He entered the clearing just past a great green pylon, but failed to see the taut cables it suspended or the pulse gondolas that hung from them. The right skid of the vertibird hooked the first one-and-a-half inch cable it struck. The inertia of the clotheslined autogyro pitched it forward. Its rotors disintegrated on a parallel cable.
The onboard computer cut power, and a burst of shock foam filled the cabin. Explosive bolts fired, the cowl separated from the fuselage, and a chute deployed uselessly. He anticipated impact with the ground, but the vehicle only swayed. Through the greenhouse window, he saw the forest floor tracking a hundred fifty feet below. The vertibird hung precariously from the gondola cable, which conveyed it toward another pylon.
He heard the sedan pass above, and the vertibird was buffeted by the wash of its fans. He clawed through the foam toward the door release. He disengaged the cabin door and kicked it open. Cold rain soaked him as he extricated himself. The rain carried the scent of the forest; mouldering redwood, bracken, and skunk cabbage. He held fast to the struts as he clambered onto the upturned belly of the fuselage. The rain rinsed stinging hair groom into his eyes.
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