Not violently. Not immediately. But in a way that was even more terrifying, because it was inexorable.
“We have to go back!” I screamed. “Mark, we have to go back now!”
“I can’t stretch my leg!” Mark screamed, struggling. The rotten wood was jagged and cutting into his calf.
On the bank, Ranger stopped barking.
He fell silent.
He just stared.
As if waiting for the moment when he could do what he had been trying to do all along: save us.
The last seconds that lasted forever
Suddenly, the bridge dropped another foot with a sickening jerk. Emma began to cry hysterically. Caleb paled so pale he looked a shadow of his former self.
“Caleb, take Emma’s hand,” I commanded, and a mother’s instincts broke through the fear. “On all fours. Now. Go!”
We began crawling along the tilted planks, climbing toward the shore. Splinters dug into my hands. My knees slipped on the wet wood. Every move felt risky, but stillness was certain death.
I grabbed Mark’s jacket and pulled. He gritted his teeth and yanked his leg free, leaving a trail of blood on the gray wood.
We were getting closer.
Ten feet from the edge.
Seven.
Five.
The remaining rope gave a final, terrible groan. The concrete anchor on the shore had ripped completely free.
“Jump!” Mark shouted.
