He stumbled, found his feet again, but when he looked ahead the boy had disappeared from sight. He cast around frantically, and once again caught a flash of movement.
Cursing himself for his clumsiness—not to mention his stupidity for giving in to Luke’s wishes and instructing Nicky to hang back—Fleet redoubled his pace. They were heading parallel with the stream, Fleet guessed—and directly toward the river.
Not another one. Please, God, not another one.
Fleet tried digging his mobile phone from his pocket as he ran. It caught on the zip as he pulled it free, and almost somersaulted from his grip. Somehow he caught it, but when he finally reached a gap between the trees that allowed him to focus on the screen, what he saw almost made him hurl it away in frustration anyway. There was no signal. Of course there wasn’t. He just had to hope that Nicky was having better luck.
It was only when Fleet burst unexpectedly through the tree line that he realized how close to the river they really were. It greeted him with a roar, which to Fleet sounded disconcertingly like laughter. And unless it was his imagination, the flow of the water appeared to be even faster here than it had been at the point they’d crossed earlier. But, of course, it wasn’t how rapidly the river appeared to be flowing that really counted, Fleet knew. It was the currents beneath the surface that made the water so treacherous. The unseen hands that tugged you down with their icy grip.
“Luke! Lu—”
Fleet had been scanning one way and then the other, scouring the riverbank for some sign of the boy. But then he’d spotted him: not on the bank of the river yet, but running north, still clinging tightly to the tree line. Where was he going? There was only a short stretch of open ground between Luke and the river itself, and he was far enough ahead of Fleet that he might have crossed it in plenty of time to make the leap into the water. Unless he wasn’t trying to reach the river after all. Maybe he—
The relief Fleet was feeling swan-dived when he realized where the boy was heading. He heard a shout, then, and turned to see Nicky and her colleague emerging from the woods, twenty meters farther downstream. There was a similar gap between Nicky and Fleet as there was now between Fleet and Luke. And Luke was getting farther and farther away. Closer and closer to the old pipeline bridge for which he was no doubt aiming.
The structure had long ago fallen into disrepair. It was nothing like the arched pedestrian bridge on the southern edge of the woods, which was broad and flat and made of stone. The pipeline bridge was little more than a steel truss girder lying sideways, held in place by suspension cables. There was an access ladder on each bank, of the type you saw on pylons. And the ladders rose almost as high. Unlike the pedestrian bridge, which sat relatively low to the water, the pipeline bridge crossed the river at least a dozen meters above its surface. Maybe the fall itself wouldn’t be enough to kill someone, but there was every chance the resulting impact would snap a bone. After which, the currents would be waiting like crocodiles, ready to devour their injured prey.
“Call for help!” Fleet yelled to Nicky. “And keep your eyes open! Be ready if . . .” He had half a thought that Nicky might somehow be able to fish Luke from the river as the water bore him past—assuming it came to that, of course—but the channel was so wide, there was no way she would be able to reach him without risking being carried off by the undertow herself. “Just be ready!” Fleet called, knowing Nicky would be as ready as it was possible to be, even if she didn’t yet know what for.
And then Fleet was off.
He could move more quickly now that he was out in the open, but the pain in his ribs hadn’t diminished, and Luke was taking advantage of the clearer ground, too.
“Luke!” Fleet yelled as he ran. “Luke, don’t!”
The boy had already reached the bridge. He’d clearly heard Fleet calling, because as he placed a foot on the ladder that would take him to the walkway, he turned his head. But he only paused for a second. He began to climb, swiftly and surely, and was already near the top by the time Fleet finally reached the ladder.
When he started climbing, Fleet made the mistake of looking up. Luke seemed impossibly far above him. In the fog, the walkway itself was almost lost to view. Worse, the rungs on the ladder were treacherously slippery, and the safety cage was mostly rusted away.
Fleet forced himself to focus on his hands, on the sturdiness of the freezing metal beneath his grip, but still he felt that familiar free fall in the pit of his stomach that told him he was no longer on solid ground.
About three meters up, there was a mesh guard that was supposed to deter members of the public. There was a hole, and Luke had managed to slip through easily, but Fleet was twice the boy’s size, and the mesh caught on the fabric of his coat. It was all he could do to keep climbing. At first it was as though someone were attempting to pull him down, but then there was the sound of his jacket ripping, and all at once he found himself free.
The boy was waiting for him. It was the only explanation as to why, when Fleet reached the top of the ladder, Luke hadn’t already jumped. He was out toward the center of the bridge, his legs hooked over the slender guardrail. Looking at him balanced there like that, Fleet’s vision began to swim. He
