up, holding her in an embrace that could only be seen as protective.