David Wisehart - Blood Alley

But she was heading straight for the collision.

The back of the petroleum tank rode up the rails, snapping suspension cables. Thick cables whipped through the air like a cat o’ nine tails.

One cable struck the back of the Hummer and smashed the rear window.

Dakota steered to the right, returning to her proper lane to speed past the destruction, but—

The postal truck tumbled into her path.

No way out!

Dakota saw the gap narrow.

On one side was the railing of the bridge. On the other was the tumbling postal truck.

In moments, the gap would close. She’d be trapped on this side of the bridge with nowhere to escape.

She couldn’t hit the brakes, or Trevor and Ethan would fall from the hood.

Faster , she thought.

The speedometer read 105 miles per hour. The highest mark was 110.

“Hold on!” Dakota pressed the accelerator to the floor and jerked the wheel to the right. A small adjustment. The Hummer roared into the gap, threading the needle.

The postal truck smashed into her side door. The metal buckled, but held. The Hummer jumped to the right, recoiling from the impact. Dakota heard a loud crash as her head hit the window, but she hardly felt it.

Right in front of her she saw Ethan struggle to stay on the hood. He grabbed onto a windshield wiper blade. His body slid. The wiper blade tore loose in Ethan’s hand. He slid to the edge, about to fall, but Trevor grabbed him. How Trevor stayed on the hood, she didn’t know.

The Hummer’s tires rode up onto the bridge’s sidewalk. The passenger doors scraped the railing. Sparks flew.

Claire screamed words that made no sense.

Dakota ignored it. She focused on the road as the postal truck flew past her. The Hummer cleared the impact zone.

In the mirror, Dakota saw a new threat behind her. The petroleum truck rode the rail, plowing through suspension cables.

A suspension tower buckled and bent, pulled down by the weight on the cables.

It toppled toward the Hummer.

Claire looked up through the sunroof.

The suspension tower fell toward her.

“Dakota!” she screamed.

“I know! I know!” Dakota answered.

The Hummer was riding with two wheels up on the sidewalk. The car steered away from the rail, and bounced back onto the road.

Claire didn’t know how fast they were going, but it wasn’t fast enough. The suspension tower was toppling. They had to outrun it.

“Faster!” she screamed.

Trevor helped Ethan to the sunroof.

Claire grabbed Ethan’s wrists and pulled him inside.

He fell through the open roof, his weight on top of her. She dropped down heavy onto the back seat. The weight of Ethan’s limp body crushed the air out of her.

He screamed in agony. His back and legs were slick with blood.

The tower landed right behind the Hummer.

It crashed onto the span of the bridge.

Concrete and asphalt exploded on impact.

The petroleum tanker truck continued to ride up on the rails, sliding along, taking out one cable after another.

The rails snapped and broke away.

The tanker truck flew out over the side of the bridge.

But the cab of the truck was still caught in a web of suspension cables.

The Highwayman rode the tanker truck down.

He saw the ravine below.

The cab was enmeshed in thick suspension cables.

The petroleum tank flipped over the cab.

The tanker fell in a long arc, first out from the bridge, then down and back toward it.

Heading straight for a support pillar.

The tank smashed into the pillar.

Nine thousand gallons of petroleum ignited in a fireball.

The pillar buckled.

And collapsed.

Trevor rode on top of the Hummer, gripping the edge of the sunroof. The H3 was almost to the end of the bridge.

He glanced back.

The bridge was giving way. The center dropped out.

Behind the Hummer, the great span of the road broke into sections. Metal and cement tumbled into the ravine.

The car bucked and tilted, rear wheels dropping down, nose rising up. The section of the bridge directly under the Hummer was falling away. Trevor could hear the road break and crumble under the back tires.

He lost his grip on the sunroof.

There was nothing for him to hold on to, no ski rack, just smooth metal that slipped under his hands as he slid back toward the rear of the car and the chasm below.

He tried to kick himself forward, but his feet flailed in the open air. His shins bang against the back edge of the roof as the metal rushed under him, giving way to emptiness.

His knees went over the edge.

Then his waist.

Then his chest.

If only there was something to grab—

The tire!

Trevor kept a spare tire mounted to the back door.

As he slid and fell from the roof of the car, Trevor grabbed for the spare tire, felt hard rubber in his hands, and held on tight.

He tucked his legs in. His feet found purchase on the back bumper.

Beneath him, concrete and metal plummeted into the ravine.

The Hummer’s rear wheels spun in the empty air.

But somehow the front tires kept their grip.

The last remaining section of the span snapped and swung down toward the face of the cliff. The car climbed up toward the end of the bridge as the angle of the broken road got steeper and steeper.

Ten degrees—twenty degrees—thirty degrees—

Trevor clutched the spare tire mounted to the back of the car. He struggled to hang on. He saw nothing but air between him and the dry riverbed hundreds of feet below. The bridge had collapsed beneath him, but the car hadn’t fallen.

Not yet.

The back wheels spun in the open air, but the front wheels gripped the last section of bridge as it bent down toward the chasm.

Down and down—

He felt the car surge forward.

The Hummer found traction, powered up the broken bridge, and reached the end just as the last piece of the bridge fell into the gorge.

Trevor felt the car skid to a stop on the shoulder of the road. He heard the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. Dust blew past him, gritty as a hailstorm.

For a moment he held on, not wanting to surrender his tenuous safety, the feeling that maybe, somehow, they’d all made it to the other side of the collapsing bridge alive.

The engine idled, then stopped.

An eerie stillness enveloped him. It seemed surreal after the race across the bridge. No wind, no roar, no screams.

Ethan?

The silence could mean anything.

Trevor had done what he could. It was a miracle the other boy had survived being dragged so long, but his injuries…

He’s okay, Trevor thought, willing himself to hope beyond all hope.

Exhausted, he placed one foot and the ground, then the other, and released his grip on the spare tire. He struggled to stand. His knees were weak. He braced himself against the vehicle, then sat down on the back bumper, looking at where they’d come from.

He tried to process what had just happened. Seconds ago, there had been a bridge across the chasm.

Now the bridge was gone.

He heard a car door open, and Claire’s voice behind him calling, “Trevor!”

“Claire,” he said.

And then she was there, standing beside him. Her hair was a mess and her shirt bloody.

The fear in her eyes nearly undid him.

She hugged him tight, buried her head in his neck, and broke down sobbing.

The Highwayman stood at the end of the broken bridge, staring across the chasm at the vehicle parked on the other side.

He saw two teenagers, a boy and a girl. Their spoken words carried across the gulf.

“Trevor.”

“Claire.”