Chapter 1 - The Ghost in the Rain
The rain hammered against the canyon walls like artillery fire.
Everett Whitmore stood completely still as the brown water surged around his expensive leather shoes.
He had just spoken my name.
Ethan Mercer.
Thirteen years ago, his company had erased that name from the engineering world.
Now, he was looking at me like I was a phantom rising from the mud.
Blake pushed past his father, panic twisting his perfectly symmetrical face.
He demanded to know what was going on and why the water was rising so fast.
I did not answer him.
I turned my head toward the deafening roar echoing down Blackglass Canyon.
A wall of debris, mud, and shattered pine trees was barreling toward us.
The three black SUVs were pinned against a sheer rock face.
There was nowhere for them to drive.
I looked at my Peterbilt idling on the higher ground behind me.
It was the only thing I owned in this world.
It was my livelihood, my home on the road, and my freedom.
I ran back to the cab and climbed into the driver's seat.
Blake screamed at me, accusing me of abandoning them to save my own skin.
He had no idea what I was about to do.
I shifted into gear and slammed my foot on the accelerator.
Forty thousand pounds of American steel lurched forward into the rising water.
I drove my rig directly between the Whitmore family and the incoming flood.
I angled the trailer to create a makeshift dam against the rock wall.
The impact of the first wave hit my truck like a freight train.
Metal screamed as the floodwaters slammed into the side of the trailer.
The cab violently tipped onto two wheels.
I braced myself against the steering wheel as the windshield shattered inward.
Cold, muddy water poured over my chest.
The truck slammed back down, wedged perfectly against a concrete abutment.
It was holding back the deadliest part of the current.
I kicked the jammed door open and crawled out onto the side of the submerged cab.
The Whitmores were huddled on a narrow strip of high ground, shielded by my ruined rig.
Everett was staring at the mangled steel that had just saved his life.
Then a horrific grinding noise echoed through the canyon.
The concrete abutment holding my truck began to crack.
Camille pointed toward the middle SUV with a trembling hand.
She screamed that Everett's wife was still trapped inside the back seat.
The water around the vehicle was rising inches per second.
I looked into the dark, churning water, knowing that diving in meant almost certain death.
Then the rear door of the SUV popped open.
A bloody hand reached out from the darkness inside.
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It was not Everett's wife.
It was a man wearing a tactical vest, and he was holding a suppressed pistol aimed directly at my head.
