Silhouette (Part One)

Chapter 8

5 months later

I stared out the tiny, round, poor excuse for a window set in the side of the plane that moved through a tight, snow covered valley. Maybe this wasn't the best choice, but 'you don't know until you try' is how that saying goes.

I pulled away and brought out my list, going through the names again.

1. Kurt Newham

2. Gabriel Bliff

3. Otokaya Hirito

4. Henri Geritan

5. Jessica Horus

6. Carrey Hallman

7. The Chairman

The last one was the only one that Silver couldn't find any information about other than: He was referred to as The Chairman, and he never stays in one spot too long. Wherever that spot may be. After crossing off Kurt in London, Gabriel in the Cayman Islands, and Otokaya in Japan, I was hoping Henri would have a home somewhere warm like Gabriel's. That was not to be. He had to love the cold temperatures. Alaska. The single engine ahead of the pilot's tiny cockpit sputtered, but continued to drone on, snapping me out of the trance.

The last two I had to cross off quickly due to the situation of their deaths, but I hope to get more out of Henri. I glanced up at the pilot just as a curse slipped through his lips.

"What is it?" If something is wrong and I can't reach my destination in time; I need to know before it happens.

"The wind ripping through this valley is hurting my poor Gwyneth." As if to confirm his statement, the plane shook violently. Something groaned in reply, and a flashing light periodically washed his face with an eerie red glow. "She can't take much more at this height. I need to pull out before the wings get ripped off, and we go down."

I stole another look out the barely transparent window and saw a brightly lit log cabin snuggled into the side of the hill. Practically hanging over a cliff, the house was a cute, inviting structure, most likely costing a fortune. It's a shame the owner won't live too much longer to enjoy it.

"That's alright. You can pull up as soon as I jump." I replied and unbuckled my harness. I started to make my way to the exit, and the plane shook again. This time a pop echoed through the steel trap.

"Jump! Don't tell me you paid me to be your suicide run! Though if you're going to do it; do it sooner rather than later!"

"I'm not suicidal, I'm just determined." I grabbed the door handle and shoved it. It gave and slid to the side, into the fuselage wall. Wind ripped around me, pulling me out the opening and into the night. My senses were momentarily thrown off by the violent effect of being pulled out of a plane by depressurization.

I was too low for a parachute and it would draw too much attention. Except I need to be oriented correctly for the wing-suit to be opened. I tumbled for a few seconds, before I settled facing the fast approaching, snow-covered ground.

NOW!

I opened the wings between the arms and body and between my legs of my suit and immediately slowed, but still going straight down. I angled toward the ground and started to glide forward. Instead of falling, I was flying. Well, more glorified falling than flying, but in my book it still counts. The rush of adrenaline made my heart pound in my chest, almost as loud as the wind rushing through my ears. Now all I need is to stick the landing.

The taboo of hope crushing despair came as a gust of wind from the left. I veered off and straight toward the side of the nearest mountain. I don't have much training with these things, but I have plenty of experience with danger. The one thing I learned was to turn with your arms and lean. So I did. Gradually, I turned back into the valley's middle, but I was much closer to the trees than I had been earlier.