Page 48 of Silent Trail

She grabbed hold of the cable and felt a jarring ache in her shoulders as her body came to an abrupt stop. She clung desperately to the cable, scarcely able to believe she was still alive, her mind entirely focused on how to make sure her fingers didn't slip.

Against her better judgment, she found herself stealing a glimpse down at the water churning far below. Moonlight glinted off the white water, hinting at the presence of hidden stones.

You've done the hard part, she told herself. Now, all you have to do is pull yourself back up.

She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. As her grip tightened around the cable, she strained to listen for any sounds above. A few of the boards creaked, and she imagined the man leading his captive back into his truck, ready perhaps to take her to whatever locker he intended to be her coffin.

Sheila, however, could not let that happen. Once again, he'd underestimated her, assuming there was no way she could come back. And once again, she would prove him wrong.

With her determination ignited, Sheila began the arduous ascent. The cable bit into her palms, the rust scraping away at her skin, but she refused to let go. She gritted her teeth and focused on the rhythm of her breaths, each inhale and exhale a testament to her unwavering resolve.

Come on, Sheila, she thought, you've got this.

Her muscles quivered with exertion as she pulled herself upward, inch by agonizing inch. Her years of training as an Olympic athlete had prepared her for physical challenges, but nothing could have prepared her for the life-or-death stakes of this moment. Sweat trickled down her face, mixing with the blood from her torn hands, yet she pushed on.

As Sheila neared the top of the bridge, the distant sounds of voices and the flickering glow of a flashlight caught her attention. Her pulse quickened, hope surging through her veins like wildfire.

Help is here, she thought. I just need to make it to the top.

With one final Herculean effort, Sheila hoisted herself onto the bridge. Exhaustion wracked her body, but she forced herself to keep moving. The cold wood beneath her scraped against her skin, but the sensation was welcome compared to the fear of falling that had gripped her moments before.

Then she heard it—a voice she would have recognized anywhere. Natalie's commanding tone cut through the night air, bringing Sheila equal parts relief and trepidation.

"Drop the knife!" Natalie shouted, her words laced with urgency.

Sheila glanced up to see her sister and Finn parked at the end of the bridge, their weapons drawn and aimed at the man who had forced her to jump from the bridge. He stood mere feet away from her, his victim trembling in his grasp as he pressed the knife to her throat. The man's truck idled nearby, its headlights casting eerie shadows across the desolate scene.

Damn it, Sheila thought, her heart pounding in her chest. If he realizes he's trapped, he'll kill the girl for sure.

In that instant, the weight of her responsibility settled on her like a thousand-pound anchor. She knew she had to act fast.

She rose to her feet, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She focused on each slow, deliberate step she took toward the man, every muscle in her body tensed and ready. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple as she listened to the man shout at Natalie and Finn.

"Stay back," he warned, his voice shaking with desperation. "I swear I'll kill her!"

"Drop the knife!" Natalie said again, her tone unwavering.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The man hesitated, glancing between the girl in his grasp and the two officers with their weapons trained on him. Then, as if giving up, he let the knife slip from his fingers. It clattered to the wooden planks and disappeared through a gap, swallowed by the darkness below.

"Good," Natalie said, her voice hard but relieved. "Now let her go."

"Let her go?" he repeated softly, then let out a dry chuckle. "Oh, she'll go, alright."

With that, the man gave the girl a violent shove toward the edge of the bridge. Sheila's breath caught in her throat as she saw the girl teetering precariously over the abyss.

"NO!" she screamed, lunging forward.

Her fingers wrapped around the girl's wrist just as she began to topple over the edge. Sheila sank to the floor, stretched out on her belly, her grip on the girl the only thing keeping her from plummeting to her death.

"Help me!" the girl cried, terror etched across her face.

"Hold on," Sheila said through clenched teeth, her muscles strained to their limit. "I've got you."

Behind her, she heard the man curse as he raced toward them, his footsteps heavy on the creaking bridge.

"You just can't stop interfering, can you?" he demanded, grabbing her leg and lifting her. He seemed to be intent on shoving her over the side of the bridge along with the girl. Two for the price of one, perhaps.

Sheila kicked out with her free leg, her foot connecting with the man's stomach and causing him to stagger backward. His face twisted with rage, and he came forward again. This time, he seized both of her legs and began to lift her, tipping her toward the edge of the bridge as she desperately tried to escape his grasp. Within seconds, the weight of the girl dangling above the water far below would prove too much, and then she and Sheila both would go plunging into the abyss.

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