Niagara roared its contempt at the man! The audacity! The intrusion, mere feet from the apex of its power, surging and spewing over the abyss. It sent sheets of freezing spray beating against his shiny yellow slicker, pelting him with waves of stinging ice. The man ignored it, as much as anything alive could ignore the bellowing fury of Niagara, remaining focused on rappelling 170 feet down the face of the gorge, kicking out from the columns and pillars of hard, darkened ice until, finally, touching bottom, he stood amid the chaos of millions of gallons of plummeting water, crashing each minute into the mountains of ice rising below.

Encased in a thick icy layer that crackled and crunched with each movement, he anchored the rope for the other firefighters descent. “Fire” fighters – indeed!  What fire? No fire down here mister! – only cold, hard ice.  He thought it ironic they were fighting against water and ice, what was usually their strongest ally.  Above him, people pointed, gesturing in fascination at this unexpected show. The man was a professional and gave no outward attention to their excited faces gaping in awe and terror, although deep inside, he relished in the glory of the moment. 

As the team descended and assembled at the base, the man picked up the trail in the pristine landscape of the ice bridge and began following it. He wasn’t sure how many of them there had been, four for sure, maybe more, the witness reports varied greatly. The tracks were confusing, on top of one another and going in both directions. Spectators said some of them had run back from the Falls to disappear in those ice columns behind him – but had they all?  Needing to be sure, he followed the trail away from the columns and towards the maelstrom.

There, just ahead, buried in the glistering snow – a dark shape. Pulling it loose, he broke the ice away and saw it was a piece of clothing – a glove.  The man stared at it, a creepy sensation spreading upwards from the pit of his stomach as a sense of familiarity jarred his memory. “Naw, it couldn’t be.” He thought. “He don’t have the balls.”  He stashed it in the pocket of his coat.

POP! POP! POP! 

“What the hell was that?”  Gunshots?  They were being shot at?
He turned to look back at the others. They were waving their arms at him and shouting, but he couldn’t hear above the thunder of the Falls. The ice shook and in a violent upheaval, buckled, knocking him to his knees.  POP!  POP! POP! Under his feet, long jagged cracks opened and ran off in directions all around him. Sections broke away and rose like giant tombstones, three – four – five feet over his head! Grinding against themselves, breaking into sections. He turned to run and was thrown down hard, his face smashing into the ice. The bright red of his blood glared up at him against the pure whiteness of the ice bridge.

“KEVIN! GET BACK, IT’S BREAKING UP!” they shouted, their voices swallowed by the anger of the Falls.  He was caught between walls of grinding glaciers heaving up and sinking back down. He slid across the ice, a large yellow hockey puck, as the ice pitched and rolled. Huge chunks broke off, raining down on him mercilessly – slamming into his back – crushing his black, firemen’s hat deep into his neck. He ricocheted off sharp, jagged splinters of shifting ice that peeled off in ribbons all around him. A bolt the size of a car shot straight up, crashing down on his legs, dragging him across the ice.  Cold, gripping fingers clutched at his body, reached inside his heavy boots, chilling his spine. Water!  The river was returning! The giant ice bridge was being reduced to islands, churning and spinning, breaking into ever smaller pieces. Spitting, freezing water boiled up on all sides and he felt himself slipping in, and would have if not for a sudden shift causing the glaciers to close the gap and grind together. His scream was swallowed by the bellowing Falls, his legs crushed between them, slowly pulling him down into the surging river.

“Hang on Kevin! I’ll get ya.”  Hands grabbed at him from above, while the river pulled at him from below. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was looking into the determined face of ‘black Thomas’ shouting words he couldn’t hear and feeling strong hands pulling him against the river.