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hum of the engine, “Y’all ready to go?”
    The skydivers flashed thumbs-up. Buzz checked a few more gauges.
    Still on his back in the cramped rear storage compartment, Trip shook his head, dizzy. These cobwebs were slow to shake loose. The engine roar was muffled, buffered by the door connecting Trip’s rear prison to the main cabin. Trip lost his balance as the plane started down the runway. He opened the exterior door he just fixed and saw the tarmac pass beneath him. Planes accelerate down runways for one reason only–to take off. Somewhere in this equation Trip’s fear of heights did not compute. He closed the door, terrified. Trip cracked the door to the main cabin and saw two skydivers adjusting their parachutes.
    Trip sorted through his limited options. It was too late to wiggle out and jump onto the tarmac. While the plane was barely moving, a tumble onto asphalt at even a slow speed would require more Band-Aids than in his current supply.
    He could announce his presence. The skydivers would laugh. Buzz would be exasperated. Trip would probably get fired. At the very least, Buzz would strap him in the passenger seat and he’d get his first flight. In the cockpit! Not a bad option. Except for the getting fired part.
    Trip settled on his third option–stay put. Lie low and ride it out. These ‘dump-the-skydiver’ trips only lasted about ten minutes. Buzz would land. Trip could sneak out as though nothing happened. Worst case scenario, maybe a successful first flight would help assuage his fear of heights. Best case scenario, he doesn’t get found. Yep, it was decided. Trip froze in fear and hunkered down for a ten-minute adventure.
    The jump plane accelerated down the runway, bounced once, and the wheels left terra firma. Buzz pushed to full throttle and banked to circle the airfield. It was a routine climb to ten thousand feet, dump the skydivers, and log one hundred dollars per person as revenue. It was just business. Not as much fun flying as the hot-rod crop dusting. Nothing wrong with boring money.
    In the cockpit, it was business as usual. Buzz was at the controls. Skydivers checked their gear. The swaying action of the plane caused Trip to fall back into the storage compartment. There was the stark contrast of the peaceful patchwork quilt that Buzz saw and the abject terror in Trip’s eyes.
    Trying to settle into his ‘stay-put’ status for the next ten minutes, Trip folded his hands in prayer. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to-“
    The plane hit a minor air pocket, bounced. “--hey, up there. I’m talking here,” came the not totally reverent admonition. The plane hit another air pocket. This bounce was more severe. “Only kidding.” Proof that God must indeed have a sense of humor.
    Buzz shouted over his shoulder, “Ten thousand feet, drop zone one minute.”
    The two skydivers, thumbs-up, moved to the open doorway. Buzz returned his own thumbs-up. Both hands grasped the handles above the open door; the first skydiver heard and felt the rushing air as he surveyed the farmland below. He jumped. Barely a count of four and both skydivers were letting gravity do its thing.
    Buzz banked the plane and saw free-fall skydivers plummeting, floating toward the earth. Chutes burst open. As the fabric and cords popped from their backpacks, a sudden jerk signaled the end of the rushing wind. Legs swayed like a rhythmic metronome in the warm morning breeze.
    As Buzz watched the colorful parachutes hit their targets at the outer fringes of the airstrip, he pulled the radio mic toward him and announced to Deb, “Eagle laid its eggs.”
    “Roger that,” Deb transmitted. “Lunch’s on the grill.”
    “Fifteen minutes. Gonna take a quick detour over the Thompson farm. Check out crop-dustin’ job.”
    Buzz secured the radio mic and banked the jump plane toward the Thompson farm. Now at a lower altitude, he settled in for a leisurely task. That didn’t last long. Confirming his