by Meg Gardiner
“We only have a couple of minutes,” she said. “Whatever you have left in the tank, we’re going to spend it.”
They crept uphill again. Through the trees Jo glimpsed Gabe and Lark. They were at the base of the south power pylon. The pylon was still considerably above Jo and Autumn, a few minutes’ hike away. Gabe was preparing to cross the bridge.
The power-pylon shortcut was a scanty catwalk almost a hundred yards long. It crossed high above the ravine. Gabe climbed the rickety stairs to the bridge and hoisted himself around a locked chain-link gate designed to keep unauthorized people out. He had a couple of ropes, Jo saw. He began tying them to the bridge. He didn’t think Lark could get across safely, and he didn’t want to risk losing his balance while carrying Noah. It was sound procedure but was costing him time.
Jo and Autumn fought their way farther uphill, breathing hard, cold and frightened. The trees closed in and blocked their view. The scent of pine and clean air seemed, all at once, cloying. Jo kept going until the trees thinned and she got another clear view of the bridge.
Lark had climbed around the chain-link gate and was on the catwalk. Gabe was preparing to follow. He had rigged a piggyback sling from a piece of the tarp they’d found in the mine. Noah was strapped to Gabe’s back, holding on with what nominal strength he had. Gabe was going to climb around the gate, carrying him. Jo’s head went incurably dizzy. If Gabe lost his grip, the drop from the bridge into the ravine would kill them both.
Then she saw that he wasn’t free-soloing. He had roped up: one end tied to his belt, the other secured to the railing of the catwalk. Holding tight, his face grim, muscles straining, he climbed around the gate.
Noah looked like a rag doll. But once they’d swung around the gate and set foot on the bridge, the group got going. Lark led the way, gripping the rails like death. Gabe untied the rope and followed slowly, his legs working hard under the strain.
Jo and Autumn continued to climb. They ducked through the trees and once more lost sight of the bridge. Then Jo rounded a boulder, got a clear view, and felt a moment of jubilation. The threesome on the bridge was halfway to the gate at the far end.
And, fifty meters above Jo on the hillside, Dane Haugen rode the horse out of the trees.
He kicked its sides and urged it up the slope to the power pylon. He dismounted and climbed the steps to the bridge. He stopped at the chain-link gate. He was smiling. He had a gun, and it was smiling too in the morning sun.
The gun was aimed at Gabe’s back. Haugen cocked the hammer, sighted down the barrel through the gate, and fired.
58
The shot from Haugen’s revolver boomed in the mountain air.
On the bridge, Gabe reflexively ducked. Lark dropped to her knees.
Haugen continued to aim his revolver through the gate. “Stop right there.”
From their vantage point in the trees fifty yards back, Jo and Autumn held painfully still. Jo’s eyes were stinging. A wail, inhuman and demanding, began in her head. Do something.
Gabe urged Lark forward. Jo barely heard him say, “Keep going.”
Lark regained her footing and they struggled onward, toward the far gate at the north end of the bridge. Noah, clinging to Gabe’s back, turned and looked at Haugen. His eyes were ghostly. He seemed almost gone, nearly on the other side already, as though he were only looking back to see what was behind him.
Everything.
Haugen held his aim through the gate and fired again.
The shot ricocheted off the railing of the bridge. Lark cried out but kept pacing along the rickety metal surface. Gabe was right behind her. Haugen fired a third time.
“Stop,” he shouted.
They ignored him. Gabe knew he had to get to the far side of the ravine. They had no options.
Haugen shoved the gun in his back pocket, clawed his fingers into the chain link of the gate, climbed on the rail, and swung around. He dropped onto the catwalk and stalked toward the trio.
Do something. Do it now.
“I have an idea,” Jo said. “Quick.”
She pulled Autumn behind the boulder and took off her jacket. “You too.”
Thirty seconds later she and Autumn crept back around the boulder. Lark and Gabe were closing the distance to the north gate, but Haugen was gaining on them.
“Stop, right there,” he shouted. “This time I can’t miss.”
He was close. He couldn’t miss. Gabe and Lark stopped.
Haugen inched forward, his gun arm extended, sighting on Noah and from him straight through to Gabe. His revolver was huge, blue steel, shining in the morning sun.
He kept back, taking care to stay out of Gabe’s reach on the swaying catwalk. He looked around, scanned the mountainside, and called out, “Turn Autumn over, right now, or they die.”
Crouched by Jo’s side beside the boulder, Autumn moaned.
A breath of wind brushed Jo’s face and whispered past. When you can’t change a situation, and can’t get out of it, you have to go forward.
Jo didn’t look at Autumn. There was no time, nothing more to be said. She cupped her hands to her face. “All right.”
Autumn said, “No.”
Haugen kept the gun aimed at Gabe but turned his head. “Now. Get out here.”
“Okay,” Jo yelled.
Autumn shook her head. “Don’t. Jo, no.”
The important thing is not to be afraid. Even when you know what’s coming.
Jo looked at her. “Yes.” She called again to Haugen: “Let them go.”
She swept an arm around Autumn’s waist. Holding her tight, she walked into the open.
They walked to the foot of the stairs. Autumn tried to pull Jo back. Quietly, desperately, Autumn said, “Don’t do this. There must be another way.”
Gabe and Lark and Noah had no other way.
Haugen continued to hold the revolver on Gabe. When he saw Jo and Autumn, his chest swelled.
“On the bridge, right now, both of you. Or I’ll shoot your friends,” he called.
Jo clung to Autumn’s hand. Together they climbed the stairs.
Autumn murmured, “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“Shh.”
“Jo . . .”
Whispering, viciously, Jo said, “Don’t fight. Do not.”
Haugen shouted: “Get out here. Both of you. Move it.”
He wanted them contained, with nowhere to run. Jo got to the gate. She saw Gabe’s carabiner there, tied to the rope he’d fixed.
Autumn looked at her, beyond desperate. Pleading.
“This is it,” Jo said.
Autumn shut her eyes tight. She nodded. Jo clipped the carabiner to the girl’s belt.
Autumn grabbed the gate. Shaking, she climbed up on the rail. “Oh my God.”
It was a long drop.
“Hang on to the gate. Dig your fingers in. Hold on and swing around to the other side.”
Wobbling, Autumn clenched her jaw and slid her foot along the rail, an inch at a time. She got her leg around the gate, jabbed one arm around and grabbed hold of the gate on the far side, and in a burst of panicked bravery, swung all the way around and clattered down onto the bridge.
She unhooked the carabiner from her belt and stood holding the rail.
Jo reached and got the ’biner, clipped it to her own belt, and dug her fingers through the chain link. She clambered up onto the railing and swung around the gate, carefully, aware of her exhaustion and hunger and cold hands, clearly aware of the drop into shadow and crumbling boulders that lay below the bridge.
Fingers clawing into the chain link, stinging with cold, she swung around on the slippery wet railing and got her body weight over the catwalk. She slid down, heard the chintzy aluminum ring, and planted her feet on the bridge.
She unhooked the ’biner and grabbed hold of Autumn. “Let’s go.”
Together they inched forward toward Haugen along the catwalk.
Autumn swallowed. “I don’t want to fall.”
“Don’t make any sudden moves.” Jo glanced down. The railing wasn’t really that high. And the catwalk was swaying. Falling would be easy.
Haugen watched them come. “That’s it. All the way.”
Autumn whimpered. And stopped.
The bridge swayed. Pinned under Noah’s near-dead weight, Gabe held on to both railings, fighting to keep his legs under him. If he lost his balance it would be too easy for both of them to go over. Ahead of him, Lark trembled. She half turned to see what was happening behind them on the catwalk. Gabe didn’t dare shift his center of gravity to look back. But he sensed the barrel of Haugen’s gun aiming for a bull’s-eye on his center of mass.
He knew Haugen had no plans to free him. Perhaps Haugen would be satisfied to abandon Lark and Noah to the elements after capturing Autumn, but the man would never leave him and Jo alive to come after him—on the mountain or a witness stand.
“Lark, what do you see?” he said.
She gripped the railing and crouched low and peered around him to see behind down the rickety length of the catwalk.
“Oh my God. Jo . . .”
She blinked and pushed her index finger up along the bridge of her nose. It was an automatic gesture—as if trying to adjust the eyeglasses that weren’t there.
“Jo’s forcing Autumn onto the bridge.”
It hit Gabe like the sound of broken glass. “That makes no sense.”
Haugen shouted, “Don’t stop. Come here. All the way. Pick it up.”
“They’re fighting,” Lark said.
The wind gusted. Gabe dared not turn.
“She’s got hold of Autumn and she’s dragging her toward the middle of the bridge.” Lark gasped. Her chest began to heave. “I don’t believe this. Oh God.”
Haugen yelled, “Bring her here, dammit.”
“Autumn’s stuck. She won’t move.” Lark’s mouth widened. “Jo’s running away.”
Gabe heard footsteps retreating. He felt them through the surface of the catwalk. Then he heard Haugen turn and run back toward the middle of the bridge.
He nodded to Lark. “Run. Run.”
Jo felt the surface of the catwalk judder beneath her boots. The aluminum bridge rang with the pounding of footsteps. She was close, so close, to the south gate—and close enough to Autumn that she hoped—prayed—Haugen wouldn’t risk shooting for fear of hitting the girl. His prize was nearly within reach. He needed Autumn alive.
She had to gamble everything. Gabe, forgive me for what I’m doing, she thought. Autumn, please . . . I hope you’ll be okay.
Her heart thundered. In the distance, above the rushing of the wind, she thought she heard a deeper sound: the thwap of helicopter rotor blades. The catwalk vibrated again, and harder. Haugen was coming for her.
He eked his way along the catwalk, tense and single-minded. He gripped the rail and checked his footing. He glanced at Jo and smiled like a jackal. He looked back down at his footing.
He didn’t really see her. He hadn’t seen her at all. He had only seen his payday.
He kept coming, step by step, eyes on the catwalk. When he was fifty yards away, Jo turned and ran.
Autumn was already way ahead of her, rushing back toward the gate.
Gabe reached the north gate and grabbed hold. Finally anchored, he looked over his shoulder and back at the bridge.
What the hell was Jo doing?
She was rushing the other way, toward the south gate. And she was wearing Autumn’s clothing.
Autumn was ahead of her. She was dressed in Jo’s jacket and hiking boots. They had swapped clothes.
And Haugen hadn’t seen it.
Far away, eyes only on the gold-as-sunlight sweater and shining riding boots and the long brown curls that flowed from beneath the Marine Corps utility cap, he had taken Jo for Autumn.
He was after the wrong woman. He was trying to grab Jo. If he did, Autumn would escape.
If he did, Jo would be trapped with him on the bridge, with no way out.
Jo pounded along the swaying catwalk. She heard Haugen behind her, gaining. He was running full tilt. He still thought she was Autumn.
Ahead of her, Autumn reached the gate. She crashed into it and hesitated. She had no time to rope up. She simply had to go. She held tight and climbed onto the rail.
Haugen’s footsteps closed on Jo. She heard him breathing. He grunted and his fingertips scraped the backpack and slid off. She kept going.
Now, she thought. The helo’s coming. I have to risk it.
She reached around with one hand and unzipped the backpack. Haugen was right there. She felt him. His form, his hot breath. He grabbed her. She saw his gun—it swung up as he struggled to control her. He was going to fire at the girl climbing around the gate. He thought he was aiming at Jo Beckett.
Get here quick, she prayed.
Jo spun. As she did, she pulled the burlap sack from the backpack. She grabbed Haugen’s coat and yanked him toward her, off balance. He was still, incredibly, focused on Autumn.
Until he looked at Jo at last. His face blanked with shock.
Then his confusion cleared into rage. He remembered the gun in his hand.
She looked him in the eye. “For you.”
She dumped the sack on him. Rattlesnakes poured out. And she heard, beneath the thwap of helicopter blades, the distinctive and deadly chirr of a rattle.
59
Gabe swung around the north gate, fingers aching, chain link rattling. He fought to hold on against Noah’s added weight, jumped down, and staggered down the stairs. He labored to his knees and unhooked Noah from the piggyback sling. With Lark’s help, he laid the young man on the ground. Then he looked back up at the bridge.
Jo, brightly clad in Autumn’s gold sweater, was at the far end of the bridge, up on the rail, climbing around the south gate. Autumn had already climbed around and run down the stairs to the hillside. She streaked into the trees on the other side of the ravine, a blur of movement Gabe registered and ignored, because Jo was in trouble.
Haugen had her. He was trying to haul her down from the railing. She dug her fingers into the chain link and held on for her life. Gabe heard screams. Jo was completely above the rail, one foot on its slippery surface, one foot kicking Haugen.
And Gabe realized it was Haugen who was screaming, in hysteria.
Haugen jerked away from Jo, slapping at himself, swiping and flailing. He had dropped his gun. He spun in a circle. He moved as if he were on fire and trying to douse the flames.
Jo sagged on the gate. She looked woozy. But she tried to use whatever was happening to Haugen to get away. She dragged herself back up and tried to swing around to the far side.
Haugen shrieked like a banshee.
Gabe struggled to his feet and stumbled back toward the bridge. The sound of heavy-duty rotor blades beat the sky. A helicopter was coming.
“Lark, get to high ground,” he said. “Signal them. Take off your coat and wave it in the air.”
Lark ran up the hill. Gabe turned back to the bridge.
Jo was still up on the rail and halfway around the gate, poised above the ravine. Haugen lunged for her, roaring.
Gabe ran up the slope.
Haugen grabbed Jo’s legs and pulled her feet from the slippery rail. She hung on to the gate, kicking. Haugen leaned out beyond the railing, trying to pry her loose and dump her.
She cried out. Haugen wrenched her hands loose from the gate.
Completely exposed in midair, falling, she clawed for Haugen’s coat. She got a handful of his collar. Her momentum pulled Haugen off balance and over the rail. He swiped for the gate and missed. Then he fell.
Jo dropped with him, out of sight. Gabe didn’t see the rest.
60
Evan stood next to Tang’s car. The sunlight seemed to sting. Her eyes were gritty. Her nerves felt scoured. The phone was on speaker.
“Anything?” Tang said.
“Connecting.”
The SFPD switchboard pa
tched through the call, and all at once they heard the radio conversation between the SAR helicopter and the Tuolumne County Sheriff’s Office. The droning engines and beating rotors nearly overcame the electronic sinkhole of the pilot’s voice.
“. . . over the site now. People on both sides of the bridge. Two over the railing.”
Evan rubbed her forehead. Tang leaned against the car and listened with her eyes shut.
“. . . survivors. A woman’s on the top of the hill, waving her coat to signal us. But a body is visible in the ravine.” Static. Engine noise. A new voice, also from the helo: “Guy just climbed onto the bridge—he’s headed to the point on the span where the man and woman fell over.”
The pilot said: “It’s Quintana.”
“What the hell’s he doing here? Where’s he . . .”
More static. “Power lines—can’t fly any lower. Going to pick up survivors.”
The radio clicked off.
The thump of the rotors echoed painfully across the hillside. It bounced off the slopes of the ravine and moaned through air and pine and metal. The sky had brightened to azure, a pure vision of blue. Gabe was leaning over the rail, his voice swallowed by the roar of the chopper above him. Its blades beat the air, the downdraft flattening grass on the hillside and causing the pines to sway. Gabe stretched over the rail, yelling, but his words were gone.
Jo hung by the 10 mm rope that was secured to the railing of the bridge. It was tied to Gabe’s carabiner, which she’d clipped to her belt. The belt was barely holding. She looked up at the bridge. It glared in the dawn sunlight, a painful metallic sheen. Gabe grabbed the rope and struggled to keep her from swinging.
She swiped for the rope, but her arm was numb and couldn’t move. The pain burned her.
She had been bitten by a rattler. She reminded herself to keep the bite below the level of her heart and to hold still. She lowered her arm but continued looking up. Her heart was up there. He was holding the rope.
