THE BRIDGE
1487 Words
CHAPTER 4: THE BRIDGE
Rule 8: If it looks like a trap, it is a trap.
Rule 9: Walk into it anyway if you have no other choice.
It’s 11:47 PM.
We’re parked a mile from the bridge.
"The bridge is 2 kilometers long," I say. "No cover. No exits.
If this is an ambush, we’re dead."
Maya checks her camera. "Then let’s not get ambushed."
She’s wearing a bulletproof vest I stole from Viper’s car.
She hates it. Says it’s heavy.
She hates the gun I gave her more.
"You don’t have to come," I say again.
"I do," she says. "This is my story too."
I nod. Get out of the car.
The night is quiet. Too quiet.
No traffic. No people.
The city shut the bridge down "for repairs" 6 hours ago.
Convenient.
We walk.
My gun is in my waistband. Maya’s is in her bag.
We both know she won’t use it.
But having it makes her feel better.
At the middle of the bridge, he’s waiting.
Handler.
No backup. No vehicles.
Just him. Hands in his pockets.
Looking at the water below.
He hears us coming. Doesn’t turn around.
"You brought her," he says.
"She stays," I say.
He turns. Looks at Maya.
Assesses her in 2 seconds.
Then look back at me.
"I should have known you’d break Rule 5."
"Which one is that?" I ask.
"Never trust a civilian."
Maya steps forward. "I’m not just a civilian.
I’m the person who’s going to expose all of you."
Handler almost smiles. "Good luck with that."
"Why are we here?" I ask. "What’s the play?"
He pulls something from his pocket.
A drive. Small. Black.
"Protocol Nightfall," he says. "The full plan.
Locations. Dates. Bank accounts. Everything File Omega has, plus more."
I don’t move.
"Why give it to me?"
"Because you’re the only one who can stop it," he says.
"And because I’m done lying to you."
Maya and I exchanged look.
This is too easy.
"How do I know it’s not a virus? Or a tracker?" I ask.
"You don’t," he says. "But you’re out of time.
Nightfall starts in 41 hours.
Once it starts, markets crash, governments fall,
and the Director’s committee steps in to ‘restore order’."
"And you want me to stop it?" I ask.
"I want you to survive it," he says.
"Come with me. We can take this to the right people.
People inside who still have a conscience."
"Like you?" I laugh. "You helped build this."
"I helped stop worse things," he says. "25 years of dirty work
so we didn’t have to do 50 years of g******e.
You don’t get it, 7. The world isn’t black and white."
"It is tonight," I say.
I reach for the drive.
A red dot appears on Handler’s chest.
Then on mine.
Then on Maya’s.
Sniper.
"Down!" I yell.
We hit the concrete.
Gunfire.
Not at us. Over us.
Suppression fire.
Vehicles. Two. Coming from both ends of the bridge.
Headlights off.
Viper.
He’s alive. And he’s pissed.
"Handler!" I shout. "Is this your doing?"
He’s already moving. Pulling a gun.
"No. This is Protocol Nightfall.
They’re cleaning the house. Starting with us."
Bullets chew up the concrete around us.
We crawl behind the concrete barrier in the middle of the bridge.
"Plan?" Maya asks. Voice steady. Impressive.
"Run," I say. "Back to the car."
"They’ll cut us off," Handler says. "We go forward.
There’s a maintenance ladder under the bridge.
Leads to the water."
"The water?" Maya says. "It’s freezing."
"Better than bullets," I say.
We move.
Handler in front. Me covering. Maya in the middle.
Another burst of gunfire.
Handler grunts. Stumbles.
He’s hit. Shoulder.
"Keep moving," he says through gritted teeth.
We make it to the edge.
Handler kicks open the maintenance hatch.
Darkness below. And water.
"Go," he says to Maya.
She looks at me.
"After you," I say.
She climbs down.
I follow.
The handler is last.
Halfway down, gunfire again.
Someone is shooting down the hatch.
The handler pushes me.
I fall the last 10 feet into the water.
Cold. Dark.
I come up gasping.
Maya is there. Holding onto the ladder.
The handler drops down next to us.
Blood in the water.
"Move," he says. "Swim."
We swim.
Under the bridge. Away from the lights.
Away from the gunfire.
My shoulder is screaming. Old injury.
Maya is slowing down. The vest is dragging her.
I grab her. Tow her.
We made it to the riverbank 10 minutes later.
Cold. Soaking. Shaking.
The handler collapses on the mud.
I check his wound.
Through and through. Not fatal. Not yet.
"You’re an i***t," I say. "Coming here alone."
"Had to," he says. "If I brought backup,
they’d know I was betraying them."
He holds out the drive.
Still in his hand.
"Take it," he says. "It’s clean. No tracker.
I wiped it myself."
I take it.
"Why?" I ask. "After 25 years. Why now?"
He looks at me. Really looks at me.
For the first time in 25 years, I see something other than cold.
"Because you were 22," he says. "And you reminded me of my son.
And I told myself I was saving you by pulling you out of that rubble.
But I wasn’t. I was condemning you."
Maya is watching. Silent.
"I’m sorry, 7," he says. "For all of it."
"Don’t," I say. "Save it."
He shakes his head. "No time.
Listen. The Director. He’s not on the tablet.
He’s not in File Omega.
He’s off the grid. Ghost protocol."
"Where?" I ask.
"I don’t know," he says. "But I know who does.
Rook. He’s been the Director’s liaison for 3 years.
If anyone knows, it’s him."
"Rook?" I say. My old team leader. "He’s dead."
"No," Handler says. "He’s the one running the cleanup.
He’s at the old airfield. 30 clicks north.
Go there. Find him. Make him talk."
He coughs. Blood.
"And 7? Don’t trust anyone.
Not even me."
He closes his eyes.
"Handler?" I say.
He’s out. Breathing. But out.
Maya is wrapping his wound with her shirt.
"He’ll live," she says. "We need to get him to the hospital."
"We can’t," I say. "If we do, the Director will find him.
And us."
"What do we do then?" she asks.
I look at the drive in my hand.
At Handler, bleeding in the mud.
At Maya, soaked and scared but still here.
"We run," I say. "To the airfield.
We find Rook.
And we end this."
We leave Handler in an abandoned boathouse.
Dry. Warm. With water and a first aid kit.
I leave him my gun.
"If anyone comes," I say, "use it."
He nods. Still unconscious.
We take one of Viper’s SUVs.
No plates. No GPS.
Maya is driving. I’m in the passenger seat.
Looking at the drive.
"What’s on it?" she asks.
"Everything," I say. "If we can get it to the right people."
"Who’s the right person?" she asks.
"I don’t know anymore," I say.
We drive in silence.
The airfield is dark when we get there.
No lights. No planes.
Just hangars and runway.
And one truck.
Parked in front of the main hangar.
Rook.
I get out. Gun up.
The hangar door opens.
Rook steps out.
He looks older. Tired.
But his gun is steady.
"7," he says. "I was hoping you’d come."
"Rook," I say. "Where’s the Director?"
He smiles. Sad.
"You really think he’s here?
He hasn’t been here in 10 years."
"Then where?" I ask.
Rook looks past me. At Maya.
"Who’s she?"
"Someone who’s going to expose all of you," I say.
Rook nods. "Good. Someone should."
"What?" I say.
He lowers his gun.
"I’m done, 7. I’m so f*****g done.
25 years of this. Of lying. Of killing.
For what? For them?"
He gestures to the sky.
"They don’t care about us. They never did."
"Where is he?" I ask again.
Rook sighs.
"You won’t like it."
"Tell me."
"He’s in the US," Rook says. "Colorado.
A private compound. Off the books.
But you’ll never get in. It’s a fortress."
"Watch me," I say.
Rook looks at me. Then at Maya.
"You’re really going to do this?"
"We have to," Maya says.
Rook nods. Pulls something from his pocket.
Another drive.
"This has the coordinates. Security layouts.
Everything you need.
But 7? Once you go in, there’s no coming out.
Not for you. Not for her."
"I know," I say.
He hands me the drive.
"For what it’s worth... I’m proud of you, kid.
You were always the best of us."
He turns. Gets in the truck.
Drives away.
Just like that.
Maya and I are left in the dark.
I look at the two drives in my hand.
Handler’s. Rook’s.
40 hours until Nightfall.
Colorado.
"Ready?" I ask Maya.
She checks her camera. Nods.
"Let’s end this."
- END OF CHAPTER 4 -
- Writer
