Chris Mooney - World Without End

He decided to tell Faust about the visions. When Gunther was done, his eyes dropped to the floor, feeling ashamed and vulnerable and dirty for reasons he couldn't quite form into words.

"There's no need to be embarrassed. The visions are quite normal,"

Faust said, his eyes free and clear of judgment.

"The key is to act against those people who can hurt or injure the good and the weak."

People like Raymond Bouchard and his IWAC team. People who intended to harm Faust.

The plane's engines climbed, getting ready for takeoff. It was about to begin.

The plane's engines were warming up, the steady, rumbling sound vibrating inside the cabin packed with four bodies that were, thankfully, not very tall or wide. Conway had only been expecting three people: himself, Dix, and the jump instructor, Evans. The fourth guy, Paul something Conway hadn't caught his last name was clearly the cameraman; a small video camera was mounted on the top of his helmet.

Videotaping the jump was extra. Conway, having no use for it, didn't check it off on his registration form. It must have been Dixon's idea.

Apparently Dixon was sparing no expense today.

Conway sat in the rear of the plane, next to the cameraman. Directly across from Conway and seated right next to the jump door was Dixon, wearing a helmet and clear wind goggles strapped across his glasses. He stared out the window at the ground, his attention turned inward to the business of psyching himself up for the jump.

The plane lurched forward. Dixon gripped the edge of his seat with both hands and kept swallowing, his eyes focused outside the plane, on the ground. The plane gained speed, bouncing over the bumpy runway of packed dirt and stone, the cabin shaking so violently it made him wonder if the plane would suddenly burst apart at the seams. The cameraman stared passively out his window while eating carrots out of a plastic baggie. Evans blinked one eye at Con-way in a gesture of shared conspiracy and then blew out a long pink bubble. Dix looked as though he was about to blow his breakfast again.

Then the plane lifted off the ground and the cabin stopped shaking, the windows filling with blue sky as the ground faded fast. Con-way's mind rolled back to that beautiful, warm October morning he first jumped, the day of his twenty-first birthday. He had sat in a plane not unlike this one, listening to its engines straining and leveling as it climbed higher into the sky, the engines sputtering, sometimes stalling, as if they were undecided about their job and without warning might suddenly quit. At that moment his heart had seized with an icy shudder that left him wondering why he had yet again listened to John Riley the son of a bitch was always doing crazy shit like this and had willingly strapped himself inside this badly constructed and amateurish machine that would at any moment give up and plummet to earth, killing them both.

Of course that didn't happen. The plane's engines had leveled off and everything was fine, and, just like now, the Cessna sailed straight up into the sky, nice and smooth. Conway felt that wonderful adrenaline-filled mix of fear and excitement burst deep inside his loins, electrifying his skin, and washing away his exhaustion and earlier paranoia.

Dix was no longer looking out the window. His head was bent forward and he was taking in quick breaths, his eyes locked on the altimeter strapped across the center of his small chest, watching for the magic number: 10,000 feet, the altitude at which they would jump. It would take the plane roughly twenty minutes to reach that height.

"Hey Dix," Conway said calmly, like everything was great. His voice carried over the headset, catching the, attention of Evans and the cameraman.

"Take in deep, controlled breaths, Dix. In and out, nice and slow."

"I'm fine," Dixon replied, his voice cracking. His head was bent over the altimeter.

Evans clamped his hand on Dixon's shoulder in a show of camaraderie.

"It's okay to be nervous. My first time, hell, I thought I was going to shit myself." Evans and the cameraman laughed.

"Do the deep breathing and you'll be fine."

Dixon nodded and then went to work on his breathing, taking slow and steady deep breaths. After a few minutes, the wired energy in his eyes abated. The tension melted out of his shoulders and his grip on the seat loosened. His face didn't look as pale. He seemed relaxed. Now all Conway had to do was to get Dixon through the next hurdle.

Twenty minutes later, the plane leveled off. Conway looked at his altimeter. 10,000 feet. Time to jump.

"Show time," Evans said, unbuckling his seat belt.

Dixon would be performing a tandem jump. With Evans attached to Dixon's back, they would jump out of the plane together and free fall for roughly ten minutes. Using his headset, Evans would talk to Dixon, telling him how to tuck in his legs and where to place his arms to increase wind resistance. At roughly 6,000 feet, Evans would pull the cord and deploy the chute.

The tandem jump was the way to go. You had the built-in security of having a professional jumper attached to your back. If Dix got sick or blacked out, Evans would be in total control. This was a much more appealing route than what Conway had performed for his first jump, the static line jump. With only a line attached to his chute, he stood at the jump door, his knees turning to jelly, the harness wrapped around his chest that had felt so tight on the ground now feeling loose and flimsy, his twenty-one years of life in control of what seemed like a piece of string. Conway couldn't remember how he had managed to jump, but when he did, he had blacked out for a good three seconds. The next thing he knew, the parachute had deployed, whoosh!" and with a hard yank he was sent back up into the sky where he finally leveled off and then sailed toward the ground. When his feet hit the grass, the adrenaline rush flooded his brain with such a high that he felt invincible, in full control of his life and thoughts, like one of those maniacal Tony Robbins disciples who walk barefoot over a bed of hot coals and emerge unscathed at the other side, jubilant and victorious.

With any luck, that's how Dix would feel today, and the disc exchange at the Austin airport would go smoothly.

Evans talked as he made the final attachments to Dixon's harness.

"Let's go through our checklist. When you jump, what's the first thing you're going to do?"

"Tuck my legs back like I'm trying to touch my butt with my feet. Keep my body loose and relaxed, like Gumby," Dixon said.

"Right. Now for the most important question: If you're in the air and have to blow chunks, what are you going to do?"

"I'm not going to puke."

"But if you have to, what's the plan?"

"Tuck my chin under my armpit."

"My man. How you feeling?"

"Nervous. A little light-headed."

"That's the adrenaline. It's going to make everything seem really vivid and intense. This is going to be the biggest rush of your life."

The pilot signaled Evans.

"Time to rock and roll. You ready?"

Dixon swallowed hard, nodded.

"Okay then, let's do it," Evans said, and then reached across Dixon's waist and slid the door open.

Air filled with the roar of the plane's engines rushed into the cabin, pushing Dixon away from the door. He grabbed each side of the door frame and steadied himself, his elbows bent, his eyes wide and unblinking behind the goggles as he stared past the infinite blue sky at the world below.

The cameraman reached up and turned on the camera, ready to record the moment, and moved behind Evans.

"All you've got to do is tumble forward, just like we talked about on the ground," Evans yelled over the headset.

Dixon didn't say anything. His body was frozen, his eyes wide and staring at an adversary only he could see.