Sure, no problem. Shit! “Okay.” I nodded.
We were about 350 yards from the bridge now, and once we kicked off there’d be no stopping until we were underneath it—if we made it that far. I could feel my heart pulsating through the water, and I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering—both from the cold and the nerves—but I took one look at Danny and nodded when he did. Here we go.
We pushed off and slowly drifted a hundred yards apart—like two piles of sticks—down the middle of the river. I clutched my bow and arrows beneath me, careful to keep them from getting hooked on anything. As the river approached the bridge, the current picked up and so did the number of rocks in the increasingly shallow water. The sharp stones were abusing my shoulders, ribs, and chest, and with each direct blow, it took all I had to not lift my head and cry out. I cursed into my breathing tube instead.
Suddenly I felt a strong hand grab my arm and pull me toward the side. I knew it was Danny, but I kept my head down just in case. He tapped my head, and I lifted my eyes above the water. We were under the bridge. Thank God! I glanced up at Danny, and he was looking up at the bridge crossbeams above us. He then looked down at me and motioned for me to climb out of the water with him. Danny reached inside the front of his suit and pulled out a small box—about the size of a Rubik’s Cube—wrapped in a plastic bag. He unwrapped it and tied it securely to one end of a thin rope, connecting the other end to a large hook. He whispered in my ear, “I need you to climb up there.” He pointed up at the middle arch of the bridge’s underside. “I need you to hook this dynamite up there so it’s hanging about three feet below the bridge.”
No fricking way! “Are you serious?” I knew he was. “How—”
“Hayles.” Danny cut me off, using my old nickname. “I brought you along because I know you can do this. With my arm, I can’t. It was you or Blake, and he has several broken ribs.”
Seriously? Flynn was right. He was hurt worse than he’d let on.
Danny looked back up at the beam and then back at me. “You can do this.”
I looked up at the steel arch and followed it down to the concrete base where we were. “Danny, if I fall—”
“You won’t.”
Wish I were that confident. “If I drop the—”
“Hayley.” He took my arm. “You won’t.”
Seriously. Lend me a little of that confidence. “Okay,” I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief that I was even saying this. “I’ll try.”
I stripped to my underwear—to free myself from the weight of my soaked clothes—and started to climb the base of the bridge. Danny initially helped me keep my footing on the slippery wall, until I was able to grasp the arched beams overhead. I had the dynamite cube looped around my neck, and I glanced nervously out toward the middle of the bridge. I somehow had to monkey-bar sixty yards or so out to the middle of the bridge, hang the dynamite, and then come all the way back. Right!
This was a Hail Mary if there ever was one, but Danny was right—I was our only shot. Everyone was counting on me. It was time to make up for my earlier mistake. This is for Cera and Axel.
I moved quickly, knowing my muscles would require that. I flew past the first thirty yards, then forty, and was approaching fifty when the burn began. I clenched my teeth and pushed on toward the middle, arriving at the beam Danny had indicated just as my arms were about to give out. I threw my leg over the bar connecting the two beams and allowed my entire body to balance—and rest—on the thin ledge for a minute. I looked back at Danny, who was watching me carefully, and gave him a thumbs-up. He returned the gesture, and I carefully unhooked the dynamite cube from around my neck. I attached it to where the beam met the bar I was lying on, and I slowly let it hang down to where Danny signaled he wanted it.
Now I just had to get back. I swung down and headed back the way I’d come. I had made it almost twenty yards when motion in my periphery brought me to a sudden halt. Two soldiers had come down to the water’s edge—under the bridge—apparently to relieve themselves. I looked down toward where Danny had been a minute earlier, but he wasn’t there anymore. I glanced around frantically as my arm muscles screamed at me. I knew I couldn’t move, but in a minute I’d be falling. In a minute I’d be dead. I closed my eyes. A sudden swooshing in the water prompted me to reopen my eyes, and I glanced behind me toward the soldiers. I watched Danny rise out of the water with my bow in hand. From about five feet away, he put an arrow through one soldier’s throat. That soldier staggered back against the bridge base, clutching at his neck. The other soldier heard the commotion behind him and turned—mid leak—to see Danny flying at him. Too startled to yell and too off guard to defend himself, the man didn’t put up much resistance as Danny covered his mouth and slammed his head against the bridge wall once, twice, and then pulled him into the river. Convinced he was dead, Danny quickly glanced around to see if anyone else was coming, and then he looked up at me, waving for me to continue.
I tried to move, but I couldn’t. My arms had no strength left. I looked down at Danny in a panic, and he seemed to read my thoughts immediately. He knew I was going to fall—there’d be a hundred soldiers under here soon.
Tears stung my eyes as the failure overwhelmed me. I tried to push on, but it was no use. I made it about ten more feet before my arms couldn’t take it anymore. I looked below me at the water and knew it was only a couple of feet deep. If I went in horizontally a hundred soldiers would investigate the gigantic splash. If I went in straight up and down—feet first—I’d break my legs or spine. It was a coin toss decision with both sides meaning death.
As I was about to let go, I heard a gunshot echo off the bridge walls. I closed my eyes and released my grip, convinced someone was shooting at me—convinced I was going to die. But a split second before I hit the water, I heard an explosion and knew that wasn’t the bridge. Something else had blown up.
I tucked my legs at the last second as I entered the river, shielding myself from some of the impact. Danny saved me from the rest. His arms were around me as I hit the water, before even my feet struck the rocks. He pulled me under with him, as soldiers scurried beneath the bridge—seeking cover. He put a breathing tube in my mouth and covered me with my ghost suit. He slipped underneath me—with his arms wrapped around me—and kicked us both away from the bridge. The current did the rest—carrying us quickly downstream. About eighty yards from the bridge, we finally surfaced next to a small dam of debris from the Seven Oaks Dam—chunks of the middle section Qi Jia had destroyed.
“That was so smooth.” I couldn’t contain my amazement.
“My Princess Bride moment.”
“What?” Princess Bride?
“Never mind. You’re welcome.”
We rolled over the top of the rocks and into the pool of water at the base of the dam. We were finally able to stand—which felt amazing! “So, what happened?” I asked.
“Blake blew up one of the trucks,” Danny replied, leading me back into the water.
“Why? How did he—”
“I told him to.” Danny held up the radio. “We needed a diversion to draw the soldiers away from your fall,” he answered, pointing across the bridge. “They’re going to be looking around for who fired that shot though. We don’t have a lot of time.”