God help me, he’s going for it. Maybe it is a dream. Maybe it has to be. Doesn’t it have to be? A nightmare. I feel the rounded metal edge of the wing slam against my ribs, my fingers scrabble for purchase against the seams of the metal sheets and find- nothing.

“Wait!” I yell, pushing past the pain in my stomach, ignoring that the wind should have been knocked out of me. I can’t afford to have had the wind knocked out of me. I have to warn him. It’s probably-

“It’s probably booby trapped!”

I can’t find a place to get a grip. I feel myself slipping backward and fight against it, straining to reach farther up and can’t, can’t get any ground back.

Oh, God.