surface, kept it clean and dry.
With Jack’s help, Rebecca b’a,ced on the wall, in a half crouch. The
wind ‘buffeted her, and she was sure that she would save been toppled by
it if Jack hadn’t been there.
She tried to-ignore the wind and the stinging snow that pricked her
exposed face, ignored the chasm in front of her, and focused both her
eyes and her mind on the roof of the next building. She had to jump far
enough to clear the parapet over there and land on the roof. If she
came down a bit short, on top of that waisthigh wall, on that meager
strip of stone, she would be unbalanced for a moment, even if she landed
flat on both feet. In that instant of supreme vulnerability, the wind
would snatch at her, and she might fall, either forward onto the roof,
or backward into the empty air between the buildings. She didn’t dare
let herself think about that possibility, and she didn’t look down.
She tensed her muscles, tucked her arms in against her sides, and said,
“Now,” and Jack let go of her, and she jumped into the night and the
wind and the driving snow.
Airborne, she knew at once that she hadn’t put enough power into the
jump, knew she was not going to make it to the other roof, knew she
would crash into the parapet, knew she would fall backwards, knew that
she was going to die.
But what she knew would happen didn’t happen. She cleared the parapet,
landed on the roof, and her feet slipped out from under her, and she
went down on her backside, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to
break any bones.
As she got to her feet, she saw the dilapidated pigeon coop.
Pigeon-keeping was neither a common nor an unusual hobby in this city;
in fact, this coop was smaller than some, only six feet long. At a
glance she was able to tell that it hadn’t been used for years. It was
so weathered and in such disrepair that it would soon cease to be a coop
and would become just a pile of junk.
She shouted to Jack, who was watching from the other building: “I think
maybe I’ve found our bridge!”
Aware of how fast time was running out, she brushed some of the snow
from the roof of the coop and saw that it appeared to be formed by a
single six-foot sheet of one-inch plywood. That was even better than
she had hoped; now they wouldn’t have to deal with two or three loose
planks. The plywood had been painted many times over the years, and the
paint had protected it from rot once the coop was abandoned and
maintenance discontinued; it seemed sturdy enough to support the kids
and even Jack. It was loose along one entire side, which was a great
help to her. Once she brushed the rest of the snow off the coop roof,
she gripped it by the loose end, pulled it up and back. Some of the
nails popped out, and some snapped off because they were rusted clear
through. In a few seconds she had wrenched the plywood free.
She dragged it to the parapet. If she tried to lever it onto the wall
and shove it out toward Jack, the strong wind would get under it, treat
it like a sail, lift it, tear it out of her hands, and send it kiting
off into the storm.
She had to wait for a lull. One came fairly soon, and she quickly
heaved the plywood up, balanced it on top of the parapet, slid it out
toward Jack’s reaching hands. In a moment, as the wind whipped up once
more, they had the bridge in place. Now, with the two of them holding
it, they would be able to keep it down even if a fierce wind got under
it.
Penny made the short journey first, to show Davey how easily it could be
done. She wriggled across on her belly, gripping the edges of the board
with her hands, pulling herself along. Convinced it could be done,