Ch 2 P.6. Sucked Out

It all happened in the blink of an eye, and by then, the wind speed kept Marle's eyelids pressed back. They had been sucked out of the falling helicopter, and Marle had hit the door going out. Was that the roar of the wind in his ears, or was Marle screaming? He tumbled through the black night. The air was cold and hard. He could not think, he could not get a breath, he could do nothing about his spin.

There was a flash of color; something moved against the black backdrop of the cold night. It might have been one of the soldiers, it might have been the pilot. Had they come close? Had they reached out to him? The image was there and gone again. The spin had command, turning any hope into a cold, black hell.

He wore a wingsuit, but his wrists were bound. Marle could feel himself close to blacking out. Then a flash of white appeared and flew up. It was big. A parachute had opened. Survival was the driving reality. Perhaps they did try to reach him. Failing that, they would need to save themselves. Beyond hope, Marle stopped caring. His sole wish was to black out and be unconscious when he hit.

When he awoke, he was still falling. The air was still cold, and the night was still black. The only difference was that he no longer tumbled; he fell back first. Marle saw another flash of white open into the darkness and get sucked away, first turning gray, then disappearing altogether. Surprisingly, Marle felt a warm calm overtake him. Facing death might be that way; he had never been there before. He just didn't know.

He wondered how long it would take to reach the ground below. He remembered hearing the pilot mention nine thousand feet. He wondered how big a spot he would make. He might make a big impression; it was an amusing thought that failed to amuse.

What was left? Remember something good, he told himself. He tried to recall Hera's face. He had never been so moved by a face. In his life, women came and women left. It was not the lifestyle a man should be proud of, now that he thought about it, but he sent them away fulfilled. Women were there to warm his bed, there to please and satisfy. He had a long and happy list. However, Hera was different. She might have been the one.

He could imagine a life with Hera. A home in the country, perhaps. Two or three rugrats scampering around. He would have considered a life with Hera as hitting the jackpot. He looked deeper into his thoughts, and the face of a goddess coalesced. Had he only chosen Hera over the experiment! Now, he felt regret. He had come so close.

How long had it been? Minutes? Seconds? Wasn't his life supposed to flash before him? Going out this way left Marle with the single option of remembering his all-too-brief brush with a heavenly figure.

Hera asked, “Can you give me a clue?”

“Maybe,” answered Marle. “You get three questions.”

Hera sat close, pressing against him with a warm smile on her perfect face. She answered, “A memory game.”

“You're eight and I'm nine,” said Hera. “I think we'll see a lot of each other.”

Hera laughed and asked, “Is it a personal item?”

Felix spoke. “Not your smartest move, man.”

“Yeah,” said Marle. “I thought as much.”