Glancing at the instrument panel, Doc picked up his radio mike and began transmitting.

“Calling Roswell Army airfield. This is Pegasus one over.” And indistinct static reply came back over the radio.

“Come in Pegasus,” the air traffic controller said. “We read you loud and clear. Over.”

“My estimated time of arrival is approximately 20 minutes. Over.”

As Doc replaced the mike he saw something flicker in the distance. A bright flash appeared in the northwest, and then it was gone. His eyes continue to scan the velvet sky.  Had he imagined it? Perhaps it was a reflection of some sort. The hazy cloud cover could create conditions right for that. But these explanations evaporated when the eerie light appeared again, longer this time, before vanishing. Doc adjusted his course slightly, heading for the area of the light. 

“Roswell Tower, this is Pegasus, Over.”

“Pegasus, this is Roswell. Over.”

“Do you show any other aircraft in the vicinity?”

“Negative, Pegasus. Over.” The controller’s voice sounded tight and brittle.

“I’m seeing something directly overhead,” Doc reported. “I’ve adjusted my heading to try and intercept. Over.”

“Roger, Pegasus. Can you identify the other craft? Over.”

“At this time it appears only as a bright yellow light in the sky.” Then before he could elaborate further, he heard his starboard engine begin to miss its cycling. Doc quickly glanced out the right window. The engine began to sputter and go out. Suddenly the port side engine quit too. With both engines out Doc gripped the yoke and tried to glide into the wind. But a horrible humming sound, like the scream of a banshee, seemed to whip through the cockpit.

“Roswell, this is Pegasus,” Doc wrapped his arm around his head to shield his ears. “I’m in trouble. Both engines out.”

Before he could finish the glass surrounding the cockpit shattered. Reeling from the impact, Doc lowered his arm, suddenly feeling an enormous pressure engulfing his head. The fuselage began a slow roll over, and Doc suddenly knew the plane was going into a spin. A deadman ‘s spin they called it. A spin from which it was non-recoverable!

The huge snake slithered downward over the prow of the boat, coiling around Jose like an endless spool of impending death. It slammed into the man’s shoulders and quickly wrapped around his body. It kept coming, a thick greenish coil 24 inches in diameter, dropping down from above and enveloping the struggling man. The 30 foot olive green and black spotted anaconda had departed its ambush spot and now slid into the brackish water.

Doc dove headfirst into the churning water. As he split the surface of the river, he reached down into his boot and withdrew the 6 inch combat knife from his boot. Straining to see in the murky water, Doc saw the large anaconda coiling it’s 2 foot thick body around the struggling man. He knew that anacondas were more at home in the water than a dry land and that the snake, though non-venomous, would sink its teeth into its prey to hold it in place while it continued to constrict its entire body and slowly crush the life out of its victim.

The snake began its underwater dance of death, twisting and twirling to make its prey expunge their last breath of air; all the time tightening its suffocating grip on the drowning victim. Doc swam right up to the head of the huge snake, but the spiraling motion of the massive creature had rotated them closer to the shore and Doc slammed into a submerged tree trunk and lost his grip on the knife.