Crash (24 page)

“Try double that,” Lien says, but at Kendra's distressed look amends her estimate. “No, you're right. A hundred feet up. Definitely not more than that.”

“Either way, I'm not crossing that,” Kendra says.

I study the bridge. Two massive footropes hang suspended from stone pylons, providing the main support system for the bridge and creating part of the rope-and-wood floor. The boards are cracked and rotted, and some are missing. The horizontal handrail ropes are intact, but probably half of the vertical side ropes meant to provide extra stability have frayed apart and hang off the bottom of the bridge like tassels. Getting across isn't guaranteed.
I'm wondering if it's even
possible
.

My vote's with Kendra and Tyrone. There is no way I want to cross that thing.

“Maybe we should go back,” I say.

As if in answer, Drau shot arcs across the sky, falling short of us, but still a threat. I pause and study the trajectory. “That didn't come from behind us,” I say, and look up until I pick a spot on a distant ridge that appears to be the point of origin. “I think there's another group of them stalking us. Unless the ones behind us moved hella fast.” I look at Jackson. “It's only a matter of time before they're close enough to pick us off this ledge one at a time.”

“We cross here, then,” Jackson says.

“We are not going across that bridge,” Kendra says, her voice high, the words running together.

Lien walks to her and loops her arm around Kendra's shoulder, lowering her head so their foreheads touch. “I don't think we have a choice.”

“We could go up,” Kendra says, turning to the rock wall that ascends beside us, the sheer face hundreds of feet high.

Hands on hips, Jackson assesses it. “Anyone ever been rock climbing?”

“Once,” Lien says. “School trip to the Rock and Chalk. You?”

“Climbed when I lived in Arizona for six months. Kept it up in Texas. But haven't gone in a while. And never anything this high.” He looks up at the rocks. “We don't have
ropes. No carabiners. And there aren't many handholds. I'm guessing the highest we could go is maybe fifteen, twenty feet. Thirty, tops. Which doesn't gain us much.” He turns his head toward Kendra. “And with your ankle, you wouldn't make it even that far. We take the bridge.”

“They'll pick us off one by one,” Kendra argues.

“That outcropping's blocking them, giving us some protection, for now,” Jackson says. “If we move quickly, we should all be able to get across before they're close enough to do real damage. And I'll go last, watch your backs till you're across.”

Kendra wraps her arms around herself, eyes wide, her whole body shaking. “I'll do it. If I have to, I'll do it. But I can't go first. Someone else needs to go first.”

“I'll go,” Tyrone says, then, “Let's hope our luck holds.”

“Get ready to test it,” Jackson says.

They clasp hands for a second, and then Tyrone's gone. I don't recall them ever doing anything like that before. I stare at the spot where their hands were joined, that small gesture terrifying to me.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

THE ROPE BRIDGE SWAYS AND CREAKS AS TYRONE STARTS out, his hands sliding along the rope handrails. He takes it slow at first, testing each wooden slat with his toes before settling his weight full on his forward foot. Ten steps in and he turns with a grin and offers a mock salute.

“This won't be as bad as it looks,” Lien says to Kendra.

“I don't know if my ankle will hold.”

Lien tugs one of Kendra's blond curls. “Don't walk across. Crawl. That'll make it easier anyway. Your center of gravity will be lower.”

“Right. Okay. Crawl.”

“Clear,” Jackson's voice carries from around the bend where he went to stand watch for Drau coming up from behind. I scan the ridges, looking for movement or flashes
of light, but see nothing. “Clear,” I call back.

I argued that we should whistle some sort of birdcall so that our voices wouldn't invite Drau attention, but after a couple of tries, Jackson and I both conceded defeat. Birdcalls are not among his repertoire of awesome skills, or mine. Besides, as he pointed out, the Drau know where we are. It's more a question of watching out for their inevitable arrival.

Tyrone's about a third of the way along when he stops dead and glances back. At first I can't see what the problem is, but then one of the vertical support ropes unravels, the top end falling away from the handrail, the bottom end still anchored to the bridge. For a second, he just stands there, still as stone. Then the bridge lists to the left, taking Tyrone with it.

“Oh, no.” Kendra gasps. Lien stands, hands fisted at her sides, jaw set.

Tyrone flails and grabs tight to both rope handrails, spreading his feet to try to regain his equilibrium. He lurches left, then right, then left again, the bridge twisting under him. I take three steps before Luka grabs my arm, jerking me up short.

“Any more weight on that bridge before he's farther along just might make things worse,” he says.

Stomach knotting, I watch as Tyrone rights himself, clinging to the rope handrails. After a minute, he offers a backhanded wave and takes a careful step forward. I watch, heart in my throat, as the bridge sways and bucks.

“Will it hold?” Kendra whispers.

“Isn't that the question,” Luka answers.

Lien gives him the finger. “Way to be encouraging.”

“He'll be okay,” Luka says. “It's the bottom ropes that carry the load. The vertical ones on the sides are just for extra support and the top ones are for holding on to. So unless the bottom ropes snap, he's fine.”

Kendra exhales. “Okay,” she says at the same time as Lien asks, “And you know this how?”

Luka shrugs. “Eighth grade science project. We had a choice between building a trebuchet or a suspension bridge.”

“I'd have gone with the trebuchet,” Lien says.

“That, or a battering ram, right?”

Lien sends him an arch look.

“We're all going to make it across just fine,” I say, managing to sound like I believe it. “Look at Tyrone. He's almost there.”

Almost there
is pushing it, but Tyrone's closer now to the far side than he is to us.

Leaning on Lien, Kendra hobbles to the bridge. Lien stares at her for a long moment, then leans in and presses a quick kiss on her mouth. “See you on the other side.”

Kendra nods, her whole body shaking. She's terrified, but she doesn't say a word about it. She's different ever since she stepped up on the last mission to save Lien—not any less afraid, but better able to cope with that fear. It's something I recognize and admire. My fears are never far
from the surface; the trick is to ride them out rather than letting them rule.

After taking a couple of slow, deep breaths, Kendra drops down on all fours, crawls forward, and starts out, dragging herself along. I wonder if that approach might be the one for all of us to take. Her progress isn't as fast as Tyrone's, but the bridge sways and dips a lot less.

Minutes crawl like sloths. Tyrone hits the far end. Kendra's halfway along now.

Jackson jogs up behind us. “The wind's picking up,” he says. “Better get out there, Lien.”

As she walks to the bridge, bright flares of light—Drau fire—arc across the sky, still falling short, but closer. Ever closer.

“Go,” Jackson calls to Lien, then he scrambles up the boulders at the base of the cliff, climbs to a higher vantage point, and settles his weapon cylinder against his forearm. He doesn't return fire. Not yet. They're too far away to hit, but he's ready just in case they come within range.

“Why are they even firing?” Luka asks. “They have to know the range of their weapons. That they won't even come close to hitting us.”

“Maybe they're trying to stoke our fear,” Lien answers. “Or maybe it's some sort of signal to other Drau teams out there.”

Other Drau teams. How many of them will we have to face when they get here?

“Go,” I say.

Lien squares her shoulders and steps out, posture rigid, her head held high, telling me she's looking straight ahead at the far side. Not down. Never down at the raging water and rocks below.

“Miki, you're next,” Jackson calls down to me once Lien has her rhythm, moving at a slow, steady pace, body shifting to accommodate the sway of the ropes.

I glance at Luka, thinking maybe I ought to send him.

“Non-negotiable,” Jackson says.

I look up at him for a second, hating the thought of leaving him behind, of knowing that he'll be the last one to cross the bridge to the comparative safety of the other side. Words hang on the tip of my tongue. Words I refuse to say. Not here. Not now. I remind myself of my promise that when I say them again it will be in a moment just for us, a moment of joy, not a moment where death breathes on the backs of our necks and the game rules our choices.

So I just memorize the way the sun hits his hair, the tilt of his head, the arrogant curve of his lips, and then I head for the bridge.

Kendra's almost across. Lien's just past a third of the way, and Tyrone's safe on the far side. I test the slats with a couple of careful steps. Jackson was right. The wind is picking up, sending the bridge swaying to and fro. I cling to the hand ropes, focusing on each step, borrowing a page out of Lien's book and staring straight ahead. From the corner of my eye, I catch the bright spray of more Drau fire, closer
than before. I don't turn my head and I definitely don't look down at the raging river crashing over the rocks below.

Lien stumbles, catches herself, her wrist winding through a loose rope that dangles down the side of the bridge. It snaps, whipping out like a tail. She falls to her knees, the whole bridge bucking beneath us.

I step sharply, scrabbling for balance, the rotting board beneath my foot crumbling. I cry out as my foot slams through, the broken edges of the wood scraping through my jeans, tearing my skin. Clinging to the ropes, my leg dangling through the jagged hole, I hang there, panting, fighting for control. Panic slithers from its dark cave. I don't look down. I look straight ahead and drag myself upright, forcing myself to ignore the damp warmth along the front of my shin and the sharp pain that tells me my leg's in less-than-perfect shape.

Pausing to catch my breath, I hold tight as the wind sends my hair whipping in my face.

Ahead of me, Lien tips precariously to one side, her legs sliding all the way over the edge. I bite my lip to keep from calling her name, not wanting to distract her.

Inch by agonizing inch, she drags herself upright. Again the wind catches the bridge, making it rock like a tiny boat on a big wave. She drops to her knees and crawls forward.

Maybe she has the way of it. I glance down, thinking of following her lead, and see that the front of my leg from the knee down is stained with blood. I can't worry about
that now. The only thing I can allow myself to focus on is getting to the other side.

I cling to the rope handrails, the rough length biting into my palms, and drag myself forward, avoiding the rotting boards, trying not to limp and unbalance myself. It's slow going. Ahead of me, Lien's at the two-thirds mark. I'm nearing the middle, gaining on her, and I glance back to see Luka start out after me.

Lien pulls herself to her feet and takes a dozen steps, covering ground. With a cry, she stumbles again, a rotted slat giving way beneath her. The bridge sags and twists. She flails for balance, one hand waving wildly, the other clawing at the rope.

“Run,” I yell. “Just go. You're almost there. Go!”

She flings herself forward and makes an awkward run for the far side. The bridge in front of me lurches and rocks as she moves, the undulation carrying back to me in waves. I tighten my hold on the handrails and widen my stance, struggling for balance. She's almost at the end. I watch, not daring to move, holding my breath. Tyrone reaches out and grabs her sleeve, using it to yank her against his chest. She's shaking so hard her legs won't hold her. He wraps her in his arms and cradles her against him, his eyes meeting mine over her head.

Three safe. Three to go.

I start forward again, barely daring to breathe. Five steps. Ten. Each one brings me closer to the other side.

“Stop!” Tyrone yells, letting go of Lien as he gestures at
something in front of me. “Hold on! Miki, hold on!”

On instinct, I do this thing I once saw when Mom and Dad took me to see Cirque de Soleil. I weave my wrist through a side support rope, once, twice, a third time so the rope snakes up my forearm. I barely have time to finish the move before the section of bridge directly in front of me sags and drops and I tumble forward, my shoulder yanked hard as my wrist stays secured.