She blinks awake to a radio rasping dead static in her ear. The surrounding pines sway all together as if the world is on one great, shifting axis. Then it becomes clear that she is the one swinging, suspended from the straps of the torn parachute that hangs between the treetops.
As her eyes regain focus, she sees a trail of smoke in the distance, snaking up towards the clouds. That must be where the plane went down. That's where she'll head first. See if there's any other survivors.
As she's working out the clasps on the parachute, and wondering how she's going to get down from here without dropping straight to the forest floor, something draws her eye.
Something predatory, moving in the pool of mist at the base of the trunks.
Paddy Dobson
12th June 2022