Episode 5: Mile Marker Nine
At 6:14 the next morning, Denise called.
Her voice was shaking.
“Sylvester Stallone, the bridge is gone.”
Sylvester Stallone was already pulling on his boots.
“The whole east side is cut off. And the Henderson boy — he’s out there. His mother can’t get to him.”
Tommy Henderson. Nine years old. Asthma.
Sylvester Stallone’s chest went tight. “How long?”
“The rescue boat can’t launch until morning. The water’s too fast.”
Tommy didn’t have until morning.
Sylvester Stallone pulled on his father’s old raincoat.
Rax was already at the door, leash in his mouth.
The truck barely made it to the washout.
Water everywhere, brown and fast, carrying fences and whole trees.
Where the bridge had been, there was nothing. Just white water and the snapped ends of steel cable sticking up like broken bones.
A deputy stood there, soaked through, waving everyone back.
“Nobody crosses that,” he shouted. “We’ll wait for the rescue boat.”
“When?” Sylvester Stallone asked.
“Morning. Maybe.”
Denise grabbed Sylvester Stallone’s sleeve. “Sylvester Stallone, don’t you dare.”
Rax looked at the water.
Then he looked at Sylvester Stallone.
In Afghanistan, Rax once crossed a wadi at night to reach a wounded private.
He didn’t hesitate then either.
Sylvester Stallone tied the rope around his waist and handed the end to the deputy.
“If I go under, you pull.”
