overpass. Those in front soon realized something was wrong. The crumbling concrete gave way beneath their feet, tripping some and frightening others. A wide-eyed woman in a beige business suit stumbled and fell when her high heel slipped into a fissure and snapped off. A man wearing Timberland boots cursed in pain when one of his feet sank through the decking up to his knee. As the struggling vanguard slowed, those further back yelled and pushed, encouraging those in the lead to keep moving.
From that point, the complete collapse of the pedestrian walkway happened in a matter of seconds. Jammed together and unable to retreat, the scores of people on the bridge had to ride it out, while the motorists passing underneath, preoccupied with jockeying for position in their evening commute, noticed the collapse too late to avoid compounding the tragedy.
Supporting cables buried within the concrete lost tension and began to sag. The sudden increase in weight caused the overpass to buckle, and each sagging movement added additional strain to the decaying metal framework. The whole overpass listed to the west, slowly but inexorably rolling over, like an ocean liner capsizing. With a series of loud pops, the west side of the cyclone fencing broke free from the disintegrating concrete. Those trapped in the middle of the bridge crowd pushed and kicked those in front or behind, desperate to escape in either direction. Men yelled, women screamed and several children wailed in terror.
Realizing retreat was not an option, some men in the lead rushed toward his side of the overpass. As the angle of the bridge became increasingly severe, they struggled to maintain their footing and forward momentum. The few that reached him fell before his cane as he swung it side to side like a club. His powerful blows crushed skulls and broke limbs. Some pedestrians he upended, sweeping their legs out from under them, but the treacherous footing accomplished the rest.
As the deck of the overpass reached a ninety-degree angle,perpendicular to the highway below, strained metal supports screeched and crumpled. People fell against the cyclone fencing, only to have it give way under their weight and drop them to the speeding traffic below. A few managed to slip fingers through the openings in the fencing, only to have others slam into them from above and knock them loose.
Several who fell were instantly killed by speeding cars and trucks. Others hit the roadway below, breaking limbs, splitting their skulls open, or landing relatively intact a second or two before a car smashed into them.
Seventeen died in the few seconds it took for the motorists to react. But flooring their brake pedals in panicked attempts to halt their vehicles inevitably led to a series of multi-car crashes. A teenaged girl in the passenger seat of a sports car wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and crashed through the windshield, crumpling against the side door of a black minivan twenty feet away. A portly man in distressed black leather with a wild gray beard wiped out on his Harley-Davidson, skidded across two lanes of traffic and was crushed under the wheels of a semi that had swung onto the shoulder to avoid a collision with a cement truck.
In the middle of the chaos, Tora noticed the Good Samaritans again, close to the overpass but too far away from the havoc to interfere. Nevertheless, he flicked a tendril of his power in their direction to hobble their efforts further.
People continued to fall from the bridge, slipping through the fencing and dropping violently on the hoods and roofs of cars and trucks. Wails and moans of pain and screams of fear rose like a chaotic symphony over therush-hour traffic. The moment everyone seemed poised and safe, clinging to twisted sections of rebar or supporting cables or twisted fencing, the whole overpass finally collapsed to the highway below, crushing cars across four lanes of traffic, pinning pedestrians beneath tons of concrete and steel,
From that point, the complete collapse of the pedestrian walkway happened in a matter of seconds. Jammed together and unable to retreat, the scores of people on the bridge had to ride it out, while the motorists passing underneath, preoccupied with jockeying for position in their evening commute, noticed the collapse too late to avoid compounding the tragedy.
Supporting cables buried within the concrete lost tension and began to sag. The sudden increase in weight caused the overpass to buckle, and each sagging movement added additional strain to the decaying metal framework. The whole overpass listed to the west, slowly but inexorably rolling over, like an ocean liner capsizing. With a series of loud pops, the west side of the cyclone fencing broke free from the disintegrating concrete. Those trapped in the middle of the bridge crowd pushed and kicked those in front or behind, desperate to escape in either direction. Men yelled, women screamed and several children wailed in terror.
Realizing retreat was not an option, some men in the lead rushed toward his side of the overpass. As the angle of the bridge became increasingly severe, they struggled to maintain their footing and forward momentum. The few that reached him fell before his cane as he swung it side to side like a club. His powerful blows crushed skulls and broke limbs. Some pedestrians he upended, sweeping their legs out from under them, but the treacherous footing accomplished the rest.
As the deck of the overpass reached a ninety-degree angle,perpendicular to the highway below, strained metal supports screeched and crumpled. People fell against the cyclone fencing, only to have it give way under their weight and drop them to the speeding traffic below. A few managed to slip fingers through the openings in the fencing, only to have others slam into them from above and knock them loose.
Several who fell were instantly killed by speeding cars and trucks. Others hit the roadway below, breaking limbs, splitting their skulls open, or landing relatively intact a second or two before a car smashed into them.
Seventeen died in the few seconds it took for the motorists to react. But flooring their brake pedals in panicked attempts to halt their vehicles inevitably led to a series of multi-car crashes. A teenaged girl in the passenger seat of a sports car wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and crashed through the windshield, crumpling against the side door of a black minivan twenty feet away. A portly man in distressed black leather with a wild gray beard wiped out on his Harley-Davidson, skidded across two lanes of traffic and was crushed under the wheels of a semi that had swung onto the shoulder to avoid a collision with a cement truck.
In the middle of the chaos, Tora noticed the Good Samaritans again, close to the overpass but too far away from the havoc to interfere. Nevertheless, he flicked a tendril of his power in their direction to hobble their efforts further.
People continued to fall from the bridge, slipping through the fencing and dropping violently on the hoods and roofs of cars and trucks. Wails and moans of pain and screams of fear rose like a chaotic symphony over therush-hour traffic. The moment everyone seemed poised and safe, clinging to twisted sections of rebar or supporting cables or twisted fencing, the whole overpass finally collapsed to the highway below, crushing cars across four lanes of traffic, pinning pedestrians beneath tons of concrete and steel,
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