by Geoff North
The boys couldn’t see the men approaching from their position beneath the tracks. Fortunately, Billy had yelled himself out, and Hugh hoped he hadn’t been heard over the roar of the passing train. Now if he could just keep his mouth shut for a few more minutes, Hugh figured he could handle the upcoming events on his own.
He would wait until the men got out a little further, then he would begin to yell at the top of his lungs. That should do the trick, he hoped. Any homicidal ideas Nelson might have would instantly evaporate if he knew there was someone watching below.
So why bring Billy and Bob out here with me?
Were the three of them supposed to go rushing in to the rescue? They were just kids after all. Did he need witnesses to report how heroic he’d been? He looked back up and saw a single body hurtling down past the maze of iron girders. Thomas Nelson was still standing above, peering over the edge, his hands planted on his knees, watching his handiwork.
No! It wasn’t supposed to happen yet!
Hugh watched in disbelief as Mr. McDonald waved his arms helplessly, watched as his body spun around endlessly, and listened in vain as the man made his fatal hundred foot plummet without a sound. The men hadn’t even made it a third of the way out onto the bridge, but there was more than enough height to kill.
Hugh shut his eyes the moment before the body hit the ground. His stomach lurched at the sound, like a wet bag of flour hitting a pile of dry branches. He kept his eyes closed and heard a whistling sound from above. He wondered absently if another train was coming so soon after the last one. There was another wet flour bag smack, much louder, much closer. Hugh felt a warm spray across his forehead and cheeks.
When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was the large cement foundation. It was coated with a splattering of dark liquid. As if someone had tossed a bucket of red paint against the bottom half. Next to that lay a broken, completely still body, wearing blue jeans coated in blood, a good fifty feet from where poor Mr. McDonald had finally come to rest.
He almost landed on top of me.
He looked back up and saw one boy still clinging at the top of the service ladder. He looked back at the body on the ground and remembered Billy Parton never wore blue jeans.
Mr. McDonald and Bob Richards hadn’t made a sound.
Don’t people scream when they fall?
As Hugh puzzled over this, he failed to notice Thomas Nelson watching him. The man pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and wiped the sweat from his creased brow.
When Hugh finally looked back up, the man was gone.
Chapter 15
Bob wasn’t supposed to die.
Hugh looked at the broken body and back up to the boy clinging two-hundred feet above his head, and then back to the body. Definitely Bob, not Billy.
What about all the girls he’s meant to date in high school? Who’s going to hire me at Little City Food store now?
He couldn’t possibly die now, not at this time, not in this place.
Hugh started to gently push the boy’s body over with one sneaker. He thought how odd it was that people treat the dead so carefully, almost fearfully, as if they might jump back to life any second. Bob was lying face down in the wet sand and gravel, his head somehow folded up into his chest. Hugh wanted to be sure it was still attached.
He backed away suddenly, the shoulder slumped back down. No, there was no point in seeing anymore. There would be enough nightmares to come. Why make it worse?
I just wanted to prevent a tragedy. I never meant to be the cause of another one.
He wiped the cooling droplets of blood away from his face with the sleeves of his shirt, mindful not to touch any with his hands. He took another quick glance up at Billy. No more hot-dogging. The boy clung to the rungs, his face buried into the crook of one arm. He’d be safe there for a few more minutes. Hugh started over for McDonald. There was a chance he may have survived his fall. He’d heard of such things, how people had miraculously survived falls from tremendous heights with little more than a few scratches to show for their trouble. The closer he got the more hopeful he became. The man’s body didn’t appear as broken, as misshapen as poor Bob’s.
Please, please, please make this horrible day have a reason.
It didn’t. Hubert McDonald was as dead as Bob Richards. Hugh staggered over to the edge of the river and retched up spittle and hot air. He swayed back and forth for a few moments, and then sank down to his knees. He splashed some water on his face and washed the remaining blood from his forehead.
Get it together. You still have to help Billy down.
The last thing he needed were three deaths hanging over his head.
A phone call would have been enough. An anonymous ring made a day earlier, warning McDonald not to go out on any Sunday walks would have saved two lives.
Hugh threw his head back and screamed. “I want to go back! Put me back in that goddamned car!” He listened as the word ‘car’ echoed off the distant hills. Where was the voice in the brown? Why send him back if all it caused was more death and suffering? The voice didn’t answer. It never did. He started to cry, he bawled until there was nothing left to feel. He washed his face again in the river, just tears and snot this time, no blood.
“It’s okay kid, it ain’t what you think.”
Hugh rubbed the wet sting from his eyes, tried to focus in on the voice. “Who?”
Thomas Nelson was approaching him, his hands held out in front, so as not to scare him Hugh off. “It was an accident, right? My friend lost his footing and fell.”
He was less than twenty feet away. Hugh remained silent and listened.
“What’re you doing out here, kid?” His voice was quiet and soft, but carried an edge of nervousness to it. He glanced over to Bob’s crushed body and then looked quickly back. “What happened there? That a friend of yours? Did you cause this?”
Hugh shook his head and kept his eyes on the man’s advancing, muddy shoes.
‘Looks to me like a bunch of kids screwing around. You could be in a lot of trouble.”
Ten feet.
“Let’s get back to town and I’ll help you out of this mess. I can be your friend. I can tell everyone what happened out here.” Nelson stopped. His big, black eyes flitted anxiously from one dead body to the other, and finally back to Hugh. Beads of sweat ran down his scalp. “My friend heard those kids under the bridge; he was just leaning over to check it out when he slipped. Jesus, kid, this is more your fault than anyone’s.”
“Quit calling him…your friend.” Hugh’s voice sounded stronger than he felt. Could Nelson see his hands shaking? He rested them on the wet ground.
Nelson took two quick steps forward, he reached down. “Come on, kid. We’ll talk.”
Hugh dug into the sand and threw a double handful of damp earth into the man’s face. Nelson stumbled back, pulling off his glasses and spitting dirt from his mouth. Hugh ran for the cement foundation next to where Bob lay. He considered heading into the bushes, it would be easy to outrun the middle-aged man, but there was Billy to consider. He had to help him out of this mess, or risk losing another life on this disastrous afternoon.
He scrambled up the first dozen rungs of the service ladder without looking down.
“Where do you think you’re going, you little bastard?” Nelson yelled.
Hugh stopped at the thirty foot mark and took a quick peek below. The man was standing on the ground, one shoe disrespectfully planted on Bob’s back. He was squinting up at Hugh, a grin spread across his sweating, muddy face. “I know who your parents are, and by God Almighty, they’ll hear the truth!”
“You’re damned right they will,” Hugh had begun to climb again. “You dirty, old murdering fuck!”
Nelson lunged at the foundation and pulled himself up with a surprising burst of agility.
“Oh, shit.” Hugh reached for the next rung.
“I’ll tell everyone that you and your faggot friends were playing with each ot
her out here.” How could he be so fast, Hugh wondered? Nelson had almost cut the distance between them in half. “That’s what you were doing out here, wasn’t it? Three little homos finding pleasure out in the woods. I’ll slit your faggot throats wide open…bleed you good.”
Hugh had heard enough. “Your glasses still covered with dirt?”
Nelson peered up, surprised at the remark. “Huh?”
The binoculars hit him square in the forehead before smashing down into the cement foundation sixty feet below. Nelson moaned and reached for his bloody scalp. His other hand lost its grip on the rung and he fell back.
“Yes!” Hugh cried triumphantly.
Nelson’s one leg caught behind a lower rung behind his knee and stopped his fall. His upper body continued its arc through the air until the back of his head slammed into the ladder. His arms flailed about uselessly, spinning around comically in circles, searching for iron to grab onto. Any harder and he might start flying, Hugh thought. He finally found a rung and pulled himself back up by two fingers, grunting with effort and whining in pain. He leaned into the ladder and Hugh watched his back shudder as he caught his breath. He watched him rub his bashed forehead, and massage his twisted leg. Must have hurt like hell. Hugh had nothing left to throw at him.
Lucky old prick.
There was only one way to go. Hugh took a deep breath, narrowed his eyes and stared at his hands clinging to the rusted iron rung.
Don’t look down, don’t look up. Look straight ahead and climb.
It was good advice, and he followed it. The last seventy or eighty feet went much quicker than he thought. The fear and adrenaline must have given him twice, three times the normal amount of energy needed to make such an ascent without becoming even slightly winded. Finally his head bumped into the bottom of one of Billy’s sneakered heels. The boy made a weak moan, the first sound Hugh had heard from him since the train.
“You doing okay, Billy?”
“Wh-what do you think?”
There was a long pause; Hugh could hear him breathing heavily, the snot bubbling through his nostrils like it always did. “How did Bob fall?”
“Fuckin’ hard, you saw that, didn’t you?”
“Why Billy? Why did he fall?”
It took another half minute for him to answer. Hugh could hear his teeth chattering. “We saw the guy fall…strangest g-goddamned thing. You know what I mean? Bob pointed as we watched, and then, next thing I know, I’m watching him fall, too. I dunno, his other hand must have slipped…Christ, I don’t know for sure.”
“We have to get out of here.”
“Yeah, sure, no problem…Who’s the guy on the ladder? Is he trying to help us?”
“No, he’s not trying to help,” Hugh answered looking below. Nelson was still sitting there, both legs now tucked around the rung that had saved his life. Hopefully he had a concussion and would drop away at any moment. “He killed that guy, Billy, pushed him off the bridge. Now he’s after us.”
Billy groaned. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”
“We can’t go back down, we’ll have to climb up onto the track and make a run for town.”
“I-I can’t move anymore. I’m fuckin’ done.”
Hugh tapped his friend’s shoe reassuringly. “Come on, don’t talk like that, we can get out of this.” Billy groaned. “Sorry buddy, but seriously, if we don’t try and get out of here, that guy will kill us for sure.”
“Just-just give me a minute…I can’t feel my hands no more.”
“Take all the time you need.” Nelson was on the move again. His ascent was much slower, but he was still climbing. “Uh, maybe you better speed things up.”
“I’m not ready!”
“Move, Billy, move or I’ll throw you off and climb up myself!” He pushed up on the boy’s heel. Billy started up, crying with each shaky step.
“I can’t go any further,” he blubbered. “The ladder’s ended.”
Hugh looked up at the underside of the bridge. At least it blocked out his view of the dizzying clouds moving overhead. Why wasn’t there an access opening? Who the hell had designed this thing? The outer edge of the track’s underside was two feet out from the top rung. They would have to reach out for it and pull themselves up and over. “The ledge, Billy, you’re going to have to reach out for that ledge.”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“You little homos are dead!” It seemed Nelson had fully returned to his senses.
“You hear that, Billy?” Either you go for it, or he’s going to pull both of us off here.”
Hugh heard him make a final squeak as he reached out with one hand. He grabbed the edge and held on for dear life. “That wasn’t so bad. Now grab on with your other hand.”
Billy’s next few words came out rushed and high pitched, like a duck trying to sneeze. “Just a second.” His scrawny body was stretched out a precarious angle. His arms extended out in a flying position, his body doing a half-twist at the hips.
Like an Olympian in mid-dive.
After what seemed like an eternity, he lunged out with his other hand and grabbed the ledge. His feet left the ladder and his legs swayed out into midair. Hugh had a sickening feeling he was about to watch a second friend fall, but Billy pulled himself up. Moments later he was completely out of view.
“Billy! You okay up there?”
“Yeah, not as hard as it looks,” he answered breathlessly. It sounded as if he were standing a world away. It was Hugh’s turn now, and he didn’t feel nearly as confident as he did a minute ago.
Billy’s upside down head appeared along the edge. He held a hand down for Hugh to take. “You going into labor down there?”
It was good to hear he had his sense of humor back. Hugh took a deep breath and scrambled up the last few rungs. He let go of the ladder and caught the ledge in both hands. He felt Billy’s cold grip around his wrist. “One chin-up, Hugh, that’s all it is. One chin-up and swing your leg over the ledge. I won’t let you fall.”
What about Bob? I shouldn’t have let him fall.
The wind whistled through his ears and he heard a hawk screeching in the distance. He looked out into the sky and spotted the bird of prey whirling around gracefully against the clouds. A smaller bird, a swallow or a sparrow of some sort was whipping around it, effortlessly diving in and out, tormenting the hawk as it circled around and around. The effect made Hugh’s head spin.
It’s all my fault.
“Come on! Pull yourself up!” There was fear in Billy’s voice.
The birds continued to swoop, and dive, and circle.
I don’t belong up here. This isn’t my world.
“Don’t make me face that fucker all alone!”
Never should’ve come back.
“Hugh!”
Hugh blinked. He could hear something else, a steady clanking sound. Shoe soles pounding relentlessly on iron. Nelson was less than twenty feet below. Hugh pulled and swung his right leg at the same time. Billy helped him the rest of the way.
They sat on the ledge, side by side, their feet dangling over, and surveyed each other. Billy’s red hair was stuck to his head in a glistening sheen of sweat. “You had me worried for a second, there.”
Hugh punched his shoulder. “What the hell made you climb up here in the first place? I thought you were scared of heights!”
“Guess I found a pair of balls during the night.”
Hugh looked over his shoulder and realized they weren’t on top of the bridge. They were sitting on a three foot ledge of iron, the underside of the main track. Another service ladder extended six feet above their heads to the top. Billy pointed to the bottom end of it. “Look there, you’re sitting on the service hatch. Looks like it was welded shut years ago.”
“To stop idiots like us from climbing up onto the track.”
A hand suddenly appeared on the ledge between them. Nelson was preparing to pull himself up. The two shuffled away in opposite directions, speedily standing to their feet, ke
eping their backs pressed up to the wall. Billy started on the last section of ladder and Hugh danced along the ledge, avoiding the clutching fingers. A second hand appeared, and he knew the murderer’s bald head would be coming soon after.
He had the urge to stomp on the fingers, to send Nelson flying out with the birds. He deserved no better. Hugh reached for the ladder instead; there had been enough death already. Nelson could answer to the police, Hugh, to his own conscience.
He found Billy on top of the track, flattened out on his stomach, kissing one of the steel rails. “Never thought I’d get off that damn ladder in one piece.”
“We won’t get off this bridge alive if we don’t get moving.”
Billy crawled carefully over to the ladder and looked over. Nelson was swinging himself up onto the ledge. Hugh wrapped both arms around the boy’s waist and pulled him to his feet. “Seriously, we have to go.”
“Bob would still be with us if it wasn’t for him.” There was a serious look behind the boy’s thick lenses that worried Hugh.
“I’m not sticking around here…not taking him on if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Billy hesitated; tears welled up in his eyes. Hugh tugged at his arm one final time, and the two set off running. They headed south, along the shortest span of bridge, away from Braedon.
“We’re going the wrong way!” Billy shouted.
“Too late for that,” Hugh said. Nelson was climbing out onto the rail and had already spotted them. “We have to keep going this way.” They reached the end of the bridge and ran into a thicket of bushes at the bottom of a steep incline to the west. The bush turned into heavy forest and a thick carpet of freshly fallen leaves crushed noisily beneath their feet as they ran. Hugh looked back over his shoulder and fell to his knees. Billy helped him back up. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Not a good time for a nap.”
Hugh giggled. “How the hell can we find any of this funny?”