In a true free fall, you don’t feel like you’re falling. You feel like you’re being held up by a pillar of invisible air. Elias watched the wreckage of the plane descend half a mile away, a trail of black smoke marking its path. He was alone in the blue, suspended between life and the inevitable earth.
He was a "Jump-Master," a man who lived for the adrenaline of the (free fall). But this wasn't a planned jump over the Swiss Alps. This was Flight 174, and the left wing had just vanished into a cloud of orange fire. Freier Fall
He kicked the emergency door open. The roar of the wind was a physical blow, a wall of ice and noise. He looked back at the terrified faces in the cabin, but there was no time for heroics, only physics. He stepped out. In a true free fall, you don’t feel like you’re falling
At 4,000 feet, the ground stopped being a map and started being a destination. Trees became individual sparks of green. He reached for the rip cord. He pulled. He was alone in the blue, suspended between
He checked his altimeter: 12,000 feet. The air was getting thicker, warmer. He could see the green patchwork of fields below, looking like a miniature train set.