“Blowed up the bridge.” He related the cold facts.
“I'll get across!”
He put the car in gear.
* * *
The bridge was a high steel structure arcing across the sky above Savannah, stretching from sheer rock cliffs on the Illinois side over to the Iowa shore. Its middle gaped and dangled openly above the river waters where an explosion had torn it apart. Gary stopped the car a quarter of a mile away because he could not force a path through the knot of automobiles clogging the highway, automobiles belonging to the group of seventy-five or a hundred people clustered at the nearer end, looking out across the river. He got out of the car and squinted his eyes against the sun, peering as they were, presently to discern a small group of soldiers milling around the Iowa terminal of the bridge.
Irma moved across the seat, slid out and stood beside him, clinging to his arm. She stared at the Iowa shore.
“Russell…?”
“Yes.” It was an answer but she didn't recognize it as such. She moved around to where she could watch his face.
“Russell… are you leaving me? Now?”
“Yes.” He pointed at the far soldiers. “I belong over there.”