Escape From the Badlands by Dana Mentink

his bike, and Betsy, seemingly in good spirits in spite of the bandage on her face. She lost them in the crowd for a moment.
    Devin appeared at her shoulder. “Hi there. Sleep okay?”
    “Sure. Did you? I imagine you were worried about Betsy.”
    He took the lens cap off his camera. “She assured me she was okay. Hard to know what to believe sometimes,” he mumbled.
    “Oh?” Kelly caught the subtle current of anger in the words.
    “Never mind,” he said brightly. “It’s race day and I’ve got pictures to take. Got your radio?”
    “Yes.” She waved the antenna at him. “Right here.”
    “Great. After we get them started, I can show you a great midpoint to keep an eye on the action.” He snapped a picture of her before she could turn away. “Gotcha.”
    “Can I ask a question?”
    “You can ask me anything.”
    Kelly leaned slightly away. “I was looking through the files, and you had a racer leave last year due to illness.”
    He quirked an eyebrow. “Um, yes. I remember that.”
    “What sort of illness was it?”
    His eyebrows quirked. “Why do you want to know?”
    She shrugged. “Professional curiosity. I wondered if it was something contagious, and how it was handled by the previous medic.”
    He thought for a moment. “I think it was a flu or something like that. She went to the hospital overnight and then decided to quit the race. Nothing too dramatic.” He waved his camera. “Gotta go.”
    She watched him trot to the starting line and scope out a spot to catch the racers as they took off. She spotted Shane and Gleeson among the group, red helmets shining in the sunlight. Shane waved at her as Chenko climbed atop a rock, starting gun in hand.
    The shot rang out and the racers surged forward in an untidy pack, clumping together along the first mile, which was relatively flat. They began to slow and spread out as they approached the descent that led to the turn where Betsy had gone down.
    Her stomach tightened. She’d knew Shane would go over his new bike meticulously, filling the tires, lubing the chain, until he was satisfied that no accident would occur during the race.
    She wasn’t so sure. A feeling of dread clung to her and would not be shaken off. Was it her fear that Uncle Bill would return with news that Rose was dead? She shut the anxious thoughts down, busying herself checking her clipboard to make sure she had all the racers accounted for and rechecking her medical supplies for the umpteenth time.
    Whatever would happen in the next few hours, she could not make it better by stewing on it.
    Lord, help me take care of these racers today.
    She wondered why the only racer who popped into her mind was the blue-eyed man who had broken her heart.
    Shane relished the feel of being in the pack of bikers and the satisfying moment when he pulled away, establishing his place early on among the leaders. Gleeson was the third racer to start the descent and Shane kept a good five yards behind him. The first ten miles comprised a rough single-track descent. The rocky downhill required him to weight back, but not so far back that he lost traction. Wrists low on the bars, pedals even to the ground, bike in third gear. Chenko had done a good job picking the course. It took all Shane’s powers of concentration to keep from wiping out. After an hour or so, the harsh downslope gradually evened out into several miles of flat grassland, which gave him time to collect his thoughts. He knew they would be headed into a wooded section next, which would be peppered with obstacles, as well.
    None of the obstacles seemed to be nearly as difficult as the ones he’d already encountered. The steady motion of his feet pressing the bike forward eased him into reviewing the issues prickling at his mind. There was no info in the race files to point to Ellen Brown. Dead end there. But what about Betsy? She knew Ellen, though there was no love lost between them. Her temperament was volatile, and if he could get her