Chapter 8 - The Ghost on the Ridge
The icy water swept Dean Mercer off his feet, dragging him violently against the supply crates.
Ruth held tightly to Georgia’s left side, fighting the massive current.
"Grab the ladder!" Ruth screamed to the kitchen workers.
With a massive, coordinated heave, they pushed Georgia upward.
Georgia grabbed the frozen steel rungs, hauling her battered body up with sheer adrenaline.
She dragged herself through the open roof hatch and collapsed onto the flat, rain-slicked metal.
The rest of the guests followed, bursting through the hatch coughing and shivering.
Ruth was the last one out, slamming the heavy hatch shut just as the interior of the barn completely flooded.
They were stranded on the roof, surrounded by a roaring ocean of mud and debris.
The storm was finally beginning to break, the heavy rain reducing to a cold drizzle.
Pale moonlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the jagged eastern ridge directly behind the barn.
Resting on a flat stone shelf fifty yards away was the mangled wreckage of the helicopter.
Scott stood near the edge of the roof, staring at the downed aircraft.
"We made it," Scott gasped, shivering in the freezing wind.
"Did we?" a voice echoed through the dark.
A figure emerged from the shadows of the rock shelf.
It was Elise Warren.
Her expensive designer coat was torn, and a smear of blood covered her forehead, but she walked with perfect balance.
She stepped to the edge of the rock shelf, looking down at the stranded survivors on the barn roof.
In her right hand, she held a black, heavy-caliber pistol.
She pointed the weapon directly at Scott's chest.
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"You survived, Scott," Elise said, her voice carrying clearly over the rushing water.
"That is very unfortunate for both of us."
