Free The Survivor Chronicles: Book 1, The Upheaval by Erica Stevens Page A

think they’re rooting for us to make it.”
     
    “Me too.”
     
    But John wasn’t so sure, he supposed most of the people hoped they would survive, but he was sure there were a few in the crowd expecting some big implosion. A few that would like to see the bridge collapse into a twisted heap of metal that sucked them right along with it into the canal. He shuddered at the thought. “Is it better on the other side?”
     
    “No.”
     
    Carl’s clipped tone and instant response were demoralizing. John sank lower in the seat; his foot was beginning to indent the dash as his hand twisted on the handle. Silently, he began to pray, though he wasn’t entirely certain what he was praying for. To make it to the other side sure, but if it was worse then why was he sitting here to begin with? What was he hoping for?
     
    To find his parents. He was hoping to find his parents.
     
    He focused on that goal as the truck moved gradually forward, dead smack in the middle of the four-lane bridge. It’s in good repair, he told himself repeatedly. They’re always doing work on the bridges, shutting down lanes and backing up traffic for miles. It was a nightmare every time bridgework was announced, but John was grateful for that nightmare now. The bridge had withstood the quake; it would withstand the weight of one lone truck.
     
    He refused to look down, refused to see the churning waters of the canal. On the horizon he could see tendrils of smoke, curling ever higher into the air. In the distance he heard a siren, it sounded forlorn as its lonesome wail echoed through the streets it traversed. There was no way to know where it was going, John was certain there were thousands, if not millions, in need of assistance.
     
    They made it to the crest of the bridge and broke over the top. John’s foot fell to the floor, his mouth dropped as he leaned forward in his seat, temporarily forgetting his own peril as he gaped at the dismal scene before him. So much had already happened today, he should have been prepared for the spectacle before him. He wasn’t.
     
    His heart lumbered, a cold chill crept up his back as he forced his mouth closed. Beside him Carl’s breath hissed out of him. He had already seen it, yet John could tell that Carl still hadn’t fully comprehended the devastation that had been waged on the other side of the bridge.
     
    “Maybe we should go back,” John managed to choke out. “It’s not as bad on the Cape, we might be safer there.”
     
    “We’re not safe anywhere right now, but we’re damn sure not safe over there.”
     
    “Why are you so sure of that?”
     
    “I just am.”
     
    It wasn’t a very reassuring answer. He glanced in the mirror again, but he could only see the tops of a few heads now. They were standing on their cars, straining to see the dwindling vehicle. Not like they wouldn’t know if the bridge collapsed. John was pretty sure it would be blatantly obvious.
     
    And then they were making the descent. John’s heart hammered, excitement pummeled through him. They were almost there. They were going to make it. He no longer cared about the destruction on the other side; all he wanted was to plant his feet on solid ground again.
     
    Twenty more feet…. Fifteen…
     
    He became certain in the last ten feet that they were going to fall, that they would never make it. That fate was just teasing them with hope before destroying them. He almost threw open the door and raced across to solid ground. He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to fall to his knees and kiss the filthy road repeatedly. It would be worth every single bit of dirt and germs he’d get on him.
     
    Eight feet…
     
    As they neared the final five, his hand fell to the door handle. He braced himself. If it fell apart now, perhaps he could somehow plunge out of the truck and manage to jump to safety before being crushed by thousands of tons of steel. He’d take the chance, that was for sure.
     
    And then the sound of