A Heightened Chance of Death

Two birds flew beneath her feet as Loughlin leveled her shoulders and tipped her head skyward. She rushed through a silent, last-second prayer, bent her knees and hopped forward, lifting both feet at the same time. She fixed her eyes on the landing area as she started to fall.

One second.

Alone in the air, Loughlin was struck by the quietude. During her jumps out of airplanes, Loughlin always had dropped into a howling wind that pushed her sideways. This time, she tried to cut through the stillness with a yell, but no noise came out of her mouth.

Two seconds.

Loughlin heard the wind whistle across her red fleece sweater as she picked up speed. The ground r ushed toward her. She could see individual people watching her now, spectators sitting on the shore and jumpers repacking their gear. A part of Loughlin envied them, and she wondered: How long until I touch solid ground again?

Three seconds. She released the parachute from her right hand, and the wind snatched it open. The straps around Loughlin's legs, shoulders and chest contracted, and she slowed to about 15 mph. The large parachute -- twice the size of what she usually used for sky dives -- floated toward the center of the river. Loughlin decided not to make a hard turn for the landing area, where the slightest inaccuracy would send her barreling toward trees. Instead, she steered straight ahead and dropped into the river.

A boat pulled up to Loughlin, and she high-fived her rescuers as they pulled her aboard. She beamed and waved at other jumpers falling above her, even if they were strangers. Loughlin was soaked in cold water, but she hardly noticed. She felt numb with adrenaline. As the boat turned to deposit her on shore, Loughlin looked back up at the bridge and wondered: How long until I jump again?