Across The Bridge Novels & Stories

He had an idea of what he was going to find. He slowly walked away from the door as he shoved a brick in front of it to keep the door open. As he moved away from the door, the air around him got heavy and harder to breathe. He moved the light further to the back, and he saw it. Max could hardly believe what he was seeing. It was right in front of him, though. He had to focus and breathe again.

Julian didn’t look up. He fed another twig into the fire, watching it catch. “We need to stay sharp,” he murmured. “Lazarus wasn’t exactly sure what happens on the bridge.” He sat back on his heels, eyes narrowing at the thought. “Said not many have made it across… and if they did, they didn’t come back.” A pause. “The bridge is hexed. Designed to keep people from traveling further. To protect what’s beyond. To trap what’s already crossed.”

--- 11:25 AM — D Sector, Palehook Crossing The bridge was not new—but new-acknowledged. A weaving of polyroot crossing that curved but did not snap underfoot. Kids crossed it unhesitantly. The elders crossed it slowly, some for the first time in years. Elira crossed it carefully, hand tracing the balustrade. Caelan, on the opposite side, shouted, "Still certain about your weight?" "I'm counting on the threads," she shouted back, "and on the hands that bound them."

Per Beta Jansen’s command to check the sturdiness of the bridge we built. Well, if it doesn't go well, we’ll basically be picked up as drowned corpses in the unrelenting river below. Good thing we managed to cross and return in one piece. As I hoped, the bridge remained solid under our feet. Thank the Moon Goddess for that. Although I wouldn’t mind if Alpha Cain’s car will pass here and eventually find himself dropping in a cruel height and plunging into the Marianne River dramatically. It would be a fucking great scene to watch, I suppose.

Aislen thought that she could see the dust of the bricks drifting down under the pressure of the wind. It was a double laned bridge, without safety rails, designed for trains, to breeze across, not for cars and Utes with their rubber wheels to straddle or drive over the slick surface of the metal tracks in the rain and wind. “Stay to the middle,” Heath said under his breath. “We’ve done this before, the other night.” “Why is it scarier now?” Cameron wondered.

“It’s guiding us.” They went on the trail winding down. The sky above was luminescent and bright. In the far horizon, a thin thread of river glinted and behind it the lands they had known but which they had not seen for so long. By noon, they crossed a slim bridge, which consisted of stone and cord. It ran across a quiet gorge. The wind pattered through it with an hushed murmur. Arden tested the first steps. “It’s safe,” he said. “But old.”

It was a physical paper map, scavenged from some old municipal office. Torque slammed his heavy metal finger onto a red circle drawn on the map. "The Ash-Fall Bridge," Torque said. "It's the only major land crossing over the toxic river that separates Sector 7 from Sector 8. It's the only way heavy armor can cross into the Rust Belt." "Let me guess," Leo rumbled, stepping forward, the machine gun resting easily against his hip. "They're crossing it."

They menacingly approached Summer and escorted her along the path. They took her to a dark end. It was the deepest part of hell, where red light flickered and molten lava flowed. There was a black rock bridge across the magma river. As Summer walked across the bridge, she wondered whether it was the legendary Bridge of Regret. But there was no sign of Charon, the ferryman. Although Summer wished to linger on the black rock bridge, the creatures forcefully took her away.

But today we unanimously decided to drive to the bridge by car. Five minutes and here we are at the famous Bob Carrey Bridge. It curved across the Missouri River, and it is special because this kilometer pedestrian bridge was located between two states - Nebraska and Iowa. I'm sure there are usually a lot of people here. But not today. Today only we thought it was a good idea to walk across the bridge.

At seventeen, Damien Delta severed all ties with his best friend. Without a single word or explanation, he cut Harrison Kane, out of his life completely. For years, Damien stayed on the circuit, masterfully calculating his schedule to make sure their paths never crossed. When dodging Harrison became too difficult, Damien quit driving altogether, stepping away from the track to build the cars instead. He thought he was safe behind the scenes. He was wrong. When the Delta empire faces complete ruin, Damien is forced to break his own golden rule. Dragged out of retirement for SLAT—the most prestigious, brutal racing tournament in the world—he has to step back into the driver's seat.  And