Chapter 8 - CRASH LANDING IN THE SNOWThe helicopter shuddered with a force that felt like hitting a concrete wall. A deafening screech echoed through the cabin as the tail rotor took a direct hit from an autocannon round.
"Brace! Brace! Brace!" the pilot roared.
The world outside turned into a dizzying blur of white clouds, jagged pine trees, and grey slate mountains rushing up to meet them. Eli curled into a tight ball, squeezing his eyes shut, his hands clamped over the leather-bound journal containing his mother's legacy.
CRASH.
The impact was a nightmare of tearing metal, shattering glass, and the violent crunch of frozen earth. The helicopter flipped once, twice, sliding across a steep snow-covered ridge before slamming hard against a massive granite outcrop and coming to a dead, groaning stop.
Silence returned, broken only by the hiss of leaking fuel and the crackle of burning wiring.
Eli groaned, blinking open his eyes through a haze of acrid smoke. Dust hung thick in the shattered cabin. He was hanging upside down by his safety harness, dangling over a twisted mass of control panels.
"Dad?" Eli coughed, spitting blood and soot. "Dad!"
Across the cabin, the heavy metal door was jammed shut, half-crushed against the snowbank. Victor Kane was slumped motionless against the jump seat, a dark stain spreading rapidly across his tactical vest from a shrapnel wound to his chest.
"Eli..." Victor rasped, his eyes fluttering open with immense effort.
Eli unclipped his harness, dropping heavily onto the ruined dashboard, and scrambled across the debris to his father’s side. "Dad, we need to get out! The fuel is leaking—"
"Listen to me," Victor interrupted, his grip on Eli's wrist surprisingly strong, like a vise made of cold iron. He reached into his bloodstained jacket and pulled out a heavy gold signet ring, pressing it into Eli's palm. "Take the journal. Take the ring. Follow the ridge line north for two miles. There's an emergency cabin."
"I'm not leaving you!" Eli sobbed, pressing his hands against his father's bleeding chest.
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"You have to," Victor whispered, a faint, sad smile touching his lips. "The hounds are already here."
Outside the wreckage, muffled crunching sounds echoed through the crisp mountain snow. Footsteps. Heavy, methodical, closing in fast.
