He decided to go hand over hand across the ladder, like a kid crossing the monkey bars. One rung . . . two . . . three . . . four. The car was no longer beneath him, yet he could still feel the ladder creeping lower.

It was while he was crossing the rungs that the flames ripped into a frenzy, straining with deadly intensity at the gas tanks. He’d seen engine fires numerous times-and this one was seconds away from blowing.

He looked toward the bridge. As if in slow motion, he saw the firemen, his friends, motioning frantically with their arms, screaming at him to hurry, to get off the ladder, to get to safety before the truck exploded. But he knew that there was no way he could make it back to the truck in time and still get the passenger out.

“Pull him out!” Taylor shouted hoarsely. “He’s got to come up now!”

Dangling high above the water, he loosened his grip, then let go completely. In an instant he was swallowed by the evening air.

The river was eighty feet below.

“That was the dumbest, most moronic thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Mitch said matter-of-factly. It was fifteen minutes later, and they were sitting on the banks of the Chowan River. “I mean, I’ve seen some stupid stunts in my life, but that one takes the cake.”

“We got him out, didn’t we?” Taylor said. He was drenched and had lost one boot while kicking for safety. In the aftermath, after the adrenaline drained away, he felt his body retreating into a kind of exhausted lull. He felt as if he hadn’t slept for days, his muscles seemed rubbery, his hands were shaking uncontrollably. Thankfully the accident on the bridge was being tended to by the others-he wouldn’t have had the strength to help. Though the engine had blown, the seals around the main tanks had held and they were able to control the fire relatively easily.

“You didn’t have to let go. You could have made it back.”

Even as he said it, Mitch wasn’t quite sure it was true. Right after Taylor let go, the firemen shook off their shock and began to rewind the cable in earnest. Without Taylor’s weight, the ladder had enough tensile strength to allow the passenger to be lifted through the windshield. As Taylor predicted, he was pulled out without a snag. Once he was free, the ladder swung out, away from the accident, rotating back toward the bridge. Just as the ladder reached the bridge, the engine of the truck blew, churning white-and-yellow flames spewing violently in every direction. The car was tossed free and followed Taylor into the water below. Taylor had had enough sense after hitting the water to make his way beneath the bridge, foreseeing just such an occurrence. As it was, the car had come down close, too close.

After he hit the water, the pressure sucked him under and held him for several seconds, then several more. Taylor was spun and twisted like a rag in a washing machine, but he was finally able to fight his way to the surface, where he drew a gasping breath.

When Taylor had come to the surface the first time, he’d shouted that he was okay. After the car hit the water and he’d narrowly avoided being crushed by the hulking wreckage, he’d shouted it again. But by the time he’d swum to the bank, he was nauseated and dizzy, the events of the past hour finally hitting home. That was when his hands had begun to tremble.

Joe didn’t know whether to be livid because of the jump or relieved that the whole thing had worked out. The passenger, it seemed, was going to be fine, and Joe had sent Mitch down to talk to Taylor.

Mitch had found him sitting in the mud, legs drawn up, hands and head resting on his knees. He hadn’t moved at all since Mitch had sat beside him.

“You shouldn’t have jumped,” Mitch finally said after Taylor hadn’t responded.

Taylor raised his head sluggishly, wiping the water from his face. “It just looked dangerous,” he said flatly.

“That’s because it was dangerous. But I was thinking more about the car that followed you into the water. You could have been crushed.”

I know….

“That’s why I swam under the bridge,” he answered.

“But what if it had fallen sooner? What if the engine had blown twenty seconds earlier? What if you’d hit something submerged in the water, for God’s sake?”

What if?

Then I’d be dead.

Taylor shook his head, numb. He knew he’d have to answer these questions again, when Joe grilled him in earnest. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he said.

Mitch studied him with concern, hearing the flat discomfort in his voice. He’d seen this look before, the shell-shocked appearance of someone who knew he was fortunate to be alive. He noticed Taylor’s shaking hands and reached over, patting him on the back. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

Taylor nodded, too tired to speak.

Chapter 17

Later that evening, once the situation on the bridge was fully under control, Taylor got in his car to head home. As he’d suspected, Joe had asked every question Mitch had and more, walking him through every decision and the reasons for it, covering everything two or three times. Though he was still as angry as Taylor had ever seen him, Taylor did his best to convince him that he hadn’t acted recklessly. “Look,” he said, “I didn’t want to jump. But if I hadn’t, neither of us would have made it.”

To that, Joe had no reply.

His hands had stopped shaking, and his nervous system had gradually returned to normal, though he still felt drained. He was still shivering as he made his way down the quiet rural roads.

A few minutes later Taylor walked up the cracked cement steps to the small place he called home. He’d left the lights on in his haste to leave, and the house was almost welcoming when he entered. The paperwork from his business was still spread on the table, the calculator had been left on. The ice in his water glass had melted.

In the living room he could hear the television playing in the background; a ball game he’d been listening to had given way to the local news.

He set his keys on the counter and pulled off his shirt as he walked through the kitchen to the small room where he kept the washer and dryer. Holding open the lid, he dropped the shirt in the washer. He slipped off his shoes, then kicked them against the wall. Pants, socks, and underwear went in with the shirt, followed by detergent. After starting the washer, he grabbed a folded towel from the top of the dryer, made his way to the bathroom, and took a quick hot shower, rinsing the brackish water from his body.

Afterward he ran a quick brush through his hair, then walked through the house, turning everything off before slipping into bed.

He turned out the lights almost reluctantly. He wanted to sleep, he needed to sleep, but despite his exhaustion he suddenly knew that sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, immediately upon closing his eyes, the images of the past several hours began to replay in his mind. Almost like a movie, some moved in fast-forward, others in reverse, but in each case they were different from what had actually happened. His were not the images of success-his were more like nightmares.

In one sequence after another, he watched helplessly as everything went wrong.

He saw himself reaching for the victim, he heard the crack and felt a sickening shudder as the ladder snapped in two, sending both of them to their death-

Or . . .

He watched in horror as the victim reached for his outstretched hand, his face contorting in terror, just as the car tipped over the bridge, Taylor unable to do anything to stop it-

Or . . .

He felt his sweaty hand suddenly slipping from the cable as he plunged downward, toward the bridge supports, toward his death-

Or . . .

While hooking the harness, he heard a strange ticking immediately before the truck engine exploded, his skin tearing and burning, the sound of his own screams as his life was taken from him-