by Peg Herring
What lay on the opposite side of the bridge-way? It was hard to remember. She thought there were some historic buildings, a park, and then the marina. At this time of night, or rather, morning, there would be few, maybe no, people around. Getting help would not be easy.
Once past the blockade, Leland and Cher were undoubtedly capable of stealing a boat and crossing Lake Huron to Canada where they could keep Brodie prisoner. Alone with those two was not where she wanted to be.
Leland began rooting through a storage bin, grunting and clanging metal objects together. “Here we go!” he said triumphantly, pulling out the corkscrew anchor. “A perfect hole-maker.”
Setting the anchor aside, Leland prepared the boat for disaster. Starting the outboard motor, he turned the boat so that it headed back into the center of Lake Michigan. Then he fastened the tiller in place so the boat would continue in that direction for as long as it stayed afloat.
When Cher came on deck with a duffle bag, he ordered, “You and Brodie get into the water. I’ll finish this.”
Cher turned, blocking Leland’s view with her body as she showed Brodie the knife she still carried. “Don’t try anything.”
Brodie’s insides threatened to spill onto the deck if she opened her mouth. She went to the ladder and climbed down, letting her body into the chilly, choppy waters of the straits. Cher was right behind her, and Brodie felt a hand in her hair as they waited for Leland.
They saw only his head and shoulders as he moved about, but Brodie could fill in what was missing. He checked the tiller and the motor once more and then picked up the corkscrew anchor and looked around, trying to decide where to begin. After some thought he muttered, “The cabin floor, I think.” He disappeared from view, and they heard several sharp blows and the splintering of wood. Coming back up on deck, he jammed the anchor into the side of the boat nearest them, just below the waterline. It took several attempts to break through, but a satisfied grunt from Leland signaled a second success.
He moved to the transom and put the engine into gear. The boat, already filling with water, moved sluggishly forward. Brodie thought, It’s dying, bleeding in instead of out, but dying nonetheless.
Leland stepped onto the tow-rail, balanced easily for a moment, and dived, pushing off from the foundering boat with strong legs. Making a watery chuggle, the boat went on alone, its bow cutting the water at a very low angle. Leland looked back once as he swam toward them. “There!” he said as he reached the two women. “Let’s see if we can find something better.”
They waded to dry land and stood, listening. The distressed sounds from the boat went on briefly. Then the motor coughed, coughed again, and died. Brodie felt a movement beside her and turned to see Leland, hand raised in a salute. “She was a good old girl.” Cher snorted derisively in response.
Before them was a stretch of beach, some scrubby grass, and then a wall of very old upright posts. The fort. Got to act soon, Brodie thought. If Leland had his way, she would soon be permanently missing from the United States. If Cher had her way, it could be much, much worse.
LISTENING TO THE RADIO TRAFFIC, Bud tried to piece together what was happening ahead of them. Fog obscured the view, not unusual for the straits, where fronts often collided and temperatures differed sharply. Being unable to see more than a few feet ahead slowed their progress, which was almost more than he could stand this close to their goal.
There was a lot of chatter, and he could at times pick out Jim Ecker’s voice, giving commands. “Okay, Beach Girl. Keep an eye out,” and later, “I hear you, Charlevoix Beauty, nothing under the north tower.” He felt a rush of gratitude for the boaters helping him look for Brodie.
As they got closer, lights penetrated the soup of fog, more lights than he expected. Some of them were random, not neatly spaced like the lights on the bridge. As he peered ahead, Bud realized what those extra lights were and what the radio traffic meant. His friends were doing more than patrolling. They had formed a chain across the narrowest spot, on the far side of the bridge. Even in fog, Leland would not be able to slip through with dozens of brightly-lit boats in his path. Calling to Scarlet, Bud made for the center of the bridge, where he guessed Jim was overseeing the impromptu blockade.
“What is it?” Scarlet asked, peering ahead.
“The end of Leland’s run, I hope.”
The line of boats was a festive sight despite its serious purpose. Boats large and small bobbed quietly in the choppy water. As the Starcraft neared the line and Bud idled the engine down, sounds of music and conversation wafted across the water. Bud turned and paralleled the line, looking for a familiar shape. The first two boats he passed were unknown to him, but then he sighted The Gull, a trim little sloop belonging to his friend Ecker.
“Ahoy, Gull!” he called, and someone rose from a chair on deck.
“Dunbar, is that you?”
“It’s me, Jimmy. Any sign of the boat I described to you?”
“Not yet, but come aboard and we’ll wait for Leland together. I want to see you kick his ass.”
LELAND LED BRODIE and Cher along the shoreline, past the buildings of the fort. The grounds were vaguely familiar. Gramps had brought her there to see the displays and watch the re-enactments of daily life in the olden days. Now it was empty and silent, a faintly spooky place where ghosts might walk. Brodie did not want to think about ghosts. Her companions were scary enough without worrying about what evil the spirits of Indians, trappers, soldiers, and the rest of the dead might intend for her.
Soon the bridge loomed ahead. The fog hovered above them, cloaking the heads of the street lamps. A cyclone fence separated the grounds of the fort from the bridge area. There was a gateway, a porcupine-like turnstile that moved in only one direction, allowing exit but no entry. She thought Leland would head there, but he did not, and she soon saw why. The fence ended at the lake edge. Leland stepped around it, leading the way under the bridge.
Ahead of them was a short stretch between the water and a windowed wall. This was the Visitor’s Center, nestled under the bridge to allow tourists to see the underside of the impressive structure. They passed unseen, since there was no one inside at four a.m. Over their heads was I-75, the freeway that connected Michigan’s Lower and Upper Peninsulas. Occasional rumbles signaled traffic on four lanes of echoing steel and concrete.
“Wait here a minute.” Leland’s voice echoed against the concrete above them. Cher stopped, pulling Brodie to a halt beside her and holding her arm tightly as he moved ahead. He peered around the edge of the building, keeping well in the shadows.
In a few seconds he was back. “There’s a couple of teenagers on the grass. I think they’re sleeping, but even if they aren’t, we’ll just be a family passing by.”
“At this hour?” Cher scoffed. “What if she hollers or something?”
“She won’t, will you, Brod? She understands that it’s important for us to get away.”
Brodie was indeed desperate to get away, but not from here. How could she do it? She wasn’t strong enough to fight them both. Cher wanted to drown her. Leland wanted to get her to Canada, convinced that he’d be rich if he had her with him—
An idea struck. If Leland knew the truth, maybe he’d give up, leave her here, and make his escape. “You aren’t my dad.”
It took him a second to process what she’d said. “What?”
“You’re not my dad. Gramps told me.” Although reluctant to discuss her background, Gramps had grudgingly given specific information when Brodie claimed she needed to make informed decisions.
“He lied.” Leland’s voice sounded funny.
Stirrings of unease arose, but Brodie went on, hoping for the best. “When I asked if I would always be short, he said the chances were good, because both my parents were.” She looked up at Leland, whose shoulders were several inches higher than the top of her head. Her voice began to wobble, but the words came out in a rush. “If you leave me here, I’ll tell them I ran away. You can go back to
Canada. I’ll keep quiet.” She repeated to be sure he got it. “My dad was only five eight. That isn’t you.”
MILDRED COULD NOT BELIEVE Brodie said what she did to Leland. She felt his frustration grow as he absorbed the girl’s words, moving toward a great and towering anger. The man had built himself a dream. He had committed terrible crimes to achieve it. He had faced opposition from his girlfriend. He had marooned himself in a place where he might be arrested and imprisoned. And Brodie had just informed him that it was all for nothing.
“Calm!” Mildred ordered. “Stay calm.”
“Arrrgh!” Leland responded, slapping himself on the forehead. “Arrgh!” He sounded like a madman, and she got the feeling that her encouragement was not going to work in this instance. Concerned, Mildred lapsed into silence. Maybe Seamus was right about some things
Chapter Twenty
“I TOLD YOU.” There was a sneer in Cher’s voice. Brodie did not look at her. She was watching Leland, still hoping he would give up and let her go. Instead he looked to be struggling to maintain control. It looked to her like he was barely hanging on.
Cher’s next words made Brodie’s stomach sink. “I told you, we gotta get rid of her.”
“No. She’s confused. She—”
“You had the guts to get rid of the old man. What is your problem with the kid?”
“Shut up!” The ferocity of his reaction made Brodie jump. Cher, too, reacted, loosening her grip on Brodie’s arm. It was only for a second, but instinct took over. Leland was in front of her, the lake behind. Brodie pulled herself free of Cher’s hand and took off, skirting the fence and heading back onto the grounds of the fort.
Her first idea was to escape by the turnstile gate, maybe jam it with something so they could not follow her through. That would put her in the Visitor’s Center parking lot. Beyond it was Mackinaw City, where there were people, businesses, residences.
Help.
Behind her, however, she heard Leland call to Cher, “Follow her. I’ll go around.” Thoughts of Cher with her long, jagged-edged bread knife made Brodie’s heart pound. She could almost feel the blade entering her back. But Leland was coming around the other side of the building. If she came out the turnstile, he would be there, waiting. Where else could she go? Into the lake? She hesitated, aware of Cher’s grunts as she maneuvered around the fence and started up the rise. What should she do? Hide among the buildings of the fort? Huddle there until someone came to work at nine o’clock, hours from now?
There was only one answer. She had to go up. The turnstile, much like a ladder, could be climbed, and from the top she could pull herself onto the roof of the Visitor’s Center. If she was quick, she could disappear into the thick blanket of fog that hovered above.
It almost worked. By the time Cher puffed her way up the incline, Brodie was above her line of sight. Cher stood peering toward the buildings of the fort, unsure which direction to take.
Leland, however, came from the opposite side, along the front of the building. The tiniest squeak of the turnstile as Brodie’s weight left it caused him to look up. “There!” he called softly.
Cher looked up but did not seem able to see anything. “Get back here!” she called. Brodie backed into the shadows, looking around. She was on the flat roof of the building, a sheer drop at her back and her pursuers watching for any movement. Where could she go now?
It took only a few seconds for Leland to set one foot on the turnstile. Brodie could see only parts of him through the moving mist, but she watched helplessly. She was trapped with nowhere to go, and now he could kill her simply by throwing her off the roof. She backed away until she was stopped by an elevated section that blocked further retreat. It was a metal box, some kind of housing. Seeing no other option, she climbed up onto it. Maybe the fog would hide her and Leland would think she’d jumped off the other side. It wasn’t the greatest plan, but there was nowhere else to go.
Unless she continued to go up. As she crouched on top of the box, holding very still so it would not make a “thunk” of flexing metal, she could see the underside of the bridge overhead. Turning carefully, she looked at what it offered. Within reach, a catwalk for maintenance workers’ use ran north, across the bridge. She couldn’t see how far it went since it was shrouded in fog, but there she might elude Leland, maybe even make her way to the opposite side. The toll booths at the St. Ignace end were manned all the time. Help was there.
It would not be easy. The metal was wet and visibility was bad. Would she slip and fall getting onto the catwalk? If she did, would she hit the ground or the roof or land in Leland’s waiting arms? If she did make it, would she end up trapped under the bridge with nowhere to go but down, into the water? Brodie thought of the days before, when she’d hung off the fence at the viewing platform, tempting death. Knowing now that she did not want her life to end it was hard to decide how best to stay alive. Choosing to live was harder than simply waiting to die.
She heard a grunt below her. Leland had stepped onto the roof of the building. He would skirt the box first, but sooner or later, he would think of looking up. The climb onto the catwalk was all she had.
It was not as difficult as she’d thought. Once on the walkway, she hurried along its narrow space, forcing herself not to turn to see if Leland was behind her. It was slippery, and she had to move more slowly than she wanted to, both for safety and stealth. Fog obscured the view before and to the sides, but she could see the waters below. Forty feet, maybe. Not a fall a person was likely to survive. Still, with handholds and a firm pathway beneath her, she was not afraid. Height was not the problem. Leland was.
She had begun to hope that things had turned in her favor when the catwalk ended. She almost cried aloud in frustration. Now what?
Once she stopped, she heard metallic clangor behind her. Leland was coming. Her hopes that he would give up, return to Canada, and pretend he’d never left were futile. Apparently, he now accepted Cher’s argument that his only hope of staying out of prison was for Brodie to die. And since she’d told him the truth, he had no reason to want her around.
No time to think about that. She had to keep going, had to do what she could to remain alive. Before her a ladder stretched upward. To what? Did it lead to another catwalk? To the bridge? No way to know. She could not even see the top. Brodie was alone. No one knew she was out here. No one was coming to save her. Whatever she did she must do by herself. She set her feet on the rungs of the ladder.
When she got close to the top, Brodie saw no second catwalk. Instead there was a hatch that must open onto the bridge-way. Would it be fastened shut? Was she strong enough to open it? Having no choice, she continued upward. Reaching the hatch, she put her shoulder against it and pushed. It did not move. She pushed again, desperately, and it moved a little. It wasn’t locked, but it was heavy. Pulling her feet up another rung, she put her whole back against the thing and pushed again, using her legs and gritting her teeth with the effort. The hatch squealed, shifted, and then opened with a metallic clang. She was on the Mackinac Bridge.
“SHE CLIMBED UP ONTO THE SUPPORTS. I can hear her, but I can’t see where she is,” Leland told Cher.
“You’ve got to do like I said,” Cher replied. “We got no choice now.”
“If she gets up there, someone will stop and help her.” He was torn between anger and despair.
Mildred whispered, “Canada!” hoping to push him toward giving up. Instead her urging seemed to drive him further into anger.
“I would have been good to her.”
Looking around to be certain no one was near, Cher urged softly, “Listen to me. You came home for your uncle’s funeral but we got here too late. The kid stowed away in your boat. When we found her tonight, you told her she had to go home. She don’t want to. She runs away and climbs onto the bridge. You go after her, but she falls.” Cher waved a hand at the fog. “It shouldn’t be hard to make that happen in this mess. Nobody can see ten feet in front of them.”
Leland put both hands on the back of his head and frowned. “She’s just a kid.”
“A kid who’s gonna tell the police you kidnapped her. You know what the penalty for that is.”
Cher let him think on that for a second, and Mildred tried again: “Canada!”
Leland scrubbed his face distractedly. “My head feels like it’s full of bees!”
Cher looked up at him, her expression worried. “Calm down. All they got is the kid’s word against ours. If she ain’t around to tell her side, they gotta accept yours.” Sensing Leland’s reluctant agreement, she added, “Now go! She’s got a head start on you.”
With a sigh, he turned away and climbed onto the metal housing where he grasped the rail of the catwalk and began to make his way along it. His dream of wealth, his plan of escape, even his apparent relish at the idea of having a daughter, all those things were gone, and Mildred heard his thoughts with increasing distress. Cher’s right. She was right all along.
Mildred did everything she could think of to disturb her host’s thoughts and slow his progress, from expanding her presence inside his head to shouting for Seamus to singing at the top of her voice. Despite her efforts, Leland continued doggedly onward. He had made up his mind, and when she finally gave up and lapsed into silence, she heard: Brodie isn’t what I needed after all. It’s not my fault she has to die.
BRODIE CLIMBED ONTO THE BRIDGE DECK, her foot slipping a little on the final rung of the ladder. She sat for a second on the edge, breathing heavily, but she could not afford to delay. Rising, she looked around her. She was at the side of the bridge, on a railed pathway meant to protect workers from traffic as they performed bridge maintenance. Far below her, choppy little waves slapped the bridge towers noisily, waiting, patient as Time itself. What difference would it make if one half-grown girl was thrown to her death tonight? The world would go on.