Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [115]
53
Zak knew Stephens had been dogging it all day, but the tenacity and courage he showed now that they were all spurred by flames was unbelievable. It was amazing how strong he’d become, falling off the pace for a few hundred feet, then making a gargantuan effort to get back on and succeeding repeatedly. Now, as they headed up the final stretch of mountainside, Stephens was right on their tail.
Twice now they’d seen a wall of fire behind them, and each time it looked like Giancarlo was pedaling out of it, bobbing and standing up at times, even though it was awkward and dangerous to stand while pedaling on these steep gravel and dirt roads. Zak had a dreadful feeling in his gut that Giancarlo was going to be overtaken by the rolling inferno.
Incredibly, by the time they arrived at the last leg of the ascent, Zak was thinking about giving up. It was the first time all day he’d seriously considered getting off and quitting, and the notion startled him. Of course his legs had been aching all along, and his lungs weren’t processing the smoky air well—he and the others had been bringing up globs of dirty phlegm for the past half hour—but the rest of his body hurt as well: his shoulders, wrists, and palms, the soles of his feet. Even the muscles in his face felt tight and cramped. He was having a hard time holding his head up. He wasn’t the only one in trouble. For the past two hours he’d noticed a tic playing under one of Muldaur’s eyes and what appeared to be a weakening of his left leg, his knee flicking out to the side in an odd way at the bottom of every pedal stroke. He’d thought Stephens or Giancarlo would be the first to crack, but now he wasn’t so sure he or Muldaur wouldn’t be the one.
This last stretch of road ran up the mountain in a straight line, and several times in the last mile the howling, gale-force winds had come close to knocking one of them over. Zak moved ahead of Muldaur to take another pull at the front just as the wind began riffling the tops of the trees in a way he hadn’t seen until now, whipping the tallest trees and bending them almost to the ground. Zak found himself expending an enormous amount of energy just to keep the bike upright and stable.
For a while the wind grew so loud he couldn’t hear anything else. When it finally died down, Muldaur was cursing. Zak wanted to turn around to see if Stephens was still with them or if Giancarlo was in visual contact, but he didn’t dare loosen his grip on his handlebars or even cock his head for a look.
The heat came over the treetops first. Then behind the treetops a large, quick tongue of flame shot into the sky. It frightened Zak, but it must have terrified Stephens, because he pulled alongside and, a moment later, began inching away. He was breathing like a steam engine. Another tongue of flame revealed itself, and instead of disappearing as the first one had, it scoured the treetops alongside the road, setting them alight one by one like a giant blowtorch. Oddly, the winds were so gusty that about a third of the treetops were snuffed out as soon as they ignited. Zak had never seen anything like it.
The winds continued to grow more violent. At times they would blow from directly behind to help push them up the hill. Twice, Zak dropped his chain down a cog or two into a higher gear ratio to take advantage of the wind assist.
It was only with a superhuman effort that Zak was able to get on Stephens’s wheel. Once again Stephens had remained behind for long periods and then took advantage of the energy he’d been saving to leap forward and save himself. When Zak or Muldaur took the lead, they always came around with a slow acceleration so the others could get used to the new pace without being dropped, but Stephens continued to launch himself up the road as if purposely trying to lose them.
Muldaur had been flagging for the last half mile and