Chapter 5 - An Angel in the Black Sky
The flight south was a nightmare of turbulence and blinding snow. Grant Mercer sat strapped into the jump seat of the heavy Sikorsky helicopter, his knuckles white as he gripped the metal frame. Beside him were two specialized pediatric emergency nurses and Dr. Michael Evans, Grant’s longtime personal physician.
“Visibility is almost zero, Mr. Mercer!” the pilot shouted over the roar of the rotor blades. “The storm front over southern Illinois is turning into an ice storm! The civil aviation authority has ordered a complete ground stop!”
Grant unbuckled his harness, stepped into the cockpit, and leaned down until his mouth was inches from the pilot’s ear. His eyes were wild, dark, and utterly merciless. “You fly this bird through that ice, or I swear to God I will take the controls myself and crash us all into the mountain. My wife and children are freezing to death. We land in that clearing, or none of us come home.”
The pilot gulped, sweat mixing with the freezing air leaking through the canopy, and nodded grimly. He pushed the throttle forward, fighting the screaming winds.
Back in the cabin, Claire’s strength was slipping away.
The firewood was nearly gone. The last oak log had crumbled into glowing orange embers, and the chill was creeping back into the small living room like an invisible ghost. Claire lay shivering on the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around the two bundles against her chest. She had stripped off her own heavy sweater to wrap it around Eli, enduring the biting frostbite creeping across her bare shoulders.
Her surgical wound was throbbing violently. A dark stain of blood had begun to seep through her sweatpants where the stitches had torn from hauling wood. Her vision was tunneling.
Just stay awake, she told herself over and over. Just stay awake until he gets here. You can hate him forever later. Just keep their hearts beating.
Grace’s breathing had grown dangerously shallow. The little girl’s skin felt like a burning radiator, yet her tiny lips had a faint bluish tint. Eli was whimpering softly, too weak to cry. Claire pressed kisses onto both of their damp foreheads, singing a broken, trembling lullaby into the dark.
“Hush little baby, don't say a word... Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird...”
Suddenly, the floorboards began to vibrate.
A deep, rhythmic thrumming sound echoed through the timber walls, rattling the frosty windowpanes. The roar of powerful turbine engines battered the surrounding pine trees. Outside, blazing searchlights pierced through the falling snow, illuminating the cabin windows in blinding, daylight-bright white beams.
The front door was kicked off its hinges with a tremendous crash.
Wind and snow howled into the room, and through the swirling white vortex stepped Grant Mercer.
He didn't look like the pristine, untouchable Chicago kingpin. His coat was covered in ice, his hair wild, his face etched with pure terror and desperation. The moment his eyes landed on the small, huddled form on the floor, he dropped to his knees, sliding across the wooden planks until he hit the mattress.
“Claire! Claire, look at me!” he choked out, his voice cracking into a ragged sob.
Claire blinked through heavy, frost-tipped eyelashes. She looked up at him, her lips blue, her face pale as death.
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“You... you took so long...” she whispered faintly, her arms loosening around the infants. “Save Grace... she’s so sick...”
“I have you. I have you all,” Grant cried, tears spilling openly down his rugged cheeks as he gathered her and the babies into his massive, heated coat. Behind him, the medical team rushed through the door with thermal incubators and oxygen tanks. “Michael, get in here! Now!”
