"Why didn't you jump?" Dean finally managed to swim ashore, flipped off the people above him, and shouted.
The other three were hanging outside the bridge railing above his head. Sam had one arm hooked around the railing and was looking down. Only when he saw that his brother was safe did he breathe a sigh of relief.
Nick was in much the same position, except that his other hand was gripping Dahlia's arm. Using that handhold, the girl swung through the air twice, then flipped back onto the bridge, as light and supple as a gymnast.
In that respect, Dahlia actually fit the stereotype of a Russian girl quite well. She had trained hard in ballet as a child, but her father had hated the thought of his daughter's feet becoming deformed by it, so he had coaxed and cajoled her into taking up gymnastics instead.
On the bridge deck inside the railing, the two cars sat nose to nose as though nothing had happened, except for the two long sets of skid marks trailing behind them.
Both cars had braked to a stop at the last moment, so there had been no need to jump. Besides, this old iron bridge was a good seven or eight meters above the water. Generally speaking, even with a poor landing, the surface tension probably wouldn't kill anyone, but hitting the water would certainly hurt.
By the time Dean returned to the bridge, grimacing and covered in foul-smelling riverbed mud, Nick had already checked both cars.
Unlikely as it was, he had first ruled out the possibility that both cars had suffered mechanical failures at the same time.
Fortunately, the ghost's "driving skills" were excellent. Although the two cars had ended up nose to nose, with a gap too narrow to slip