Sailor took a deep breath before the plane drifted, tail first toward the bottom, like a dead leaf falling to the snow on a wintery day. The freezing water nearly forced him to gasp, filling his lungs with the cold death, but somehow he kept his head. He still had his lungs full of oxygen when the plane smashed into the boulder jutting out from the face of the underwater cliff. The tail section separated and fell away dumping the cockpit and engine upside down in a cloud of silt, twenty feet from the rest of the plane. He couldn’t see a thing in the cloud of debris but he didn’t have to see to realize that he was free. The impact had moved the seat just enough for him to escape. Totally disoriented, he struggled to exit through the emptiness that was once the fuselage. Stopping for a split second he expelled some air and watched the bubbles rise then slid from the cockpit. Struggling toward the surface he used the moon as a beacon, leading him to the surface and relief for his bursting lungs.
 
Crashing through the surface like a breeching whale he gulped air and took stock of his situation. Sailor knew that he had only moments before hypothermia would immobilize him and he could either drown or freeze to death on the beach. He had to go back down. His survival kit had been stowed in a dry bag behind the seat. He had a slim chance if he could get his hands on that bag. Without it-he was dead. As he kicked his way back into the darkness he pushed the thought from his mind that the bag would be gone. Reaching the cockpit he could plainly see that the bag was gone, gone with the entire rear section of the plane. He didn’t think that he had the strength to search for it. The odds were slim to none that he would find it anyway. Maybe this was it. Sailor could see his fathers face as he struggled upward along the cliff for another fill up of air. How disappointed his dad would be to see him give up when there was a single ounce of hope left. One last kick to the moon lit surface and something caught his eye. There on the shelf that had torn apart the plane, was the bag, ten feet under the surface. He snatched it as he glided by and broke into the cool night air. He tried to give a war whoop but nothing came out but a weak animal like cry. Sailor was running out of time.
Next Chapter

The Finest Shooting Sports Equipment Available

from

Visit Marlin on the Web

Visit Remington on the Web

Visit Beretta on the Web

Visit Colt on the Web

Visit Federal on the Web

Visit Filson on the Web

For more information contact: