The Speed of Falling Objects

by Nancy Richardson Fischer

Sean shakes his head. “Like I’ve told Cougar, too many things there that can kill you.”

  A chill dances down my spine. “But you ride monster waves.”

  “I choose the wave. I’m in control.”

  “So why are you working on this trip?”

  “Money. I’m getting married in a few months. My beautiful bride invited three hundred of our closest friends to a destination wedding.”

  “Why not make it smaller?” I ask.

  Sean chuckles. “You’re too young to get this, but happy wife, happy life. Plus, I’ve spent most of my existence pursuing my own dreams. It’s time to take someone else’s into account.”

  “And I thought you were just a shallow surf god,” Jupiter says. He turns to me. “Sean may be afraid of creepy crawlies, but I’ve been to Brazil, Colombia, all over South America. Truth is I hated every one of those places. I’m not a fan of heat, humidity or mosquitos. I prefer Cougar’s episodes in Alaska, Montana, Iceland—basically, anywhere cold or mountainous. Plus, I’d rather face an angry moose or bear than a coiled snake. Don’t know how your dad talked me into going on this shoot.” Jupiter shakes his head. “Yeah, I do. He’s Cougar Warren.”

  “Your dad is a force,” Sean agrees.

  “We haven’t gotten to spend a lot of time together. It’s not my dad’s fault or anything. He’s super busy. But I’m hoping to change that from here on, and get to really know him.” Jupiter and Sean share a look. I say, “No worries. I know he’ll be busy.” There will be moments, I’m sure of it.

  “So, um, if you hate hot and buggy, why are you going to the Amazon?” I ask Jupiter.

  “Truth is that, like Sean, if I didn’t need the cash, I’d skip this one.”

  “Are you saving to get married, too?”

  “Nah,” Jupiter says, watching a plane take flight in the distance. “The money is to help with my sister’s private school.” He nods his head toward my dad and Cass. “They’re right, the Amazon during rainy season will make for a great episode. But it’ll be pretty miserable for you guys.”

  My fingers and toes tingle. “Why just for us?”

  “The crew gets rain gear, mosquito nets, tents, sleeping bags and blow-up pads. We have a camp stove to make our delicious meals—you know, the kind in a bag you dump in boiling water.” He makes a face. “We’ll have bottled water, while you guys will be filtering yours in mud holes or boiling it if you manage to start a fire. The crew’s experience won’t be luxurious but it’ll be bearable. You, Cougar and Gus will have to make your own shelter, find food and deal with bug bites. Plus, you guys will be doing all the athletic stuff. Cougar makes it pretty safe, though.”

  Despite the sunshine, goose bumps break along my arms. “If it’s bad—”

  “Cougar loves it that way. The more extreme, the happier that man is. But I’m sure if you’re really miserable he’ll let you tap out.”

  I shake my head. “No tapping out.”

  “Like father, like daughter.”

  I wish.

  11

  By the time Gus arrives, it’s almost noon according to the cheap waterproof watch Samantha bought me. Cougar and Cass have been pacing and constantly checking the matching oversize waterproof watches they both wear. It hasn’t started raining yet, but there’s a solid layer of slate-gray clouds. The air temperature has dropped low enough that I’ve tugged on a sweatshirt.

  My dad has been swearing a lot, most of it directed at Cass. I haven’t seen him angry since I was a little kid. It brings up that awful sense of knowing something is wrong, wondering whose fault it is, but being powerless to change it. I feel bad for Cass, but it’s now late morning, and I, for one, am thrilled. We’ll definitely have to put off flying until tomorrow. That’s a night in a hotel, a bed, shower and fluffy towels. No mosquitos or any of the other horrible things Jupiter mentioned. Plus, it gives me another day with my dad before he starts working.

  A jeep speeds down the road and stops where we’ve all congregated near the plane. Gus Price climbs out, his backpack slung over one shoulder, and closes the distance to the group. “Sorry I’m late. I had a meeting with my director that went long. You know directors,” he says with a wry smile. “They like to hear themselves talk.”

  Cougar chuckles, “Oh, do I ever.”

  My heart drops a beat, then returns, double time. A lot of people probably think movie stars aren’t as good-looking in real life. That it’s all about the lights, makeup, angles. Those people are totally wrong as far as Gus Price goes. He’s tall, at least six-four, lightly tanned white skin, dark blond hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, a square jaw, broad shoulders. Sunglasses hide eyes I know from the movies are hazel flecked with gold. His black T-shirt has a tiny symbol in the center that probably stands for something too cool for mere mortals to know about. It rests on the frayed waistband of shorts that hang below his hips. He’s wearing flip-flops that definitely aren’t rain forest approved, but look cool. Trix would lose her mind. Truth.

  “No big deal,” my dad says, giving Gus a hug like he hasn’t been pacing and swearing for hours, like everything is super chill.

  Gus says, “You must be Danny.”

  His attention is like getting hit with a spotlight. I haven’t quite registered that Gus Price is standing a foot away from me, let alone that he knows my name. Digging for something to say, I find...nothing.

  “Don’t mind my kid. She’s starstruck. Glad you could make it. We’re a bit behind schedule, but I worked it out with our pilot.”

  Cass hits me with a hip bump while still filming. “Say hi.”

  “Why don’t you give the video diary thing a break?” Jupiter suggests. “Conserve your batteries.”

  “They’re long lasting and I have six extras in my case,” Cass says.

  Terrific. I reach out my hand to shake Gus’s but at that exact moment he turns to meet Jupiter and Sean so I’m left with my hand midair. Cass clears her throat. Gus glances over his shoulder, sees me standing there like a big dolt. I blush from the crown of my head to my heels.

  Gus says, “The team has told me a lot about you.”

  Every inch of my skin gets hot and my guess is that I’m red and blotchy, too. Gus waits for me to say something, but my word well is totally dry. There’s a tiny scar on his jawline that adds to the overall package. I take a step closer, like Gus is a planet with its own gravitational pull.

  Mack barks, “Quit your lollygagging and load up.”

  Load up? Sean tosses his duffel into the back of the plane. Jupiter follows. Cass is already halfway up the stairs. I’m realizing that when my dad says jump, she asks how high. “Isn’t it too late? You wanted to be tied down by one, right?”

  The pilot shrugs. “Flight should only take a few hours. I’ll spend the night at the airstrip, then head back in the morning.”

  “Is there a problem?” Cougar asks. His arm is hung over Gus’s shoulders like they’re old friends.

  My hopes are a balloon that’s losing air fast. “No problem.” I head toward the stairs.

  “You’re in for a wild ride.”

  I turn to tell my dad that I’m up for it, but he’s looking at Gus, not me.

  Gus winks. “GP isn’t so precious that he can’t get through a little plane flight.”

  Did he really just talk about himself in the third person? Must be a movie star thing. Rain begins to patter on the tarmac. I want to reiterate what Mack said. Shit-buckets of rain are coming. And thunderstorms. I’m not an experienced flyer but torrential rain and lightning in the battered aluminum tube everyone is climbing into does not seem like a good idea. It’s a horrendous idea. But if I say something or, worse, refuse to go, then I’ll be the one responsible for screwing up the schedule and budget. Worse, my dad will know that I’m still that scaredy-cat kid.

  “All good, Danny?” my dad asks.

  �
�Definitely.” I run up the stairs like I can’t wait to take off. The plane has three rows with two seats on the right side and a single one on the left side. Sean beckons, and I slide into a seat at the back of the plane beside him. Jupiter is directly in front of me. Cass sits across from him videotaping the flight. I don’t want a record of me clenching the edge of my seat, eyes screwed shut. Gus scans the plane and his eyes rest for just a second on Sean sitting beside me. Did he actually want to sit next to me? Not possible. Gus takes the front row, sitting across from Cougar, both stretching out their legs like this flight is the most relaxing thing they’ve ever done.

  “Buckle up,” Mack says as he makes his way to the front of the plane. “It’s going to be a rough flight. People, do not barf in my plane.”

  That warning is probably for me. Mack is on the radio, then we’re taxiing, rolling down the runway at high speed, every bump in the tarmac jarring my spine. We do a U-turn. The engine starts whining. We take off and the plane climbs steeply.

  I close my eyes. Beneath the engine noise of the plane, Sean chats with Cass, and Cougar and Gus joke around like they’ve known each other forever. Don’t they all get that we could crash at any moment? The plane drops. My stomach lurches. I breathe in through my nose, then out through my mouth like my mom taught me to do when I had migraines or panic attacks. If I throw up in Mack’s plane he’ll be pissed, I’ll be mortified, and the look in my dad’s eyes will confirm my tagline is spot-on. Defective. Inferior. Embarrassment.

  The next few hours are a series of relatively calm moments punctuated by violent drops and shudders as Mack weaves around the storm cells. At times the noise of rain hitting the plane is deafening. When Cougar points out lightning in the distance, I don’t look, eyes clamped shut, hands gripping the armrests, nails digging in so hard that they’re probably making holes in the already-ratty upholstery.

  Cougar yells back to Cass, “How’s my kid doing?”

  I open my eyes as Cass peers at me, camera in hand. She’s a peculiar shade of green. Sweat beads on her forehead. “She’s doing fine.” Cass moves up the center aisle to sit beside Cougar, stopping to zip her camera inside a bag and put it in the bin before buckling in. Maybe she’s preparing to barf, too.

  Every muscle in my body is knotted. I’ve swallowed vomit repeatedly. My T-shirt is drenched in sweat. I’m definitely not fine but appreciate Cass covering for me. When the turbulence eases for the moment, I force my fingers to release their death grip on the armrests.

  Sean nudges my shoulder. “Looking kinda pale.”

  “Didn’t you hear? I’m fine.”

  He chuckles. “You surf?”

  Seriously? Do I look like I surf? “No.”

  “Massive wave at Rincon last weekend. Day before, double overhead at Lompoc.”

  “Terrific.”

  “Thing about surfing is that when you’re paddling for a big wave, everything else disappears. It’s you and the monster above you. If you think about anything else, you miss it. If you catch the wave but your mind wanders, you get smashed.”

  “Are you ever scared?”

  “Surfing forces me out of my head. Live in the moment or suffer the consequences.”

  “What about sharks?” The idea of sitting on a surfboard waiting for a wave, legs dangling in the dark blue, seems like a really bad idea. I wonder if there’s insurance for that kind of thing. Loss of limbs due to thinking you’re higher on the food chain than you actually are.

  Sean shrugs. “There’s a better chance of me dying in a car accident.”

  I don’t point out that there are way more drivers than surfers. Plus he’s in a car more often than the water, so his comparison is faulty.

  “Hey, Cougar,” Mack calls over his shoulder.

  “Yeah?”

  “Gotta head back. There are too many damned thunderstorms ahead.”

  Cougar goes forward between the two pilot seats. “What do you say we give it one more shot?”

  “Right from the get-go I had to divert way off my flight plan, but I guess that I could try to fly under the boomers. More turbulence, but it’d keep us outa the storm cells.”

  More turbulence? I’m definitely going to vomit.

  Cougar claps him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

  “One shot. Fuel is becoming an issue. If I can’t find my way through, we head back.”

  “Deal.”

  “Tighten your seat belts,” Mack orders.

  If my seat belt was any tighter, I wouldn’t be able to breathe. Glancing to my left, I see that Sean isn’t buckled in. “Hey.” I nod at his belt.

  Sean winks. “Never wear ’em. It’s bad form to doubt Lady Luck.”

  I’m about to tell him about the car accident victims who weren’t wearing seat belts that Commander Sam has seen in the ER, people thrown from vehicles, others whose faces went through windshields, but my words are cut off as the plane veers right. The turbulence we experienced before was nothing compared to the brutal drops and violent tremors now rattling the plane. I smell vomit. Probably Cass. Despite how sick I feel, I’m too scared to barf. I’m freezing cold, boiling hot. Cougar whoops. He’s enjoying this. Gus holds his arms in the air like he’s on a roller coaster. Another thing they have in common besides being great-looking, talented and famous. Thunder explodes and the plane shudders.

  “Think of it like a gargantuan wave,” Sean shouts over the storm. “Pretend you’re riding it, the wave cresting, white water boiling above your head, a massive tube of blue forming. Feel the cold spray biting, curled toes cramping on your board, the wind’s fingers snarling your hair.”

  I do exactly what Sean says. The green-faced puke-monster inside me takes a tiny step back. “Thanks, I—”

  There’s another vicious drop. I see trees out the window, then we’re crashing through the tops of them before lifting again. One wing catches and we start spinning, backpacks, books and computers flying through the air. There’s a ripping sound like the world is being torn open. But it’s not the world. It’s our plane breaking into pieces.

  There’s open sky...

  The front half of the plane spins away...

  Someone screams...

  12

  My world is upside down.

  No. I’m upside down, seat belt buckled, feet above my head tangled in a thorny vine that’s suffocating a tree’s thick limb.

  Where’s Sean?

  Hot raindrops patter down on my face. I look up, a little bit to the left, and then close my eyes, brain scrambling for a different explanation.

  My mom orders: Give your fears a name. It takes away their power. Then tell me what you like and what you want to be.

  I am afraid of heights...

  More droplets patter down, dribble into my hair.

  I like flannel sheets...

  My head is pounding so hard that my skull might explode. The ground is far, probably twenty feet... My neck will snap if I land on my head... Both ankles will break if I come down on my feet... Maybe only my ribs will splinter if I land on my side, but that could puncture a lung... My vision blurs.

  When I grow up I want to be...adventurous. Strong. Athletic. Popular. Brave. A propeller. The solution. Cougar.

  I unbuckle my seat belt and drop.

  Falling two stories takes enough time for my stomach to leap into my mouth. I twist as I fall so that I hit the rain forest’s floor feet first with a bone-jarring thud. Pain radiates through my body as I collapse and roll over sharp sticks and roots until I’m on my back. I can’t breathe. Rationally, I know that the wind has been knocked out of me. My diaphragm is in spasm, incapable of the simple act of breathing. Interesting fact: when a cockroach has muscle spasms it sometimes flips onto its back but doesn’t have the coordination to right itself, so it dies that way.

  Breathe.

  Breathe.

 
Breathe!

  I suck in tendrils of air until I can force down a teaspoonful. Slowly, my diaphragm relaxes. I gulp, feeding my brain and body until my limbs stop tingling.

  Commander Sam’s no-nonsense voice rockets to the surface, commands: Assess.

  Wiggling my fingers and toes proves I’m not suffering from a broken back, or at least my spinal cord isn’t severed. There was a twinge in my ankle when I landed. Carefully, I roll my foot around. It’s not broken, maybe just a slight sprain.

  Sitting up, I look around. No plane. No people. Dad, Cass, Gus, Jupiter—they were in the front part that tore off. “Sean?” I don’t want to look, but I do. Sean hangs facedown over a thick tree bough five feet above the spot where the metal frame of my seat snagged. His torso is partially ripped, purplish intestines dangling. Blood steadily drips from the massive wound. I touch my forehead where beads of Sean’s blood have dried. I call, “Sean?” He doesn’t answer. This is happening. I’m alone somewhere in the Amazon. Sean is dead. His body is hanging above me. Lady Luck deserted him. I should be horrified, screaming, but I’m not. This is real, but it’s like my brain has decided it can’t be true.

  I look up again. Sean’s eyes are open but their bright light has drained away. I’m alive and the impartiality of death—that it chose a guy who had everything going for him, not me—is unfathomable. Sean’s fiancée will never marry him. The finality of that thought, the number of people who will be forever changed—mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, siblings, friends, unborn children—cuts through the haze. My throat squeezes tight; my hands tremble. With effort, I drag my gaze away.

  Trees tower above me, their triangular buttresses, made from partly exposed ground roots, would take ten people with arms outstretched to encircle. Stands of bamboo form impossibly high prison bars difficult to see beyond. Facts from my dad’s show flood my brain: bamboo, found everywhere in the Amazon, is a type of hard, hollow grass that can grow as tall as a tree, with polished, jointed stems three feet across.

  Focus.

  Palms of every height crowd the already-dense vegetation. Everywhere there are flowers—explosions of white, red and yellow, with scribbles of violet, orange and sapphire at their centers. Woody vines hang from limbs, wind around massive trunks, climbing toward the treetops. They create highways of travel for monkeys that chitter overhead. Their sporadic, throaty howls raise the hairs on my arms. The air is crowded with musky scents so rich that they clog my sinuses and drip down my throat like syrup.