Spooktober 18: Bridge

In physics class, Peter's junior year, Mrs. Warren showed the class a video to demonstrate the importance of physical tension.

"We all know what gravity does, don't we?" She said, looking around the classroom. "It's famous for one thing, hm?"

Yeah, weighing us down, Peter had thought, and he ducked his head down to hide a smile.

The class murmured in agreement, nodding with a vague disinterest.

"Well, I have one question for you all. If gravity keeps everything pulled down, then how do bridges stay up?" She asked.

Peter obviously had an answer in his head, he understood the concepts, it wasn't complicated. Support beams and pillars gave the bridge a compressed structure, and something to sit the weight on, and then things like suspension cables and trusses kept it all together with a glorious mixture of tension and compression. (Basically.)

"Sure, perfect," Mrs. Warren nodded. "And what happens if we add more weight, more stress, to the bridge? Or if it was built incorrectly, if an engineer got an equation wrong? Maybe an environmental factor wasn't added in, maybe, maybe, maybe, what if, what if, what if."

She showed them a video. The Galloping Gertie, a name that had the whole class snickering, cracking jokes back and forth— even though the video had them all stunned into a kind of horrified awe. In grey, silent footage, the steel contraption twisting and moving as if it were alive, before it cut to the bridge crashing into the water below— the remaining parts still weaving in the wind.

"That was crazy," someone spoke up. Mrs. Warren shut the video off.

"So, a bridge is designed, whether intentionally or not, to break," she explained. "Say you're hired to fix it. What do you do? What steps would you take?"

One student raised their hand, quipped: "Make a new chorus to 'London Bridge Is Falling Down'?"

And everyone had laughed, because it was funny.

Peter, at the moment, was not laughing.

Actually, at this moment in time, the idea of the Manhattan Bridge collapsing made him want to throw up— but his mask was on, and he had a job to do, so unfortunately 'getting sick into the East River' wasn't on his itinerary tonight. Maybe next time.

"Is there any way I can undo this?" Peter asked, his gloved hands fluttering around like an anxious bird. He doesn't know what he can touch.

"The bomb squad has been alerted," Karen said solemnly. Several glowing points show up in the middle of the bridge on Peter's HUD. "It seems each of the bombs have been located in a different spot. The possibilities of disarming each on time and evacuating everybody on the bridge safely is 33%."

"33%," Peter muttered. "33%. Can I do 33%?"

"That is a 67% chance of injury or death. I am instructed per my programming to alert Mr. Stark if the chance of death is 0.99% or greater," Karen recited. She sounded nervous. Or maybe Peter was projecting, but he liked to think she sounded nervous. He was nervous. He was very, very nervous.

"Aw, he cares!" Peter laughed breathlessly. He quickly walked back and forth. "Karen, what's the best way to evacuate everybody?"

A thousand thoughts race through his mind. People don't usually listen to him unless there was danger right in front of their noses, and even then, panic was usually their first response, not listening to the scrawny guy in all red and blue.

He briefly let the terror of his situation kick in. Images of people screaming, of fire, flame, smoke, chunks of bridge crashing into the water like from that video.

"Peter," Karen cut in carefully. "Your heart rate is rising. Please remain calm. I will walk you through the protocol-recommended evacuation plans."

Peter blinked quickly. Breathed in shakily, nodded, continued on. "Yes. Yeah. Do that. Okay, I'm listening."

"Activating reconnaissance drone," Karen chimed. "It will project an evacuation holographic on both sides of the bridge, directing people to the nearest exit. I recommend continuing your attention to the middle of the bridge."

"Right. Where the danger is." Peter stumbled a little, turning around. He registered the drone flying off from its designated spot on his chest, and then got to action.

Knocking on car windows and telling people very calmly that they needed to leave their cars, no, he wasn't mugging them, and evacuate from the bridge as quickly as they could, was not what Peter had planned for his patrol today.

He liked to think that he held it together, for the most part. Even though there was a distress starting to build up from people who were still trying to drive, either to get their destination or get out.

This should be expected when New York is attacked by aliens every so often. Sometimes Stark-drones warned everyone there was danger incoming. Either that meant you were gonna be blown up, or you'd be a little late to work.— so naturally, reactions were varied.

Then Karen chimed in with "Ten minutes until expected detonation."

So, now Peter was losing it.

"You have to go," Peter repeated, a little desperate. "I swear to you, Spider-Man's honor, I'm not trying to carjack you! I can't even drive! Please, ma'am, the bridge is about to blow up!"

"My insurance bill is about to blow up!" The crotchety old woman said back with a scowl. "Prices these days keep rising and rising, I don't—"

Peter made a frustrated noise, his heart pounding in his chest. "I don't have time for this!"

He stepped back and crouched, then lifted the car up. The old woman began to shout and swear at him.

"Put my Toyota down, you wretched young man! You filthy mutant, you abhorrent abomination—"

Peter ignored her as he relocated the car further down the bridge. The lady immediately crawled out of her car to scold him further, but was lost in a crowd of panicked civilians who effectively guided her to safety.

"You're welcome," Peter gritted out. His heartbeat monitor was flicking occasionally into the advisory red line, which he promptly ignored. "Karen, scan for any other people still in their cars."

"One more heat signature located. Other side of the bridge, a 2001 Honda Civic in the colour Clover Green," Karen fired off, a picture of the vehicle showing up on his display. He set off in the direction.

He found the vehicle with little trouble. In the backseat, a little girl, couldn't be any older than Morgan. She was still buckled into a flowery-patterned car seat, craning her neck to look around with a quivering lip.

A wave of sickness passed over him. He had three minutes. He had to get this done quick.

Peter knocked on the window, waving cheerfully. He didn't want to scare her anymore by breaking the door open. He made the right move, begging by the way her eyes moved immediately to him, and promptly lit up. She pointed at him.

"You know me?" He asked loudly. "Awesome! I'm gonna open the door, okay? Let's get you outta there."

She tugged at the buckles of her seatbelt. He yanked at the handle, the door coming off easily. She widened her eyes.

"Sorry, that was kinda loud," he said, keeping his voice as friendly as he could. "I'm Spider-Man, but you knew that, because you're so smart. What's your name?"

She didn't answer, but started moving her hands around. Peter hesitated, but then understood. "Karen, can you translate?"

"Her name sign seems to be a variation of the sun," Karen informed. "She's saying her mother left the car, that she was scared, but now she isn't."

Two minutes.

Peter was terrified.

Nevertheless, he shoved his mask up over his nose, and smiled safely at her.

She smiled back, and he moved forward to unbuckle the car seat. His hands shook the whole way, but once he got it unclicked, he pulled her out and held her on his hip.

He moved her arms over his neck. "Hold on," he said clearly, trying to enunciate the words. He squeezed her wrists lightly, and she seemed to understand— because she hugged him close, and he immediately took off in a swing.

"Detonation in T-minus sixty seconds," Karen reminded him.

"Will everyone be safe?" Peter asked breathlessly, the little girl's arms squeezing his neck as she clung on in terror.

"The possibilities of significant civilian injury is 4.7%."

Peter felt almost dizzy with relief. Or maybe it was lack of oxygen. Either way, it didn't matter. Everyone was safe.

He's made it safely off the bridge when it finally exploded— a deafening boom that sent a wave of dust on either side. The bridge split clear in the middle, and several cars splashed into the water. People on the ground below him screamed.

He flinched and broke the web off from the bridge, landed on the street. The little girl pulled away once they stopped moving, but kept a tight grip on his shoulder.

She frowned at him and started signing again, one handed and clumsy.

"She's asking where her mother went," Karen said quietly.

"I will find her," Peter said slowly. He pointed to his chest, and then signed 'help' (one of the few signs he could remember), and pointed to the girl.  "Okay?"

She nodded firmly, then looked around from her perch on his hip with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Karen, can you look through the footage from Droney? See if we can find where her mom went after she left the car."

Karen brought up the footage from the aforementioned drone, speeding through it in the display. Part of Peter dreaded the possibility that her mother had simply just... left.

"Stop," Peter said. The video paused. "There, zoom in."

The video zoomed in on the same green car, a woman getting out of the car to inspect what people were doing, and then getting caught in a crowd of people, just like what had happened to the cranky old lady before. She seemed panicked as she was pulled away from her daughter, but wasn't able to fight the crowd.

Peter relaxed. "Okay. Good, good. Where did these people go?"

"They're on this side of the bridge," Karen confirmed. "Police and rescue are on their way to—"

The little girl made a happy noise, and started wiggling in his arms, fighting to get down. She quickly signed the same thing, a thumb to her chin, her hand outstretched.

Peter hesitated to let her go, looking around first for what she had seen. He wasn't just gonna hand off this kid unless he was sure it was her actual mother, not just someone who looked like her, y'know?

Then he saw the woman from the video, a little ways off and frantically going to everybody on the street. Her hair was wild, her mascara running. Her hands going everywhere as she spoke, but it was more panicked gesticulating than sign language.

The woman turned her head and caught sight of the both of them, and broke off in a run. Peter set the girl down and smiled as the two of them rushed to each other's embrace.

"Thank you, oh God, Thank you," the mother repeated, sobbing gratefully. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. Never again, okay? I'm never letting you go. Oh, Sam. My sweet girl..."

Peter smiled privately and fixed his mask back over his chin, letting himself calm down again. "She's very brave."

"Yes," the mother laughed, tears choking her words. "She's so brave. Isn't that right, baby girl?"

She pulled back and signed something quickly with her hands. The girl, Sam, broke into a happy grin. She leaned up and wiped the tears from her mother's cheeks.

The mom laughed again, but a fresh bout of tears sprouted from her eyes. She kissed the little girl's hands. Signed something again. "Let's say thank you to Spider-Man, okay?"

Both of them turned and pressed their fingertips to their chin, their hands flat and pressed, and extended it forward. Thank you.

Peter shook his head, repeated the sign back to them with emphasis, no, thank you, and then pressed his middle and ring finger down to his palm, waving his hand back and forth. I love you.

The girl excitedly waved it back. I love you too!

"Get home safe," Peter said cheerfully, nodding to the mother.

He got up and swung off. As soon as he made it to the closest rooftop, he fell back on his spine and breathed in silence for a solid thirty minutes.

"Let's not repeat that tomorrow," Peter said finally.

"Yes," Karen agreed with amusement. "I believe that would be the recommended approach."

_

[tony stank: Saw the news. You okay?]

[petey parkley: was a rough patrol, but i'm okay now! nobody got hurt. reunited a girl with her mom which was really sweet]

[tony stank: Good. I'm really proud of you, kid.]

[tony stank: Wanna call and tell me all about it? Old-school style?"

[petey parkley: uhh yeah duh, of course]

Incoming call from Peter Parker...