Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

cinched my leg straps, and hooked the duffel’s nylon handles into the crook of my elbow.
    I ran a hand along the crates and let them lead me to the door. My fingers passed over a metal latch, and I hesitated. It was the latch on the lid of the crate I’d opened before take-off. Through the clearance between the tops of the crates and the ceiling of the cabin, I could barely make out Trish and Kurt in the cockpit. I set the duffle bag at my feet and felt along the edge of the lid for the remaining latches. Cupping my hands over them one at a time, I popped them all open.
    Kurt shifted, but didn’t turn around. I pressed the bottom ridge of the lid upward with the heels of my palms. The wood flexed, but didn’t budge. I felt along the perimeter until I found additional latches on the right and left sides and then I flipped those open too.
    This time when I pressed upward, the lid rose. I lifted it seven or eight inches, until its ridge touched the ceiling of the cabin, and peered inside. It was too dark to see anything. I held the lid with one hand and reached inside the box with the other, patting its contents with outstretched fingers, trying to figure out what I was touching. Plastic. Plastic wrapped around something hard.
    “Hey!”
    I looked over the lid. Kurt was out of his seat, sliding toward my passageway.
    “Who the hell are you?” he shouted.
    Without warning, the plane lurched downward, sending Kurt and me to the ceiling. My shoulder barreled into the corner of the crate lid I’d been supporting. Kurt was unfazed by our sudden weightlessness. He pushed off the ceiling, continuing toward me.
    The plane leveled.
    My feet found the floor again and the wooden lid collapsed into position, wedging my upper arm. I jerked it loose and grabbed the duffel, pushing its straps into the crook of my elbow.
    Kurt rounded the corner to my hiding spot as I struggled to raise the jumpers’ door. It was a tough pull at first, but once I started it moving, it rose swiftly. The onslaught of wind stopped Kurt in his tracks. Trish didn’t try another drastic maneuver either, now that her buddy had the open sky to contend with.
    My face and shoulders were out the door when Kurt’s hand closed over my arm and tugged me back. He grappled for the bag.
    I crossed my arms over my chest and clenched my shoulder straps, locking the duffel in place. When I leaned out again, I dropped my head and felt Kurt’s grip loosen as I somersaulted into the night.

Chapter Twenty-five
    It was a wild ride.
    My freefall was clumsy because of my awkward body position protecting the duffel bag. After my third or fourth flip, I reached for the pilot chute and tugged it from its pouch on the bottom of Kurt’s rig.
    The wind grabbed it, extending the bridle, and an instant later the closing pin was out. It was the point in the opening sequence when I’d normally reach for my risers to lessen the opening shock. But this time, I only had one arm to use. My left hand was clenched around my right shoulder strap, locking the duffel in the crook of my arm. Grabbing the right riser alone wasn’t enough. When the parachute snapped open, I thought I heard every bone in my back crack. It felt like I’d been jerked halfway back to the plane.
    At least the chute had opened.
    With the parachute flying level, I released my left hand and raised it overhead. The bag slid to my shoulder. Two-handed again, I reached up and unstowed the toggles, the handles to my steering lines. A quick steering check verified the canopy was good.
    The quickest way down would be a hard, continuous turn to one side that would spiral the canopy toward the ground and bleed off altitude. I spotted a reasonable landing place, and when I was approximately over it, I buried my right toggle near my hip and spun toward Earth, round and round toward what looked like a rock quarry. When I got dizzy, I brought the toggle up again and let the canopy fly straight for a while, then spiraled again. Enormous mounds of stone were brightly lit beneath me. Nearby spotlights illuminated a giant American flag that I checked for wind direction. I focused on a wide patch of gravel bordering several mountains of various grades of stones. It would have to do; I turned into the wind and prepared to land.
    When my feet touched, I skidded a little on the gravel but didn’t fall. The parachute fell behind me with a soft
whoosh
, and the first thing I did was look to see if anyone was around.
    The quarry