Crash (25 page)

I hang there, my body twisted, my torso stretched along the boards. Several of them fall away, and I watch as they shatter on the rocks below, pieces bouncing up then scattering across the surface of the rushing water, swept away the second they touch down. Panting, I tell myself to look away, look up, stay focused on my goal.

As I raise my head, the slats beneath me shift. A glance back shows Luka closer to me along the bridge and Jackson just starting out. He yells something to me, but I can't hear from this distance, with the wind snatching his words and the roar of the water drowning him out. I just shrug and shake my head.

He yells again and points. Flashes of light flicker on the ridge where we spotted the Drau, closer than they were before. My gut churns. My skin crawls.
Enemy.
The thought whispers through me, forced to the forefront of my mind. Like it was shoved into my brain, just like those horrible images of Dad and Carly that I saw on the last mission and again at the hospital. There's no time for me to ponder the similarities.

I glance back at Jackson and Luka to see Drau surging along the path that brought us to the bridge, glowing and bright and deadly.

“Go, Miki! Get to the other side,” Jackson yells, the wind shifts, carrying his words to me instead of away.

Luka scrambles toward me, Jackson behind him. I start to unravel my arm from the rope. The Drau fire on us, pinpricks of light arcing across the chasm, falling short. Except one spark of light that surfs the wind and lands on the rope handrail ahead of me. One spark of light that catches and flares. It flickers and flames, burning the rope, cutting it in two.

The severed ends fall away.

“Run,” Kendra screams.

I yank my hand free and leap forward, landing flat on my belly, my fingers clawing at the side suspension ropes, the whole bridge lurching and swaying. I scuttle forward as Tyrone jumps out onto the sagging slats, one step, two, until he grabs me and hauls me to my feet. Wrapping his arms around me, he throws us both to the solid ground.

I surge to my feet, weapon cylinder in hand, and spin back to face Jackson and Luka and the Drau on the ledge behind them.

One of the handrails is on fire, flames licking along the rope, sending a shower of spark that ignite the vertical side ropes. Boards break loose to spin away to the rocks below.

Luka clings to the intact handrail, double-fisted.

“Go,” Jackson yells to him. “I'll hold them off.”

With a snarl, Luka yanks his weapon free and fires on the Drau, still clinging to the rope with one hand.

“Go,” Jackson yells again.

Luka hesitates, torn between obeying the order and having Jackson's back.

Endless seconds tick past, and then he finally backs up a step and then another, still shooting as he moves. His effort is wasted; his shots fall short, and the ropes along the sides of the bridge flame and then turn to gray ash one after another, falling like dominoes.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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LEGS SPREAD FOR BALANCE ON THE SWAYING BRIDGE, JACKSON fires a volley of shots at the Drau, most of which fall short. The only good thing is that theirs don't find their mark, either. It's a long way from one end of the bridge to the other.

Kendra hunkers down at the edge of the cliff, weapon at the ready. Frustration skewers me. If Jackson's shots aren't doing any good, what can she possibly hope to accomplish? She's even farther away from the oncoming Drau. Lien runs to a second vantage point, firing at the Drau on the opposite side of the gorge. More wasted effort.

Luka backs up along the bridge toward us, covering Jackson as best he can, which means he's pretty much accomplishing nothing. I want to dive in and save them
both. I can't. All I can do is watch, helpless.

The ropes dip and creak. Jackson winds his calf and ankle into one of the side ropes for stability, the way I did earlier with my wrist. Two more vertical support ropes snap away as Luka passes them, his weight the final nail in their coffin. The bridge tips far to one side. Luka stumbles, then rights himself, spinning toward me.

“Come on,” I yell, panic punching through me. “Run! Just run. You can do it. You can make it.” I yell at them again, “Run!” as I hold my weapon up double-fisted and fire on the Drau.

Another rope frays, this one at the bottom of the bridge, a main support rope. Icy terror races through my veins as the footrope snaps, the edges recoiling, the whole bridge listing to the side. With a shout, Luka scrabbles for balance. Jackson lurches and almost falls.

Slats tumble into the gorge, tearing free on either side of the severed section.

With a cry I start for the bridge only to haul up short. I can't risk my weight on there. It could send all of us tumbling.

Helpless, terrified, all I can do is watch as Jackson and Luka remain trapped on the failing bridge, Drau fire raining down, sparking on their clothes and the remaining ropes. I fire, again and again. But I hit nothing, the black ooze disgorging from my weapon spinning, useless, to the frothing water below.

Luka lurches three steps closer as another side rope
snaps and the bridge bucks and drops another foot. His head comes up and he stares straight at me as the wood beneath his feet works free and fails, one slat at a time. The whites of his eyes are visible all around his irises, terror enveloping him.

Luka lurches to the side, stumbles, catches himself.

With a snarl, Tyrone takes a step forward, then freezes, helpless to do more than watch the scene unfold.

The rotting boards drop off, one at a time, until there's nothing but air beneath Luka's feet.

My heart stops. My breath stops. The whole world stops as the bridge falls away.

With a cry, he falls, arms windmilling, his weapon lost.

I scream and hold out my arms, throwing myself toward the bridge. But Luka's far beyond my reach.

Jackson shoves his weapon in its holster and dives forward like he's bungee jumping, his leg wrapped in the rope, hands reaching as he yells Luka's name. They both race toward the rocks, freefall.

Jackson catches Luka by the wrist.

The rope hits its limit and snaps them both to a stop, Luka's weight jerking Jackson's shoulder, Jackson's fingers digging tight around Luka's wrist and Luka's locked around his. They hang, just past the midway point, over the gorge and the rocks below, their lives dependent on the fraying, rotting rope that coils around Jackson's ankle and calf.

“Don't let me fall,” Luka cries, his free arm flailing as he reaches for Jackson. “Don't let me fall.”

Jackson answers him, but I can't hear what he says.

The two halves of the bridge are connected by only the single remaining footrope and a few vertical supports that suspend the opposite side of the floor from the handrail. Broken slats jut in all directions like brownish gray teeth.

The wind sends Jackson and Luka twisting. Terror gnaws at me.

I don't know how long the rope around Jackson's foot will hold. I don't know how long Jackson and Luka can hang on to each other. Jackson must be thinking along the same lines because with one hand stretched out, holding Luka, he contorts until he can get his other wrist wrapped in one of the vertical support ropes, his hand closing tight around it, reinforcing the connection.

The Drau come to the very edge of the far side of the gorge and fire. The spray of light doesn't come close to reaching Jackson and Luka, but a shift in the wind could change that, could carry a spark to them and set the last of the ropes ablaze. They can't hang there forever. Either the Drau will get them, or gravity will.

“Swing up, Luka,” Tyrone yells from beside me. I catch his meaning and gesture at the one remaining footrope that spans the gorge.

“Come on!” Lien screams. “You can do it!”

Luka nods and starts climbing Jackson's arm like a
ladder, reaching for the rope. They're in this crazy-awkward position and I don't know how Jackson's managing to hang on. Even from this distance, I can see the rope growing red with blood where it's chafed his hand raw.

The wind picks up, twisting them like a weather vane and with a cry, Luka slides back, saved from falling only by Jackson's steely grip.

This isn't going to work. We need another option, fast.

Panting, heart slamming against my ribs, I squat by the edge of the cliff and start hauling up the remains of the severed footrope.

“Help me,” I yell.

Together, Tyrone and I get the rope gathered.

“We need to get the boards off.” I stand and slam my foot down on a board, snapping it off. Tyrone does the same and we work as quickly as we can. With her sprained ankle, Kendra can't be much help, but Lien comes to stand next to Tyrone and smashes her foot down on a board.

It feels like eternity before the rope is stripped. One end is still anchored to the stone pylon and Tyrone winds the free end into a coil.

“I'm going to throw this to you,” he yells to Jackson.

Jackson nods and Tyrone throws the rope.

It misses Jackson by at least a dozen feet, the end snaking into the gorge.

A lone Drau ventures onto the bridge. Jackson's whole body jerks as Drau fire hits him full on the back. Kendra
shoots from her vantage point at the edge of the cliff, but she has no hope of hitting it. Luka tips his head back and looks at Jackson, then lets go with one hand, his whole weight suspended on where he and Jackson clasp wrists. He grabs Jackson's weapon from its holster and fires at the Drau.

Misses.

Fires again.

The Drau is swallowed by the black surge.

Deterred for the moment, none of its teammates venture out. They wait on the ledge, probably coming up with a new plan.

“I'll swing Luka up,” Jackson yells.

I don't get what he means until he shifts his body back and forth a few inches, the arc growing bigger and bigger until the two of them move like a pendulum, toward us then away again. Jackson says something to Luka. I can't hear it, but from the way they both look in our direction, I think he's telling him he'll need to let go of Jackson at the last second and grab for the rope when we throw it.

Tyrone frantically re-coils the rope.

“On three,” Jackson yells.

Luka looks over at where Tyrone and I stand side by side. His face is twisted with fear.

The Drau surge forward again, two of them stepping onto the swaying bridge in tandem, targeting Jackson and Luka. Jackson takes the worst of it, his body jerking and
contorting like a marionette as they shoot him again and again. Luka fires back. They retreat. For now.

Luka shoves the weapon into his holster, then closes his fingers around Jackson's wrist, doubling his grip.

“One,” Jackson yells as he and Luka swing away from us. “Two.” They start back toward us. “Three,” he yells when they're at the closest point.

Tyrone throws the rope. Luka throws himself forward, making a motion like he's going to clap.

The free end of the rope starts to drop.

I think he won't make it. I think he'll miss.

Horror congeals, glutinous and thick.

Luka's hands slam together and the rope's between them, and then he drops, his weight like a wrecking ball swinging toward the sheer cliff face.

More Drau venture out onto the bridge. They fire and keep firing, light falling like hail, not quite reaching Luka or our side of the gorge.

I glance at them, my eyes off Luka for only a second.

When I look back, the rope is on fire, flames licking up and down the length.

“Luka,” I scream as the rope snaps.

“Luka,” Jackson yells, swinging toward him, hand outstretched.

Still clinging to the severed edge of the rope, Luka falls back, eyes locked on mine.

The world freezes. The moment freezes.

Luka pulls out the weapon and fires on the Drau,
getting the two in the lead as he plummets down, down, down, his final action selfless.

I leap for the edge, falling on all fours, loose earth and stones breaking away beneath my hands.

It takes Luka forever to fall, his cry of terror echoing off the sides of the gorge, carrying up to the sky. The sound digs talons into my heart and rakes bloody runnels. I fall to my knees as he crashes to the rocks, arms and legs splayed.

He lies there, unmoving, face to the sky, eyes wide and staring. Blood stains the rocks beneath his head, running in rivulets into the foaming water, turning the water pink before the current washes it away.

“Luka!” I scream, crawling closer to the edge of the cliff, searching for a way down. “Luka!”

The rock beneath his head is crimson. The water swirling at his limbs, foaming white. He slides forward, his feet, his legs, his hips. Slowly, the water takes him, sucking his body into the churning spray.

And then he's gone. Gone.

Gone.

Shaking, sobbing, I lift my eyes and yell, “Jackson.” I scuttle to the edge of the cliff, desperate, searching. There's a way. There has to be a way. To get to Jackson. To get to Luka. To save them.