The 604-foot tower before her began to lean, almost gracefully, to her right. The bridge before Jennifer tilted sideways. It’s okay, baby, she whispered, wetting her lips. Jennifer reached out and gripped Julie’s arm. Jennifer could see a man’s arm hanging, lifeless, out the window. She was staring at a crash on the other side of the divider, the flames leaping from the engine of a smashed Toyota.

After about thirty seconds, the honking seemed to die down a little bit. The people ahead of Jennifer kept honking, panicking, trying to get off the bridge. The honking and crashing, combined with the burgeoning low roar, made Jennifer’s head ache, pound, the driving rhythm of her blood surging through her temples. A few cars were trying to ram their way through the traffic, pushing other cars toward the edge of the bridge. Jennifer could see the cables of the suspension bridge oscillating like the strings of a guitar.Ĭars ahead were honking now, urgently pleading for those at the front of the bridge to hurry up. The bridge was undulating slightly up and down now. The groaning continued, booming from beneath them. Mommy, that’s not a plane, said Julie, wide awake now. Jennifer felt the brake pedal vibrate beneath her foot. This time, it was longer, more drawn out. It was a loud, low groan that made the car vibrate. In the passenger seat, her daughter, Julie, breathed softly, sleeping. She was on the west side of the bridge, and she could see its two enormous steel-encased towers looming before her. Jennifer glanced at her watch and sighed. There had to be thirty thousand cars on this bridge, all of them moving two miles an hour. Jennifer looked out at the sea of red lights before her, stretching all the way into New York, and sighed. The bridge had turned into an enormous parking lot. By the time Jennifer Collier hit the George Washington Bridge, it was already almost 9:00 a.m.

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