He looked at the remains of the bridge. The middleportion was missing and broken spikes of steel and cracked asphalt jutted out afew feet over the water. In the river, the water swirled around the wreckage ofthe bridge. There would be no boat traffic in Portland for a long time, and noone would we be crossing the Broadway Bridge either.
Blake saw Lou's hand point to the south. He immediatelysaw what he was pointing at. The Burnside Bridge... that was their way out. Itwas still intact. After a quick nod to Lou, he managed to back the truck up andget it turned around. They cruised through the city streets, almost feelingfree. One-way streets meant nothing to him. The wider the road, the better, asit meant more room to maneuver around the numerous wrecks and stalled vehiclesthat clogged the city's streets.
As he drove, he began to imagine what life would be likeonce they got out of the city. Would they always be on the run or was there aplace out there that was safe? Would they grow to be a family? Or would theyall go their own separate ways?
He swerved to miss one of the dead, clipping it with thecorner of the semi-truck, and sending it flying through the air. Blake thoughtabout what he would do if he were left on his own. Without hearing, he would bean easy mark. If one of those things should happen to stumble upon him while hewas sleeping, then he would be a dead man. The prospect of being left alonefilled him with fear. He didn't think Mort would ever ditch him, but if Mortwere to die, God forbid, he would be all out of friends.
Ahead of him, he saw the Burnside Bridge curving upwardsover the water. He had only a moment to recognize that the bridge wasbarricaded before he saw the muzzle flash of rifle fire, and then the truck wasout of control, 14 wheels guided by two steel rims rolling over deflatedrubber. The truck swerved to the side, and Blake tried to control it, but thetruck jackknifed and skidded to a stop in front of the barricade, the trailerturned sideways and blocking the bridge.
He was about to hop out of the vehicle when Lou put arestraining hand on his chest. Blake looked at him, confused, and Lou nodded tothe front of the truck. Standing in front of them was a soldier, dressed infatigues, his camouflage cap backwards on his large brow. In his hand was arifle. Blake didn't need to look twice to see that one false move would send around of ammunition bouncing around his thoracic cavity. He raised his handsinto the air, while in his head, he cursed his own stupidity.
****
They sat on the hot pavement of the Burnside Bridge.Around them, junked vehicles were arranged in a way to block off any approachto the clearing in the middle of the bridge. Clara looked around the circle.She looked at Rudy's unconscious body and wondered if he would ever wake up.She took in the shattered windows of all the cars around her, still painted inred blood, their owners most likely pulled from their own vehicles. She lookedat Joan, noting the way she bit her lip as she too calculated the risk of thissituation.
The one thing she tried not to look at were the soldiersthat sat in the clearing, going through their goods and their bags. Clarawanted to say something to Katie, who openly glared at the soldiers. Claradidn't know what was going on in that twisted brain of hers, but she didn'twant Katie to try and pull off another of her impulsive violent acts. Most ofall, Clara just wanted to go. She wanted to run and jump over the side of thebridge, but that would most likely wind up in soldiers taking pot shots at herfrom the bridge with their high-powered rifles. She wasn't that great of aswimmer anyway.
Andy nudged her with his elbow and began to whisper inher ear.
"I said no talking over there. You talk when I sayyou talk and not before," a red-faced man yelled. The man had a neck likea bull. He was stocky, powerful, and his face was mean. His arms were brownlike dried tobacco leaves, and his voice carried the threat of pain andpunishment with it. This was a man who was used to being listened to. This wasa man you didn't fuck with. They all sensed it.
The other soldiers walked around the man the way abusedchildren tiptoed around a drunken stepfather. They didn't make eye contact.They didn't engage in idle chatter. They just listened and followed directionsin the hopes that his wrath wouldn't befall them.
To the west, Clara saw clouds gather, dark clouds full ofthe promise of rain. The wind on the bridge was picking up, and it carriedcoolness and a hint of moisture.
She looked at the unconscious form of Rudy lying on thepavement. He hadn't awoken since he had fallen through the semi-truck. Joanthought he was badly concussed, but they wouldn't know the full extent of thedamage the big man had taken until he woke up... if he woke up at all.
Clara jerked as the sound of a gunshot echoed across the river.It was one of the guards posted at the edge of the circle. They sat on top ofpaneled vans, RVs, anything that would give them a good view of the bridge.
She didn't know what to make of their situation. When thetruck had ground to a stop on the bridge's concrete edge, they had been thrownfrom their feet. It seemed like it had taken an eternity for the doors of thesemi-truck to open, and when they did, they had thrown their hands immediatelyin the air as five soldiers with rifles aimed at them. One by one, they hadfiled out of the truck, enduring the indignity of bodily searches and havingtheir weapons taken away. When it was time to move Rudy, the soldiers sent inMort and Andy to roll his body out. And now
