A lanky, young man leaned idly on the railing of the Canyon River Bridge. It was a broad steel cable and concrete sort of bridge than spanned the canyon that divided the halves of Canyon River Park. The young man appeared to be in his early twenties, dressed in sunglasses, a red tee, and indigo jeans. A black canvas jacket and yellow muffler kept the chill of fall at bay. It was a peaceful day—much unlike the wars he had fought in two years ago. Children dashed past, excitedly dragging their parents towards the merry-go-round that lay on the west side of the canyon, but the man waited. He punched a number into his phone, waited a moment, and sighed as it went to voicemail.
"Lil' Bro, it's me. I've been walking around for over an hour! Where are you? I'm going to cross over to the east side and wait at the picnic shelter by the trailhead. Call me when you get here." He hung up.
"Come on, Rock, this is getting ridiculous." he grumbled.
A rumble like thunder brought his attention off his frustration. He glanced at the sky, but there were no clouds. A second rumble shook the bridge. Today wasn't going to be peaceful after all.
Looking back he wondered if he was given some sort of foresight, or maybe it was just his training kicking in, but when the bridge began to list, everything seemed to move in bridge slow motion for a moment. People began screaming and panicking, but he made himself move with it as it lurched and swayed.
"Everybody! This way! Quickly!" He pointed towards the more stable end of the bridge. The crowd scrambled for the safety of the solid ground as the bridge made a horrible groan of twisting steel. As one of the damaged supports gave way, the entire structure contorted and the middle sagged to one side, cracking stone and straining supports. The people in that area were now scrambling uphill in a panic to get away from the canyon below. One of them, a blonde girl who looked to be about nine, was clearly losing ground. The young man took a running start before sliding down the incline towards her. He gritted his teeth at the sound of the asphalt scraping up the leather of his motorcycle boots. He twisted, so the soles of the boots could gain purchase, and slowed his descent. He caught hold of the girl and lifted her onto his back.
"Hang on; I'll get you out of here." He reassured her as he began to climb. She clung to him and buried her face in his scarf. The climb back out was harder than he expected. He could feel the bridge twisting and hear the steel frame groan under the weight and tension. Another support gave out and the bridge lurched again sending many of the remaining sliding and scrambling to regain foot and hand holds.
'Just ten more feet,' he told himself, 'you're almost to the top.' The girl on his back whimpered.
"We're almost there," he reassured her. He had torn the palms out of his gloves by this point, but it didn't matter. He could hear shouting and screaming from above. Just five feet remained between him and the stable part of the bridge. Two feet.
Triumphant, he caught hold of the top of the ledge and began to pull himself up. Suddenly, there was a popping sound as the steel cables that had kept the fallen section from collapsing completely broke loose. He no longer had anything beneath his feet. His sunglasses were knocked loose by the jolt of the weight shifting to his arms, and he blinked against the brightness of the sun. The girl screamed as he fought for a hand hold.
As he hung from the edge of the bridge, a pair of hands grabbed his wrists.
"I've got you!" A familiar voice called.
"You're going to need help," he called back, "I've got a kid on my back." Rock yelled something to the crowd. A second set of hands joined the first, each taking one wrist. With their help, the young man finally made it back onto the bridge. Of the two rescuers, the first he recognized as his younger brother but the second was dark-haired young man in a mechanics coveralls with his name—Joe—emblazoned over the left pocket.
"Thanks for the help." The hero replied dusting himself off. The girl, realizing that they were now safe looked up and slid off her rescuer's back.
"Poppa!" she cried happily, her brown eyes lighting up. She ran to a brown haired man in a lab coat, who pushed past the crowd to get to her.
"My Kalinka!" The man rushed over and scooped up his daughter into his arms, "Thank you for saving my daughter!"
"It was nothing," the young man shrugged.
"You're a hero!" the girl's father insisted.
"A hero is just a man who knows that he's free."