concrete. Marty inadvertently screamed again, grabbing at the air.
“Stop fucking around!” Buck yelled from above.
Something in Buck’s voice, perhaps the violence and anger, must have made a difference, because Franklin slowly rolled down the window. The car swayed and creaked as he slightly shifted his weight. Marty gently reached into the open window and held the door to steady himself. He could see that Franklin had wet his pants. Marty didn’t blame him.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to unbuckle yourself, grab hold of my arm, and I’m going to slowly pull you out.”
Franklin stared at him. “I can’t.”
“You have to, Franklin.” Marty said. “I won’t drop you. I promise.” He hoped it was a promise he could keep. His mind immediately, uncontrollably flashed to that horrific, opening scene in
Cliffhanger
.
Franklin must have seen the doubt skirt across Marty’s eyes. “I want to wait for the firemen.”
They were losing valuable seconds. And the longer Marty dangled, the more terrified Marty was becoming. What little resolve he had was fading fast and so was the strength of the men holding him. Marty imagined what the audience was seeing and he wasn’t, the loose knots slowly becoming unfurled, the blanket ripping on the sharp edge of concrete. And they would all be screaming, why doesn’t that dumb fucking idiot do something?
“Franklin, there are no firemen. There will never be any firemen. I am it. Now get out of the goddamn car.”
The kid started crying again, but he unbuckled his belt. Franklin immediately fell forward against the dash, the car teetering suddenly with the shift in weight. Marty reached in, grabbed the back of Franklin’s shirt with both hands, and yanked with all his strength just as the Toyota pitched forward, falling free.
Franklin dangled from Marty’s hands, his shirt riding up his body, his legs kicking in open space, as the car flipped end-over-end and smacked into the ground below. Marty and the kid were both screaming now, spinning in the air, hanging in terror.
God, the kid was heavy. Marty had never held anything so heavy, it felt like the kid was tearing his arms from his sockets, ripping tendons, shredding muscles. He couldn’t possibly hold him another second.
The kid grabbed Marty and hugged him tightly, his face pressed against Marty’s legs, muffling his cries. But Marty screamed loud and hard, from the bottom of his lungs, enough for both of them.
Buck and Enrique pulled them up onto the overpass and dragged them a few feet from the edge before letting go. The kid broke free of Marty the second they were safe and ran, sobbing. Enrique chased after him, caught him, and pulled him into a hug.
Marty sat up, pulling the piss-soaked blankets off as fast as he could. Buck offered him his hand. Marty swatted it away.
“Get away from me,” Marty said, shakily getting to his feet. He was shivering all over. Buck reached out to him again and Marty punched him in the face.
It wasn’t much of a punch, not much more than a slap, really. His fist was shaking too much to have any power behind it. But it was the first time Marty had swung at anyone since third grade. His pugilistic skills hadn’t improved any since then.
Marty was as surprised by the punch as Buck was, but he didn’t regret it. Marty had never been so angry or so scared.
Buck could easily have flattened Marty with a return blow. Instead, the big man just grinned.
“Who taught you how to fight? The same clown who showed you how to run?” Buck said. “That’s got to change if you’re gonna pull off this hero shit.”
“I don’t want to be a hero,” Marty screamed at him. “I’d like to live.”
“Take it easy. Now that you’ve done it, it will be easier next time.”
“I’m going home,” Marty found his back pack and put it on. “I’m not stopping for anybody, do you understand me?”
Buck walked towards him. “We’ll see what
“Stop fucking around!” Buck yelled from above.
Something in Buck’s voice, perhaps the violence and anger, must have made a difference, because Franklin slowly rolled down the window. The car swayed and creaked as he slightly shifted his weight. Marty gently reached into the open window and held the door to steady himself. He could see that Franklin had wet his pants. Marty didn’t blame him.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to unbuckle yourself, grab hold of my arm, and I’m going to slowly pull you out.”
Franklin stared at him. “I can’t.”
“You have to, Franklin.” Marty said. “I won’t drop you. I promise.” He hoped it was a promise he could keep. His mind immediately, uncontrollably flashed to that horrific, opening scene in
Cliffhanger
.
Franklin must have seen the doubt skirt across Marty’s eyes. “I want to wait for the firemen.”
They were losing valuable seconds. And the longer Marty dangled, the more terrified Marty was becoming. What little resolve he had was fading fast and so was the strength of the men holding him. Marty imagined what the audience was seeing and he wasn’t, the loose knots slowly becoming unfurled, the blanket ripping on the sharp edge of concrete. And they would all be screaming, why doesn’t that dumb fucking idiot do something?
“Franklin, there are no firemen. There will never be any firemen. I am it. Now get out of the goddamn car.”
The kid started crying again, but he unbuckled his belt. Franklin immediately fell forward against the dash, the car teetering suddenly with the shift in weight. Marty reached in, grabbed the back of Franklin’s shirt with both hands, and yanked with all his strength just as the Toyota pitched forward, falling free.
Franklin dangled from Marty’s hands, his shirt riding up his body, his legs kicking in open space, as the car flipped end-over-end and smacked into the ground below. Marty and the kid were both screaming now, spinning in the air, hanging in terror.
God, the kid was heavy. Marty had never held anything so heavy, it felt like the kid was tearing his arms from his sockets, ripping tendons, shredding muscles. He couldn’t possibly hold him another second.
The kid grabbed Marty and hugged him tightly, his face pressed against Marty’s legs, muffling his cries. But Marty screamed loud and hard, from the bottom of his lungs, enough for both of them.
Buck and Enrique pulled them up onto the overpass and dragged them a few feet from the edge before letting go. The kid broke free of Marty the second they were safe and ran, sobbing. Enrique chased after him, caught him, and pulled him into a hug.
Marty sat up, pulling the piss-soaked blankets off as fast as he could. Buck offered him his hand. Marty swatted it away.
“Get away from me,” Marty said, shakily getting to his feet. He was shivering all over. Buck reached out to him again and Marty punched him in the face.
It wasn’t much of a punch, not much more than a slap, really. His fist was shaking too much to have any power behind it. But it was the first time Marty had swung at anyone since third grade. His pugilistic skills hadn’t improved any since then.
Marty was as surprised by the punch as Buck was, but he didn’t regret it. Marty had never been so angry or so scared.
Buck could easily have flattened Marty with a return blow. Instead, the big man just grinned.
“Who taught you how to fight? The same clown who showed you how to run?” Buck said. “That’s got to change if you’re gonna pull off this hero shit.”
“I don’t want to be a hero,” Marty screamed at him. “I’d like to live.”
“Take it easy. Now that you’ve done it, it will be easier next time.”
“I’m going home,” Marty found his back pack and put it on. “I’m not stopping for anybody, do you understand me?”
Buck walked towards him. “We’ll see what
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