THE PANGEA CHRONICLES . BOOK 1.. 107.9°

98.6°

Introduction

98.6

Cullman, Alabama.

31 May, 2019

So this is flying.

The freedom.

The rush.

Sammy Kehoe had been an adrenaline fiend his whole life.

Chasing it.

Needing the amped up energy pulsing through his system like an angry drug.

Whether it was cave diving in some pitch black Florida sink, or hanging toes and cutting barrels back home at Ehukai Beach, he had lived and breathed danger his whole life. This was different though, than the grueling work of the surf circuit, and miles removed from the cramped technicality of the abysmal caves.

Way up here, some 33 miles above the Alabama drop-zone, he felt free again. Alive. Like the mediocrity of a life he had found himself living was being left behind for good.

From the day his old surf buddy, and now extreme sport entrepreneur, approached him about a world record opportunity, Sammy knew. He  knew this was his chance to put his stamp on the annals of popular culture; to be remembered for something big.

He'd fly like a bird right into eternity.

The icy wind of the edge of space screamed at him like a lost soul, beckoning him to the edge. At gale force, it was like nothing he'd ever experienced, making his mind race with the what ifs. For the first time in his life, pangs of fear gnawed at his empty stomach. And he began to wonder, not if he could, but if he should.

This is who you are, brah.

With a deep sigh, he swallowed the acid of doubt rising in his throat, and stuffed his trademark bleached blonde ponytail up into his helmet. As the late spring sun took it's stance high above the horizon, Sammy smiled into the respirator and opened the balloon hatch. At 170,000 feet, he would blow away the free-fall record, and make it all but impossible to ever be bested.

“Toes on the nose,” he whispered, sliding his left foot to the edge of the platform.

“HAOLE POWER!”

Flight…

Freedom in free-fall, at twice the speed of sound.

He could have stayed up their forevermore, the wind whipping his thermal suit, soaring like an eagle.

As his speed reached terminal velocity, Sammy aimed his body forward, toward the painted field, and tucked his arms like they taught him at the training camp last week. The ground rushed faster towards him, sending waves of near panic hurling up from his stomach. Closing his eyes to find his breathing, he relaxed as well as he could, and waited for that sweet spot where speed and elevation were perfect.

With his heart thumping like a bass drum, Sammy felt his chest for the familiar plastic, and pulled the handle to deploy his chute. The resulting jerk of the rapid slowdown shocked him. He knew that tomorrow he was going to be one sore Haole. But he didn't care today. He'd just done something no other human being had done. Ever.

On that hot summer day, in some unknown cow pasture under the Alabama sun, Sammy Kehoe landed in the pages of history.