Storm
Sibyl Peter Randy Constance Damn it! The little creek had been flooded from the violent rain. The placid little mountain stream, usually a pleasant, quiet little trickle, was a churning, heaving white water rapid. Foam was splashing up to, onto and sometimes over the old log and timber bridge; our only way out of Randy and Constance's mountain retreat. It was a nightmare scene now caught in my headlights. The forest surrounding us was so dark the hundred foot tall old growth firs crowding...