It continued on the river's other side, but a couple hundred yards of running water lay between us and the far bank. On our side, a few broken steel beams hinted at the bridge that had once spanned the distance. In the murky water around the beams, cattails splashed as they slapped at water striders. As far as I could tell the fuzzy brown stalks never hit the insects—it seemed more a game than anything else. A short way downstream, two tall metal poles stood across from each other, one on either bank. A pair of guide ropes was strung between them, one near the water, one several feet above. The ropes glinted in the sun, and when I drew closer I saw that they were metal as well, dozens of thin strands twisted into steel cord by someone from Before, more tightly than anyone could manage now. A mix of knot-work and metalwork bound the cords to the poles. I gripped the lower one—it felt strong and warm to the touch. It would hold our weight.
Matthew nosed at the shore. Allie looked from the ropes to the water and from the water to me. Her chatter fell silent, and her eyes went wide. “Maybe there's another bridge.” Her voice was high and strange. “Check the map.”
I shook my head. “The road ends here.”
“Just check.” The girl's voice cracked as she spoke.
I dug the map from my pack. The next crossing was at least a day's walk away, and there was no sign of a road to lead us from here to there.
“Too far,” Allie said, but she looked up at me as if hoping for some other answer.
“There might not be a bridge there anymore, either,” I said.
Allie nodded, looking unhappy. “What about Matthew? And Tallow?”
Tallow remained firmly seated on my shoulders, but Matthew poked a paw at the river. All at once he leaped in, swimming across in a splash of paws and wet fur. The current took him downstream a little. Once on land he trotted back upstream, put his nose to the ground, and looked at us across the water.
Watching him, Allie sighed. “Wish I was a wolf.”
I looked at her, afraid to ask my next question. “You can swim, can't you?” Everyone could swim in Franklin Falls. Father and Kate had made sure of it.
Allie drew her arms around herself. “Don't know. Never tried.”
She'd never been beyond the Wall. Of course she hadn't tried. I looked back the way we'd come. In the near distance, a small patch of road faded into shadow, sun no longer reflecting off its surface.
The sky was clear, no clouds blocking the sun. There shouldn't have been any shadows. Goose bumps prickled between my shoulders. As I watched the shadow crept forward, then drew back, as if uncertain.
It had followed me after all. If Allie hadn't been with me, I might have been glad I'd drawn it away from Washville. Instead I knew only that I had to get Allie across the river, where running water might protect her. “I'll go first,” I said. “To test the ropes. But you have to follow as soon as I reach the other side, okay?”
Allie's braid had fallen over her shoulder. She shoved it into her mouth and nodded again. I didn't waste any more time. I made sure Tallow was secure on my shoulders and my pack secure on my back, then grabbed hold of the upper rope and stepped onto the lower one.
The lower rope swayed a bit under my weight. I quickly shifted my balance and inched sideways across the river, moving first my right arm and leg, then my left. The upper rope dug into my palms, the lower into the soles of my boots, but the ropes were strong, sagging only a little beneath me. Halfway across water flowed over my boots, just for a few steps. Sooner than I had expected, I was on the other side. A wet wolf nose nudged my hands as I stepped onto land once more. Tallow hissed, leaped from my shoulders, and fled to the shelter of a dead log. I took off my pack, tugged my waterlogged boots from my feet, and turned back to Allie.
“Ready?” I called.
Allie didn't move. Her feet seemed firmly planted on the ground.
“It's all right,” I said. “The ropes are fine.”
Allie tugged at the straps of her pack and chewed on the end of her braid. She stepped toward the ropes, then stopped, shaking her head. A cold wind picked up, blowing over the water. Instinctively I looked back to the road. Allie looked, too, and we both saw the shadow, only a stone's throw away from her now, flowing like a small dark puddle toward the river.
Matthew threw back his head and howled. The shadow halted, cowering like a frightened pup.
Allie scrambled onto the ropes. Her legs shook, making the lower rope sway. She had to stretch to reach the upper rope, which she clutched so hard her fingers turned white. She stood there, trembling, staring at me. Behind her the shadow moved forward again, but she didn't see.
I bit back the urge to yell, to scream, to tell her that we didn't have time. Instead I thought of Father, teaching me how to shoot an arrow. “Steady,” I told Allie. “Steady and slow.” I forced the doubts from my voice. “You can do this.”
Allie inched out over the water, one slow, sliding step at a time. “Good,” I told her. The wind picked up, making both ropes sway. “You're doing well.”
The ropes sagged as she reached the middle. Her boots touched the water. She bit her lip and kept moving. I smiled, but she didn't smile back.
“That's it. Keep going. Just keep—”
Something green and slimy snaked out of the water, grabbing her ankle. Allie's hands lost their grip. She screamed and tumbled into the river, her pack falling from her back as she did.
I leaped in as Allie grabbed for the ropes and missed them. Her hair trailed in the water as she disappeared beneath the surface. Running water was supposed to stop magic, I thought wildly, plants and magic both. It was a rule, not one of Father's, but still a rule. Yet I knew better. Water hadn't stopped my visions, after all. Rules weren't promises, whatever we wanted to think.
I swam harder, fighting the current and diving beneath the water where Allie had fallen. I slashed at the green thing with my knife, slicing it in two. The upper half released its grip on Allie, but the lower half snaked out and wrapped itself around my wrist. My wrist went numb. I struggled to hang on to the knife.
I came up above the surface, sputtering for air. Treading water, I tore the thing free with my other hand. It came away with a soft squishing sound. It looked a little like a vine and a little like a wriggling green snake. I flung it from me and sheathed my knife as Allie floated to the surface a few feet away.
I swam to her, grabbed her around the chest, and kicked hard for shore. Allie coughed, too weakly to get up any water, and fell limp in my hold.
When we reached the bank, Matthew grabbed the back of Allie's shirt with his teeth and dragged her to shore. I stumbled after her, coughing and shaking.
Matthew nudged Allie with his nose. She didn't move. He whined, deep in his throat.
My heart pounded. I couldn't seem to get enough air. I rolled Allie over.
Her eyes were wide, unblinking. River water froze against my skin. I bent over her, pumping her chest, breathing air into her lungs the way Brianna the midwife had taught me. Allie didn't move. Her skin was clammy and far too cold.
“Come on, Allie.” I pumped harder, the numbness in my wrist fading as I did. “Allie!” I called. My throat tightened around her name. “Allie!” My voice grew strange and deep, turning the words to a command. Light flashed at the edges of my sight. “Allison!”
She started coughing, heaving up water. I stopped pumping. Abruptly Allie sat up, hair dripping, blinking water out of her eyes. She threw her arms around my neck, shivering and gulping mouthfuls of air, clinging to me as if she would never let go. I held her until her shuddering slowed. She looked up at me then, not with fear, not with anger, but with wonder.