Disney’s Tower of Terror a nothing burger compared to that drop. But we’re down.  On terra firma.  Keep head between knees or look up? Seatmate’s head owl-twisted against the tray table. How does anyone sleep through that impact? Ambien? Glad screaming’s stopped.  Funny.  Almost didn’t make this flight. TSA line so long.  Should almost be daylight. Open the shade and find phone. Important to let folks at home know everyone’s okay. Race in four days. Seatmate not responding to tap on wrist. Undo seat belt and crawl over her.  Hard to see with all this smoke. Eyes feel like sandpaper. Incinerator mouth. Carry-ons blocking the aisle. Overhead bins must’ve opened. If you can dig yourself out of an avalanche, you can clear a few bags, even with a tingly arm.  Exit five rows ahead. Chute usually stowed in the door. Should be able to feel the handle. One of the guys will help, if you can’t get it open. Odd there’s no announcement. Floor lights should have come on by now, but light coming from somewhere. Seats empty in this section. Where is everyone? Is that a hole where the door should be? The team must’ve found the slide and already be hightailing it to the airport building. Brace yourself in the door jam and try to spot them.  Backpack confetti on the tarmac and ash-covered forms in a twisted geometry.