Yield (71 page)

Jonathon climbs out and watches the headlights grow inside the dwindling smoke. His heart is still pounding.

The van moves confidently along the bridge towards them. It arcs right and left, swerving around the burnt husks of cars. Jon smiles. A mixture of pride and passion fills his eyes as he watches Jean deftly navigate through the bridge
’
s gauntlet.

Neal jumps out behind him. The photog kneels down along the bluff to get a wide shot. He snaps his lens into telephoto, seamlessly tightening his track and refocusing for a closer view. Jean and Kevin are smiling, zooming over the Ballard on his viewfinder.

Suddenly, the sound of ripping metal booms across the expanse. Its shriek cuts viciously through the night

T
he south span buckles just as the news van approaches the center of the drawbridge joint. Five-hundred tons of steel slam down onto the north span, splintering the metal reinforcement bars instantly. The trapped vehicle under the southern draw leaf completely caves. It disintegrates into shredded aluminum, loosening its unifying grip on both bridge sections. The rear bridge joints shear away as both massive spans begin to fall.

“
NO!!
”
Jonathon shouts in horror. He can hear Jean
’
s screams echoing back across the bay.

She floors it, red-lining the engine. The tires bark and spin but can
’
t seem to gain traction. The bridge section teeters backward, dropping out from underneath the news van. Jean
’
s violet eyes fill with terror.
Oh my God
…

The headlights dip back, then shoot forward when the vehicle launches off the falling bridge span. They tumble through the smoke, their bodies floating in heaven
’
s grip. Jean
’
s hand stretches out to the windshield
,
reaching toward the spinning hope of salvation above.

Jonathon lunges to the bluff
’
s edge just as the van smashes into the bay. The crushing weight of both 500-ton spans slams down into the water after it, launching black water up into the sky.

His stomach heaves. Headlights flicker under the raging water, pulling the woman he loves with them. Jon drops to his knees, all of his strength shattering. Helplessly, he watches the lights continue slowly down as the currents take her away
—
into the grip of darkness.

Easing off the sluggish throttle, Dave banks the sat truck into a sweeping hairpin turn. It creeps through, heading north onto the Ballard Bridge on-ramp. He squints as they approach a thick wall of gray.

The rig shudders to a stop.

The engineer rubs the back of his hand on the vehicle
’
s dusty windshield, thinking there
’
s condensation on the glass. But the colorless veil is all around them. It blocks all visibility past a dozen feet. Dave flips the wipers on high. Knots twist through his stomach. Almost on cue, the skies open up again and begin dumping huge droplets of Seattle rain onto the windows.

Vapors from the burning city fill the black waters of Salmon Bay. A breeze blowing toward the ocean currents has pulled the fog with it over the water. The smoke totally obscures any view of the other bank, still a quarter-mile away. The four-lane drawbridge just disappears into a gray abyss, taking any chance of the survivors
’
escape with it.

“
What do you think?
”
Jonathon asks. He leans forward, straining to see any gaps.

“
That we should find another way.
”
There
’
s an edge of panic in Dave
’
s normally calculated voice.

“
We
’
re running out of options here, Dave.
”
Headlights flash in Jonathon
’
s side mirror.
“
Figures. Looks like Jean wants to weigh in.
”
Jon tries to mask the odd flutter in his voice when he says her name.

He opens the door and jumps out into the downpour. Jonathon takes off into a run, looking down at the ground to keep the water from streaking across the front of his glasses.

Jean rolls down her window, trying to stifle a laugh. The expression greeting her is not so amused. Jon
’
s clothes are completely drenched. They cling like rags to his body. A tailored suit coat is held over his head to block the driving rain.

“
Cute,
”
Jean giggles. She wipes the droplets about to fall on her from Jonathon
’
s chin.
“
Not the best look for you, but
…
cute.
”

“
Gee, thanks.
”
A reluctant smile spreads across Jonathon
’
s face. He leans closer, looking around inside the news van. Everyone in the back is passed out. They drift through the fragments of dreams, their bodies finally succumbing to the exhaustion of yesterday
’
s events.

Only Kevin Green is awake in the passenger seat. The reporter squirms, trying to avoid looking embarrassed at the blatantly obvious display of affection from his two colleagues.

“
How you doing in there, Kevin?
”
Jonathon asks.

“
I
’
m alive,
”
Kevin says. The words have new meaning today.
“
I
’
m ready to see my wife and kids again, that
’
s for sure.
”

His own broken family flashes into Jon
’
s mind.
Chris
…
He
’
d almost forgotten that his son was flying into the city just when
…

Jonathon immediately tries to shake away the thought, as if even mentioning his boy, his star in the making, would bring him to the edge of a reality he cannot face.

The silence feels like a shrieked command. Kevin straightens his body with a groan and opens his door.
“
Think I need to stretch my legs a bit.
”
The reporter jumps out into the rain, looking up into the starless sky.

“
You okay?
”
Jean asks.

“
Yeah.
”

“
You have that look, Jon.
”
Her eyes narrow.
“
What
’
s up?
”

“
I
’
m fine,
”
Jonathon says.
“
We just have a little decision to make.
”

“
Alright,
”
she caves, her voice thick with skepticism.

“
From what we can see up ahead, the bridge looks okay.
”

“
But
…
”
Jean trails off. She
’
s learned by now that her man always likes to mask bad punch lines with a good hook.

“
It
’
s what I don
’
t see that worries me,
”
Jonathon continues.
“
There
’
s a lot of smoke covering the bay, so we can
’
t really see the other side yet.
”

“
Oh, is that all?
”
Jean asks. A familiar fire jumps into her eyes.
“
What about the last bridge? Salmon Bay is the f
a
rthest west from the explosion. Maybe we should keep going.
”

“
This one
’
s probably fine, too. We just won
’
t know for sure until we get out there. Dave and I will check it out first to make sure everything
’
s good.
”
Jonathon leans over, laying his elbows on the top of her door.
“
If we see any problems, I
’
ll throw it in reverse myself.
”

Jean looks up. Worry creases her brow. She lays her hand on his, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“
Promise?
”

“
I promise,
”
Jonathon smiles. His eyes soften at the calming touch of her skin. Jon puts his other hand on top of hers. He never realized how much he actually missed the uneasy tingling in his stomach he gets whenever he
’
s around her. He hasn
’
t felt like that around his wife for a very long time. Maybe he never did. The sensation sweeps over him, like flying through the clouds with your eyes closed.

He looks down. There
’
s a belief in her face so pure he
’
s taken aback.
“
I
’
m not really the courageous type, remember?
”

She nods bravely. A gust of wind whips through the open window, billowing the hair around her shoulders. Jean tries to pull strength from his navy eyes. She stares deep into his surging sea, wanting nothing more than to be here with this man at the end of everything.

Jean reaches up and slips a small hand around his neck, pulling him to her. As their lips meet, the world seems to spin around them. It blurs away, taking with it the cares of everything other than this moment.

Jonathon tightens nervously at first then crumbles into her familiar embrace. His heart thunders as he holds her. Billowing smoke from the city parts around them. The rarity of returning hope seems to push it all back into the stormy night.

“
I
…
”
Jonathon stammers. He looks down at the soft moonlight running along the gentle edges of her face. He wonders how the pictures of his life would have played out if he
’
d been with her instead. Their flirtatious looks over coffee in the morning. Her touch upon his skin, holding his hand the way his wife never would. How they
’
d stay wrapped around one another in bed all day
until the twisting limbs were indistinguishably one
…

Jonathon
’
s hated never being good at expressing himself. Love was a word seldom used outside the meaningless confines of his marriage.
“
I
…
”
he tries again. His eyes are adrift in her purple oasis.

“
Later!
”
she laughs girlishly. Jean squeezes his hand one last time before reluctantly gripping the wheel.
“
Let
’
s get driving before we have to do the whole romantic sunrise thing. I know how much you hate PDA.
”

*  *  *

Dave presses down on the accelerator and begins creeping toward the first pockets of smoke. His hands nervously rub at the stubble along his face. Neal Adams sits on the floor of the truck cabin beside him. The aging photog steadies the camera on his shoulder with both hands. His left leg is positioned securely under the dash to brace his body upright. Focusing through the window, the cameraman cranks the iris open, trying to pull a decent exposure in the harshly-lit smoke.

“
This may get bumpy,
”
Jonathon warns.

“
Couldn
’
t be worse than all the potholes back on the parkway,
”
Neal smiles. Dark shapes emerge in front of them through his viewfinder.
“
Jean wanted to add some more dramatic POV shots to the package.
”

“
Right.
”
Jonathon gestures outside.
“
Because the rest of this just isn
’
t dramatic enough.
”

“
Here we go,
”
Dave interrupts. His teeth are clenched so tightly his lips barely move.

One hundred yards behind them, in the waiting news van, Jean gasps.

The sat truck completely disappears into the haze. Its red tail lights sink inside a moving fog, their color consumed by gray.