To my recollection, I've never before died in a dream. This all changed last night when we got stuck atop, as on the outside, of an Airbus delta-wing airliner (think SR-71, only freaking huge and with a single in-fuselage engine) ... which had subsequently fired its engine, and had begun accelerating in a straight line with no pilot to steer the "taxiing" aircraft.
I knew we were on an Airbus because of the brightly colored vertical stabilizer emblazoned with the aircraft's "A" designation, though its specific nomenclature escapes me now. Further, as the emergency was quickly identified, they'd fired up a second identical craft to "shadow" us in the air like an escort as part of the rescue effort, though even as it was happening, I was doubtful it would be successful.
As the aircraft gained momentum, and started to move past the boundaries of the desert-area airport, I was surprised the undercarriage continued to hold up to the terrain and was trying to gauge our speed. 100mph is what I estimated. My father was sitting to my left, more angry than resigned, and my wife to my right. It was rather kind of fascinating because though I couldn't anticipate any outcome other than death, I was still hopeful that something might take place which would solve the situation.
I saw the truck stop across the flat desert highway and calculated mere seconds before the enormous plane plowed into the 18-wheeler in line to fuel. "A freaking gas station!" I exclaimed, musing over the horror of the mess this would create.
I closed my eyes before impact.
When we all awoke later, in a gray room, they explained how the crew of the Battlestar Galactica had managed to save us all at the last second, which confused me because I knew they didn't have that kind of technology. And given that I couldn't remember anyone's name, nor the events which led to me being where I was, or how I got here, I understood it all to be some sort of death-ruse before I awoke in real life.