count zero

"The plane had gone to ground near the sound of running water. Turner could hear it, turning in the g-web in his fever of sleep, water down stone, one of the oldest songs. The plane was smart, smart as any dog, with hard-wired instincts of concealment. He felt it sway on it's landing gear,somewhere in the sick night, and creep forward, branches brushing and scrapping against the dark canopy. The plane crept into deep green shadow and sank down on it's knees, it's airframe whining and creaking as it flattened itself, belly down, into the loam and granite like a manta ray into the sand."