The plume of smoke rose in the distance. Strange, he thought. No buildings on the island, nothing to burn. A barren lump of rock.
Only one way to find out.
He headed across the rope bridge, stretched high above the shark infested waters. The island, the smoke, drew closer.
On solid rock now, on he went to the opposite shore.
There, in flames, the matching eastern bridge fell to the sea below. A jaw dropping sight.
And a distraction from the distant sound of footsteps, the spark of a match, and the smell of burning rope behind him.
