Stepping onto the Blackwater suspension bridge was like walking onto a colossal, rusted pendulum swinging over an open grave.
The two-mile span of Old World steel and decaying asphalt offered absolutely zero cover from the brutal elements. The fierce, unobstructed wind howling through the massive gorge hit them with the physical force of a tidal wave. It tore across the exposed, four-lane deck, shrieking through the thick, braided support cables with a high-pitched, agonizing metallic whine. The entire structure swayed, a slow, nauseating lateral drift that caused the rusted iron grating beneath their boots to groan in continuous, heavy protest.
Four hundred feet below, the Blackwater River churned in a violent, foaming frenzy, the dark water completely immune to the freezing temperature due to the sheer, kinetic violence of the current.
Ren walked directly down the center line of the ruined highway.
