Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Greer watched Chase’s silhouette fade into the rain and the fog, his footsteps crushed beneath the roar of the water as it rushed beneath the bridge, the dark mass churning with logs and brush.
Buck moved in beside her, shielding his face from the driving rain. “I’m not sure that bridge is sound.”
She gave it a once-over. The old wood looked tired, beaten, as if waiting for the right stressor to pack it in. But the cable handrails were taut, the weathered planks cracked but firm. “Hodges walked over it. Dragged Atticus across it, too.”
“I know but…” Buck tapped his temple. “He sees ghosts, too. Misses what’s right in front of him.”
Greer studied Buck, seeing him in a slightly different light.
One she’d delve into once they’d gotten Atticus free and on this side of the bridge.
“We can’t leave Atticus over there. He’s already shivering.
Just… take this. Keep broadcasting our location and that we need backup. Pray they can hear us.”
Buck palmed her radio, started talking, as Greer moved to the end of the bridge, testing out the first few planks. The wood creaked, the entire bridge swaying with the gusting winds, but the boards seemed solid. Trustworthy.
She ventured out, taking each step slowly. Methodically. Distributing her weight in case one of them gave way. Water spit at her from between the cracks, slicking the wood as she inched her way across, the metal cable sliding through her closed fist.
She crested the halfway point, started picking up speed, when lightning spread across the sky, everything around her standing on end. She froze, waiting for the moment to pass when another fork shot out of the clouds, flashing bright white as it struck a guy-wire, exploded in a ball of sparks.
A metallic crack lit the air as the bridge shook, the resulting vibration humming through to her bones.
The nails on the planks hissed as electricity strummed through the wood, the high-pitched tone singing around her.
The right handrail twanged, the anchor bolt on the far side shearing beneath the strain as mud and gravel sloughed into the ravine, tumbling into the raging river.
The cable sagged, then dropped, hitting the wooden planks with a resounding snap.
Splitting the one beneath her heel in half.
Greer scrambled for a secure hold, most of the planks behind her crumbling into the water, leaving only splinters of the wood still held beneath the nails. Buck waved her back, but she knew she’d never make it.
Instead, she continued forward. Slowly, planting each step before taking another. Staying low. Alert. Ready to bolt to the other side at even an inkling of more trouble.
The rain kicked up, soaking through her clothes, running in rivulets down her neck. She neared the other side, still shuffling like a damn drunk, when a log rose out of the water, tumbling over itself as it rushed toward the bridge.
Greer dove for the edge, wedged her fingers through a crack — locked them around one of the last boards a moment before the massive stump crashed into the bridge, splintering the support beams before continuing on, taking half the structure with it.
The remaining section dropped, smacking the surface like a skipping stone before twisting with the current, more of the planks tearing free.
She hit hard, mud spraying across her face, the lower half of her body quickly submerging.
More debris clawed at her clothes, nearly pulled her off before she reached for the next board — dragged her ass out of the water.
Shivers raked her body as she collapsed on the far bank, chest heaving, every breath misting in the thick air.
Atticus called her name, the desperate tone snapping her back.
She pushed to her feet, stumbled over to him.
Skin pale, lips a cool shade of blue, he looked more ghost than man.
An obvious head wound glared up at her, his hair sticky and matted with blood.
She crouched beside him, checked his pulse. “Atticus? Can you hear me?”
He grunted, lifting his right ankle. “I’m not dead yet, Hudson. But that bastard, Hodges, tied me to the damn post. This entire section’s undercut. Only a matter of time before it collapses.”
She nodded as she removed a knife from her belt. “Let’s get you free, then we’ll assess.”
“Assess what? The bridge is gone. No other recourse but to take shelter in the tower until Mac or Foster get their asses out this way.”
Greer laughed. “I can always count on you for your positive outlook.”
“I’m old. Still breathing is about as positive as I can get.”
“You’re not old, you’re crotchety. Now, hold still.”
It took a few passes to slice through the zip-ties, the blade slipping in her grip from the rain, the deep-seated cold seeping into her bones. Atticus shook out his wrists once she’d freed his hands, looking more than a bit relieved.
Greer moved to the tether, shaking her head as she started sawing through the line. “Rope’s thick. This might take a few minutes.”
Atticus grumbled something under his breath. “Not sure we have many of those left.”
“Well, if you’d rather start gnawing at it, be my guest. Otherwise, I’ll keep going with the knife.”
“Glad you still have your sense of humor. We’ll need it when everything goes to shit.”
Greer laughed. “I honestly don’t know how Mackenzie puts up with you.”
Atticus relaxed against the ground. “She doesn’t really have a choice.”
Greer shook her head, still working the rope, when another lightning pulse brightened the sky, the nearby thunderclap shaking the ground. The wind increased, bending trees along the perimeter, an ominous shift tightening the air.
She sawed harder, finally cutting through the last few fibers.
The line to the post fell, a finger of white amidst the muddy brown.
She turned back to Atticus, gave him a quick body sweep.
He cursed when she pressed on his right side, his breathing labored with a distinctive wheeze rattling through his chest.
Atticus shoved her away. “I’m fine. Nothing a stiff drink won’t cure.”
“You’ve got a nasty head injury, and what I suspect are a couple cracked ribs. Nothing life threatening, yet, but based on how badly you’re shivering — the blue cast to your lips — hypothermia’s already kicking in.”
“You worry too much, you know that Greer?” He motioned to the tower, every small movement drawing a resulting grunt. “We should take cover before it gets any worse.”
She nodded, helping him up, when a crack split the air, another strike lighting up the sky. The bolt hit the tower, arcing down the side, splitting the wood with an ear-piercing hiss. Flames shot out from the base, licking at the raised platform as the ground shook, more cracks filling the air.
The tower swayed, then tilted, bending toward them at some ungodly angle. The support beams cracked, everything sliding forward as the tower pitched, hanging on a forty-five before finally giving way.
Greer grabbed Atticus by the arm, took him with her as she jumped into the water, sinking beneath the dark surface just as the tower hit the bank, shattering into several pieces. Chunks hit the water, stabbing at them like spears before the current took over — dragged both of them downstream.
Silt and debris clouded the water, stinging her eyes when she opened them, trying to get her bearings.
She hit a rock, nearly blacked out, before the current spit them out.
Greer crested the surface, gasping in air, Atticus coughing and spitting in front of her.
She held on, kept his head above the surface, the torrent bouncing them off the stones like a pinball.
She reached out, snagged a root, then slammed them against a midstream boulder.
Atticus clawed at the wet surface, finally scrambling halfway up as Greer hauled them the rest of the way, collapsing beside him on the cold rock. Thunder rumbled overhead, more lightning sizzling around them.
She took a moment to breathe, chest tight, every inch bruised from the punishing rocks. But at least they weren’t dead.
Yet.
Atticus groaned, and she pushed herself upright. Skin ashen, hands shaking, the man looked a breath away from death.
She leaned over, checked his pulse. “Shit.”
He coughed, shoved her off. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve been hurt worse and still dragged my ass from behind enemy lines.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky, and some tangos will pop up. Motivate you.”
He chuckled, cursing as he grabbed his ribs. “You did that on purpose.”
“Maybe a little.” She glanced at the shoreline, sighing at the dark edge undercut by thick mud.
No way to scramble over it in these conditions.
Not that the other side was any better, the bank a mass of fallen pine and bits of broken bridge.
A patchwork of deadfall she’d be lucky to climb over without impaling herself.
Atticus tsked. “Don’t even think it. Even if you scaled one of the sides, you’d be knocked unconscious before you ever reached the edge. The current’s too strong, too choked with branches. We’re lucky we landed here without major injuries.”
Greer rubbed where she’d headbutted that boulder. “Speak for yourself.”
He smiled, grunting when the rock shifted, a large log bobbing to the surface a moment later. “Though, staying might not be an option for much longer, either. River’s rising, and it’s only going to get more congested.”
She motioned to her backpack. “Chase threw in some gear. I could probably tie us on, but…”
“Not a good option if we suddenly need to escape.”
“Lightning can’t strike three times, can it?”
He rolled his eyes. “And now, you’ve jinxed it.”