by B. C. Tweedt
“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. He reached for her, she grabbed hold, and he yanked her to the roof next to him. He shook his head at her, but couldn’t help a smile curling at his lips. Eventually remembering why he had told her to stay, he blurted out. “But if you stay and you die, it’s your own fault! I’m infected enough.”
“I-infected?” Liam was grabbing at Sydney’s foot, pulling himself up behind her. “L-like the l-legend?”
Greyson and Sydney both reached down and helped Liam to the top, and together they clung to the slippery top, shivering in the rain and sharp wind. The scenery to the right and left was buzzing by, the wind pushing at their small bodies and the rain making the roof of the U-Haul as slippery as a water slide. They felt like cats clinging to a tree for dear life.
The jets passed overhead once again and they could now see blue and red lights join with the sound of the sirens from behind. The cops were catching up. The clicker had worked.
“Alright!” he screamed over the sounds. “Hold on to me.”
They grabbed his shoulders as he reached into his pack, removing the slingshot and the last ball-bearing. He’d have to use it effectively, and he had an idea.
“Alright. If they lose control, just jump to the softest looking place.”
They squinted around and behind at all the hard places. They were approaching a long bridge running over the Des Moines River where the city’s skyscrapers loomed beyond. Would the bridge over the water be their best bet? In a matter of minutes, they would be there. He couldn’t let them reach the end of the bridge. He had to be quick.
He was about to go when the memory of his nightmare crashed into mind. The bridge. The water. The terror he’d felt. Suddenly he didn’t want to move. Could he climb back down? Was there another way? There has to be some other way!
“You can do it, Greys.”
Greyson turned to her, a lump in his throat. She was looking from him to the front of the moving truck where he had to go. The chain was wrapped around her clenched, dripping-wet fists. “We got you.” She nodded at him again and the images from his nightmare vanished.
He gulped the lump in his throat and pushed himself to a crouch, getting a feel for the pressure of the wind. It was intense; but he had the comfort of the chains wrapped snuggly around his waist and crotch like a rock climber. It was uncomfortable physically, but mentally, it gave him the confidence he needed.
Staying low against the torrent of wind, he pushed forward, preparing himself for any quick movements. As the truck approached a car from behind, he knelt again, waiting for it to pass. Sure enough, the truck swerved around it at high speeds. The driver must have picked up the urgency with the sirens coming from behind.
At a straightaway, Greyson made his move. He pounded across the top until he came to the gap between the cargo carrier and the U-Haul’s passenger cabin, the chain dragging along the metal to Liam and Sydney’s hands. They were trying to give him enough slack, but not too much. When he had reached the edge, he looked back and pulled himself some extra slack. They gave him the thumbs up.
He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come. A surge of panic gripped his heart for a moment, like he’d felt on top of the bathhouse, when he was afraid to die. But the surge receded as he glanced again at the city some miles away. He had no choice but to risk his life; there was too much at stake.
Now or never. I dare you.
Gripping the slingshot, Greyson leaped toward the hood of the truck, turning in midair to face the windshield. His feet hit the hood and he slipped down to his knees, falling into the windshield. The windshield wipers swiped at his elbows as he stared for just a second, as if in slow motion, at the petrified faces of the other Russian and Orion.
But he didn’t hesitate long. With a ferocity wanting to tear the windshield off with his bare hands, he pressed the slingshot to the glass, pulled back the sling as far as he possibly could, and let go.
SNAP-CRACK!
He snagged the ammunition pocket with the last ball still pressed against the cracking windshield, pulled it back, and let out a full-lunged scream.
SNAP-CRACK!
More cracks zigzagged across the windshield and he could feel it weaken as he pressed the slingshot even harder. One more! He pulled back again, but he didn’t get the third shot off. He was suddenly tumbling to the left as the Russian yanked the steering wheel.
His right hand was still firmly holding the ammunition pocket, but his left snatched at the windshield wiper as his body pitched toward the street.
The wiper creaked, jutting straight out from the window as the chains yanked at his waist, holding his body off the side of the hood, flailing for balance and smacking against the wheel well. His shoulder and arm burned as muscles stretched past capacity, but he didn’t let go; his feet scrambled and slipped on the wet well and he felt the truck swerve back to its right – toward a railing.
“No - no!”
Pulling on the wiper and pushing at the well with his feet, he spun his body back onto the hood just as the truck scraped against the metal railing with a burst of red and yellow sparks. Greyson grabbed at the wipers. Through the cracks in the windshield, he could see the driver glaring at him as he gripped the wheel with white knuckles. Orion was on the phone.
The U-Haul swerved left, then right, swinging his legs along the hood with the momentum, but his grip was sure. They wouldn’t be able to pry him from the hood unless they got out to do it themselves.
And then their windows rolled down. Their hands went up, both holding guns. That will do it.
Making a snap decision, Greyson pushed his legs to his chest and then pressed up from the hood in a frantic leap. The chain was pulled taut, keeping him level as he slammed his feet into the windshield in a mighty kick.
SNAAAP! All at once there was confusion. The windshield burst into the cabin but stayed intact, a mess of cracks. Greyson had come in with it, slipping onto it with his shoulder. Both men were caught off guard, and their two guns bounced along the concrete road below.
Reorienting himself, Greyson pushed himself away from the collapsed windshield, at the same time pressing it against the two men. The truck was swerving left and right, narrowly avoiding traffic as they approached the two-lane bridge that seemed to stretch for miles. If there was a time to crash, it was now.
There was a mad amount of struggling; Greyson tried to grab at the wheel while pushing the windshield against the struggling men. Orion reached around with his fist and jabbed at his face. The blows glanced Greyson’s nose and chin, but he couldn’t stop. He had to grab the wheel. One long jerk and the U-Haul would topple over – far away from the city, perhaps even under water.
The frenzy continued with panting and screaming; his fingers just felt at the edge of the wheel, when he was suddenly jerked from the windshield as if a giant had grabbed him and thrown him out. But in reality, the Russian had slammed on the brakes. He was only in air for a fraction of a second – until the chains cinched around his waist and crotch and lurched him back into the hood with a thud. And then he heard the sound of rolling metal on metal, as if a quarter was rolling away. When he saw it, it was too late. He reached for the ball and almost had it in his fingers when, before he could brace himself, the truck swerved hard and he careened off the hood, heading into the pavement in the other lane.
He held up his hands to protect his head, but the chains cinched even harder and swung him alongside the truck’s exterior like a pendulum, his shoes scraping at surging asphalt. Flailing, his hands clawed at the wet outside, but he couldn’t find a grip. He swung back just as the windshield came flying around the corner, missing his jaw as it curled to the pavement, skidding to a stop in one piece.
Geez!
The pain from the chain was biting into him, but it was the only thing keeping him from tumbling into the cement. He sat on the chains, dangling along the truck’s side, feet from oncoming traffic.
He glanced in the direction th
ey were headed and startled at the headlights growing larger and larger. And then he saw the Russian in the driver’s side mirror. They made eye contact; the Russian sneered.
“Pull me up!” he shouted desperately in the wind.
Through the sounds of traffic and the rumbling sounds of thunder, he felt he could hear his friends’ grunts as they pulled at the chains. He was slowly inching upward and reaching for the top; he could almost pull himself up. Almost.
The U-Haul crept into the other lane as headlights approached. Greyson gasped. They were going to position him straight into the other car.
He inched further up. His fingers stretched upwards.
The headlights grew brighter. The vehicle flashed its lights and blew its horn.
The truck sped up.
“Faster!”
Greyson pressed his chest against the side and reached. His fingers clinched the edge of the roof and he pulled with all his might.
ZOOOOOM!
The car blasted past, inches below his feet as he rolled to the top, breathless.
Liam and Sydney grabbed onto him, the three of them pancaking themselves to the roof. They had saved his life. More than once.
“Thank you,” he panted. “Thank you.”
He pulled at the chains chafing him; he was sure they had drawn blood where no boy wanted to bleed. Soon, he had unwound them and let them lie on the roof. Sydney and Liam rubbed their blistered, red hands, glad, too, to be rid of the chains.
He must have stopped breathing for the last few minutes. The near-death experiences had set his heart racing without the oxygen he needed. But he was recovering – catching his second wind. “One more time,” Greyson wheezed.
This time the windshield is out of the way. This time the truck is going down.
But Liam’s eyes lit up in fear. There was something happening in front. Greyson rolled to his stomach and matched his gaze. Orion had crawled from his open window and was pulling himself up to the cargo carrier.
The three of them watched, unwilling to move as the teenaged boy found a good grip and glared in their direction. Greyson and Sydney shared a look as her hair whipped in the wind. The rain was battering her eyes, forcing her to squint, but she was beautiful. Her confidence in him showed in her expression as she gave him a nod. Words were spoken without being said.
You can do this.
Greyson sucked in a breath and crawled forward.
Chapter 35
“Come on!” Orion taunted, glaring back at them.
Greyson dared to crawl closer, finding a bolt to provide at least some sort of a grip.
The U-Haul swerved again and again, sending Liam sliding with a metallic squeak from one side of the roof to the other. His hands had grown weak, clinching and pulling the chain, until it seemed his knuckles had frozen in place. He tried to stretch them out, but at just the wrong time.
Another sudden turn sent him sliding toward the edge. Sydney grabbed his arm just as one of his legs dangled over the bridge’s railing. She pulled him in, and once in her grasp, he pawed at her, gasping for breath and shaking, but keeping one eye open to watch the confrontation at the front.
Greyson bled from his nose and lip, but the rain dripping from his hair to his chin quickly washed it away. He wiped at the red rain under his nose and glared back at the bigger boy. Since he had turned his hat backwards to keep it from blowing away in the wind, he had run out of options to intimidate him. Besides, Orion would never surrender. He wasn’t the type. But neither am I.
“Get out of my way!” he shouted.
Orion laughed and sneered. “You can’t stop it! They can’t stop it!” He pointed at the police cars trailing them from behind, whose sirens had long ago blended into the hiss of the wet road, the roar of the engine, and the sounds of jets screaming overhead.
The truck swerved past another pedestrian car and Greyson’s knuckles clenched white as he dug into the top of the bolt. Orion had found a much better grip from where the truck connected to its cargo carrier.
“Greyson!”
He turned to the shrill voice, its pitch giving him chills and flashbacks of his last night of sports camp. It was Sydney calling him, pointing ahead with one arm, her other arm draped over Liam.
Greyson followed her gaze. The city’s skyline loomed through the storm clouds that shone in shades of orange and black in the setting sun. The truck was getting closer.
He had run out of time.
“I don’t want to kill you!” Greyson lied. “But if I have to…”
Orion laughed and lowered his brow. “I dare you…”
With a burst of rage and nerves, Greyson scrambled toward Orion and dove into him with fists flying. Limbs and wet clothes flailed as blows struck him in the ear, the jaw, and the nose. He landed blows, too, catching Orion’s neck exposed and placing a fist in his Adam’s apple. He erupted with a gasping choke but didn’t lose his grip on Greyson’s neck, shaking him and jabbing elbows into his sides and face.
Greyson tried to stay close to dampen his blows, but Orion would only push him away, strike him again, and then bring him into his elbows again and again. Lights splattered his vision with each blow and he could feel his consciousness slipping away. He covered his face with his hands and managed to block some direct blows, but others were rocking his skull. If this were a boxing match, the referee would call the fight, but there was no referee in the middle of the bridge.
Suddenly the blows stopped coming. Orion’s attention had shifted. Greyson sensed movement behind him and heard his breath as he came at them, stumbling to his rescue.
Liam.
The delay gave Greyson just enough time to recollect himself, find his vision, and remember Kip’s hand-to-hand combat training. His hands shot to Orion’s wrist and pressed it toward his forearm until he felt it give. Orion screamed and used his other hand to grab at Greyson’s arms, but Greyson had expected it. With Orion’s arms both occupied, Greyson slammed his palm into his nose, feeling the sick crunch of broken bone. Orion’s eyes glazed over and his hands cupped the blood as it flowed freely from his nostrils.
No mercy. He deserves more. He shuffled closer to him, grabbed his shirt collar, and began to pummel him with blows of revenge. Hatred flowed through him like a shockwave in his fist.
“For Kip!” he seethed, spitting rain from his tense lips.
Blow after blow, he rammed Orion’s face until his fists were bloody and bruised, but he wouldn’t stop until he could throw him over the side without any resistance.
It would be over soon.
Suddenly the truck lurched to the left and sent them all sprawling; but it was nothing compared to the next lurch. The Russian overcompensated for the first move and jerked the wheel to the right. The truck slammed against the rail in another shower of red and yellow sparks.
With the impact, Liam and Sydney’s bodies were instantly in the air, hurled to the side and disappearing into the darkening sky.
Greyson would have been with them, but he had kept his grip on Orion’s collar as they both fell to their sides on the wobbling truck. Out of the corner of his eye and as if frozen in time, he saw his friends’ writhing bodies become smaller and smaller, falling toward the dark water below.
His heart sunk. They’ll never make it.
Greyson pulled Orion up with him, but Orion could barely manage to keep his head straight on his neck. Their eyes met in a cold stare.
Every second that passed took Greyson further from his friends and took the bomb even closer to the city. He only had a moment to think – to weigh the options. Thoughts raced through his brain, yelling at him louder than the wind whipping at his ears – louder than the jets screaming overhead. Almost every ounce of him wanted to finish off Orion and to stop the truck, but that last ounce – the one still voice whispering to him – whispered louder than the others.
Orion’s mouth curled in a bloody, mangled smile, his crooked nose breathing heavily through clogged nostrils. He spoke with a drip
ping, nasal laugh. “You can’t save everybody.”
Sneering at the boy and turning on his knees, Greyson pointed toward the back of the roof, jolted into a sprint, and leaped toward the watery abyss below.
Chapter 36
The noises of the day seemed to rip away from him, replaced with the eerily calm rush of wind in his ears as he plummeted toward the watery depths. For the few passing seconds he had in the air, he had time to think. For a flashing moment he was back in the camper, waking up from a nightmare. The same hopeless feeling. The desperation. The impending death.
In another flash he was back at the campfire listening to the legend. Is this how the boy in the legend died? The infection had gotten to him so much – had so plagued his brain – that he ended it in a free-fall? Am I him?
His mind snapped from the past to the razor-thin edge between the present and the future. If he’d been able to look back, he would have seen the U-Haul speeding toward its destination despite the devastation that he had wrought on it. It had survived. It – and the terrorists – had won.
But that didn’t matter. That was the past. Though he couldn’t save everybody, he could still save some. And that would be his focus. Others. Not himself. Humility would drive away his fear. If he wasn’t looking to himself, worrying about his own well-being, he was available to look after others and free to forget the worries about himself. I have to save them.
As the panic of impending death left him, he prepared to hit the water.
Stay vertical. Arms over head. Point toes.
Impact. A blinding force like a vacuum rushed over him as the water engulfed his body into darkness. Deeper and deeper, darker and darker – too deep that he feared he’d never get back up.
All sound had been erased except the mad rush of water that seemed pressed against his eardrums. Finally, he stopped. He had stayed right side up. Looking upward, he saw orange sunlight cascading above the bubbles rising to the surface. He knew where to go. The impact had jarred his feet and knees, but they still worked, kicking and pushing at the water, sending his body toward the light at the surface. He kicked and kicked until his shoes fell off, his lungs beginning to ache, his eyes burning.