bucked like something alive. The deck ripped
apart. Wood splintered. Metal screeched.
For a second, I stared up at the underside
of the truck, its front wheels spinning where
the timber had broken beneath it. A second
CR ACK! and another section of deck split
open. The truck tilted forward, hung for an
instant, then fell.
Bits of splintered timber rained through
the air around it. Eyes staring, bodies unable
to move, we watched it plummet fifty feet
into the river below.
It hit the surface with a slam. Spray flew,
glittering in the sunlight. The water rocked,
foamed, then slid on. The truck and its cargo
were gone.
Silence for a second, then we all started
yelling. “Oh no! Oh man!”
Roger grabbed my arm. He was going to
start bullying me at a time like this? No—he
yelled to the others. “Someone get help! The
rest of you wait on the bank!”
He started dragging me toward the
river—not where the truck had vanished, but
about ten yards upstream from it. “You’re the
underwater swimmer!” he told me. “Try and
find it. Let the current carry you.”
He was dragging me so fast that my feet
hardly touched the ground. We were already
waist-deep in the river, sloshing out toward
the middle.
“Take a deep breath! Go on!” Roger’s face
was fierce and tight. I was up to my chest in
the water now. “Don’t get caught.”
The river pulled at me. Roger let go of my
arm. I took a breath and threw myself under.
Instantlythecurrentwashaulingme
downstream.I stretchedoutmyarms,trying
to turn, lookingallaroundme.Where...?
The truckloomedatmethroughthe
water. It lay ononeside.Itscabwasbuckled.
I thudded intoit,clungtherefora second.I
fumbled for thedoorhandle,butthe doorwas
jammed shut.
I let the currentslidemeacrossthewind-
screen and staredin.Insidethecab,a figurelay
crumpled acrossthesteeringwheel.I bangedon
the glass. Nomovement.Thentheriverswept
me away.
I came splutteringtothesurfacetenyards
downstream.Rogerstoodintheriverwhere
he’d led me. Hehelda rockinonehand.
The otherkidswerecrouchedonthebank,
or hurrying upthepathtothebridgewhere
another truckhadskiddedtoa stop.
I jabbed afingerat thewater.“There!
He’s —”
My big cousinplungedunder.
I struggledtowardthespot,suckedin
another breath,anddivedagain.Straightaway
I was at the truck,thumpingagainstitsbuckled
cab once more.
Roger clungtoit withonehand,facingthe
windscreen. Heliftedtherockhewasholdingand
punched it atthewindow.A bigchunkofglass
sagged into thecab.Rogerpunchedagain.His
knuckles scrapedrazor-sharpedgesas hepushed
through. Bloodribbonedawayinthewater.
Roger hadthedriverbyonelimparm,
heaving with allhiswrestler’sstrength.Butthe
man’s hips werejammedbetweensteeringwheel
and seat, andhewouldn’tcomefree.THECAB IS THE FRONT PART OF THE
TRUCK, WHERE THE DRIVER SITS.43