Dr. Alex Nolan's Arc

Chapter 3 of 14

The plank cracked beneath his boot. Nolan froze mid-step, weight balanced on his back foot. The sound echoed up from the gorge like a warning shot. He looked down through the gap between boards and saw nothing but shadow and mist a hundred feet below. He shifted his weight forward anyway. The wood splintered completely and his leg punched through. He grabbed for the rope rail but it was already sliding through his fingers, unraveling as the whole section gave way beneath him. The world tilted. He fell into open air, rucksack dragging him backward. His shoulder slammed into something solid — a chunk of bridge still hanging from the far side. He caught it with both hands, boots swinging over nothing. The brand on his forearm flared white-hot, brighter than it had ever burned before. Below him, the broken planks tumbled end over end until they splashed into shallow water thick with mud. Not a deep river. Not rocks. Quicksand. The fallen boards floated for a moment, then began sinking into the murk like they'd never existed. Nolan pulled himself up onto the hanging section, muscles screaming. Something fell from his pack and shattered on the planks beside him — glass vials scattering green herbs across the wet wood. His medical supplies. Gone. He didn't stop to collect them. The remaining bridge groaned and dropped another foot. He crawled forward on hands and knees, feeling each board flex and threaten to snap. The brand kept burning, pulling him toward solid ground ahead. Twenty feet. Ten. His fingers touched dirt and he hauled himself onto the far edge just as the last of the bridge tore free behind him. It dropped into the quicksand below with a wet slap, joining a rotted chest already half-submerged in the mud. Someone else had tried this crossing before. Someone else had failed. Nolan sat on the edge of the gorge, breathing hard. The brand cooled to a dull ache. He looked back at where the bridge had been — just empty air now, and that pit of quicksand waiting below like an open mouth. No way back. No supplies to treat injuries. No choice but to keep following the mark forward, deeper into unmapped territory, with nothing but what he could carry and whatever was waiting at the end. He stood and checked his pack. The journal was still there, useless as ever. He left it and walked into the trees.