The Codex

63

The rickety bamboo bridge stretched ahead of Tom, swaying and rattling in the updrafts, trailing vines and pieces into the great chasm that yawned below it. The mists were rising thickly, and Tom could see only twenty feet ahead of him. The sound of the waterfall echoed up from below like the deep distant roar of a furious beast, and the bridge shook with every step.

Borabay had gone first, Vernon was next, then Philip. Tom had followed last.

They sidestepped along the bottom cable, keeping out of sight below the surface of the bridge. Tom followed his brothers, moving as fast as safety would allow. The main cable was wet and slippery from the rising mist, the twisted fibers spongy and rotten, and many of the vertical cables had broken, leaving gaps. Every time a gust came up from below, the bridge swayed and shuddered, and Tom had to stop and cling until it had passed. He tried to focus on just the few feet of bridge in front of him and nothing else. One step at a time, he said to himself. One step at a time.

A rope, more rotten than most, gave way in his hand, and he experienced a brief sway of terror over the abyss before he could grasp another. He stopped, letting his hammering heart subside. As he cautiously moved forward, he began testing each rope with a tug before trusting it as a handhold. He looked ahead. His brothers were shadowy forms moving ahead of him, partially obscured in mists, bathed in a kind of shifting half-light from the powerful spotlight shining behind them in the fog.

The farther they edged out on the bridge, the more it shook and swayed, the bamboo squeaking and the cables groaning and sighing as if alive. In the middle of the bridge the wind currents grew stronger, buffeting them as they blew upward. Once in a while a turbulent gust caused the bridge to shake and twitch in the most terrifying way. Tom couldn’t help but think of Don Alfonso’s story of the bottomless chasm, the falling bodies turning around and around forever, disintegrating into dust. He shivered and tried to keep from looking down, but in order to place his feet he was forced to look into a dizzying space that plunged downward into columns of mist that disappeared into a bottomless dark. They were almost at the midpoint: He could see where the bridge reached the lowest point of its curve and began to rise back up to meet the far side of the chasm.

An exceptionally strong gust of wind billowed up, giving the bridge a sudden shake. Tom tightened his grip, almost slipping off. He heard a muffled cry and saw, ahead, two pieces of rotten cord drop into the chasm, spinning wildly in the updraft; and then Philip was suddenly dangling, holding on to the cable by the crook of one elbow, his feet twisting and milling over the void.

Oh my God, thought Tom. He hastened forward, almost slipping himself. There was no way his brother was going to be able to hold on like that for more than a few moments. He arrived at a point just above his brother. Philip was dangling silently, trying to throw his leg up and over, his face twisted, unable to speak with terror. The others had disappeared into the mists.

Tom crouched, one arm wrapped around the cable, the other trying to hook under Philip’s arm. His own feet suddenly shot out from underneath him, and he momentarily dangled over the abyss before righting himself. He felt his heart pounding in his chest; his vision clouded with terror, and he could hardly breathe.

“Tom,” his brother choked out, his voice as high as a child’s.

Tom flattened himself on the cable above Philip. “Swing,” he said to Philip, keeping his own voice calm. “Help me. Swing your body up. I’ll grab you.” He reached down with one arm, ready to snag Philip’s belt.

Philip tried to swing himself back up and snag his feet on the cable but couldn’t get a purchase, and the effort caused his arm to slip. He let out a short cry. Tom could see Philip’s white knuckles clutching the cable, his hands locked together. A keening sound of terror escaped his lips.

“Try it again,” Tom shouted. “Swing your body up. Up!”

Philip, grimacing, swung, and Tom tried to grab his belt, but his foot slipped again, and for one terrifying moment his leg dangled in space and he was holding himself on by one rotten cord. He hauled himself back up, trying to calm his pounding heart. A piece of bamboo, jarred loose by the activity, fell down, down, slowly turning around and around until it vanished from sight.

He’s got about five seconds, thought Tom. This would be Philip’s last chance. “Swing up. Give it all you’ve got, even if you have to let go. Get ready. One, two, three!”

Philip swung, and this time Tom let go with one arm, holding on to the rotten cord with the other, which allowed him to lean out far enough to snag Philip’s belt with his hand. For a minute they were suspended, the two of them, most of their combined weight on the cord, and then with a tremendous heave Tom pulled Philip up on the cable, and he fell upon it, hugging it like a life ring.

They remained there, clutching the cables, both too terrified even to speak. Tom could hear Philip’s harsh gasps.

“Philip?” he finally managed to say. “Are you okay?”

The rasping breaths began to subside.

“You’re okay.” Tom tried to make it a statement. “It’s all right. It’s over. You’re safe.”

There was another gust of wind, and the bridge shook. A sound, a gurgle, came from Philip, and his whole body tightened on the cable.

A minute passed. A very long minute.

“We’ve got to keep moving,” Tom said. “You’ve got to stand up.”

There was another gust, and the bridge danced and shimmied.

“I can’t.”

Tom understood what he meant. He himself had a powerful urge to wrap himself around the main cable and stay there forever.

The mists were thinning. More gusts came from below, very strong ones this time, and the bridge swayed. It wasn’t a regular motion but a sway with a twist at the end, a snap, as it were, that each time threatened to twitch them off into the gloom below.

The shaking subsided.

“Stand up, Philip.”

“No.”

“You’ve got to. Now.” Time was the one thing they didn’t have. The mists had cleared. The klieg light was shining brightly. All the soldiers had to do was turn and look. He extended his hand. “Grab my hand and I’ll lift you up.”

Philip raised a shaking hand, and Tom grasped it and slowly pulled his brother up. The bridge swayed, and Philip clutched at the vertical cords. There was another series of gusts, and the bridge began to shudder and sway in that awful way again. Philip moaned in terror. Tom himself held on for dear life, his body thrown from side to side. Five minutes went by while the bridge shuddered, the longest five minutes of his life. He could feel his arms aching from the effort. Finally the shaking subsided.

“Let’s go.”

Philip moved one foot, gingerly placed it ahead on the cable, then another, then moved his hands, sidestepping along. In five minutes they had reached the far side. Borabay and Vernon had been waiting for them in the darkness, and together they plunged into the cloudforest, running as fast as they could.