Chapter 1
The tow rope snapped taut as the street luge began to roll down the runway at ever increasing speeds. The hard scrabble tarmac's littered with small bits of scree, loose gravel and the surface was not entirely level. Lying supine, the luge driver hung on with all his might as his modified skate board jounced and slewed out of control. It's as though he's riding a giant roller-skate which jukes to the right and then jinked to the left. He has no sure way to steer it. He could only lean to either side in order to keep it on course. He wore a black leather coat and padded leather pants-which might help prevent some road rash should he accidentally crash or roll off. He's held fast to the board by a thick strip of Velcro, which secured him like glue to prevent him from bouncing off into the pitch-black-darkness of night.
A tow ropes connected to the underside of a cargo jet which was slowly taxiing out in preparation for takeoff. It's just after midnight. The small airport's almost deserted and full dark except for a paired necklace of blinking runway lights. Evidently, nobody had witnessed his preparations of hooking an elastic tow rope secured with a quick release mechanism. Security's lax at most of these small town airports. The luge driver has only to push a button to be released from the tow rope, and the other end would automatically detach as well. The rope would then fly off and fall away after unhooking. It was like the set up that towed glider planes utilize.
This is his first attempt to do this, and Brad's resolve to carry out an ultimate-extreme-jump's beginning to wane. He wasn't exactly afraid. He'd previously base jumped off buildings, cliffs, bridges, radio towers. Once from the basket of a hot air balloon, but this was the ultimate test of his wing suit. His friends called him the bird man. Now they may have to refer to him as the rocket man-if he lives to tell about it. His actions will be filmed and streamed over the social network sites via a cell phone helmet cam. A GPS monitor will record the speed and height of his assent and dissent. Recently, another base jumper had safely plummeted from outer space after leaping off a platform attached to a weather balloon. It'd garnered him a world record for a high-altitude-low-opening-base-jump. Or HALO for short.
Brad, a full time student at a local Junior College, currently has no job, and is relatively poor. He has no sponsors as of yet, only a growing fan base who're following his every death defying jump via his blog and his You Tube site. Maybe after this jump his video will go viral, and perhaps he'll finally get the sponsors he desperately needed. Then he'll have the financial backing to travel all over the world, and get paid exorbitantly well to leap off the top of the tallest mountains. And hopefully, he'd soon be transported to base-jump-sites via a helicopter, so he won't have to physically climb those mountains.
He'd already spent all the money he'd possessed to purchase the wing-suit on line. The suit is a prototype, and its designer would want to know how it held up to this rigorous test. It's made of very light yet strong synthetic material. It's the same durable material they use to make hot air balloons. He won't be jumping from the edge of outer space tonight, but so far nobody's ever been towed by a cargo jet, and released to free-fall from cruising altitude at 30,000 feet.
His audible altimeter would alert him if he's approaching the altitude where he'd need portable oxygen to survive. He didn't have any real safety equipment. No insulated pressure suit or oxygen respirator. Because he's rich with tenacity but poor with funds, he was literally going commando. A few brave souls have done many high-altitude-low-opening-jumps before. Mostly military skydivers who perform similar 30,000 foot-so called HALO maneuvers-after jumping from a passenger jet's fuselage hatch. But they had the luxury of using oxygen masks and proper safety equipment.
Red circles marked the location of the jet engines before him, like unblinking dragon eyes in the darkness. He gritted his teeth as the cargo jet began to lift off, and he felt a fierce tug as he was jerked upward. He glimpsed the ground rushing away beneath. He kept his head high. His goggles almost flew off his face from the sudden draft-which could be dangerous-as his eyeballs could burst from their sockets. He felt the gravitational pull increasing exponentially, and he glimpsed the lights of the city glittering far below. The tow rope's long enough to prevent him from being caught up in the fierce turbulence of the relative wind and forward speed of the twin turbine engines. He's dangling 30 feet or so from the jet's tail section. The pilots have no idea they had a hitchhiker.
In a few moments he'd be free falling, like a flying squirrel. He'd simply spread his wings and glide. The webbing between his arms, his torso and between his legs would slow his dissent somewhat. Like a kite, the wing suit will give him the lift to overcome the drag. He'd soon be soaring at over 200 mph, at Terminal Velocity. He'd be gliding at incredible speeds. He only has to turn his head and dip his shoulder in order to bank and yaw through the air, like superman. In truth, he'd actually be flying, circling the city below like an eagle coasting on thermals.
The thrust of the forward speed by the climbing jet's now approaching hundreds of mph. He wasn't sure how fast he's actually going, but the loose skin of his face was being waffled by the fierce currents. He fought to hold on, and to keep his street luge trimmed in the resultant jet-wash. The temperature's rapidly dropping outside. It's now freezing cold, and his goggles were becoming caked with ice crystals. His whole body began to quake and shiver as the effects of hypothermia started to kick in. He carried an emergency hook knife attached to his ankle by Velcro should he have to cut himself free of the tow rope or parachute lines.
His arms felt increasingly heavy. He wondered if he'd have the necessary strength to overcome the gravitational pull. He wasn't sure how many G's he's pulling at the moment, but it felt like he has an elephant sitting on his chest. Once free of the tow rope, he'd only have to lean forward a bit to be released from the Velcro covered luge. Like the tow rope, it would cast off and plummet to the ground. Currently, the jet's flight path took him out over the vast Arizona desert, so he didn't worry about someone far below getting hit by falling debris. He hoped he could locate his equipment later on, but he wasn't counting on it.
The moment he descended to a safe altitude, he'd pull a ripcord to release his chute, and simply glide back to earth. He hoped he'd be able to land somewhere close to town. He planed to use his cell phone to call a friend to pick him up. Or at least be able to dial 911 if he's injured in the landing.
He felt his speed slow down almost imperceptibly, as the jet aircraft's approaching cruising speed. He prepared to hit the release button on the tow rope. The clouds were becoming thick, making it difficult to locate where the red dots of the jet engines were anymore. Just as his wrist altimeter alarm began to squawk in earnest, he noticed a brilliant circle of light appear from out of the darkness. It's as if someone had turned on an enormous klieg light directly in front of him. He quickly pushed the tow rope release button, and lurched forward to disengage himself from the street luge. He felt himself tumbling forward into the slipstream in a free fall. He heard a roar like a locomotive passing close, and out of his peripheral vision he saw the cargo jet peel off away into the night. He wasn't actually falling just yet, and he even felt weightless for a long protracted moment. He pictured himself looking like a cartoon character comically levitating in mid-air after falling off a cliff. His stomach lurched, threatening to heave. He swallowed hard. He was glad it is empty.
He gulped in huge lungfuls of air, but suddenly realized he's having trouble getting a breath. The oxygen's getting too thin up here to breath. He felt as if he was about to black out. Absently, he watched the tow rope and his street luge detach and fall away. They disappeared into an inky blackness. He noticed it's preternaturally quite up here at 30,000 feet. The only sound he heard was his own heart galloping as he struggled to gasp for breathable air. He peered down and took in the expanse of city lights twinkling like a sequined blanket far below. With a galaxy full of stars shining all around, he was loosing his frame of reference. It was suddenly becoming difficult to tell if he's looking up or looking down. He discovered he was becoming dizzy and he felt a bit disoriented. Oxygen deprivation effects he suspected. Inexorably, he tumbled end over end, falling directly into the maw of the shimmering pool of light, like the relative calmness inside the eye of a swirling hurricane. There were lightening bolts and rippling waves of static electricity all around the opening. He felt weak and quickly discovered he didn't have the strength to stretch out prostrate in free fall in order to slow his dissent. He didn't have the capacity to attempt to spread his arm and leg webbings of his wing-suit. He couldn't even will his hand to reach across his chest in order to yank the rip cord, thereby releasing his emergency chute. He slowly held up his arms to examine his trembling hands. He was startled to see his skin glowing, turning a transparent sheen. He could make out the texture and joints of his bones. It was almost like looking at an X-ray. Abruptly, he began to loose consciousness, and it occurred at the same moment the bright light faded to black, like an iris of a cyclopean eye closing.
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