Cherilyn Knight's Point Of View.
My stomach churned, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me, a brutal reminder that I was thousands of feet above the ground. Yes, I was trapped inside a Don's chopper, soaring through the sky like a helpless bird caught in a storm. I tightly shut my eyes, trying to block out the reality of being confined within this cramped metal tube, each vibration of the chopper only intensifying my discomfort.
As the whir of the rotors filled the air, drowning out all other sounds, I tried to focus on anything but the gnawing fear in my gut. I took a deep breath, willing my mind to drift away from the turbulence of my surroundings. In an attempt to distract myself from my growing anxiety, I began to concoct various elaborate scenarios, each one a fanciful scheme to
