The Impossible Fortress(47)
“You don’t have to make it,” he said. “We brought a bridge, remember?”
Clark disappeared into the shadows and returned carrying a long wooden plank. He walked to the east edge of the roof and then carefully laid the plank across the alley until the far end rested on the roof of the bike shop. I clicked on my flashlight and realized it was just an old two-by-four—and like most two-by-fours, it only measured three and a half inches wide.
This was a bridge?
Schwarzenegger’s bark echoed up through the alley, and I could hear General Tso shouting across Market Street, daring whoever rang his bell to “show your faces like men!” We had a minute, ninety seconds tops, before he returned to his apartment. Everything was happening much faster than I anticipated.
Tyler was next to ascend the ladder. “What are you waiting for?” He stepped onto the plank, took five confident footsteps across the alley, then arrived on the roof of the bike shop. “Let’s go. Hurry up.”
Clark held out his arms like an acrobat and stepped forward onto the beam. The wood bowed when he crossed the middle, then sprang back like a rubber band when he reached the other side.
Meanwhile, Alf was coming up the ladder.
“Where did you find this board?” I asked.
“Getty Swamp, behind the Ford plant,” he said. “Perfectly good lumber just sitting out in the mud, can you believe it?”
Alf was waiting for me to cross but I gestured for him to go first. I wasn’t ready yet. He looked down at the chasm and hesitated. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Come on,” Tyler called. “Move it.”
By this point Rene was climbing up the ladder, and I suspect Alf crossed the chasm just to get away from him. Halfway across the beam, he lost his balance and leapt toward the bike shop. The plank bounced hard, flipping upside down and nearly clattering off the side. Alf hadn’t come close to falling, but Clark pulled him to safety anyway. “I’m all right,” he said, breathing deeply. “I’m cool.” He looked over at me. “It’s okay if you don’t look down. Just look straight ahead.”
Rene went next, stepping past me like I wasn’t even there. He tossed his canvas bag across the alley, and it landed on the roof of the bike shop with a terrible clatter. Then he used the toe of his boot to straighten the plank. On his second step, the two-by-four released a loud crack. It sounded like something in the wood had been fatally damaged—its back broken, its spine snapped. Rene took a third step forward—he was easily two hundred pounds, the biggest of our group, and the plank bowed like it was straight out of Looney Tunes, stretching in ways that defied the laws of physics. Two steps later, he was safe on the roof of the bike shop. He grabbed his bag and kept walking.
“Come on,” Tyler called.
Alf and Clark stared helplessly across the chasm. I realized I was embarrassing them. But still I didn’t move.
Tyler knelt down and grabbed the plank. “You come right now or I’m pulling it in,” he said. “I’m going to count to three.”
Walking out on the bridge was a spectacularly stupid idea. I knew that Rene’s weight had pushed the wood beyond its limits. I was trusting my life to a plank that had soaked all year in a fetid swamp. But I couldn’t stay behind. I had to keep an eye on them, keep things from slipping out of control. I stepped forward onto the plank.
The first step was easy. But the second step, the step where I fully removed myself from the roof—that was the commitment. The wood trembled beneath my weight, quivering like the edge of a diving board. I made the mistake of looking down, but there was nothing to see—no alley, just a vast black gulf, a bottomless sinkhole.
A third step was impossible. I couldn’t step forward or backward, not without something to hold on to. The beam was too wobbly. I was stuck. On the far side of the chasm, Alf and Clark were coaching me with tips and strategies, but it was all noise. They didn’t understand my predicament. Nobody understood my predicament. I was balanced, but I needed all of my concentration to stay balanced. If I shifted my weight even an inch, the board would respond, and I’d have no way to steady myself.
I wanted to explain all of this to Alf and Clark, but even talking seemed too dangerous. My muscles were locked and starting to tremble. Sweat was dripping down my sides. Through the clutter of my thoughts I heard Tyler yelling at everyone, saying, “Shut up, shut the fuck up!”
Suddenly the chasm beneath me transformed into a regular alley with concrete walls and a finite depth. A light was bouncing off the sides, bringing size and dimension to the void, illuminating the route for Tackleberry as he arrived for his patrol.
It was a miracle. We could end this all right now. Tack would help me off the plank, and chase Tyler and Rene from the store, and I would explain everything. Yes, there would be consequences, but none of the consequences were going to kill me. Not like the bridge. I tried to open my mouth, but my jaw was clenched. I couldn’t unhinge it.
Tack was whistling a song I couldn’t quite place—one of those songs you know all the words to, even though you don’t particularly enjoy it. He swept his flashlight back and forth, and I suppose the only thing that prevented him from seeing me was the wide brim of his hat. He passed beneath me and darkness followed in his wake, erasing the alley’s dimensions, replacing them with more nothing. I didn’t dare turn my head to look after him. I focused on his footsteps and his whistling until I couldn’t hear them anymore. And then I was alone again.