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What the River Said - a novel

For the last week, every November morning at the Grand Canyon dawned clear and cold. The night let go of its secrets as sunlight flared up over the rim and promised a bright, pleasant day. By noon, though, dark clouds blotted out the blue, clouds that rose and seethed, as if annoyed by so many humans enjoying the views. These were not typical scattered thunderheads that wandered over, dropping dizzy shadows and quick downpours. These storms besieged the sky, throwing hard rain like weapons and hurling spears of lightning into the earth. Tourists ran for shelter, and even old regulars who lived at the canyon for years felt apprehensive.


New signs were posted, warning about the dangers of lightning.


"Here we go again," muttered Dr. Abigail Wilmore, wincing as thunder exploded and shook the clinic.