The Mississippi River is the fourth longest river in the world. As a watershed, it drains about 41 percent of the continental United States, plus two Canadian provinces-that''s roughly 1.25 million square miles. Every second, the mighty river spits out 2.3 million cubic feet of water into the Gulf of Mexico, carrying 159 million tons of sediment with it each year. At St. Louis, the old bridge''s name, Chain of Rocks, refers to an actual string of huge boulders that jut up from the riverbed, stirring the rushing water into a tumultuous frenzy. Local legend claims that, during dry periods, Native Americans used to cross the river by hopping from boulder to boulder.
Today, that same chain of rocks makes the St. Louis stretch of water one of the Mississippi''s deadliest. In 1991, it was common knowledge among locals, including Julie and Robin Kerry, that the Chain of Rocks Bridge was a sure thing for local suicide-seekers. Of course, Tom Cummins, the tourist from Washington, D.C., did not know this as he leapt wildly from a concrete pier, arms and legs flailing, on the north side of the Chain of Rocks Bridge. After he jumped and well before he hit the water, he had time enough to form the thought, My God, this is a long way down. And then, a moment later, Holy shit, I''m still falling-I still haven''t hit yet.
When he finally did hit the water, he went in feet first and immediately plunged deep into the river, hurtling toward its bed with astonishing speed. Underwater, he opened his eyes and spotted the faintly glowing green of the surface that seemed like miles above his head. He started swimming, executing an overhead pull and kicking with all his might, straining toward the elusive air above. When he broke the surface, he spent a moment just breathing, filling his aching lungs. The first sight that struck him as he fought to stay afloat was the menacing giant of a bridge above him. The river was swift, moving much more powerfully than he had expected, and as Tom struggled to remove his coat, he realized that the current had already carried him underneath the bridge and he was looking at it from the south side. It was truly a massive beast, that bridge, and the reality of how far he had fallen both terrified and encouraged him. He would never have been able to jump if he had really known how high up he was.
They would have had to shoot him. There was debris everywhere in the water and, now that he had gotten his bearings and assured himself that he had survived, Tom began to scan the water for his cousins. There were logs and branches moving all around him with frightening speed, and in the dimness, as he bobbed up and down in the rapid current, he thought he glimpsed Robin a few feet off to his left. The current rolled up between them and when he looked again at the place where he''d seen her, she, or the log that resembled her, was gone. Julie appeared behind him then, about ten or fifteen feet off to his right, and he spotted her clearly, despite the clash of the rugged water around his face. He shouted to her, receiving a mouthful of dank river water for his efforts, but she heard him and turned her moon-white face toward him, terror-stricken in the frothy water. "My God, where''s Robin?" she screamed. But Tom couldn''t answer her.
His efforts at treading water were becoming a losing battle. The current was just too strong for him. He had to get his sneakers off. He tried removing them with his feet and had no luck. When he used his arms, he began sinking. He had a moment of complete and abject panic, convinced that death would be the end result of what had happened to them tonight after all. He screamed as he sank and the water enveloped his head like a slick hood. Two or three feet below the surface he gave up on the sneakers and reached toward the light again.
He breathed more calmly now, as if the few moments of panic had been exactly the emotional release he needed in order to find the strength to carry on. His mind became numb-there wasn''t much room for a rational thought process here in the river. He had to rely on his body to do the work of survival, and it took every ounce of his physical strength just to stay afloat. He was vaguely aware of Julie''s presence some ten or fifteen feet away, and on that same subconscious plane of thought he supposed that Robin, too, was somewhere nearby, battling mightily against the strong current, obscured from his vision by distance or debris. He wrestled his way onto his back and allowed the current to carry him while he backstroked awkwardly, blindly bumping into debris as he cut his course through the water. All of his concentration was on staying afloat. He hadn''t even considered getting to shore yet. In between the constant slap-slap of the water at his ears he heard Julie''s voice, crying but not hysterical.
It encouraged him. He heard his own voice responding to her. "We have to swim, swim, swim, swim, swim, swim!" he bellowed, in a voice that sounded foreign and distant to his own ears. Between him and the Missouri shore, just past where he thought Julie was, he spotted one of the water-intake towers that belonged to the St. Louis Waterworks. He didn''t know what it was, but it was a large structure, stable and well lit, and to his mind it symbolized safety. "Swim toward the lights, Julie! Swim, swim, swim, swim, swim!" "I''m drowning, Tom!" Julie shouted her response with increasing hysteria. Tom lifted his head out of the water as best he could and yelled at her, "We''re not drowning.
You''re not drowning. We''re going to get to shore. Swim, Julie!" And she swam. After that, Tom did his best to keep a visual vigil, constantly scanning the water for her at those moments when he swelled on the high side of the fickle current. She was still struggling, getting closer to him as they flowed fast with the mighty river. She drew closer and closer to him as the minutes ticked by, but they didn''t waste their energy on speech, their bodies requiring every ounce of strength for their battle with the water. They were only subliminally aware of each other''s presence. And then Tom looked up and saw her closer than ever, approaching with startling velocity.
In the quick glimpse he got of her eyes, he saw utter fatigue. Julie Kerry did not want to die, but her body was shutting down. Beaten by exhaustion, shock, and trauma, her little frame was giving up, refusing to swim any farther. Making one last valiant effort to keep herself afloat, she lunged for her cousin Tom, encircling his neck with the strong grip of her tiny arms. They both went under. They sank rapidly, with the weight of two entwined bodies lumped together, unmoving. In a moment they were four or five feet below the surface and Tom had run out of air. He hadn''t gotten a proper breath before they went under and he needed one now.
He very nearly took one before he realized what he was doing. He knew that he was drowning, but still Julie clung to him, her little arms tense with effort and fear. Tom wrangled his hands beneath the crooks of Julie''s elbows where they stuck out at angles beside his shoulders. In one swift movement, he straightened his arms, pushing Julie up over his head toward the surface and releasing himself at the same time. They both bobbed to the surface. "We have to keep swimming," he shouted over the din of the water. "Swim, Julie!" And again, she swam. The current had swept some distance between the two cousins as soon as they resurfaced, but Tom knew that she was still nearby and he tried to keep her in sight as much as possible.
He flipped onto his back again, scanning the water to check on Julie''s weary progress whenever the current floated him high enough for visibility. She was clearly exhausted, but she continued to paddle along with the current. Despite the increasing heaviness in his limbs and the spinning thickness of his thoughts, Tom''s voice still sounded strong, and he heard it as if outside of himself, encouraging Julie to swim. But even as he cheered his cousin on, Tom''s own feet grew heavier in his sopping shoes while he slipped through the mighty river like a ragdoll in the current. About two or three minutes later, when Tom bobbed up and searched the spot that Julie had occupied in the water, she was gone. He became instantly hysterical. He thrashed and flapped savagely in the water, screaming her name, tears joining the river wetness on his face. "Julie!" he cried.
"Help us. Help us. Please somebody help us." Tom''s brain still refused to believe that either of his cousins had drowned. He wouldn''t even consider it a possibility. We''re just separated, he kept telling himself. We''re bound to get separated in the roughness of this water. And so he turned round and round in the water, hoping against hope to spot Julie again.
But he sobbed as he turned, and with each moment that passed without his seeing his friend, his heart and his hopes sank toward the bottom of that river. He ceased to swim. He floated on his back, giving himself over to sobs and hysteria. "I can''t do this," he said aloud, and he noticed for the first time how cold he was. He shivered in the icy water and his entire body ached, rigid with the cold and the fear. "I can''t fucking do this!" he said again. He was exhausted and terrified and ready to give up. And as he lay floating with the current, body battered and mind ready to submit to the river, he began to experience the strange flashing images that were his life.
Water covered his face now and he was drifting down and down slowly, but in his mind, quick and distinct, he saw the snapshots that, strung together, made up his life. First, the guys from his shift at work, out in front of the firehouse on a sunny day, hosing down the big trucks and having a laugh with each other. Next, his family eating a picnic ba.