Page 33 of Fallen Creed

“There’s an old bridge close by.”

When she didn’t answer immediately, he added, “Hannah, I’m fine. Really. I won’t push it. And I’d never let Grace push it either.”

“Okay, but call me later.”

“I will.”

The snow started falling again. He checked his GPS watch. Creed bent down to examine Grace’s paws and nose. He readjusted her vest.

“Okay, girl. We’re going across the river, but we’re not going far. We’ll need to head back soon.”

He checked his daypack to make sure he’d packed the mesh carrier he sometimes used when it wasn’t safe for Grace to be on the ground. He wouldn’t make her trudge back in the snow. Right now, there were only a few inches. He figured they could do another hour, then head back. How bad could it get in an hour or two?

—26—

Creed couldn’t imagine a motorized vehicle ever using this bridge. Whatever road or path that led to it was long gone. Grass, shrubs and cattails grew tall enough to hide the entrance. Before he attempted to set foot on it, he tried to examine whether it was sturdy enough to hold him.

He told Grace to “stay,” while he ventured down the bank to look under the bridge. The grass was slick and icy with snow. He started to slide and grabbed onto an overhanging branch. The bark was slippery, too, and he almost ended up in the river.

“I’m okay,” he told Grace before he glanced up to see her pacing and stretching her neck to keep him in sight.

It wasn’t just the safety of the bridge Creed wanted to get a look at. He realized the old wooden structure might provide an opportunity if Libby Holmes had decided to kill herself. He hated to admit that once upon a time he had thought about different methods of suicide, a stockpile, a database readily available. Going off to some isolated location where his body might not be found but simply dissolved back into nature, had been at the top of his list.

But now, he blew out a sigh of relief, the emotion visible in the misty cloud of his breath. There was no one hanging from the galvanized steel guardrails. And no body underneath the bridge, in the water or caught in the debris.

Looking up, however, he was disappointed how much white, snow-clouted sky he could see through the rotten boards that were once a bridge. At least it wasn’t a significant fall if he broke through. Maybe twenty feet, at the most.

A chill ran down his back just at the thought of plunging into the ice-cold water. It wouldn’t be the first time for him. It was always Grace he worried about. Funny how his vision of dangers now ran through the prism of how they might affect Grace or one of his other scent dogs.

Ice-cold water, snakes, alligators, bears, mudslides? He could handle any of those. But he didn’t want his dogs to experience any of them.

Grace’s wag accelerated as he climbed back up the embankment. He stomped down a path through the thicket, allowing her to follow him until he reached the edge of the rickety bridge. He briefly considered carrying her. But if she was in his arms and he crashed through, she would go down with him.

He held up his hand and told her, “stay.”

The snow was beginning to pile up now, covering the tops of his hiking boots. He couldn’t see the boards, let alone the rotted holes he had seen from underneath. None of them had been large enough that he’d fall through, but he wondered how much weight it would take before they’d break.

On closer inspection, the guardrail looked sturdy, the bolts intact though rusty. Creed could see dents along the sides, most likely from bumpers. The rails had held. But they stood about a foot high off the flooring of the bridge and were only about six or seven inches. It would be easy to tumble over the side.

He turned one last time and reminded Grace to stay. Her front paws shuffled in place. Her head bobbed. Her ears stayed forward. She was not happy with his command.

The cold water below made the surface of the bridge slick. The soft layers of snow hid the layer of ice underneath. Creed kept to the middle. If he lost his balance, at least, he wouldn’t topple over the ridiculously short guardrails. He stepped tentatively with slow, tight steps. From end to end, he estimated the distance was about fifty feet. Not significant, but under the current weather circumstances, it felt like a long haul.

When he finally reached the opposite side, he turned back to Grace and called out, “Follow!”

She came across, imitating his slow pace and keeping to the path his boots had made. He knew she wanted to run and probably could, but she would do as she was told. Her sixteen pounds wouldn’t trigger a crack in the old wood, but she wasn’t used to the icy surface either. He crept out onto the bridge, preparing to dash to her if she ran into trouble.

As soon as she was close enough, he swooped her up into his arms. He rubbed her paws with his gloved hands, holding and warming them. She licked at his face and only then did he notice there were tiny flecks of ice clinging to his bristled jaw.

“We check this side,” he told Grace. “Then we head back.”

The snow was falling so thick now Creed could no longer see the cornfield they had walked through in the distance. There was no wind. No sound. Only white, soft flakes that seemed harmless until he noticed how high it now stacked on the branches.

“We’re doing a quick check,” he said again as he placed Grace back on the ground. “Then we turn around. Okay?”

She was already poking the air with her nose. A couple of times, she jumped and bit at the snowflakes.

“I’m serious,” he said. He waved his arm and told her, “Grace, find Libby.”