She walked toward the object without any firm sense of expectation. The only thing that made sense was that the target had been flattened by a meteorite or debris from the sky or space.
Jamie approached the object slowly, savoring the sense of wonder and anticipation. So few things held wonder any longer – so little to look forward to. But something very strange had just happened. Nothing earthshaking, she was sure, but still strange. That something could fall from the sky and smash her target showed that the world still held miracles. If that miracle was possible, why not another kind of miracle?
But of course that was nuts.
She arrived at her object of mystery. She’d been expecting something easy to categorize, but the black cylinder, shiny as polished obsidian – maybe six feet long and two feet around, half of it submerged in the hard North Dakota summer dirt - refused any familiar classification. The body-shaped target splayed out from underneath either side of it. A near-direct hit.
Jamie circled it slowly, peering at it from several angles. It made her think of a big, black steel vitamin capsule. Its blackness seemed to have inky depths.
She bent on one knee and cautiously moved one hand toward it. It could be radioactive. Heck, maybe it could cause cancer! She smiled at the absurdity, and ran her right hand along its surface. It was every bit as smooth as it looked and then some. Her hand tingled – a sharp jolt of sensation, like a static electricity discharge. She pulled away, wriggling her fingers. The sensation lingered for a few moments before dissipating. Despite the fact that she was a dead woman walking, fear snapped through her body.
She pushed on the cylinder, but might as well have been pushing against a tank. No give at all. Though the thing wasn't large, it was incredibly dense. And tough: she couldn't see any signs of wear or damage from the impact. It had that immaculate new car finish – though no new car smell that Jamie could detect.
She pulled out her cell and called her father, hoping he hadn't started drinking yet. "Dad, I'm at the range. I think you should come out here.”
"Are you okay?”
"Something fell on the property.”
"Fell?”
"An object. Just dropped out of the sky and smashed one of the targets. You should come see for yourself.”
"Alrighty. I'm on my way.”
After a few minutes, Calvin Winters rode up on his four-wheeler. He climbed out, hitched up his jeans, and stared down at the black cylinder.
"What the hell. Is it safe to touch?”
"Seems to be.”
He stooped down and ran his hand over the surface.
"Feels like polished stone, but it wouldn't be a meteor with that shape. Could it be from a satellite or something?”
"I have no clue.”
"I wonder if we should call someone.”
"Who?”
"The police?” He smiled at her. "NASA?”
Jamie didn't reply.
"Just had a funny thought,” her father said. "What if it’s worth something?”
Jamie frowned. It wasn't the dumbest idea. But as with all possibly good ideas there was sure to be a catch. "Maybe to the right people. But the right people probably wouldn't let us keep it.”
"Good point. The government would probably just swoop in here and take it, whatever the heck it is. And we’d never be the wiser.”
Jamie nodded. "I'm open to suggestions.”
"Well.” Her dad scratched the stubble on his chin. "For starters, we could move it into the garage, out of sight of prying eyes.”
"How?”
"Wrap a chain around it and drag it.” He shrugged. "I'll drive back and get the skid steer. You want to come?”
"No, I'll wait.”
Now that her dad had introduced the notion that the object might be worth something she wanted to keep an eye on it. Not that I can take it with me, she reminded herself. But there was some comfort in the possibility that her property would remain in the family. Which reminded her: I need to make a will – just in case there was something worthwhile inheriting.
Cal Winters returned with their skid steer. The skid steer failed to lift the cylinder. He rumbled back and returned with his pickup, a chain, and a pry bar. The pry bar couldn't budge the object, so he was unable to get the chain around it.
"This must be made out of something heavier than lead,” said her dad. "We're gonna need Jensen’s tractor.”
"Isn't Jensen in Minnesota this week?”
"He won't mind if I borrow it.”
So her father drove to the farm next door and rumbled back in Jensen’s loader. The tractor made groaning sounds as its shovel dug under the cylinder and raised it slowly aloft. They rolled the quarter of a mile to Dennis’s workshop beside their house and lowered the object to the cement floor.
They stood staring down at the cylinder. The shop lights glistened on its surface and yet appeared to glow softly within its depths.
"That little sucker weighs about two and one-half tons,” said Cal. "I'm no metallurgist, but I can't think of anything that size that weighs that much. Be interesting to cut it open and see what’s inside. Maybe gold.”
"Figures I'd get rich now."
Cal chuckled. "You never know, sweetie. You just never know.”
IT WAS not a good night. One of the many bad things about being terminally ill was that you couldn't tell the difference between a flu or food poisoning or really any other kind of malady and what was killing you. On the plus side, if food poisoning was killing her, what was the difference?
Her dad was sick, too. She heard him in the bedroom down the hall – the former guest bedroom – retching and flushing the toilet. He heard her, too, and showed up waxen-faced in her doorway.
"Looks like we picked up the same bug, sweetie.”
"From what? You haven't been out anywhere for a few days, and we didn't eat the same thing.”
"Who knows? At least we know it isn't something just happening to you.” He sagged against the doorway. "What can I do for you, baby?”
"Go back to bed. You're in no shape to take care of me.”
"Well, let me know.”
He stumbled away.
In the morning, the flu or food poisoning or whatever it was had passed, but Jamie felt like death warmed over. Minus most of the warmth.
Her dad offered her chicken soup – her go-to meal – but the thought of eating made her stomach clench. She settled for lying in bed like a corpse.
After a while she summoned the energy to call Dennis’s best friend, Sam Collins, from her bed. Sam, an avid pilot and skydiver, had gotten Dennis into skydiving. They had been partners in crime in hang-gliding and rock-climbing, too. Sam had been devastated by his death. Sometimes he'd seemed just as much of an emotional wreck as she’d been.
"Jamie,” he said. "How are you?”
"The same. How are you?”
"The same. Any new news?”
"Nope. Still dying, as far as I know.”
"That fucking sucks.”
"Yeah. Anyway, I wonder if you'd do me a favor?”
"Name it. Anything.”
"I'd like to go skydiving.”
Sam’s silence was as heavy as her mood. She could hear the gears clinking in his head. He was a smart guy, but much like Dennis, not prone to sharing his deepest thoughts.
"Skydiving,” he said.
"Kind of a bucket list thing.”
"Oh. Well, there's some training involved even for the initial tandem dive. Maybe a day or two. Are you up for that?"
A tandem dive wasn't what she had in mind. She'd forgotten about all the rules and regulations.
"I don't know if I'm up for much training, Sam. I've had enough energy for maybe an hour two out of bed each day, and right now I doubt I have that."
"Sorry, Jamie, but I don't see how that's gonna work. It takes hours to learn how to pack and use your chute and practice the pre-jump drills."
Jamie sighed. "I'm going to be completely honest with you, Sam. I don't n
eed a chute, and I doubt it takes a lot of drills or practice to learn how to fall."
"Jamie...are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry. I don't see how I could be a part of that."
"Yeah, I thought you'd feel that way."
"Look, Jamie, I get it, I do. But Jesus...aside from the legal issues – I could lose my license or even face criminal prosecution - can you imagine what Dennis would think? Me helping his wife to off herself?”
"I'd like to believe it’s what he'd want. His best friend helping his wife to go out in style as opposed to rotting away in a hospital bed on morphine.” Jamie drew in a deep breath, not sure she had the energy for this argument, or if she even cared enough to argue about it. "I know it's a lot to ask, Sam, and it's probably not fair to ask it. Forget about the skydiving. You could just take me for a ride in your plane, and at some point, I jump. You didn't see it coming. You wouldn't be responsible."
"Jamie..."
"I need to do this while I have enough strength left to get around. In another week or two, I may be too far gone. This is my dream, Sam, and I'm asking you to help me fulfill it.”
The sound of Sam sighing was torrential. She knew it was wrong to pressure him, to guilt-trip him – so unlike her to do that. She felt sorry for him, but not enough to relent. It was her life, after all. Well, her death.
"Does your dad know about your plan?” he asked.
"Not yet.”
"Bring him on board, and if he doesn't shut you down, we'll talk about it more.”
"Okay. That's fair.”
She hung up. Now there was a conversation she was looking forward to having. On cue, her dad appeared with the bowl of chicken soup – the "horn of plenty” bowl that never seemed to empty.
"Jamie,” he said, studying her with his hangdog frown which Jamie had learned to loathe, "I'm thinking maybe it’s time to go to the hospital.”
"You mean, for good?”
"No, no – I just mean to get some fluids. You've lost a lot of those with this flu or whatever it was.”
"What's the point, Dad? I have a different plan I'd like to talk to you about.”
His expression turned wary. "What plan?”
"I'd like to jump out of a plane. I'd like to experience what Dennis did all those years – just once. He used to beg me to try it with him. But I was too scared of dying." She laughed.
Her father wasn't laughing. He looked pissed, which for her was a welcome change from his usual hang-dog expression.
"You said 'jump out of a plane.' Not 'skydiving.'"
"Right." She tried to hold onto her bright smile. "Skydiving involves using a parachute."
"No parachute," he said in a flat voice. "You're talking about suicide, then."
"I prefer to think of it as a fabulous one-way trip."
He stared at her, muscles loosening and tightening on his face, as if he was practicing facial toning exercises.
"You think this is funny?"
"It does all seem like some stupid joke, doesn't it?"
"You're not jumping out of some damn plane."
"You'd rather I walk out in a field and shoot myself in the head?" Tears started down Jamie's face. She slapped them aside. "Or jump off a cliff? Because those are the choices. I'm not going back to the hospital. I made a solemn vow to myself that I would never die in a hospital."
Her dad turned away. She saw his lower lip quivering. He was on the edge of losing it.
"We'll find another way," he said with his back turned to her.
BUT THEY didn't find another way. Instead, the next day they were gazing down from the backseats of Sam's Cessna at the checkerboard squares and circular fields of Heartland, U.S.A. from thirteen thousand feet up.
Jamie felt no fear. She was beginning to feel disassociated from her body, as if she could sneeze and her spirit would go free. Besides, from their height the ground was an abstraction. It looked all warm and fuzzy, she thought, like falling into a flowerbed.
Sam turned to her, his bushy beard nestling in around his frown.
"I can't talk you out of this?"
Jamie shook her head. She glanced at her father. His sad eyes pleaded with her, but she wasn't sure what the plea was.
"A child shouldn't die before her parents," he said. "But I don't need to tell you that."
"No, you don't."
"I don't want you to leave."
"I know." Jamie leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. His bristle scratched. She smelled no alcohol on his breath – just a faint whiff of Old Spice. She'd asked him to refrain from drinking this morning and it seemed that he had.
"Thanks for supporting me," she said.
"I don't feel like I am."
"Here we are," Sam announced.
She and her father looked down. Her ten-acre property now reduced to the size of a postage stamp – the house and shop and garage a trio of Lego structures. Sam circled her tiny kingdom. She shuddered.
"You don't have to do this, Jamie," said Sam, watching her.
"It's okay." She swallowed a deep breath. The air up here made her lightheaded – or maybe it's because I'm hyperventilating? "Just tell me when."
"All right." He gave her a grim smile. "Put on your goggles. Then unbolt your door and slide it to your right until it locks."
Jamie placed the goggles snugly in place. She snapped the door latch and shoved the door until it latched. Cold wind roared in, smacking her face. Fear smacked her as well. As Sam had said, she didn't have to do this. They could land and she could return to her warm bed. An overdose of painkillers and fading away seemed suddenly immensely appealing.
"Not too late, sweetie," said her father.
"I'll be okay." It sounded contradictory, but in that moment she believed it was true. "See you later."
"You got it." Her dad was blinking back tears.
"On the count of five," said Sam. "Five, four, three, two..." He throttled down the engine, and the cool hiss of air filled her head. "One."
Jamie half-stumbled, half-launched herself into the air. She glanced back once. The plane was already a memory – receding like a fast car passing by on a freeway. Then all her attention was on the ground. From their height you'd have roughly two minutes of freefall.
The postage stamp below was swelling in size far too fast. The field she and Dennis had seeded with corn, tomatoes, green beans, summer squash, and spinach every spring was rushing up to greet her. Too fast to think or reminisce, despite the clichés about one's whole life passing before one's eyes. But not too fast for regret – and a sudden and unwelcome burning desire to live. What did the poem say? Do not go meekly into the dark? Rage, rage, against the dying of the light?
She spread her windbreaker. It puffed full of air like a sail, theoretically cutting a few miles per hour off her fall. She'd read about people surviving freefall from planes. Sometimes when Dennis jumped, she took thin comfort in those tales. It was possible to survive. Did she want to survive?
Jamie wanted to consider that question more, but the ground was already at her feet.
She continued her descent in warm darkness.
Chapter 2
JAMIE FLOATED TOWARD THE light at the end of the tunnel. She hoped Dennis and her daughter, Kylee, would be waiting, but when she opened her eyes she was greeted by a row of beeping machines and the back of her father's head angled up at a television mounted on a far wall. The NBA Finals logo blazed across the screen.
So definitely not heaven, then.
"Hey..."
Cal Winters spun around and jumped to his feet as if spring-loaded. "Hey!"
"Dad."
"Baby!"
He was grinning so hard, Jamie worried he might sprain his face. Cal sprang toward her and then slowed himself to a dignified walk. He grasped her right wrist, below her I.V. bracelet.
"You're okay," he said. "I haven't talked to a doctor – they probably rushed out to play golf this weekend - but the nurses t
old me no broken bones, no internal injuries. A few bruises, that's about it."
"How is that possible?"
"You landed in your garden mulch pile. I forgot it was even there."
"So did I."
"What are the odds, huh?"
"About the same as an object from space smashing one of my targets?"
"Pretty damn close, I'd say."
Jamie smiled. She'd joined the list of miracle falling-from-planes survivors. That was kind of cool, even if she still was dying from cancer.
"How did I get here?" she asked.
"A neighbor, Lamar Anderson, spotted you falling and called it in. He was out in the fields and happened to look up at the plane. Wasn't sure what he was seeing at first, but then figured it out."
"What do they think happened?"
"You're in the psychiatric wing of Wayne Harver, which should tell you something. They think you tried to off yourself. That's what Lamar and the paramedics thought when they beat us to you and said you weren't wearing a chute. We'd never planned on BSing anyone about that part, anyhow." He moved closer to the bed, looking over his shoulder and lowering his voice. "We said you surprised us by jumping, according to plan. Assisted suicide being illegal in this state and all."
Jamie gave him a grim nod. She'd never in a billion years believed she was the type of person to attempt suicide, and as justifiable as she thought it was in her case she still wasn't looking forward to explaining or defending herself.
"You're quite the local celebrity," Cal chuckled. "The Grand Forks Times calls you the 'Miracle Girl.'"
Jamie snorted. "All that miraculous luck so I can go on living a few more days or weeks."
"Makes you wonder. If you're lucky enough to survive jumping out of a plane, what else might you get lucky about?"
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