above. His head snapped around, and for a moment he saw nothing. Then a rock the size of a hubcap came crashing down. There was no way to speed past it. He did the only thing he could, throwing himself off the bike and rolling himself into a ball, covering his head with both arms.
The rock hit the spot just above his head and glanced off his helmet, peppering his arms and neck with shards that cut into his skin before it continued to bounce along, until it cleared the side and careened away into the sunlit air.
He didn’t take the time to catch his breath. On his feet, he tried to pinpoint where the rock had come from. They were in dangerous country. It might have been loosened by the movement of the racers passing along. That was the most plausible explanation.
But somehow that didn’t satisfy the suspicion humming through his body. He walked his bike up the remaining fifty feet or so to the apex of the trail, listening carefully for any sound of falling rock. He heard nothing, so he continued on, wiping at a scrape on his forehead that now oozed blood. Even in late afternoon, even in October, the temperature was hot, and Shane found the going rough. Just before he reached the top, the click of a camera startled him. Devin Ackerman appeared over the crest.
“Come on, Matthews. Walking your bike? You’ve still got another eight miles to go.”
Shane looked him over. He was in the perfect location to have snuck around and loosened the rock. “Rock fall.”
“Really?” Ackerman cocked his head. “Didn’t hear any of the racers radio that in.”
“Just me,” he said as he continued to push the bike.
“Bad luck, man. You seem to have a target on your back.”
Shane didn’t answer. And you’ve got one, too, Ackerman. You just don’t know it yet.
NINE
K elly watched as the sun set into a glorious golden pool behind the pinnacles. Darkness fell quickly, and a chill crept through the rocks. She glanced at her phone again. No messages. With a deep sigh, she kept her eyes trained on the horizon to spot the first racers. They were required to check in with her after this leg of the race, so she would be here another few hours until all fifty racers had made it back.
She looked at the leaderboard again. Each racer carried a satellite GPS that sent location based signals to the online leaderboard, which they could view in real time. Gleeson was number one, followed by another participant, then Betsy Falco and Shane. Behind them was a considerable gap, and then many racers clumped together. At least Shane was safe and moving forward, no potentially deadly accidents this time.
She suppressed a shudder, remembering Betsy hurtling through the air. And Shane was convinced the accident had been intended for him. It was crazy, too crazy to believe, but why had the bike disappeared?
A biker appeared around the last turn. Gleeson’s face was a mask of concentration as he pumped toward the finish line. Crossing it, he raised a fist in victory, passed Ackerman and Chenko, and pedaled slowly over to Kelly, breathing hard.
“Great job,” she told him, offering him a bottle of water and visually checking him over. “Any problems?”
“Nah,” he puffed, taking a swig. “Where’s Shane?”
“Leaderboard has him in fourth.”
Gleeson nodded. “We’re still okay then.”
He rolled to a flat rock and eased himself off the bike as the next racer arrived. Chenko and Ackerman greeted him, too, and checked over the satellite information as it downloaded the racers’ final times.
The man, a thin wiry fellow with dark hair, approached Kelly, a smile easing the exhaustion on his face. She matched his race number with his name. “Tim Downing?”
He nodded. “Whew. Seemed a lot harder than last year. I must be getting old.”
She remembered why the name sounded familiar. She’d seen his name in the files when she’d read through them earlier. The names had been catalogued by date the applications were received. His
The rock hit the spot just above his head and glanced off his helmet, peppering his arms and neck with shards that cut into his skin before it continued to bounce along, until it cleared the side and careened away into the sunlit air.
He didn’t take the time to catch his breath. On his feet, he tried to pinpoint where the rock had come from. They were in dangerous country. It might have been loosened by the movement of the racers passing along. That was the most plausible explanation.
But somehow that didn’t satisfy the suspicion humming through his body. He walked his bike up the remaining fifty feet or so to the apex of the trail, listening carefully for any sound of falling rock. He heard nothing, so he continued on, wiping at a scrape on his forehead that now oozed blood. Even in late afternoon, even in October, the temperature was hot, and Shane found the going rough. Just before he reached the top, the click of a camera startled him. Devin Ackerman appeared over the crest.
“Come on, Matthews. Walking your bike? You’ve still got another eight miles to go.”
Shane looked him over. He was in the perfect location to have snuck around and loosened the rock. “Rock fall.”
“Really?” Ackerman cocked his head. “Didn’t hear any of the racers radio that in.”
“Just me,” he said as he continued to push the bike.
“Bad luck, man. You seem to have a target on your back.”
Shane didn’t answer. And you’ve got one, too, Ackerman. You just don’t know it yet.
NINE
K elly watched as the sun set into a glorious golden pool behind the pinnacles. Darkness fell quickly, and a chill crept through the rocks. She glanced at her phone again. No messages. With a deep sigh, she kept her eyes trained on the horizon to spot the first racers. They were required to check in with her after this leg of the race, so she would be here another few hours until all fifty racers had made it back.
She looked at the leaderboard again. Each racer carried a satellite GPS that sent location based signals to the online leaderboard, which they could view in real time. Gleeson was number one, followed by another participant, then Betsy Falco and Shane. Behind them was a considerable gap, and then many racers clumped together. At least Shane was safe and moving forward, no potentially deadly accidents this time.
She suppressed a shudder, remembering Betsy hurtling through the air. And Shane was convinced the accident had been intended for him. It was crazy, too crazy to believe, but why had the bike disappeared?
A biker appeared around the last turn. Gleeson’s face was a mask of concentration as he pumped toward the finish line. Crossing it, he raised a fist in victory, passed Ackerman and Chenko, and pedaled slowly over to Kelly, breathing hard.
“Great job,” she told him, offering him a bottle of water and visually checking him over. “Any problems?”
“Nah,” he puffed, taking a swig. “Where’s Shane?”
“Leaderboard has him in fourth.”
Gleeson nodded. “We’re still okay then.”
He rolled to a flat rock and eased himself off the bike as the next racer arrived. Chenko and Ackerman greeted him, too, and checked over the satellite information as it downloaded the racers’ final times.
The man, a thin wiry fellow with dark hair, approached Kelly, a smile easing the exhaustion on his face. She matched his race number with his name. “Tim Downing?”
He nodded. “Whew. Seemed a lot harder than last year. I must be getting old.”
She remembered why the name sounded familiar. She’d seen his name in the files when she’d read through them earlier. The names had been catalogued by date the applications were received. His
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