Read Crash III: There's No Place Like Home for Free Online Page B

water. With its face angled down, Michael only saw the back of its head. An angry wound glistened through its dark hair. It looked like someone had taken a hammer to it.  
    When he finally looked back at Lola, she said, “Do it; it’ll stop you from sliding down.”
    Although he started crying again and the freezing wind crashed into him, Michael stretched his legs out.  
    Just before his feet touched the corpse’s head, he stopped, a weakness cringing through his legs. “I can’t, Lola.”
    “It’s already dead. If you don’t do it, you’ll fall into the river. There’s no way you’ll survive that.”
    Hearing it from Lola made it more real. He would die if he ended up in the river. If he didn’t drown, he’d freeze.
    A long exhale produced a cloud of condensation in front of him. Then he stretched his legs the extra few centimeters needed to reach the head of the dead person.  
    Tense from the anticipation of it giving way like a rotten melon, Michael pushed against it.
    It held.  
    Michael then stood up. The pressure he put on the back of the thing’s skull made it pivot on its neck and pushed its legs out behind it. It was stiff like it was made of wood.
    A few seconds later, he nodded at Lola. “It’s works; it actually works.”  
    Lola slid down her own rope, copying what Michael had done.
    “So you were waiting for me to test it before you risked your life? Thanks!”
    Shaking her head, Lola looked down at the body Michael stood on. “No, you were falling; you had to stand on it. I didn’t. But since you’ve done it, it looks much more comfortable than hanging onto the rope. We don’t know how long they’re going to be up there for.”
    Instead of responding, Michael looked around. He’d never seen London bridge from this angle before. The bridge’s arches, each one a small tunnel, amplified the sound of the rushing water and wind.
    Michael swung like a pendulum on the end of the rope as he listened. The water rushed beneath him. The wind tore over the river. The rope creaked like it could snap at any moment. The engine of the truck idled. The men laughed and joked… what would they do if they knew the boy who’d escaped them hung directly beneath them at that moment?

Waiting Game

    Unable to suppress the whimper that the cold forced from his body, Michael clasped onto the rope. Let Lola think he was weak; he didn’t care. His hands felt like they could break, and he was standing on a damn corpse!
    At some point, he’d have to climb the rope again. The longer he waited, the less capable he’d be of getting back up to the bridge. Before long his hands would seize like rusty hinges. Another look down at the dark river below made his stomach twist.  
    With his muscles tense enough to shatter, Michael leaned back and looked up at the bridge. The sound of the throaty engine ticked over. It wouldn’t be long before the second vehicle caught up.
    When he looked at Lola, he saw his own sharp pains playing out across her grimacing face.
    A loud roar came from above, and Michael looked up again. The lights from the truck swung out over his head as it turned onto the bridge.
    Despite the bridge being both clear and wide, the trucks moved slowly as if taking in the sights. The rope wavered as Michael shook and his footing on the copse’s head slipped a little.
    As he swung in the wind, Michael closed his eyes and waited.

    ***

    A few minutes later, Michael opened his eyes. The trucks had travelled about halfway across the bridge—far enough away for him to speak safely. “Why are they taking so long?”
    Lola clung to the rope, pale and with her jaw locked tight. “Dunno, maybe they’ve had problems on the bridge before. Maybe they’re paranoid.”
    “Do you think they know we’re here?”
    Lola shook her head. “I doubt it. I think they would have stopped if they did.”
    A loud horn sounded and caused Michael to lose his footing. The rope scorched his hands as he slid down it, but