Chapter 8 - The Roof of Shadows-8
The wind on the roof was a living, roaring beast. It ripped at my clothes, blinding me with a torrential downpour of freezing rain that felt like needles against my skin. The sky was an apocalyptic expanse of churning black clouds, illuminated every few seconds by violent, jagged streaks of lightning that turned the cityscape into a terrifying, flashing nightmare.
I burst through the mechanical room exit, stumbling onto the slick, concrete surface of Helipad Alpha.
The sound was deafening. Just fifty feet away, a sleek, twin-engine Eurocopter was sitting on the painted yellow circle, its massive rotor blades spinning with a low, rhythmic thud that vibrated through my bones. The pilot was in the cockpit, his face obscured by a dark helmet, his hands moving quickly across the control panel.
Lauren was halfway across the helipad, her cream-colored pantsuit soaked and ruined, clinging to her frame. She was clutching the carbon-fiber briefcase tightly against her chest with one hand, while her other hand gripped the handrail of the helicopter's open cabin door.
"Lauren!" I screamed into the wind, the sound of my voice instantly swallowed by the storm.
But somehow, she felt my presence. She turned her head, her wet blonde hair plastered across her face, her blue eyes widening in pure shock as she saw me running across the slick concrete toward her.
She didn't hesitate. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small, silver subcompact pistol, and aimed it directly at my chest.
POP. POP.
The sounds were muffled by the roar of the wind and the engines, but I saw the muzzle flashes. A bullet chipped the concrete just inches from my right foot; another zipped past my ear, the supersonic crack lost in the thunder.
I threw myself flat onto the wet roof, sliding across the standing water, my hands scraping against the rough concrete until they bled.
Lauren turned back to the helicopter, throwing the briefcase onto the passenger seat and stepping onto the runner, preparing to pull herself inside. The helicopter was already beginning to lift, its skids rising two, three inches off the ground as the pilot increased the engine RPM.
If she got into that air, she was gone forever. Grace would never have justice. The secrets of what she had done to those other children would remain buried in a shallow grave of offshore banking accounts and fake identities.
I scrambled to my feet, driven by a primal, desperate surge of adrenaline. I lunged forward, throwing my entire body across the remaining distance, and launched myself at the helicopter's landing skid.
My fingers wrapped around the cold, wet metal just as the helicopter rose four feet into the air.
The sudden jerk nearly tore my arms from their sockets. I screamed in agony, my legs dangling in the open air, hundreds of feet above the city streets. The wind battered me, trying to rip my grip from the skid, but I held on with a strength I didn't know I possessed—the strength of a father who had nothing left to lose.
"Arthur! You idiot! Let go!" Lauren shrieked, leaning out of the open cabin door. She aimed the pistol down at my hands, her face distorted with a monstrous, desperate rage.
I swung my legs violently, catching the bottom of the skid with my boots, and used the momentum to hoist myself upward. With a desperate heave, I reached up and grabbed the edge of the cabin floorboards.
Lauren slammed the heel of her designer shoe down onto my fingers. The pain was excruciating, the bones in my left hand cracking under the pressure, but I didn't let go. I reached up with my right hand, grabbed her ankle, and pulled with everything I had.
"No!" she screamed as her balance broke.
She tipped backward out of the cabin, her hands clawing wildly at the air. She slammed down onto the landing skid beside me, the silver pistol flying out of her hand and spinning off into the dark abyss below.
The helicopter lurched violently to the side as the sudden shift in weight caught the pilot off guard. The skid clipped the heavy steel perimeter safety railing of the roof with a deafening, metallic crash.
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The rotor blades sheared into the concrete corner of the mechanical room with a terrifying explosion of sparks and flying metal shards. The helicopter spun out of control, its tail rotor snapping off, and crashed heavily onto its side on the far edge of the helipad, its remaining blades shattering into a thousand deadly projectiles.
Lauren and I were thrown from the skid, tumbling violently across the slick concrete, sliding through the rain until we slammed into the reinforced perimeter wall.
