The Fall of D.B. Cooper

It’s a little after seven in the morning when the sun begins to peek over the eastern skyline. Beams of light are cast across the lush forest floor, coaxing creatures big and small out of their nighttime dwellings. High above, a red-tailed hawk returns to its nest following an early morning hunt. The hawk floats effortlessly above the trees, which stand tall and proud like green skyscrapers. As the bird approaches its destination, a pang of fear registers inside its tiny brain.

Several feet below the bird’s nest is an unknown predator, rocking gently back and forth from a sturdy tree branch. The hawk circles the tree tops, voicing its displeasure in the form of a harsh shriek that echoes throughout the forest. After a few minutes, the bird lands softly on a limb, keeping a safe distance between itself and the unfamiliar foe. The hawk, quite common in these United States, is highly territorial and will use its razor sharp talons and hooked beak, if threatened. It lets out another fierce shriek, a final warning before escalating to violence. Suddenly there is movement and the mysterious creature begins to stir, startling the bird and sending it soaring back into the sun-kissed sky.

The hawk was wise to sense danger, for the beast dangling from the tree like a children’s piñata is a man—the most dangerous animal of all. His name is Dan, but that won’t be the name that newspapers across the country will print in the coming days.

Dan is a thief, but not of the common variety. There is nothing ordinary about the crime he has committed. He is intelligent, confident, and daring—and if he can manage to escape from this forest, he will be rich.

Dan shivers, his wet suit clinging to him like a second skin. He looks down and sees that his right arm is caked in crimson blood, the result of a significant gash under his elbow. His head is swimming with pain, his vision is blurred, and he desperately fights the urge to vomit. He knows he has hit his head—likely many times—and wonders if he will lose consciousness. Dan can feel scrapes and bruises all over his body, covering him like tattoos. His right foot throbs and he looks down to find that he is missing one of his brown loafers. Dan tries and fails to stifle a cough and he feels his chest erupt in violent agony.

Still alive, he thinks to himself.

Dan takes a quick inventory of his situation. He is roughly thirty feel off the ground, a crisscross of thick branches beneath him. The parachute he is tethered to is a tangled mess of nylon, hopelessly folded around tree limbs. He looks up at the simple latches keeping him harnessed to the parachute. He calculates the distance he will drop once he releases the latches and estimates he will fall around ten or fifteen feet. He eyes a large branch directly below him and hopes that it will be enough to catch him. It’s not the best plan, but under the circumstances, it’s the best he’s got. Dan takes a deep breath, feeling his bruised ribs cry out in protest. He reaches up and feels the cold latches with his fingertips.

Here goes nothing.

The latches release with an audible click and for the second time since the previous evening he is falling toward the ground. He feels sharp pine needs scratch his skin like tiny claws as he tumbles through the tree. As he falls, he tries to keep his eyes locked on the branch—the one he hopes he will be able to catch with his arms. But his vision is hazy and he misjudges the timing. He continues to descend, bouncing off tree limbs like a human pinball. His hands frantically reach for salvation, but all they find is the cool morning air. Dan is picking up speed now, his momentum carrying him faster and faster toward certain death. As the ground approaches, Dan ricochets off one final branch and hears a loud crack. He wonders if it’s the tree or his spine snapping in half. The branch is enough to slow Dan’s momentum just before he makes harsh contact with forest floor. The sudden impact knocks the air out of his lungs like a punch from a boxer. Before Dan blacks out from the immense pain, he registers a single thought: still alive.

When Dan finally awakes, the sun is high above his head, but the air remains cold. For a moment, he forgets who he is and where he is and lies supine on the mossy ground admiring the clear blue sky. This respite is brief however, and his pain brings him back to reality. He wiggles his fingers one by one, followed by his toes, then his legs and arms. Satisfied that he still has full control of his limbs, he delicately pushes himself from the ground. The process is slow and excruciating, but after several minutes he is able to sit upright. Dan looks to his right and sees a thick tree branch next to him. He grabs the branch—likely the one his body snapped in half on the way down—and uses it as a makeshift cane to help him hoist his broken figure off of the ground. He hears his joints crackle and pop as he attempts to straighten his body. For the first time since yesterday, his feet are firmly on the ground.

Dan begins walking—or perhaps more accurately, shuffling—through the trees, shadows dancing around him like spirits. He has no compass, no way of knowing which direction he is walking in or where it will take him. He simply puts one foot in front of the other and keeps moving. He is about a quarter mile into his journey when it suddenly hits him.

The money.

Dan stops in the shadow of a large tree and leans up against its sturdy trunk. He allows himself a moment to catch his breath and slowly reaches his hand inside his coat pocket. His bloody fingertips scan the inside of the garment, desperately searching. At first Dan thinks it’s not there and he feels his heart sink like a stone in a pond.

It was all for nothing!

But then, with sweet relief, he locates the crudely-sewn pockets on the inside of his coat and feels the telltale bulges. He grabs a stack of bills and pulls them from his pocket with a smile. There is plenty more cash on his person, hiding inside various pockets like young kangaroos hide inside their mother. He knows some of the loot flew away as he jumped from the airplane, but what he has on him is enough for a lifetime. He resists the urge to daydream about what he will do with the money—the places he will go, the people he will meet.

Stay focused.

He trudges onward, cautiously sidestepping rocks, sticks, and anything else that may cause him to trip and fall. He isn’t sure if he will be able to stand up again if he fell down. He drags his shoeless foot behind him, feeling a warm wetness inside his sock. He walks for hours and hours, using the sun’s position in the sky as a makeshift clock.

Nighttime is quickly approaching and Dan is resolved to the fact that he will be spending the evening sleeping up against a tree. Attempting to navigate this vast maze of wilderness is difficult enough during the day and would be downright reckless during the pitch black of night. Dan tells himself to push just a little bit further, toward the top of the hill he is now climbing. His legs feel like jelly and he relies on the sturdy branch to keep him stable. As the sun retreats to the west, Dan successfully climbs to the top of the hill, sweat droplets sliding off his face like condensation on an air conditioner. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand and stares at a view that looks like it jumped right off a postcard.

Endless rows of trees are replaced with a natural clearing—emerald grass dancing in the wind. In the middle of the clearing is a small body of water, its pristine surface reflecting scarce light like dark glass. But what Dan sees on the other side of the water is a sight more beautiful than any image nature could conjure. A small cabin with a tin roof sits snuggly next to the water, a fire pit out front producing delightful red flames. Dan shivers in his wet clothes and thinks about how terrific a warm fire would feel inside his bones. Dan has heard stories about thirsty men stranded on deserted islands who see waterfalls or rivers that aren’t actually there. He wonders if his exhausted brain is playing a similar trick.

Only one way to find out.

Dan musters whatever strength he has remaining inside his broken body and plods forward toward the cabin. The ground is mercifully flat and easy to navigate, even with his near useless foot. He is about seventy yards from the cabin when he suddenly stops. He removes his soggy coat filled with stolen cash and quickly conceals it within an overgrowth of green vegetation. The act of bending over is enough to make Dan scream in agony and he considers succumbing to exhaustion and falling asleep right then and there. But the fire beckons to him like a siren and he finds the will to continue on.

As he approaches the cabin, a man strolls out the front door, carrying a pair of fish hanging from a hook. The man is older than Dan, maybe late fifties or early sixties, and is dressed warmly in a checkered flannel shirt and toboggan. Dan’s eyes go wide and he opens his parched lips to yell for help, but what actually comes out is a deep moan. Still, this is enough to startle the man, who drops the fish on the ground and snaps his head in Dan’s direction. This time Dan is able to speak clearly.

“Help!”

The man from the cabin looks around, perhaps expecting other people covered in blood to appear out of nowhere like a zombie film.

“Are you okay, mister?”

Dan, who is clearly not okay, offers a weak smile in return. “No,” is all he manages to say before his legs give out and he hits the ground.

Dan’s eyes open and he is staring into darkness. His world is quiet and he can just make out tiny pinholes of light.

I’m finally dead.

Suddenly, a voice floats out of the void.

“Friend, I wasn’t sure if you were gonna wake up.”

Dan follows the sound of the voice to its source and is surprised to see the old man from the cabin sitting next to him.

Still alive.

Dan looks up again and realizes that the darkness he has been staring into is actually the night sky filled with stars. He is lying on the ground next to the fire. He attempts to sit up, but the old man quickly puts a stop to that.

“Now you just stay still and rest. I bandaged that nasty gash on your arm and wrapped up your foot. From the way you’re wincing, I reckon you have some broken ribs. Not much we can do about that, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you,” Dan says hoarsely.

“I was a medic in the Army once upon a time and I know what I’m doing, but you’re gonna need a doctor, friend. It’s much too dark now, but I can hike out at sunrise and get help.”

Dan stirs, understanding that “help” will eventually lead to police.

“Sounds good,” he lies.

“I cooked us up a couple of trout. It ain’t much but it’s better than nothing.”

The old man nods at a plate and set of silverware on the ground and Dan reaches over and begins shoveling pieces of flaky pink fish into his mouth. He is ravenous and the smell of the trout is intoxicating. The old man throws a few pieces of kindling into the fire and eyes Dan suspiciously.

“Mister, I gotta ask just what the hell happened to you.”

Dan swallows his food with a gulp and makes sure to return eye contact.

“Well, it’s the damnedest thing,” he begins. “I was driving down the road last night and this fellow—must have been drunk—swerved right into me and knocked me off the road. I got out all banged up and started walking to find help. I guess I was a little disoriented because next thing I know I’m lost in the forest. I guess this city boy ain’t got much of a sense of direction.” Dan releases a friendly laugh to sell the lie. The old man waits a beat and finally responds.

“Well you’re lucky to be alive, friend.”

“That I am.”

Dan places his plate on the ground, feeling satiated.

“I’m knackered,” he says. “If it’s alright with you, I think I’ll just going to fall asleep right here by the fire. My eyelids are feeling awfully heavy.”

“That’s fine by me,” responds the man. “If you need anything, just yell for me. I’ll be in the cabin and I’ll hear you.” The old man lifts himself out of the chair and stretches. He bends down and offers his hand to Dan.

“The name’s Walter by the way. Good to meet you.”

Dan takes the hand and shakes it. “Pleasure. I’m Henry,” he lies.

Walter starts to walk toward the cabin, but suddenly stops and turns around to face Dan. He scratches at the gray stubble on his chin.

“You know, it’s strange. The only road around these parts is to the east and when I saw you earlier, you were coming from the west.”

Dan closes his eyes tightly, careful not to betray the slightest movement. “That is strange,” he responds.

Walter walks away and Dan hears the cabin door shut. Dan turns his body and reaches out toward the dinner plate. He grabs the knife and conceals it in his pants pocket.

Dan wills himself to stay awake, fighting off sleep like it’s a disease. He knows that if he dozes off, he will wake up in handcuffs. So, he lies there on the ground, listening to the comfortable crackle of the warm fire. After what feels like an eternity, he rises to his feet and takes a deep breath. Dull pain drowns his senses.

Dan approaches the cabin with soft footsteps, feeling the sharp tip of the knife against his thigh. He makes it to the door and places his hand on the dirty brass knob. He stays there for a beat, listening for any sound inside the cabin, but hears nothing. Dan slowly opens the door, praying that the rusty hinges will not betray him. The door opens without protest and Dan peeks inside the dark cabin. The inside is sparsely decorated and Dan is able to quickly locate the bed which faces the back wall. Dan is just able to make out a lumpy figure snug under the covers. He removes the knife from his pocket and walks toward the bed.

Dan has done all sorts of dirty deeds in his lifetime, but taking a life is not on that list. He takes no pleasure in what he is about to do, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth doing. Fate has a habit of putting men in funny situations and one day it will be Dan’s turn as surely as it is Walter’s right now.

He tiptoes toward the bed, comforted by the heavy blade in the palm of his hand. Dan thinks he can hear the soft breathing of the old man under the covers. He reaches out with his sweaty hand and grabs the white sheet. With a quick jerk, Dan pulls the covers back and plunges the knife deep into his target.

There is a loud bang that sounds akin to a car backfiring and Dan stumbles forward. The first thing he sees when he looks down at the mattress is a clump of pillows arranged under the sheets. The second thing he sees is his own blood.

Dan falls across the bed and groans. He grabs his chest and feels warm liquid oozing between his fingers. Dan manages to turn his body around and sees the outline of a dark figure in the doorway. Walter steps into the cabin and flicks on a flashlight with his left hand. In his right hand he holds a pistol.

The old man walks confidently toward Dan. He reaches out with the gun and taps a small radio on the nightstand.

“I know who you are,” he says to Dan. “It’s all over the radio.”

Dan lets out a blood-filled chortle and drops the knife to the floor. The old man speaks again, but the words are becoming difficult for Dan to comprehend.

“I reckon if I look hard enough I’ll find a stash of money out there somewhere. You worked so hard for it—would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Dan holds his eyes open one last time and considers the man before him. He has hijacked an airplane, parachuted into darkness, and trekked through a forest. But he will not survive this cabin.

Fate has a habit of putting men in funny situations.