For Raia (sorry for the long delay!)
STEP 2
You duck down, pulling your head to your knees and tucking your arms under your legs. You’ve seen the illustrations of this position in the safety instruction pamphlets on countless flights over the years, but you’ve never really taken them seriously. It always seemed equivalent to taking shelter underneath an elementary school desk during a nuclear bomb scare. Now, in the face of grave danger, you find yourself trusting to the seemingly absurd advice. Suddenly the plane lurches from its steady descent as a massive explosion rocks the fuselage behind you. You feel the hot breath of the fireball sweep over your seat and fade back. You are dimly aware that your prostrate position just saved you from the flames, but you can’t help but look back. You see blue sky and the ragged edge of the cabin barely two rows behind you. The tail section, engulfed in flames, is spinning wildly and falling fast several hundred yards behind you. Sitting next to the wings, you still have a chance. Not a good one, but better than those who had been sitting behind you. You look out your window and gasp at how close the jungle trees are. There’s no doubt you’re going in. You pull your head back to your knees, shut your eyes, and hold your breath.
The impact is shocking. Your head smacks the seat in front of you even as your belt strains against your hips. The plane is still moving forward through a blur of green, and you realize that the jolt was the wing on the opposite side of the aircraft tearing off. In the instant you realize this, your eyes move to the window next to you. Another savage jolt is accompanied by a blinding flash and an explosion of sparks just outside as the wing next to you is sheared off by the forest trees. The cabin drops sickeningly and smashes hard against the ground, but continues to skid forward. The roar of the impact and the scraping of earth underneath the cabin is deafening. Your whole body feels bruised, but you are very much alive. The cabin lurches forward as the craft tilts downhill, and the strain causes another massive tear to appear in the cabin ceiling several rows in front of you. The front of the cabin dips further downward and drags your section forward. With a final metallic groan, the front section falls away and vanishes. You gaze forward from the brink of a tall cliff that forms the bank of a swiftly flowing river. The front section of the cabin is still attached to you, although it now dangles over the churning water. You can feel your section slowly being dragged forward. The back of your section, only two rows behind, is rapidly losing the tug-of-war with the heavier cockpit section. You rise unsteadily to your feet even as the floor begins to tilt downward and slide more quickly. You are seated closest to the edge and begin fighting your way up the inclined pathway as the voices of those behind you cry out. There is no time to think, no time to pause. You step on the jagged edge of your section as the floor falls away. For a split second, you can feel the entire aircraft pivot downward on the spot beneath your foot. You leap for the cliff edge as the plane plummets toward the river. You land on the sandy soil, but the cliff below you is undercut and the stress of the passing craft has weakened it. You can feel the ground give way beneath you as you scramble forward. You dive to reach the seam in the ground that suddenly appears as the cliff edge collapses. You are falling with it, but within reach of the solid ground beyond. You clutch at exposed roots and arrest your fall with a violent jerk. (You arrest the jerk for being so violent and get on with the story.) You are hanging from the root, twenty feet below the newly formed lip of the cliff, and thirty feet above the churning water. It is easy to see that the root you are hanging from will not hold you for long. If you swing to the cliff face, it will be a desperate struggle to find a way up and you are already exhausted. The river below is swift and dangerous, but it is certainly deep and the fall would not kill you. Of course, your exhaustion and the power of the current would not ensure your safety. Do you swing to the cliff and cling to survival, or do you surrender yourself to the river and trust it to keep both you and hope afloat?
You duck down, pulling your head to your knees and tucking your arms under your legs. You’ve seen the illustrations of this position in the safety instruction pamphlets on countless flights over the years, but you’ve never really taken them seriously. It always seemed equivalent to taking shelter underneath an elementary school desk during a nuclear bomb scare. Now, in the face of grave danger, you find yourself trusting to the seemingly absurd advice. Suddenly the plane lurches from its steady descent as a massive explosion rocks the fuselage behind you. You feel the hot breath of the fireball sweep over your seat and fade back. You are dimly aware that your prostrate position just saved you from the flames, but you can’t help but look back. You see blue sky and the ragged edge of the cabin barely two rows behind you. The tail section, engulfed in flames, is spinning wildly and falling fast several hundred yards behind you. Sitting next to the wings, you still have a chance. Not a good one, but better than those who had been sitting behind you. You look out your window and gasp at how close the jungle trees are. There’s no doubt you’re going in. You pull your head back to your knees, shut your eyes, and hold your breath.
The impact is shocking. Your head smacks the seat in front of you even as your belt strains against your hips. The plane is still moving forward through a blur of green, and you realize that the jolt was the wing on the opposite side of the aircraft tearing off. In the instant you realize this, your eyes move to the window next to you. Another savage jolt is accompanied by a blinding flash and an explosion of sparks just outside as the wing next to you is sheared off by the forest trees. The cabin drops sickeningly and smashes hard against the ground, but continues to skid forward. The roar of the impact and the scraping of earth underneath the cabin is deafening. Your whole body feels bruised, but you are very much alive. The cabin lurches forward as the craft tilts downhill, and the strain causes another massive tear to appear in the cabin ceiling several rows in front of you. The front of the cabin dips further downward and drags your section forward. With a final metallic groan, the front section falls away and vanishes. You gaze forward from the brink of a tall cliff that forms the bank of a swiftly flowing river. The front section of the cabin is still attached to you, although it now dangles over the churning water. You can feel your section slowly being dragged forward. The back of your section, only two rows behind, is rapidly losing the tug-of-war with the heavier cockpit section. You rise unsteadily to your feet even as the floor begins to tilt downward and slide more quickly. You are seated closest to the edge and begin fighting your way up the inclined pathway as the voices of those behind you cry out. There is no time to think, no time to pause. You step on the jagged edge of your section as the floor falls away. For a split second, you can feel the entire aircraft pivot downward on the spot beneath your foot. You leap for the cliff edge as the plane plummets toward the river. You land on the sandy soil, but the cliff below you is undercut and the stress of the passing craft has weakened it. You can feel the ground give way beneath you as you scramble forward. You dive to reach the seam in the ground that suddenly appears as the cliff edge collapses. You are falling with it, but within reach of the solid ground beyond. You clutch at exposed roots and arrest your fall with a violent jerk. (You arrest the jerk for being so violent and get on with the story.) You are hanging from the root, twenty feet below the newly formed lip of the cliff, and thirty feet above the churning water. It is easy to see that the root you are hanging from will not hold you for long. If you swing to the cliff face, it will be a desperate struggle to find a way up and you are already exhausted. The river below is swift and dangerous, but it is certainly deep and the fall would not kill you. Of course, your exhaustion and the power of the current would not ensure your safety. Do you swing to the cliff and cling to survival, or do you surrender yourself to the river and trust it to keep both you and hope afloat?