by G H Edwards
The road they were traveling on began to rise slowly as Claire approached the impossibly tall bridge over the river. She began shaking uncontrollably. Just looking ahead at the massive bridge made her dizzy and nauseous. She slowed the truck to a stop and tried to wake Michael. The plan was that she would simply duck and hide when they’d cross any large spans, and that’s what she planned on doing. She had no intentions of being brave when it came to heights. When she gently shook Michael, she noticed he felt limp and bony. When she was able to finally awaken him, he groggily sat up and was confused where they were. No matter how many times Claire told him they were on a bridge at the Mississippi, he couldn’t seem to understand. Finally, out of frustration, she told him to lie down again. He did with no complaint and was quickly asleep.
She looked at her watch, hoping that it would be nearing the evening so she could simply sleep and have Michael drive in the morning. But her wristwatch informed her that it was only 1:30 p.m. Thinking about what to do, she realized this was the first time she had seen Michael confused about what was happening, which she thought was a bad sign. She knew she needed to hurry, knew she would have to drive over the span.
The road was flanked on both sides by dozens of dilapidated buildings. This was by far the largest of the cities Claire had seen yet, which only added to the terror she felt as she approached the bridge. She noted that the bridge was four lanes divided in the middle by a concrete barrier. Further examination showed that the bridge was merely a patchwork of concrete that snaked around multiple holes. Additionally, the metal support beams that had run alongside and over the top of the bridge were snapped and laid haphazardly, potentially blocking her path. As she examined the bridge she saw the brown water of the Mississippi coursing far below. Turning her head, she looked behind her and saw a sky view of the ruins of the large city; nearly all the roofs of the buildings were gone. The view made her dizzy and tense up.
After consideration, Claire decided the lane she was on was the best option so she slowly drove up to the beginning of the bridge. As the angle of the bridge increased so did Claire’s anxiety. She strongly contemplated trying to wake Michael again but decided he was in no condition to drive. With her knuckles turning white from tension and her rapid breathing, she slowly progressed up the incline. As she approached the beginning of the bridge, she stopped the truck suddenly and vomited out the window. The effort from vomiting and her short shallow breaths were making Claire even dizzier than before. After she had finished, she turned toward the bridge. Every muscle in her body was tense as she let out a long high-pitched squeak. Slowly removing her foot from the brake, she coasted forward and around the first gaping hole. She was laser focused on not looking out of the window and down through the hole. The truck rocked slightly as large gusts of wind tried to push them off. At a near crawl she turned the wheel and avoided a bent steel beam that hung at an angle, still attached to the side railing. After avoiding a few large cracks, her anxiety lowered just slightly. When she allowed herself to momentarily forget how high they were, her breathing slowed somewhat.
Just before the peak of the bridge, she came to a hole so large that she thought there was nowhere for her to pass. At this angle she had no way of not looking through the gaping hole and seeing that they were miles up—or at least that’s how it seemed. Her tension returned, even worse than before, and she locked up. Squeezing her eyes closed, she sat frozen. She attempted to think of anything other than her situation. But no matter what she tried to think about, she couldn’t calm down. At that moment even her husband’s sickness took the backburner to her current dread. She stayed locked in her position for a long time until she heard Michael’s voice. It sounded stronger than it had in a long time.
“Keep going,” he said, as his arms wrapped around her.
Claire’s jaw loosened, and soon the rest of her muscles followed its lead. She took control of her breathing rolled her head from side to side. After some time, she opened her eyes and examined the area. She saw that the only possible path was a skinny patch of concrete near the edge of the bridge. She felt like she was in a trance of pure focus, seeing every crack and pebble on the road in front of her. She maneuvered the truck to a lane where the side railing was missing, leaving her passenger side completely exposed. Although her body was rigid, her heart thundered in her chest as she carefully crept to the edge, ensuring the tires stayed between the gaping hole on her left and the empty void on her right. At the thinnest part, just inches from falling off on either side, she made the mistake of glancing over and seeing just how high up they were. She got dizzy and locked up, stopping the truck. As her mind spun, she became convinced they were falling off. She couldn’t move or breathe and gripped the steering wheel so tightly her hands turned white. What the hell am I doing here? This isn’t how I’m supposed to die, she thought. Without realizing it, she released the brake, and the truck rolled forward onto a solid section of the bridge. When she was on safe ground she began to breathe again and tears filled her eyes. She looked at Michael to thank him but saw he was asleep in the same position he’d been in before. She wondered if he had actually been awake or if she’d imagined it.
Traveling much slower than before, Claire rolled forward and reached the peak. The wind slammed against the truck, making her afraid they might flip over and off. As she crested the arching bridge, she saw they had new problems. The large beams that, at one time, had run over the top of the lanes were broken and were lying, still attached to their bases, in awkward angles blocking her path in all directions. Claire rolled to a stop in front of one of the I-shaped beams. She looked to see if there was some way she could sneak underneath any of them but saw that there was no way. The thought of turning around and driving back over the bridge was unacceptable. She was about to try to wake Michael up again when she saw that an area near the center of the bridge was blocked by only one beam. It was at least thirty feet long and still attached to the support beams that served as the other lane’s side railing. She examined the broken end laid against the concrete, and decided if she could move that piece just a little, they might be able to squeeze through. She lined the front of the truck up with the beam, nearly touching it. Slowly she inched forward until she heard and felt the front edge of the hood make contact with the beam. Lightly pressing the accelerator, she saw the hood of the truck begin to crumple so she quickly stopped. She thought about it for a moment and decided she didn’t want to risk damaging the engine or the headlights, so she carefully backed up and turned around. After several attempts, she lined the center of her rear tailgate with the beam. The truck stopped as contact was made. Again she pressed the accelerator slightly and heard the engine get louder, but the beam didn’t move. When she increased the pressure on the pedal, the engine responded. She heard bending and breaking sounds, but the beam was still immovable. Ready to give up, she tried with the pedal all the way down. The engine roared, and she saw the entire tailgate peel forward toward her, but she also heard a high-pitched squeal. She stopped and saw that the beam had moved slightly forward. Feeling encouraged, she hit the gas again and watched and listened as the beam moved. When it had cleared her path, she let up on the gas and saw that the beam had stayed bent open. She pulled forward and looped around, noticing that she now had a clear view behind her through the large tear in the tailgate. She smiled as she drove through the previously blocked path, the open beam welcoming her to the other side.
CHAPTER 14
Michael awoke to pitch-black darkness. He lifted his head and noticed Claire wasn’t in the driver’s seat. With a groan he sat up and saw her gassing up the truck by flashlight. When she finished, she got back into the truck and was surprised to find Michael awake. She pulled the map off him and apologized for using him as a table.
“At least I’m of some use on this trip,” he said in a whisper.
She laughed. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” he lied again. This seemed to have become a routine.
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br /> “I’m really figuring out this gas thing. I only spilled a little this time.”
Michael laughed lightly. “It smells like you swam in it.”
Claire laughed and gently smacked him on the arm.
They looked around. The dark empty stretch of road was deadly silent.
“Do you know where we are?” he asked.
“No clue. I’m hoping somewhere between Houston and Miami,” she said with a smile. Despite the dangers of the trip and the virus slowly killing her husband, she was in a chipper mood.
“You know, you’re really brave for going out there by yourself,” Michael said, as he lay back down.
“Oh, whatever. You’d do the same.” Claire maneuvered herself to lie down on the floorboard next to him.
She wondered if she should sleep or just keep driving. They had packed blankets and pillows to sleep with, but she thought it was kind of silly now. They had planned on sleeping in the bed of the truck under the stars but neither of them had mentioned it. Plus, she knew she had soaked the bed with fuel, so sleeping there wouldn’t be an option. She looked at Michael and could tell he was asleep already. She was surprised by how exhausted she was. She thought about how she’d only been sitting the entire day, but she felt like she had run the entire distance. Feeling uneasy about the wide-open windows she wiggled across and rolled them up. When she lay back down, she quickly fell into a deep sleep.
She awoke soon after covered in sweat. It was incredibly hot inside the small cab. Reluctantly she strained and rolled both windows down and checked on Michael, who was also covered in sweat but still sleeping. She took off his shoes and went back to sleep. She was awoken a few hours later but this time it was from flying insects. She swatted them away and noticed they were feeding on Michael. When she gently shooed them off him, he shuffled in his seat from the commotion. They had failed to pack anything to stop the bugs’ feast. Claire sat up and looked around. It was still pitch-black outside, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep any longer. She looked at her watch: 4:02 a.m. She got up, drank some juice, and prepared to set off again.
After driving in the daytime, nighttime driving seemed much harder. She wondered how she had driven so much the night before when she could see so little. After an hour of driving she had the window down and was watching the sun rise again over the seemingly never-ending line of trees. She was pleased to see the sun rising directly in front of her and her compass pointing east, meaning she was heading in the right direction. As she cruised along, she examined the many bug bites on her face and neck in the rearview mirror.
She sped past more and more wrecked cities and shaky bridges. Once, when she had traveled over a small bridge, she happened to catch a glimpse of the other far lanes that ran parallel to hers. They were completely gone, other than a few steel cables running the length. She realized that if she had chosen the other side of the highway, they would have crashed and probably died on impact. She slowed the Ol’ Blue down and vowed to pay closer attention to the road ahead. Claire’s new dedication to inspecting the bridges before they crossed them saved them almost immediately. She saw the two missing bridges several hundred yards before she reached them. The gap was small, but it would have been deadly had she not stopped. She parked the truck near the edge and turned off the engine. She then inspected the map and saw no other roads nearby. She left the truck and looked at the gap below. She was surprised that the two bridges had been built to only cross a seemingly tiny brook trickling down a slight hill. To her left she saw that the water came out of a forest of tall trees next to the highway. To the right, down a slope, was a small pile of rocks where the brook scattered and flowed back into the forest. Slowly Claire traversed down the hill to look for a route to cross. She saw the rocks were all fat and smooth, like bars of soap. She walked across them several times, getting the bottom of her shoes wet but finding the spot solid. She returned to the truck and turned the key to start the engine. The truck chugged and banged but didn’t start. Silence filled the air as she stared wide-eyed at the dashboard. She tried again and again, but the engine banged and sputtered and wouldn’t start. She felt the urge to wake up Michael and see if he could fix the problem. This reminded her of the bridge over the Mississippi. She decided she had gotten over that with no help, so she could do this. After inspecting the switches and controls she tried the engine again, but it only chugged. Suddenly remembering something her uncle had told her, she pumped the gas pedal and the engine burst to life. She was proud of the old truck and patted the dashboard gently. After a moment, she drove the truck off the side of the road and down the hill. As she slowly rolled over the rocks, she felt the truck shift as the ground settled. Having learned from the bridge over the Mississippi, she refused to slow, and before she could worry, she was over the creek and climbing back to the road.
Pressing forward, Claire worried since she had seen three bridges that were out in a short span. Her anxiety amplified when she reached a pair of long low bridges over what looked to be the tall grass of a swamp. The bridges appeared to be intact but were so long that she couldn’t see the ends of them. She backtracked but found no other route and was fairly confident she was on the right path. She slowly drove up the ramp of the bridge on the right and began the long drive over. As she drove, she looked over the side and saw that it was twenty-foot-drop into the long sheet of tall grass. While the height of the bridge intimidated her, she held her composure very well. She was surprised by her resolve and courage. It seemed the soaring bridge of the Mississippi had dampened her fear of heights, or maybe she was just too tired to care.
The bridge went on and on with no end in sight. After what felt like twenty minutes, her fear was realized when she saw the bridge was missing a large gap ahead. She slowed the truck to a stop and got out to inspect it. The air was hot and muggy, and the midafternoon sun roasted her. She walked within about ten feet of the jagged edge, looked down through where the bridge was supposed to be, and saw the concrete remains through the overgrown weeds and dark water. The old familiar tension and dizziness returned when she realized how high up she was. To her left she saw that the bridge that ran parallel with hers looked intact. She hated the idea of driving all the way back to the beginning of the bridge just to have to take the other bridge, but that was her only choice. She just hoped that bridge was whole.
Claire jumped back into the truck and checked on Michael, who was still asleep underneath the map. She cautiously negotiated the turnaround and sped back to the start of the bridge. After the trip back, she drove through the grass that separated the roads and started up the other bridge. Knowing the bridge would be clear, she sped faster than ever until she passed the missing gap of the bridge on her right. She feared that if this bridge was missing any sections the trip would be over. Her fear was realized when she saw a small gap in her bridge. She once again slowed the truck to a stop in front of the missing strip. Unlike the previous missing section, this area was small and reminded her of a speed bump, except this speed bump was a missing strip of ground instead of having a raised bump. The missing strip extended across the entire width of the bridge but looked to be only around a foot long. She got out and examined the area, it was obvious that she couldn’t go around it so she considered the alternative: going over. After inspecting the gap then looking at the size of her tires she concluded that if she drove over slowly she might get stuck. It was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. She thought about what she had learned from the driving she’d already done. If she gained enough speed, she could float right over the large gap.
Carefully Claire navigated the turnaround and sped back down the bridge for a few minutes. After turning the truck around more quickly than before, she lined Ol’ Blue up facing the direction of the missing section. She sat with the truck idling for a long time. She debated trying to wake Michael to ask him his opinion but decided this was the only option, whether or not he was awake. Plus, in the back of her mind she didn’t want him to see her so conc
erned over this relatively small gap while having not seen the enormous gaps she’d already conquered over the Mississippi. Her mind was made up; she’d float over this baby-size gap.
She jammed down on the gas pedal harder than she ever had and felt herself being pushed into the seat. She was surprised and proud of the torque Ol’ Blue had produced. Her eyes were focused on the long empty bridge in front of her, but she could still see the needle on the dashboard climb faster and faster. She kept the pedal to the floor and willed the truck to go faster. She remembered that when she was driving on regular roads, the faster she went, the less she felt the bumps, so she decided to drive faster than ever to get across this one. Her knuckles turned white as the gap flew toward her.
When the gap disappeared under her tires she was reminded of the sound of a shotgun firing. She was violently bounced in her seat, causing her head to hit the metal roof. Her iron grip on the steering wheel was the only thing that had kept them from careening over the edge of the bridge. When she finally regained control, she slowed the truck to a stop and examined her wounds. She put Ol’ Blue in park and laid her head on the wheel.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked from a sitting position net to her.
Claire jumped from the surprise; for a few minutes she’d almost forgotten he was there.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry”
“It’s okay, baby. The bridge should be over very soon,” Michael said weakly.
Claire looked around and remembered that he hadn’t even seen the obstacles she’d already crossed. She smiled at him and shifted into drive.