WHERE THERE'S TROUBLE Chapter 4 continues

     The scent of Death was all around mingled with jet fuel and blood, Melissa took in a deep painful breath as she crouched down on the ceiling of the plane as it teetered slightly rocking the upside down aircraft again. Trying to keep focused, she looked at the massive dark wet limb protruding up through the plane below her, if she could just twist her body around and hang on she could climb down to the ground, to the earth, but it would be through much pain. All was slippery and wet with the hurricane rains but she reached out slowly pulling herself close to the tree wrapping her naked, bruised and battered body around the wet wood, the leaves slipping up against her skin as she squeezed her muscular thighs with all her might. Now here she was thankful for her long daily swims, and chasing her three year old around, for though she was 44, she had the body of a 25 year old and the heart of a lion. She was no weak and feeble woman, no far from it, though she was injured and had suffered greatly she had a clear and focused mind of a singular direction and that was down, and she had sixty feet to go. So down she came, coming fast , vines and broken branches scratching at her skin, tearing long painful crimson gashes deep into her flesh, but down she came through the intense, excruciation, her only fixation to live.

     Now just as she had about thirteen feet before she reached the ground, Melissa heard and felt the shaking of the trees as a massive explosion engulfed the little plane, as a spark finally ignited the jet fuel in flames. Poor Melissa was nearly there when she was blown out of the tall trees and thrown to the ground. The breath rushed out of her lungs, as three more ribs were broken, a fracture deep in her pelvis and both ankles broken. Melissa could not breathe for a moment as she rolled on her back just in time to see the fire engulfed jet plummet to the Earth, where she saw the twisted, burning metal carcass of the once luxurious, expensive aircraft land on the body of Bengiman Pruce who had fallen directly below. Now he had fallen from a great height, in more ways than one, but this had not killed him; and he felt the heavy, hot, metal crush every bone and organ in his body. He had no time think. He had no time to pray. And then he was gone. Bengiman Pruce, born Norman Reginald Pierce, was dead.