Smoker started banging on the roof of the rig.

"ROADKILL - THE BRIDGE IS OUT!!! STOP OR TURN NOW!!!"

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 149):

Roadkill seemed not to hear, and although Smoker could see the driver's roof hatch was open he couldn't quite see down into the crew compartment from this angle.

(The Junker back in New Wichita had torched the aerodynamic faring from the top of the cab, putting in a driver and passenger roof hatches. Behind and between them was a middle gunner station with a gunshield and ring mount, but no weapon.)

Muttering something quite unprintable, Smoker scrambled across to the open driver's roof hatch and stuck his head down.

"ROADKILL!!!!" he screamed.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 151):

Roadkill was slumped back in the driver's seat, eyes closed and mouth open. An empty vodka bottle beside him on the seat.

"Huh? Whazzup? OH HOLY MOTHER OF CHRIST!" He darted forward and grabbed the steering wheel with one hand, gearing down with the other all the while reefing on the clutch and brakes.

The air compression brakes let out a loud BRAAAAAAAAAAPPP! (Unlike gas/petrol-powered autos, diesel trucks do not normally slow through engine compression when gearing down, so instead compressors or "air brakes" are activated to slow the gearing and bleed of torque that would otherwise rip the engine apart. Air brakes are very loud, so were commonly banned in inhabited neighborhoods before the war.) Greenish-black smoke shot from the stacks as the engine was slammed down into the lower gears.

As they slowed, tires squealed and Roadkill fought to avoid jack-knifing. The extra mass of armour plating was definitely not his friend in this circumstance! Smoker was thrown forward by the momentum. In front, it didn't look like they were going to make it, the edge grew quite close.

As Roadkill (finally) hit the brakes, Smoker hung on as hard as he could, spread out spider-like across the roof of the cab.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 153):

Praying to some God or Gods unknown to him a short time before, Roadkill fought to slow the massive rig in time without jackknifing or flippin' 'er!

"COME ON, YOU MOTHER!"

He almost made it. Almost. Amid the screeching of 18 wheels with locked brakes and the howl of air brakes Smoker could feel the rig shudder as steel-belted radials began shredding apart, spraying black rubber strips across the pitted concrete. They started going over, and it looked to be a race between jackknifing and going over the edge.

From his perch spread-eagled on the cab roof, Smoker was truly terrified as the rig nosed over the lip of shattered concrete, twisted and rusty rebar sticking out over the Snake River gorge. There was a massive thump! then squeal of scraping metal as the front axle and wheels went over. Sparks spurted out as the armoured bottom skirts of the cab began scraping along.

Although they were slowing, it wasn't enough...

This is gonna hurt... thought Smoker...

... and threw himself off to one side, tucking and rolling to mitigate the impact as he bowled along the ground.

Jane watched as Smoker did whatever it was he was trying to do and shook her head.  She knew that she couldn't do anything at the time and just had to wait for it to play out to the end to see what would happen.  There would be consequences from this she knew.  She looked over at Rowan.

"You ready Rowan?  You might be needed."

Peter started slowing when it became apparent of the 'remodeling' that had happened to the bridge they were heading towards. However....the semi-truck rig in front of him did not do the same. Did Roadkill know something Peter didn't? Apparently not as FINALLY the truck slammed on its brakes and began skidding to a stop but Peter wasn't sure it would be in time. He had no intention of going over the edge with them, however, so he continued to slow to a stop far back.

 Rowan watches the events unfolding horrified

The rig screech sounded like a death scream as it began to go over the edge. Smoker landed safely on the pavement, rolling to a stop and using the rusty rebar to prevent him tumbling into the the gorge.

It began to go over, then stopped as the edge slammed into the rear wheels of the tractor. The trailer behind kept the front cab from going over, and there it precariously stayed. The engine stalled out. Smoke drifted from the engine compartment.

There was a few seconds of silence, then the driver's armoured door squealed open. Roadkill stumbled out, narrowly falling as he climbed across the side of the rig to get to solid concrete.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 159):

Still on his knees, Roadkill gasped for breath.

"Holy cow, man. That was close. So damn close! A few more feet of momentum and we'd... we'd..." He hung his head, either in exhaustion or shame. It was hard to tell. No, wait, he crawled over to the railing and stuck his head over the side of the bridge. There was the sound of retching.

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 160):

At the rear of the trailer, Simon and his posse climbed down from the back. They conferred for a moment, looking at the damage and guessing what the rig would need to set it to rights.

"This is unfortunate. This could take days to fix. I'd hope to be through Oregon and into Washington tonight or tomorrow."

Sighing, he walked over to the technkcal. "May I ride in the cab with you? My two Templars here will ride double with Trejo and Simon, their brothers. Fred, tghe Librarian, could ride in the rear."

Smoker slowly got to his feet, noting absently that his hands were shaking. Feeling a bit light-headed, he limped over to Roadkill.

"You OK, 'Kill?" he asked, putting an arm around the heaving shoulders.

"Close call, that. Thank you for stopping in time... Take your time now, man. I'll check the damage."

He went over to the rig and began to examine it, firstly reaching in to hit the engine cut-off. He eyed the technical, wondering if it had the pulling power to get the cab back onto solid ground. Until then he couldn't really start in on fixing the engine.

His hands still shook.

Peter glanced at Simon as he watched Roadkill and Smoker's 'escape' from the truck...which actually didn't end up going over the edge thankfully. He faced Simon while sitting in his driver's seat in the technical still.

I suppose that would be doable. Are we not going to attempt to get the semi-truck pulled back from the edge before we leave?"

He paused. "And are we leaving Smoker and Roadkill?"

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 163):

Jane took a deep breath and muttered something that sounded similar to "No, but can we kick his ass anyway?"

She leaned on the back of the technical and shouted "Next time you want to kill yourself let me know.  I can do it quicker and cheaper than ruining equipment.  What were you thinking?"  She took a deep breath and then added "You guys ok?"

Jane had limited patience for people who drank and drove and even less so when they put others in danger.

 Rowan stands up "we do not leave any one alone out here not for any one."
"Now lets see what you men can do about getting the rig back on solid ground again"

Smiling a little, Simon shrugged, not knowing the answer.

"I can't say. We have a schedule to keep, but I don't want to leave your friends."

Wiping his mouth after finishing vomiting over the edge of the bridge. Roadkill staggered over, obviously, from the smell of liquor and the slur of his voice, he wasn't sick from nerves.

"Hell, s'gonna take the rest of the Goddamn day to fix this! Naw, just getting 'er off the edge's gonna take the day, take days to fix. Well, there's a town nearby, so I can probably get some folks to help out.

"Look, Smoke, I ain't gonna give you orders. But it would be a big help if you go into town. There's a garage down there in Ontario that's friendly to the Convoy. Guy named Blackie, me some favours. He's got a tow truck, everything I'll need to get this thing going again. Just tell Blackie, he'll fix me up.

"We made a deal to get Simon where he's goin'. I'll be all right here, if you just go into town and send help I'd 'preciate it. After that, it's up to you, what you wanna do."
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:16, Thu 18 July 2013.

"All right - but let's see if we can get the rig back on solid ground first. You go sober up. And NO MORE DRINKING if you wanna drive."

Smoker assessed the angles.

"How much pullin' power we got here? If we wrap cable around a big rock, can amplify - block and tackle style..."

He limped around looking for the best options.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 168):

Roadkill looked from the technical, to the rig, and back.

"Tell you the truth, the cab is stuck on the edge and the trailer is holding it there. Now, to pull it off, you unhook the trailer, then the cab could fall over. So first thing we gotta do is tie down the cab to the railings on either side. Then pull off the trailer. After, we can work on lifting the cab up, and pulling it back.

"Honestly? The rig ain't goin' anywhere as long as the trailer is attached. Too heavy to pull off as one unit. Probably too heavy for the technical, even without the trailer. Gonna take all day."

He lit a cigarette, looked at the rig and shook his head.

Peter got out of the technical and walked towards Roadkill and Smoker Nix. "I do have a tow hitch on the technical and we have ropes and chains. Perhaps we could tie off to the cab instead of the trailer and attempt to pull the cab sideways back up over the edge? I have little experience in such things, however."

Taking a drag, Roadkill turned to look at Peter, stumbling a little.

"Sideways? Ain't a lot sideways from the cab, pard, 'cept air! Or, guess we could pivot it around the trailer hitch, but that would only get us so far.

"No, only way t'do it is secure the cab, unhook the trailer and pull that back, then pull the tractor back. And Peter's truck just ain't got the torque. That's 'cause the heaviest part of a  tractor cab is the engine, which is in the nose, which is over the edge. Whole thing weighs close to thirty thousand pounds, fifteen of that bein' the engine."

Staggering a little, he walked over to where the bottom of the tractor's chassis rested against the lip. Squatting a little unsteadily, he sniffed. "Think I smell a little Spook Juice. Any leack, and if we just drag that's gonna make sparks. KA-BOOM! if that happens. Best bet is make some rollers from trees, pull the cab up onto them so we're notdragging steel armour plate actoss concrete."

Smoker limped over to take a sniff as well.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 172):

Drawing air in, he could detect the sour fermented odour of Spook Juice. It wasn't extremely strong so if there was a leak it wasn't that bad. But it was there.