True Allegiance

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BY THE TIME JENNIFER COLLIER hit the George Washington Bridge, it was already almost 9:00 a.m. Rush hour. The bridge had turned into an enormous parking lot.

Jennifer looked out at the sea of red lights before her, stretching all the way into New York, and sighed. There had to be thirty thousand cars on this bridge, all of them moving two miles an hour.

Jennifer glanced at her watch and sighed.

She was on the west side of the bridge, and she could see its two enormous steel-encased towers looming before her. In the passenger seat, her daughter, Julie, breathed softly, sleeping.

Jennifer glanced at her watch again. 9:03. “Come on,” she muttered.

Which is when she heard it.

The bridge groaned.

It was a loud, low groan that made the car vibrate.

Julie woke up. “What was that?” she asked drowsily.

The groan died away.

“Nothing,” said Jennifer. “Probably just a plane overhead. Go back to sleep.”

“Mommy…”

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