Directly overhead was a giant rectangular shape, with brilliant red, white, and blue stripes: the parafoil. Obviously he had only been falling a few seconds from the airplane above him - Looking up, he could not see the plane. He looked down, and was shocked to see that he was still thousands of feet from the earth. He opened his eyes and stared at pale blue sky. He snapped upright with a bone-twisting jolt.įor an instant he thought he had hit the ground, and then he realized that he was still descending through the air, but more slowly. His shivering was becoming uncontrollable. He dared not open his eyes, for fear of seeing the trees rushing up close as his body crashed downward toward them in his final seconds of conscious life.īile dribbled from his mouth, but since he was falling head downward, the liquid ran up his chin to his neck and then inside his shirt. It had been at least three minutes since he'd jumped from the plane. He felt the fierce wind tugging at his feet, whipping his trousers, flapping his The screaming wind continued his body rushed sickeningly downward. He dimly remembered that people had died that way, when they interfered with the opening of their parachute. Then he pulled his hands away: he didn't want to interfere with its opening. He clutched it, a small tight bundle near his churning stomach. His life now depended on the parachute attached to his chest. Obviously the parafoil (whatever the hell that was) was not going to open. But with his eyes shut he was more aware of the screaming wind. He felt no appreciation for the beauty before him, and in fact he closed his eyes, for he was plummeting at hideous speed toward the ground.

Below him the Barawana Forest lay spread across rolling hills. His stomach jumped into his throat, and he tasted bile the wind screamed around his ears and tugged at his hair and the air was so cold - he was instantly chilled and shivering.

Congo by michael crichton