The death rate was high among dermies, but the cause was usually a bullet.
Paul passed a fork in the highway and knew that the bridge was just ahead.
Beyond the channel lay Galveston Island, once brightly lit and laughing in its role as seaside resort—now immersed in darkness.
The wind whipped at the truck from the southwest as the road led up onto the wide causeway.
A faint glow in the east spoke of a moon about to rise.
He saw the wide structure of the drawbridge just ahead.
Suddenly be clutched at the wheel, smashed furiously down on the brake, and tugged the emergency back.
The tires howled ahead on the smooth concrete, and the force threw him forward over the wheel.
Dusty water swirled far below where the upward folding gates of the drawbridge had once been.
He skidded to a stop ten feet from the end.
When he climbed out, the girl was calling weakly from the trailer, but he walked to the edge and looked over.
Someone had done a job with dynamite.
Why, he wondered.
To keep islanders on the island, or to keep mainlanders off?
Had another Doctor Georgelle started his own small nation in Galveston?
It seemed more likely that the lower island dwellers had done the demolition.
He looked back at the truck.
An experienced truckster might be able to swing it around all right, but Paul was doubtful.
Nevertheless, he climbed back in the cab and tried it.
Half an hour later he was hopelessly jammed, with the trailer twisted aside and the cab wedged near the sheer drop to the water.
He gave it up and went back to inspect his infected cargo.
She was asleep, but moaning faintly.
He prodded her awake with the jack-handle.
“Can you crawl, kid?
If you can, come back to the door.”
She nodded, and began dragging herself toward the flashlight.
She clenched her lip between her teeth to keep from whimpering, but her breath came as a voiced murmur… nnnng… nnnng…
She sagged weakly when she reached the entrance, and or a moment he thought she had fainted.
Then she looked up.
“What next, skipper?” she panted.
“I… I don’t know.
Can you let yourself down to the pavement?”
She glanced over the edge and shook her head.
“With a rope, maybe.
There’s one back there someplace.
If you’re scared of me, I’ll try to crawl and get it.”
“Hands to yourself?” he asked suspiciously; then he thanked the darkness for hiding the heat of shame that crawled to his face. “I won’t…”
He scrambled into the trailer quickly and brought back the rope.
“I’ll climb up on top and let it down in front of you.
Grab hold and let yourself down.”
A few minutes later she was sitting on the concrete causeway looking at the wrecked draw.
“Oh!” she muttered as he scrambled down from atop the trailer. “I thought you just wanted to dump me here.
We’re stuck, huh?”
“Yeah!
We might swim it, but doubt if you could make it.”
“I’d try…” She paused, cocking her head slightly.
“There’s a boat moored under the bridge.
Right over there.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Water lapping against wood.