John felt the bridge drop an inch or two about a half second before the ropes snapped. He instinctively put his hands out, still running, thinking he'd make it -
- and then he was falling, his knees slamming into a moving wall of wooden slats, his hands clenching the second they touched solid -
- and all he heard was a whoosh sound, and then the knuckles of his right hand crashed into rock, and he was dangling over a very deep chasm, a slat of loose wood in his left hand. He'd managed to grip one of the pieces still attached to the now hanging bridge; both ties that had anchored it to the north side of the rift had snapped.
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Chapter 16
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