Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [112]
Scooter climbed into the Porsche. “That fucker was going to kill us all. Why else would he pull a gun?”
“He was giving it to you,” Zak said. “As a peace offering.”
As he stepped into the Porsche, Kasey Newcastle gave Zak a look of incomprehension. Zak could see the horror in his eyes as he momentarily considered the possibility that the morning’s hostilities had been spawned by lies, that Scooter had been lying to him all day. Jennifer was trying to maneuver the Ford, which had less damage than the Porsche, but it was clear to Zak they wouldn’t be able to turn around on the narrow road. Both vehicles would be forced to make the return trip up the hill in reverse.
Stephens was already two hundred yards up the mountain, pedaling steadily.
The Porsche and the Ford began driving up the hill backward. Higher on the mountain, Muldaur and Giancarlo pulled over as they were passed by the trucks. When Stephens was overtaken, Zak could see him talking to the occupants of each vehicle as they slowed to pass.
51
Stephens turned around and realized he was the only one who’d left the accident scene. Had they not seen the bull elk rampaging up the road? When a wild animal disregards the presence of human beings, something is seriously askew. And those winds? Stephens had never experienced anything quite like them, the logs and debris flying through the air. The winds were easily 120, maybe 130 degrees Fahrenheit. Everybody was sweating heavily, even Jennifer, whose tight T-shirt Stephens noticed was wet down the spine and below each breast.
This was what it was all about. This was what he’d been saving his energy for. He knew the others had been making vigorous efforts unnecessarily, while he’d been conserving every last watt of power for the time when it would count. The race went not to the swiftest but to the smartest. The swiftest man in the race rode hard, but the smartest man was on his wheel ready to lunge past after the front man wore himself out. Of course he’d been drafting, and in doing so had banked up a fair amount of reserves. He realized the others were in better shape than him by virtue of having put in more hours on the bike, so it stood to reason he had to do what he could to even the odds. Stephens was reasonably sure if they had to ride to the top of the mountain at speed right now, he would beat the others handily.
The first section of the road was steep, but it leveled out a tad and passed through an uphill vale with trees on either side. Soon it began climbing in earnest in a long, steady grind, trees and steep slopes to the left, the treetops and occasional drop-offs to the right. Stephens found himself on a long, sweeping right-hand turn, where he was able to peer down the mountain.
The sight that greeted him made his mouth go dry.
Almost everything Stephens could see below was either on fire or had already burned. When he could pick them out, individual trees looked like burning match heads. All of the green they had looked out on this morning during their first trip up this road had been replaced by smoke, char, and blackened upright snags that had once been trees.
He caught a glimpse of the fire maybe a third of a mile to the south as it raced up the face of the mountain at an alarming rate. He was almost certain the near-vertical slope didn’t connect to this road, but if it did the road would no longer be viable. The fierce winds would waft flames across it like a blowtorch. There was no way he or any of the others would make it if the flames encroached on the road. He didn’t like going this hard, but if there was ever a time this was it.
He pushed on, feeling the pain in his legs, wondering if he was going to cramp. Last year after the RAMROD, Stephens had suffered a cramp that left his quadriceps sore for a month. When the Porsche and then the white Ford approached him, Stephens moved to the side of the road. He’d planned this carefully, knowing if the four of them requested rides at the same time they were unlikely to be effective, but if he could