“Alright,” I say, my grip tightening on the flashlight. “Let's see what we're dealing with.”
We round the corner, and I gasp. The roof has partially caved in, snow piling steadily on the floor of what used to be the great room. Where the fire once crackled, only hissing coals remain as snow has doused the flames. The wind whips through the gaping hole, scattering magazines and billowing the curtains.
“Oh no,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the storm. “No, no, no.”
I sweep the flashlight beam over the destruction, revealing more damage with every passing second. Water drips fromexposed beams, and I can hear the ominous creaking of stressed wood.
Matt lets out a low whistle. “This is terrible,” he says, noticeably shocked by the extent of the damage.
I force myself to take another look, scanning the destruction with a sinking feeling. This is the kind of damage that could get the lodge shut down for the season, maybe longer. I stare at the collapsed roof and spreading water, feeling completely overwhelmed by the amount of work ahead.
I turn to Matt, the ache of defeat settling in my chest. “Matt, I—” The words falter as another loud crack pierces the lodge.
We both look up in time to see a large section of the ceiling give way, tumbling toward us in a chaos of snow, wood, and metal roofing.
