Tropicargo

            He just needed the extra mileage to get closer to the reef. Rovira began glancing at him and at the rushing waves coming and disappearing underneath them, wondering and trying to ancipate the imminent contact with the water. But the fire… Rovira thought, it could burn them at anytime if they continue flying as if they were a goddamn flying fish. They kept flying for what felt like minutes, but were actually seconds until Duke intuively began reducing power. His face seemed frozen, stripped of emotions, hard as stone. As they got closer, parallel with the swells, the horizon began disappearing under the nose of the plane. The aircrat slid on top of an incoming wave. Rovira held tight onto his seat’s armrest while closing his eyes. Duke stepped against both rudder pedals, as if he were trying to stand up on them. They became momentarily suspended back in the air until they rammed into the back of another swell, this time making a mess of spray, foam and a wall of water in front of the aircraft. Duke’s hands were glued to the control column, but the force of the impact was so powerful that his hands flew forward hitting the instrument panel. Rovira’s head hit the dash above the instrument panel as the ocean swallowed the aircraft and a green mountain of water rushed over the windshield making the plane dive momentarily under the wave. Right then the water across the windshield drained to its sides. Duke saw a pitch-black frigate bird flying across the windshield. They were floating. They had survived the ditching.