Went back for another. Around them, the devil's backbone MC was moving with coordinated intensity. Two bikers would lift a medium-sized boulder together, grunting with effort, shuffling their feet carefully on the icy ground. Tiny was using his massive frame to roll rocks that no one else could budge. Cheryl was directing traffic, making sure no one was working directly beneath unstable sections.
Grizzly had attached heavy chains to the largest boulders. The Suburban and one of the trucks were being used as anchors, their engines roaring as they strained against tons of stone. The chains went taut metal, groaning under stress. Slowly impossibly, the rocks began to move. Keep tension.
Don't let it slip. Grizzly's voice cut through the noise. If that chain snaps, it'll cut someone in half. The warning sent ice through Walter's veins, but no one stopped working. They couldn't afford to stop.
15 minutes passed. The pile barely looked smaller. Walter's hands were raw despite his gloves, his back on fire, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Dorothy had sat down on a smaller rock, still moving stones from her seated position, her face gray with exhaustion. Water break.
Doc Matthews appeared with bottles, forcing them into people's hands. You're all going to collapse if you don't hydrate. No one wanted to stop, but Grizzly nodded. 2 minutes, drink, catch your breath, then back to work. Walter gulped water.
His throat burning from the cold air. Beside him, one of the younger bikers, couldn't have been more than 25, was massaging his shoulder. "You okay? " Walter asked. Tweaked something. "It's fine," the kid's face said otherwise.
"Take it easy. You're no good to anyone injured. " The kid looked at him with something like respect. "You fought in Korea long time ago. My great uncle was at Inshan. He used to tell stories. " The kid paused.
He said the worst part wasn't the fighting. It was knowing people were depending on you and being scared you'd let them down. Walter understood exactly what the kid meant. "You're not letting anyone down. Look at what you're doing here.
We're just moving rocks. " "You're moving mountains," Dorothy said softly. She'd appeared beside them, leaning heavily on Walder. "For two strangers. That's not just moving rocks. " The 2 minutes ended. Everyone went back to work with renewed determination.
At the 30-inute mark, they'd cleared maybe a third of the roadway, not enough for the vehicles to pass, and the wind was picking up Harbinger of the storm Reaper had warned about. Grizzly checked his watch, his face grim. We've got 40 minutes before that weather hits. If we're not through by then and we're trapped here. Then we work faster, Axel said, grabbing another chain.
They worked faster. The pace was brutal. People were slipping on ice. Rocks were falling. Fingers were getting smashed.
One of the bikers, a woman with braided hair, dropped a boulder on her foot and went down hard. Doc Matthews, rushed over, but she waved him off. Just bruised. Keep working. The woman limped back to the pile and kept moving rocks.
Walter was beyond exhaustion now. His vision was swimming. His hands wouldn't close properly, but he kept moving because everyone else kept moving and because Dorothy was still there, still lifting stones that weighed more than she should be able to lift in her condition. Almost there. Grizzly shout cut through the fatigue.
We're almost through. Walter looked up. The path was forming. Still narrow, still treacherous, but it was there. The vehicles might be able to squeeze through if they were careful.
Then the rock shifted. One of the massive boulders near the top of the pile, destabilized by the removal of supporting stones below it, began to slide. It moved slowly at first, grinding against other rocks, sending out a deep groan that Walter felt in his bones, and he clear out. Grizzly's voice was a roar. Everybody back.
The boulder picked up speed. It rolled down the pile like a massive bowling ball crushing smaller rocks, sending up sprays of gravel. And directly in its path, focused on moving a stone and not seeing the danger, was Dorothy. Walter's heart stopped. D O.
She looked up, saw the boulder, froze. Walter ran. His body protested every step, but he ran harder than he'd run in 50 years. He hit Dorothy with his shoulder, driving her sideways, both of them tumbling into the snow. The boulder roared past, missing them by inches, and slammed into the guardrail with a sound like a cannon shot.
The guardrail crumpled. The boulder punched through and kept going, tumbling down the mountainside, taking chunks of the road with it. Silence fell over the highway. Everyone was frozen, staring at the fresh crater in the asphalt where the boulder had been. Walter was on top of Dorothy, both of them gasping for air.
Are you hurt? Dot. Are you hurt? I'm okay. I'm okay.
Her hands were shaking as she clutched his jacket. You saved me. Ways, Walter whispered. Always. Grizzly's face appeared above them.
For once, his stone expression had cracked. That was too close. But we're fine. Dorothy let Walter help her to her feet. And we're not stopping.
Not when we're this close. Mrs. Callahan. Not stopping. Dorothy repeated.
Her voice was still wrapped in velvet. My grandson is waiting. Let's finish this. Grizzly stared at her for a long moment. Then a smile crossed his face.
The first real smile Walter had seen from him. You heard the lady. Back to work. They finished clearing the road at 1:17 p.m. The path was barely wide enough for the vehicles with inches to spare on either side, but it was enough.
Grizzly sent the lead truck through first, watching with hawk eyes as it navigated the gap. The truck scraped against the boulder, metal shrieking, but made it through. One by one, the vehicles followed. The Suburban was last. Axel took it slow, adjusting constantly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Rocks scraped both sides. The passenger mirror shattered against a boulder. But they made it through. As soon as the last vehicle cleared the rock slide, the sky opened up. Snow began falling in thick sheets, visibility dropping to almost nothing within minutes.
Here comes the storm, Axel muttered. Right on schedule. Grizzly was on the radio immediately. Convoy tighten up. Nobody gets more than 50 ft from the vehicle ahead.
We lose sight of each other in this. We're done. The convoy pressed forward through the blizzard. The highway was disappearing beneath fresh snow, making it nearly impossible to tell where the road ended and the drop offs began. Axel was driving by instinct, more than sight following the faint tail lights of the truck ahead.
Walter held Dorothy close. She'd fallen asleep again, or maybe passed out. He couldn't tell which. Her breathing was shallow, her skin cold despite the heater. Doc Matthews had checked her vitals twice in the last 10 minutes, his face growing more concerned each time.
How much further? Walter asked. 20 mi to Silver Falls, Grizzly said. If the roads hold, if we don't slide off into a ravine, if a hundred other things don't go wrong. What are our odds?
Grizzly looked at him in the rearview mirror. You really want to know? Walter thought about it. No, I really don't. The storm intensified.
The Suburban's wipers were working overtime, barely keeping the windshield clear. The wind was strong enough to rock the vehicle and several times Axel had to fight to keep them on the road. At mile marker 12, the radio crackled. Lead truck here. We've got a situation.
There's a bridge ahead. Stone Creek Bridge. Looks unstable. Grizzly swore. How unstable.
The approach is iced over and I can see cracks in the concrete. This thing wasn't built for this kind of weather. I don't know if it'll hold. Is there another route? Not without backtracking.
30 miles. And in this storm, that's suicide. Grizzly was silent for a moment. Can we cross it? One vehicle at a time, maybe.