But if it fails with someone on it, the implication hung in the air. If the bridge collapsed, whoever was crossing would go into Stone Creek. In this weather and water that was probably half frozen, they'd have maybe 2 minutes before hypothermia killed them. "What do we do? " Axel asked. Grizzly's jaw clenched.
We cross one at a time. Lightest vehicles first. If it holds, everyone follows. If it doesn't, he didn't finish. The convo came to a stop.
Through the snow, Walter could see the bridge. It was maybe 50 ft long, spanning a creek that had carved a deep gorge through the rock. The stone supports looked old, weathered by decades of Montana winters. And even from a distance, Walter could see the cracks Grizzly's lead driver had mentioned. Lead truck, you're up, Grizzly said into the radio.
Take it slow. If you hear anything crack, anything at all, you floor it and get across. Understood? Copy that. Walter watched the lead truck approached the bridge.
It crept forward, tires crunching on ice. The bridge groaned as the truck's weight settled onto it. The sound made everyone in the suburban tense. The truck kept moving slowly. So slowly, halfway across.
3/4. Almost there. A crack like a gunshot echoed across the gorge. The bridge shuddered. Go, go, go.
Grizzly's voice was a roar. The truck's engine screamed as it accelerated. Its rear tires spun on ice, fighting for traction. The bridge groaned again deeper this time, and Walter saw one of the support stones shift slightly. The truck's front tires hit solid ground on the far side.
Then the rear tires. The vehicle fishtailed but made it pulling to a stop 50 ft past the bridge. Everyone in the suburban released a breath they'd been holding. One down, Grizzly said. Next vehicle.
They went one by one. Each crossing took years off Walter's life. Each groan from the bridge made his heart stop, but one by one the vehicles made it across until only the suburban remained. "Our turn," Axel said. His voice was steady, but Walter could see the fear in his eyes.
Wait. Dorothy's voice was weak, but clear. She'd woken up. What if we walk across less weight on the bridge? In this storm, Doc Matthews shook his head.
You can barely stand, Mrs. Callahan. You'd never make it. Then carry me, but don't risk the vehicle. If that bridge goes down with all of us in it, we all die.
At least this way. If it collapses, you can get away. Grizzly turned to look at her her fully. You're serious? Do I look like I'm joking?
A moment of silence, then Grizzly nodded slowly. She's right, Axel. You drive the Suburban across empty. The rest of us walk. Grizzly, that's insane.
Doc Matthews started. It's smart. Mrs. Callahan's smart. Grizzly was already opening his door.
Axel cross first. If the bridge holds, we follow. If it doesn't, we're not in the vehicle when it goes down. They climbed out into the blizzard. The wind hit Walter like a physical force, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Grizzly scooped Dorothy up like she weighed nothing, cradling her against his chest to protect her from the worst of the weather. Axel got back behind the wheel. Through the snow, Walter could barely see his face, but he saw Axel cross himself before putting the Suburban in gear. The vehicle approached the bridge. Walter's heart was in his throat.
This was it. This was the moment that would either get them to Silver Falls or end everything. The Suburban's front tires touched the bridge. The structure groaned. Axle kept moving steady and smooth.
No sudden movements. The entire bridge was shaking now, vibrating under the vehicle's weight. Halfway across. The groaning was constant now, a deep rumbling that Walter felt in his chest. One of the support stones was definitely shifting, tilting outward at an angle that made Walter's stomach drop.
3/4. Almost there. Almost. The stone gave way with a crack-like thunder. The bridge sagged on one side, dropping 6 in in a heartbeat.
The Suburban tilted two wheels leaving the ground. Walter heard himself scream. Axle. But Axel was already moving. The engine roared.
The rear tires that were still on the ground, the spun smoking, fighting for purchase. The Suburban teetered on the edge of disaster. Two wheels on solid bridge. Two wheels on nothing but air and momentum. For a moment, a single frozen moment, it could have gone either way.
Then the tires caught. The Suburban lunged forward like a living thing. All four wheels slamming back onto the bridge. It shot across the remaining distance and skidded to a stop on solid ground. Steam rising from the hood.
The bridge gave one final groan and sagged another foot, but it held. "Our turn," Grizzly said. He was already moving Dorothy in his arms, heading for the bridge. Walter and Doc Matthews followed. The wind was shrieking now, driving snow into their faces hard enough to sting.
The bridge swayed beneath their feet, creaking ominously with each step. Walter could see through the gaps in the stones to the creek below. Dark water rushing over ice covered rocks. Don't look down. Don't think about falling.
Just keep moving. They were halfway across when Dorothy spoke. Her voice was so quiet Walter almost missed it over the wind. Walter, I'm scared. I know.
Dot. Me, too. What if Thomas doesn't want to see us? What if we came all this way and he slams the door in our faces? Then we deal with it.
But at least we tried. Trying enough. Walter had no answer for that because he didn't know. He'd spent 7 years he wondering the same thing. They reached the far side of the bridge just as another support stone shifted.
Behind them, the entire structure settled another 6 in with a groan that sounded like the earth itself breaking. We're not using that bridge again. And Doc Matthews said, staring back at it. Even if we wanted to, it won't hold another crossing. Don't need to, Grizzly replied.
Silver Falls is ahead. We're not going back. They climbed into the Suburban. Axel's hands were shaking on the steering wheel, but his voice was steady. That was the worst thing I've ever done.
And I've done a lot of bad things. But you did it, Grizzly said. And we're still alive. That's all that matters. Now, let's finish this.
The final strick to Silverfalls was a blur of white. The storm was at full force now and visibility was measured in feet rather than miles, but the convoy pressed on following the GPS because the road markers had long since disappeared beneath the snow. At 2:43 p.m., the lead truck's radio crackled. I see lights, buildings. I think we're here.
Walter's pulse jumped. We made it. Not yet, Grizzly cautioned. We made it to Silver Balls, Shia. But your son, that's a different challenge.
The convoy rolled into town. A community of maybe 3,000 people huddled against the Montana wilderness. The main street was nearly deserted. Most residents smart enough to stay inside during the storm. The few buildings that showed lights looked warm and inviting after the brutal journey.
Grizzly pulled out the letter from Thomas's ex-wife. Sarah's letter with an address written in careful handwriting. 327 Maple Street. That's where the letter came from. "Let's go there," Dorothy said.
She was sitting up now, more alert than she'd been in ours. Fear and hope were in her eyes. The convoy navigated the small town streets until they found Maple. 327 was a small house, white with blue shutters, a covered porch, a pickup truck in the driveway. Lights glowed in the windows.