We reach the bridge just as the tree line splinters behind us, near the spot I almost went careening over the edge.
One glance behind me reveals the scorpion, its claws digging into the ledge to keep from toppling over. It occurs to me it could probably crawl down the canyon and back up to get to us, but it hisses when it peers downward. I try not to think about what the fog obscures if even the scorpion fears it.
“Would have been nice if it had toppled over the edge,” says Zora, hesitating at the entrance to the bridge.
“It never seems to work out that way, does it?”
For a moment, I think we both consider sprinting back into the forest. The bridge consists of rotting wooden slats strung together with ropes that look to be fraying at the edges. No handrails. Just a row of wooden bars, spaced out like stepping stones in a garden.
We exchange a morbid glance.
Then we run across the bridge.
There’s an unfortunate amount of rebound on the bridge, especially with the two of us racing across it. Every time Zora’s foot lands on a plank, it sends the ones beneath my feet ricocheting toward the sky. The result necessitates an extreme feat of balance, and it impedes our progress. One can only run so quickly across an ever-changing platform without tumbling off. Still, we make it halfway across before the scorpion reaches the bridge at all.
Not that halfway is all that helpful when all the scorpion has to do to send us plummeting to our deaths is slice the ropes with its pincers.
“I don’t think scorpions are that intelligent,” Zora says between huffs when I bring it up.
I chance a glance behind us, which is a mistake as it almost causes me to lose my footing. The scorpion skirts around the entrance to the bridge, as if it’s afraid of heights and has to work itself up to crossing it.
“Even if it were, I think it would rather eat us than kill us for spite.” I have to yell over the winds that have picked up since our initial flight and are now swaying the bridge back and forth.
“How comforting!” Zora yells back. “I, for one, would pick being eaten over plummeting to a quick death with the solid ground any time.”
I acknowledge her sarcasm and pick up my pace.
The other side of the canyon is in sight when we hear a crash.
The force of the scorpion launching itself onto the bridge sends both of us skyborne.
There’s a moment, suspended in the air, when I feel absolutely weightless. It’s as if Zora and I are frozen in time.
But then we fall.
I hit the bridge first. Something cracks beneath my weight—a rotting board that splinters upon impact. My left foot goes straight through the board, sending me toppling off balance. I fall, but my foot is still stuck.
“Hold on!” I shout at Zora, who grabs onto the ropes just in time for my weight to flip our section of the bridge upside down.
I’m hanging by my ankle, trying not to stare into the gaping mouth of the chasm beneath me. Fog swirls below, as if to welcome me into its open arms.
You would think the surprise of the flip would have sent the scorpion falling to its death. I’m not that lucky. When I crane my neck, I notice the scorpion crawling toward us, hanging upside down, unfazed by the sudden change of direction.
“Zora?” I call, having a hard time seeing her at this angle.
“Not really in the mood to chat right now,” she calls back, her voice strained. She lets out a series of grunts, I assume due to the strain of pulling herself to the upright portion of the bridge.
“Are you holding on?”
“Obviously.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes before summoning enough momentum to force my torso upward. It feels as if I’m snipping the muscles in my abdomen with pruning shears, but I manage to get ahold of the ropes this way.
Zora’s already waiting for me. When she extends a hand to help me maneuver right-side up, I shake my head.
“I’d rather you keep both hands on the ropes,” I explain between breaths. She rolls her eyes but clamps her fingers around the ropes all the same.
Once I have my hands secure around the ropes, I swing my feet upward through a section of missing slats and wrap my legs around the ropes before pulling myself up.
Zora’s gaze is fixed behind me. “Could you be any slower?”
The ropes rattle beneath my fingertips, and I don’t need to turn around to understand why.
Together we scramble across the bridge on our hands and knees, not daring to stand upright lest the bridge flip again.
It slows our progress, allowing the scorpion to catch up with us until I can practically feel its pincers scraping against my heels.
Zora reaches safety first, if you can even call it safety.
Her tanned face is flushed with exertion, and I’m not sure how much longer either of us can outrun the scorpion once it’s on land again.
“It’s gaining on you,” she says.
“Toss me your knife.”
She screws up her eyebrows, but she throws me the knife all the same. The moment I have to let go of the ropes with my right hand to catch it is a less-than-pleasant experience I’m not keen on repeating.
But it’s nothing compared to the bottom that falls out of my gut when I bring the knife down on the rope just below me. I don’t have a good angle to cut below my feet, so I have to slice the rope directly below where I’m gripping the bridge. The ease with which the rope snaps is unsettling. I’m just going to have to think about that after I make it to stable ground. The snap of the right rope has the bridge flipping on its other side as I hold on with my left hand.
