After Midnight Read Online Free Page A

recordings found in cave at map reference 45 degrees 42’ 38”N, 122 degrees 45’ 33”W on December 12th 1971, in relation to the investigation into the hijacking of Northwest Airlines flight #305 November 24 th 1971.
     
    Nov. 24, 1971- I can’t believe it. I mean...I’m in shock. Literal shock. Two years this thing has been in the making, two years of talk, planning, strategizing...and I never thought that I would actually do it. I didn’t think we’d make it this far, and I sure as hell didn’t think I’d have the balls to pull it off if we did.
    We did.
    I did. I hijacked an airplane, I stole 200,000 dollars, and I parachuted into a snowstorm.
    I’m not going to lie, I was sick with nerves, especially as I stood on the Airstair, looking out into the white tempest. The only thing that pushed me out was Wilhelm. I couldn’t let him down. Not after all he’s done for me.
    So I jumped.
    In the planning stages, my main concern was the jump. People weren’t meant to jump out of airplanes. It’s unnatural. As it turns out, that part wasn’t so bad, per se. It was the air. Rushing face first, it was so cold that it was like sandpaper, rubbing me raw the entire way down.
    Thankfully, I landed on a treeless ridge, flopped into a big, fluffy pile of snow. I worked frantically to cut the chute loose, the wind-driven snow lashing me, nearly shoving me off of my feet, and nearly dropped the knife: my fingers were numb, my face was numb, my eyes were numb. Stupid me, I was dressed in nothing but a cheap suit, a pair of briefs, and a cheap, scuffed up pair of loafers.
    When the cord finally snapped, I struggled to my feet and dug the compass out of my pocket.
    West.
    It seemed like it took me hours to find the old oak with the red ribbon tied around the gnarled trunk, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour and a half. Wilhelm , I thought smilingly as I touched it, knowing I was close. Ten minutes later, over a ridge and up a hillside, I was at the cabin, a tumbledown relic nestled between two arched and looming trees. The front door was locked and the porch collapsing. Around back, the door was unlocked but I had to clear a shitload of snow before I could open it.
    Inside, the kitchen was dark and coated with heavy dust. A table and chair lay in shards on the floor. The cabinets on the pale yellow walls hung askew and the old refrigerator stood ajar.
    I shut the back door, latched it, and went into the living room. Near the front door, I found the supplies Wilhelm left for me. Food. Medicine. Warm clothes. A pistol. A flashlight. Some other things. He even included a six pack of Coca-Cola. The thoughtful old lug.
    Inventory done, I lit a fire in the stone hearth with wood Wilhelm had stacked along the far wall, and I spent an hour or so warming up and snacking on beef jerky and cola. I was too keyed up to sleep, so I took the flashlight and explored. I found this portable tape-recorder in an upper office, and I’m going to use it to tell my story. There’s  a pack of fresh batteries in the drawer, should last me until I’m out of the area.
    It’s late, and I have to get some sleep. I 'll tell more tomorrow.
     
    Nov. 25, 1971- I woke up around eight, and wolfed down a can of pork and beans while looking out the window. That storm left nine inches, at the very least. The ground’s piled with it and the tree branches are almost snapping under the glistening white weight. I wonder if they’ll delay starting the search.
    Probably not. I better get going.
    It’s l ater and I’ve stopped for the night. It’s about an hour or so before sundown, but I came across a convenient little cave in a hillside and figured I’d better be safe in case I didn’t find anything else.
    Before settling in, I checked to make sure no cranky bears were inside, and found some strange drawings on the walls accompanied by alien hieroglyphics. I bet it’s left over from the Indian days. Pretty interesting. I thought of going deeper