Chapter 4 - Into the Ravine
The rain had turned into a slushy, freezing mix of sleet and fog by the time Mercer’s modified tactical SUV reached the ridge line overlooking the Ramapo Ravine.
The wind howled through the towering pines, bending the heavy branches beneath the weight of ice. Down in the black gorge below, a thick column of greasy black smoke rose through the mist—the burning fuselage of the charter plane.
Erin stood at the edge of the cliff, fully clad in dark rain-resistant tactical gear, a heavy trauma backpack strapped to her shoulders, and a reinforced radio headset clamped over her brown hair. Atlas stood at her side, wearing a heavy-duty dog harness fitted with climbing carabiners.
Dr. Nolan Pike stood beside the SUV, wrapped in a thick thermal coat, holding a portable ultrasound unit and extra blood bags. He had refused to stay at the hospital.
"I'm coming with you down the ridge," Nolan had insisted two hours ago. "You need someone to manage the blood transfusion site while you handle the trauma work!"
Erin looked at Nolan now, seeing the terror in the young doctor's eyes, but also a newfound, fierce courage.
"The descent is two hundred feet of slick granite, Nolan," Erin warned over the roaring wind. "If you slip, you don't stop until you hit the rocks at the bottom. Keep your carabiner locked to the main guide line at all times."
Nolan swallowed hard and nodded. "Understood."
Mercer secured the heavy winch line to a massive oak tree at the cliff edge. "State Police tactical units are forty minutes away from setting up a perimeter at the base of the mountain. We are completely on our own until then."
"Atlas," Erin called out.
The German shepherd stepped forward, his eyes bright and focused. Erin clipped his harness to her central chest rig.
"Rappel line set!" Mercer yelled over the storm. "Go!"
Erin stepped backward off the edge of the cliff into empty air.
The world turned into a dizzying vortex of gray rock, whipping pine branches, and howling wind. Erin controlled her descent with practiced, instinctive fluid grace, her gloves gripping the thick nylon rope, her boots kicking off the slick granite faces. Atlas remained perfectly calm against her chest, trained through years of military air-drops to trust his handler implicitly.
Behind her, Nolan slid down the guide line, yelling in terror but holding on with all his might.
They hit the ravine floor with a heavy thud, splashing into ankle-deep freezing mud and crushed mountain ice.
The smell of burning jet fuel and scorched electrical wiring hung thick in the air. Fifty yards ahead, embedded in a tangle of shattered trees, lay the twisted metal wreckage of the aircraft. Fire was licking at the rear tail section, threatening to reach the ruptured fuel tanks.
"Move!" Erin commanded, unhooking Atlas. "Atlas, search! Find survivors! Go!"
The black shepherd bolted into the smoky brush, his nose low to the frozen ground.
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Seconds later, a sharp, urgent bark echoed through the trees from the nose section of the crushed plane.
"He found them!" Erin shouted, sprinting through the deep mud with Nolan right at her heels.
