Offworld (25 page)

Terry had only five grenades remaining, so Chris decided how
best to make them work. He tied three of them to one cable, and
the remaining two to the cable on the opposite side. They found
some twine and rope in the back of the pickup, which they threaded
through the pins of each grenade, positioning the grenades just so,
and bunched the threads together into two cords, the closest of which
went to Chris in the minivan and the other to Owen in the pickup
next to them.

Mae was with him and Trisha in the back of the van again. Chris
had his window rolled down, holding to the length of rope with his
good arm hanging out the side. Both vehicles' engines were running
and ready, and both faced the western end of the bridge where the
grenades were.

Chris grabbed the radio. "When it starts to go, I want you to floor
it. Even after you're off the bridge, you keep going until I tell you to
stop. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it," Terry replied distractedly. "What if the explosion takes out the entire tower?"

Please don't let it take out the entire tower... .

"It won't," said Chris. `Just get ready!"

He glanced at Trish for a reassuring vote of confidence, but she
was too busy bracing herself with her arms outstretched against the dashboard. Mae was lying down in the back seat with two seat belts
strapped around her thighs and her chest. Her eyes were shut, but
her face calm.

"On three!" Chris barked into his radio.

He glanced over and saw Terry steel himself. The man's knuckles
were white on the steering wheel.

"One

What if this doesn't work?

11
"Two ...

Then we're dead. We might be dead even if it does work.

"Three . .

Please, let this work.?

He yanked the cord and Owen shouted that he'd pulled as
well.

Chris counted a full three seconds before the five grenades went
off, not simultaneously but close enough.

The bridge lurched downward on its southwestern corner where
the bundle of three grenades had been tethered. The massive cable
holding that corner of the bridge sprang free and flew up over the
tower and out of sight.

They waited as the opposite corner groaned against the weight
it was suddenly being asked to hold. The remaining two grenades
they'd attached to that cable hadn't been quite enough to take the
whole thing out, and Chris couldn't see how much damage had been
caused because of the smoke generated by the blasts. But the bridge
was creaking in protest, and he knew it was only a matter of time.

"Brilliant plan," Terry snorted through the radio. "Maybe we could
use a pocket knife-"

The northwestern corner let out a profound snap, and the bridge
plummeted.

"GO!" Chris stepped on the gas pedal.

Only one side had been rigged to blow, so the eastern end of
the bridge held firm while the western edge plunged down, clown, down. It created a steep ramp. But there was nothing to catch the
western edge except the water, which was far beneath ground level.
Chris already had the minivan just a few meters away from the falling edge of the bridge as it neared the bottom, and he pressed down
even harder on the gas, jumping the last few meters down to the
road below.

He was successful, the minivan sailing briefly through the air
as it dropped ten feet to scratch grooves into the pavement and spit
out sparks. Terry had trailed just a bit and his pickup followed only
milliseconds later, barely making it smoothly across the gap as the
western end of the bridge lowered past ground level and crashed
into the canal.

"Everybody all right?" Chris asked, fingering the radio and pouring
on the speed. Both vehicles raced away from the bridge at dangerous speeds.

Chris looked back through his mirrors at the bridge and the tiny
control room built into the bottom of the tower they'd just passed
beneath, his mind's eye recalling what he'd seen there only minutes
ago.

"Whoo-hoo!" came Terry's reply. "What a rush! I'm going
again!"

"Enough already!" Chris shouted, and everyone was stunned into
silence by his outburst. "This is not a game! We're not on a crosscountry road trip or a spring break vacation! This is real! The stakes
are the fate of the entire human race!"

"Chris," Owen's calm voice resounded in his ear. "Why were we in
such a hurry to get out of there? Why did we blow up that bridge?"

"We blew up that bridge," he explained, "because it was no accident that we were trapped at the top."

Trisha's head snapped around and even Mae unbuckled herself
and sat upright, waiting for Chris to state the inevitable conclusion.

"We're not alone."

Chris knew he was hallucinating. He was in the final throes of death
and his life was flashing before his eyes.

So, this is what suffocation feels like.

It wasn't that bad. He felt no pain, no disorientation.

Because he knew this place that had suddenly materialized in
front of him. He knew it all too well. Many an hour had been spent
here in his youth, and it was a place filled with emotions hed Just as
soon do without right now.

The room was dark, and always there was a feeling of damp moisture hanging in the air: Remnants of mold covered one wall; he should
know, having scraped it clean so many times. Exercise equipment was
spread throughout the room, along with an old mattress on the floor
in the corner, and a Spartan desk with a small lamp on top.

The basement of his father's house. It was like stepping into the
memory of how it looked the last time bed been in it.

"Dad?" he called out, wondering if his father might walk into his delirium and take his usual seat at the desk. But no, he was all alone
here with nothing but his thoughts and recollections.

So many memories in this room. So much had happened here. So
many things he didn't want to think about ever again.

Guess that won't be a problem soon.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the room fadedfrom his eyes,
contracting and growing smaller and brighter, until he was in the
lava cave on Mars again.

But the light returned and remained. The mysterious, floating orb
of white light that had brought him to this very spot.

And remarkably, he wasn't dead yet. Not quite. He was still standing upright, still had his wits.

At least, he assumed he still had his wits, until he saw that the orb
of light had begun moving, floating away from him, down deeper
into the tunnel.

Beckoning him once more to follow.

They drove north for a few hours, and very little was said over
the radio, at Chris' orders. Once they were far enough away from the
bridge to satisfy him, he suggested that they stop and find someplace
to shelter for a while.

It was early afternoon as they sat inside a steak-house restaurant
in Baton Rouge, gathered around a square table in the empty dining
room. There was no power, so it was dark inside. But they could
make out some details of the restaurant, which had been designed
with atmosphere in mind more than function. It was outfitted with
tacky cowboy paraphernalia adorning the walls, covering the place
mats, and even patterned into the carpet.

"So ... okay," said Terry, who was straddling his chair backward,
rubbing his eyes. "I'm not denying that it was fun. But we did it on a
hunch-because you think you saw someone or something moving
around inside that tiny little bridge control room?"

"Yes," Chris replied. "I saw something moving. It was just a split
second, but yes."

"But you're not sure what it was?"

"No, I just saw movement," Chris conceded.

"Uh-huh. And you didn't let me do the more logical thing-climb
clown the ladder and flip the lift switch to `down'-because.... ?
The boogieman might've been waiting for me?"

"I don't like your tone, Terry," said Trisha. Chris thought he heard
her voice waver a little.

"Yeah, well I don't like steak houses," Terry replied. "Crazy
world."

"If there is someone else out there," Chris said, "and they're
responsible for confining us on top of that bridge-and I'm not saying that's not a big `if'-then it changes everything. We're not the
last people left on Earth. Someone's still here, shadowing our movements. What happened on the bridge means that whoever they are,
they're not just tracking us; they're blocking us. Their numbers, their
capabilities-these are things we can't know. So from this point on,
to be safe, we move only under cover of night"

Owen absorbed this without comment. Trisha was equally grim,
taking a moment to absently wipe fatigue out of her eyes. Mae was
off in one corner of the room in her own little universe; no one
was certain if she was even following the conversation. But Terry's
shoulders sank.

"So we just sit around on our thumbs all afternoon and wait until
it's dark out?"

"Feel free to save your thumbs and sit on anything you want,"
replied Chris, his patience wearing thin. `And I don't like staying put
any more than you do. But yeah, we're staying here until nightfall."

Terry pushed back from the table, his eyes darting across the
ceiling. His body was fidgeting, his knees bobbing, and his hands
stirring in agitation. Finally, he stood from the table, bitterly shaking
his head, and stormed off to the bathroom.

Trisha's nervous eyes met Chris', but she didn't hold his gaze.
She rose slowly from the table, bracing herself with both arms and
wincing. "Think I'll look around the kitchen, see if there's anything
still edible."

"I'll bring in some supplies from the vehicles," said Owen.

Once again, Chris was left alone with Mae, though this time he
found there was nothing he wanted to talk about. He was thinking only
about Terry, and though he had no desire to be, he was angry.

He rose from the table and followed Trisha to the kitchen, leaving Mae alone.

`Ain't normal," Mae commented as the five of them stared out
of the front, tinted windows of the restaurant. Trisha didn't feel like
standing up any longer, but remained because everyone else did.