Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [113]
“How about giving a fellow traveler a ride?” Stephens said amiably as the Porsche came abreast. He would show them he wasn’t cut from the same cloth as the others. “I know you’ve got room for one.”
“Fuck you,” said Scooter.
“I’m not like these others.”
“Who are you kidding?”
“They’re firefighters. I’m a chief financial officer. I know Fred’s father.”
“Jesuuuuuuus…”
When the tall Ford reversed alongside him a few moments later, he looked up at Fred, who was sitting next to Jennifer. “I know you’re both reasonable enough to give me a ride.”
“Screw you.”
“I’m not with those others.”
“The hell you aren’t.”
“It was my plan to make peace between the two camps.”
“You’re soooo full of crap.”
“Just give me a ride. I can help you with those guys. I know what could put them in trouble.”
“They’re already in trouble. And so are you, asshole.”
It was only after the trucks began to fade in the haze that Stephens was shocked to find Muldaur and Zak twenty yards behind and closing. He hoped they hadn’t heard his pleas for a ride. Stephens put his head down and focused on the section of dirt and rock three to four feet in front of his front tire. He was going to stay in front of them as long as possible. His lungs hurt. His legs were aching. Even his butt muscles hurt. Despite all his efforts, these two were passing him. Looking at the bright side, he knew once they got in front, their pacing would help, and each time they reached one of the flatter spots on the road, Stephens could draft.
“What’d they say?” Zak asked.
“They wanted to give me a ride, but I didn’t think it would be right if they wouldn’t take you guys, too.”
“Sure you weren’t begging for a ride for yourself?”
“Not without you guys.”
“Right.”
Stephens began pedaling harder in an effort to stay with the two more polished cyclists. He dropped his chain to a smaller cog on the back and pushed for a few strokes, then thought better of it and went back to a lower gear. Even with all his efforts, he was barely hanging on.
“Hey, Zak?” Muldaur was speaking now.
“Yeah?”
“I just found a better way to work out. Better than having guys with rifles behind us.”
“You mean getting chased by a forest fire?”
“Right.”
“Excellent. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”
The fire had jumped the road and was crawling up the mountain behind them. It would take only a small change in direction for the wind to blow it at them. Stephens had no way of estimating how fast it might be closing in, but he knew the climb was going to take another twenty or twenty-five minutes. This was no time for any of them to be making ridiculous jokes. Didn’t they know? A gust of wind. A slight variation in terrain. A flat tire. A broken chain. Any piece of defective equipment, and one of them would be a goner. So far nobody’d flatted and nothing had broken on any of the bikes, but if it did the affected rider would be kindling. A few minutes later they hit a relatively flat spot, where Polanski and Muldaur took turns in front and Stephens remained behind. Astonishingly, just before they started the next climb, Giancarlo caught them. When Stephens turned around to take a look, Giancarlo’s face was blank and pale, and he was breathing even harder than Stephens.
“Can you stay on, Giancarlo?” It was Polanski. Nobody’d asked Stephens if he could stay on.
“Not at this pace. Just go on.”
“We can slow a bit.”
“Don’t you dare.”
The winds, which had been boiling over their heads the last few minutes, picked up. For a time they were blowing from directly behind them, coming out of the north. Then