After the First Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

rickety railroad bridge off to the right, abandoned, closed off. The trains from Boston did not come this far anymore. Freight trains took other routes and commuter trains from Boston took passengers only as far as Concord and Lexington, twenty miles away. The old bridge was a narrow sagging span high above the Moosock River, which was no longer a river but a thin scrawl of water, barely a brook. Kids sometimes invaded the bridge and removed the traffic barrier—a gate as old and battered as the bridge itself. They held beer parties and dropped the bottles to the river below. She hadn’t participated inthe parties, but their fame was legendary at Hallowell High.
    The bus climbed steadily, lumbering, like some huge beast being driven against its will. She hoped the bus would collapse, like a beast, and die there on the road. She wondered what would happen if the bus stopped and didn’t go on. She looked down at the ignition. What would happen if she removed the key, tossed it out the window into the thick growth by the side of the road? Would this spoil their plan, whatever it was? Or would she be placing the kids and herself in worse jeopardy? The man seemed reasonable. Should she go along with him and hope that what he said about diverting the bus for only a few moments was the truth? She looked into the rear-view mirror again. The children were lolling in their seats, some asleep, others half awake, eyelids drooping. They’re my responsibility, she told herself. They’re in my care. I shouldn’t do anything to place them in greater danger than they’re already in. She felt the presence of the boy beside her, smelled the plastic jacket he wore. He was groping inside the jacket now: reaching for the gun? The migraine was a dagger above her right eye.
    “We are almost there,” the boy said.
    And the gun was in his hand again. Pointing at her.
    The van had halted in front of the bus at the top of the hill.
    The man, having dispatched the boy to watch the children, said, “The van will reverse itself and back onto the bridge. You will follow.”
    “Do I back up, too?” she asked, wondering how she could perform such a stunt on this narrow dirt road.
    “No, simply follow the van. It will stop and you will stop, too, facing it.”
    “It’s a railroad bridge,” she said. “And it’s old and rickety. Is it strong enough to hold us?”
    “Yes. It has been tested recently. It is not too narrow, as you will see. There’s room for two sets of tracks. But proceed slowly. The ride may be uncomfortable as the tires must go over the railroad ties. The bridge is perhaps three hundred feet long, the length of one of your football fields.” She noted the use of
your
—meaning not mine. She wondered about his nationality. He was dark like the boy and his skin was also coppery, burned by the sun too long.
    The driver of the van had somehow turned it around, although he left broken bushes behind.
    “Now follow,” the man said. “And then it will be all over for you.”
    “Will I be free to go? The children—what about them?”
    He touched her shoulder gently. “Don’t be concerned. Everything will be fine.”
    She followed the van onto the bridge. The ride was bumpy, the bus bouncing as the wheels passed over the wooden railroad ties. She suddenly had an impression of height and realized that the bridge was high, probably one hundred and fifty feet or so above the river. The sensation of height was emphasized by the spaces between the railroad ties. Leaning forward and craning her neck, she saw clear space every few feet. Anyone walking on the bridge would have to watch his step. She urged the bus forward delicately, conscious of the spindly structure, the rotting ties, the space yawning below. The guardrails were solid-looking, however; black, iron, providing a sense of safety. Her foot barely touched the accelerator as she guided the bus in the bouncing path of the van ahead.
    “Fine,” the man said,