• • •
As the racers assembled the next morning, the Hardys were surprised to see Victoria Clemenceau near the front of the pack.
“Georges would not want me to drop out just because he cannot continue,” she said stoically, her twisted ankle wound in sports tape.
Vince Bennett had arrived by helicopter during the night, and he spoke to the racers before the start of the new leg.
“I’m sure you’ll all be glad to hear that Georges Clemenceau is recovering from that nasty bump on his head,” Bennett said. “This seems a good time to remind all of you of the importance of safety during the competition. I would recommend sticking to the official course route rather than blazing your own trails.
“And look out for one another, please. I’d like to thank the people who helped our searchers find Georges last night.” He paused for some brief applause from the crowd. “Now, let’s get racing!”
With that, the first group of racers sprinted into the woods once more. Hawk, Clemenceau, Lupin, and a number of others took to the trails before the brothers, which gave the Hardys a bit of much-needed rest before they, too, set off.
The course grew steeper and rockier, and quickly entered an area of steep-sided ravines. The Hardys found themselves climbing nearly as much as they were hiking.
“We’ll be hitting the rappelling section pretty soon,” Joe said.
Frank nodded, too winded to say anything at that moment.
Because of the brothers’ adventure the previous night, some of the other competitors began to catch up with them once more. Roger Baldwin and Robert Frid made a push in the late morning and passed the brothers just before a long rope climb up a cliff face.
Frank and Joe struggled up the ropes and found Kelly Hawk and a number of others resting at the top of the cliff. Hawk was talking animatedly to a camera crew covering the race. As the brothers caught their breath and drank some water, they listened.
“Just ahead,” Kelly said, wiping the sweat from her brow, “you’ll see the kind of thing my people object to. The ravaged forests are a clear indication that the stewardship of this land has been forsaken. This is one reason my people are asserting their ancient treaty rights.” She stood. “Come on,” she said to the camera people, “I’ll show you.”
As Hawk and the crew hiked off toward the next hillside, Joe said, “She’s lost quite a bit of time.”
“I think making her point is probably more important to her,” Frank replied. “She’ll still have time to catch up later.”
“We will, too,” Joe said, taking another drink of water. “I wonder what she was talking about, though.”
A few minutes later the brothers started off again. Their legs and arms burned from the long days of exertion, but they knew the other racers were facing the same trouble.
“I can’t wait to hit Montreal and sleep in a real bed,” Joe said as they topped the shoulder of another rugged hill.
“Whoa,” Frank said as they crested the ridge, “I guess this is what Hawk was complaining about.”
Ahead lay a hillside nearly devoid of trees. The barren swath stretched from the shoulder where the Hardys stood, back up the hillside beyond, and then down to a forest in the valley below. Tire tracks marked the rocky slopes where the lumber had been hauled away. The vista was desolate and nearly as lifeless as the surface of the moon.
Joe scowled and spat the dust from his mouth. “They should make clear-cutting illegal,” he said.
“Yeah,” Frank said. “Let’s send a donation to Hawk’s cause when we get home. But first, we have to finish this race. C’mon.”
Cautiously, he began to hike down the blasted landscape, his feet kicking loose small rocks and gravel. Joe did the same, trying not to slip on the uneven ground.
“Is that Hawk and the camera crew down below?” Joe asked, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun.
Frank peered in that direction and spotted three figures at the edge of a forest in the valley below. “I think so,” Frank said. “But I doubt they’ll wait for us to catch up and find out.”
Joe looked up into the clear blue sky. “Do you hear thunder?” he asked.
Frank looked around, his gaze settling on the hillside behind them. What he saw set his heart pounding.
“Landslide!” he shouted.
8 Running in Place
* * *
High up the slope behind the Hardys, the hillside moved. Small rocks tumbled over bare ground, shaking loose dirt and larger rocks. Those rocks shook loose still more, until the whole hillside slumped toward the ridge the Hardys had crossed just minutes before.
“Run!” Frank urged.
He and Joe took off downslope, their feet slipping on the barren ground. Behind them, a cloud of gray dust roared and grew to huge proportions.
Sparing a momentary glance back as he ran, Joe shouted, “Cut to the right! Try to get out of the slide’s direct path!”
Frank and Joe ran to the right, all the while continuing their downward plunge. The brothers moved as fast as they could while still maintaining their footing. Both knew that a single slip could leave them buried under tons of dirt and rock.
The slide toppled the few trees remaining on the slope and tossed them forward like driftwood on a dusty sea. The roar of the landslide grew louder—a rocky monster hungry to devour the brothers.
“We’re not going to make it!” Joe cried.
“Just keep running,” Frank said. Glancing back, he spotted a tall tree trunk coasting atop the rubble like a boat. The tree was near the leading edge of the slide and close to where Joe and Frank were running. With luck, they could just make it. “Go for the tree, Joe!” he called. “Maybe we can ride this out!”
As the slide caught up with them, the brothers turned and leaped for the tree. Joe landed solidly on the trunk and grabbed hold with both hands. Frank, however, tripped over some hurtling scree. He landed half on the uprooted tree, with his legs and lower body dangling in the dust.
The speed of the slide threatened to pull him off the trunk and into the crashing rubble. Frank’s fingers lost their grip on the rough bark. He slipped off.
Joe stabbed out and grabbed his brother’s arms. Frank’s feet bounced among the sliding rocks for a moment, then Joe pulled him atop the tree trunk.
Even aboard the tree, the Hardys’ position was dangerous. The trunk swayed and reeled, threatening to flip over. Frank and Joe used all their balance and agility to stay with the trunk as the slide rushed downhill.
The forest in the valley loomed large before them even as the landslide slowed its descent. They hit the woods with a mighty crash and tumbled off their boatlike tree trunk just as the slide rumbled to a halt.
The Hardys rose to their feet, battered and bruised, but glad to be alive. A cloud of gray dust washed over them as the remains of the landslide settled to the ground.
“Phew!” Joe said, brushing the grit off his clothes. “I’ve heard of people surfing avalanches before, but not landslides.”
“I’m glad it was more dust than rock,” Frank said. “It was still a close call, though. We’re lucky to escape with just a few scrapes and bruises.” He coughed some of the dust from his lungs.
As the haze cleared from the forest, the sounds of shouting drifted through the trees. “Help! Help!”
Instantly forgetting their aches and pains, Frank and Joe ran through the rubble toward the sound. Ahead of them, they saw the three people they’d previously spotted near the bottom of the slope. Kelly Hawk and a cameraman were struggling to pull the other member of the TV camera crew out from under a fallen tree. The woman’s legs were pinned by both the tree and a pile of small rubble from the landslide.
The brothers raced to the woman’s side and began digging with their hands. Kelly Hawk regarded the Hardys with a look of wonder.
“I can’t believe you two are alive,” she said. “You must be the luckiest guys on earth.”
“You’re pretty lucky, too,” Frank r
eplied. “Any closer and this slide might have buried all three of you.”
“We were getting a shot of the clear-cut,” said the cameraman. “Kelly was telling us about the dangers of erosion. Then you topped the hill and . . .”
The woman under the rubble groaned.
“Hang on,” Joe said. “We’ll have you out in a minute. One of you should use the emergency phone. Warn them about the slide area, too.”
The cameraman stopped tugging on the tree and phoned for assistance. As Frank, Joe, and Kelly Hawk lifted the tree off the woman, the sound of a chopper echoed over the hills. The cameraman pulled his coworker free and the Hardys did some quick first aid.
“I’m all right, really,” the woman said groggily. “Just a little banged up.”
“It’s better if you don’t move,” Joe said. “The medics will be here in a moment.”
The chopper set down a short way from the forest, at the edge of the slide. A few minutes later, the blue-suited LMP paramedics had the woman stabilized and packed into the chopper. The cameraman went with them as the helicopter lifted off once more.
As Kelly Hawk and the brothers watched the airlift leave, their emergency radios crackled to life.
“This is a warning to all racers,” Bennett’s voice said. “Conditions in grid 87-849 are hazardous and may lead to rock slides. Racers should proceed with extreme caution, travel in groups, and consider alternate routes.” He repeated the message twice and then signed off.
“The race goes on,” Frank said.
“There’s no business like show business,” Joe noted. As he spoke, he saw figures skidding down through the settling dust behind them. “Some people won’t stop for anything.”
Turning back, the brothers saw that Kelly Hawk was already hiking up the trail ahead of them.
“The pack is catching up,” Frank said. “We’d better get moving.”
He and Joe trudged out of the forest and jogged up the trail beyond. They kept Kelly Hawk in sight for a while, but she was fresher than the brothers and soon pulled away from them.
The afternoon wore on slowly and the air grew hot and muggy.
Much of the pack had caught up with the Hardys by the time they reached the final rappelling challenge. The brothers weren’t the only ones running out of energy, though. Robert Frid fell behind the Hardys once more, and Roger Baldwin was just completing his rappelling when the brothers arrived.
The race trail came to an abrupt halt atop a hundred-and-fifty-foot cliff. Race officials waited to assure the safety of the contestants as they rappelled down the cliff face to the path at the bottom. Several racers sat at the top of the cliff, working up the energy to continue.
Joe and Frank had done similar events in X-games competitions before, and they breezed down the cliff face with no difficulty.
“Whew!” Joe said as they reached the bottom. “A nice change from hiking.”
“But not a very long change,” Frank said, indicating the dirt trail before them. The rolling hills were past them now and the path wound through the green forests toward their next checkpoint—St. Esprit.
The Hardys passed Baldwin in the woods and, as the sun sank toward evening, had their sights on Kelly Hawk once more.
“I’m glad we’re not the only ones getting tired,” Frank gasped.
Joe nodded, too winded to say anything.
A small tent city in a campground on the outskirts of St. Esprit slowly came into view. Kelly Hawk jogged wearily ahead of the brothers.
“Let’s see if we can catch her,” Joe suggested.
Frank nodded, and the two of them began to trot. Soon the trot turned into an all-out sprint as the brothers poured every ounce of their energy into a big finish.
Kelly Hawk glanced back when she heard the pounding of their footsteps behind her. She began to run as the brothers drew near. Soon the three of them were racing neck and neck for the checkpoint. Sweat drenched the bodies of all three competitors and their breathing came in short gasps.
With a final lean, Frank crossed the finish line first, followed by Hawk and then Joe. All three of them staggered to the checkpoint desk to register their times.
Kelly Hawk’s support crew came racing in from the sidelines, bringing her a water bottle and letting her lean on them as she left the registration table. Chet and Jamal came right behind, pressing water into the Hardys’ hands.
“Boy, you look beat!” Chet said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Joe replied. He sipped his water and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“We’ve got the tent set up and the bikes all ready for tomorrow’s leg,” Jamal said.
Frank nodded his approval and puffed out air.
“We’ve even got hot food,” Chet added.
Joe put his arm around Chet’s shoulder. “Now, that is the best news I’ve heard all day.” Together, the four friends walked to where Chet and Jamal had set up camp.
“How far back in the pack are we?” Frank asked as Jamal served him some stew.
“You’re in good shape,” Jamal said. “Even the leaders didn’t come in too much before you. Victoria Clemenceau and Michael Lupin are in that bunch. Then you guys and Hawk.”
“I saw the college group and that triathlon guy coming in as we walked over here,” Chet added.
Joe munched a mouthful of stew. “I guess surfing that rockslide saved us as much time as it cost us helping the camera crew,” he said between chews.
“I wouldn’t recommend it as a race tactic, though,” Frank said, rubbing his bruises.
“The rappelling points served as bottlenecks, which helped you out, too,” Jamal said. “They had safety crews for only a couple of lines at a time, which gave the slower racers a chance to catch up.”
“A clever tactic to keep things interesting for the TV coverage,” Chet noted.
“We make the local news lately?” Joe asked.
“Not much,” Chet said. “The race gets some coverage, and they mentioned the rockslide you were in today. Mostly it’s the usual stuff: trade problems, experimental medicines gone missing, a few police chases, a bear wandering into a resort.”
“Quite a bit of stuff on Kelly Hawk’s Native American group, too,” Jamal added. “They’ve been on the news nearly every night, protesting.”
“Not without cause,” Frank said, “judging from the clear-cut we saw.”
“They’re causing quite a ruckus,” Jamal said. “There’ve been some arrests.”
Frank and Joe nodded, and the group ate in silence for a while as the Hardys tried to regain some of their strength. Night crept over the camp as they relaxed. Vince Bennett stopped by with a camera crew for a quick interview. The Hardys were polite but terse in their comments. The crew soon looked bored and Bennett motioned them to move on.
“I’ll check with you boys later,” the race coordinator said with a wink.
“Only if you catch us before bedtime,” Joe said.
Frank sighed as the crew walked away. “Not the best interview we’ve ever given.”
“We’re tired,” Joe replied. “Why don’t we check over the bikes and then turn in.”
“Good idea,” Frank said. He and Joe got up.
“Want us to go with you?” Chet asked.
“Nah,” Joe said. “Just make sure our sleeping bags are ready when we get back.”
They all chuckled and the brothers headed toward the bike storage area.
The campground didn’t have the same level of facilities as the Fire Creek Mountain lodge. The race crew had installed a number of bicycle racks in the wide empty area between the camp showers and the vending machines behind the registration building. The spot they’d chosen wasn’t well lit—only a dim glow from the neighboring buildings illuminated the area.
Most of the other racers had retired for the evening. The bicycle rack was deserted save for a lone figure crouched over the bikes. The man worked quickly and quietly. A black ski mask obscured his features.
; The dim light from the distant shower building reflected off the small wire cutters in the saboteur’s right hand.
9 Collision Course
* * *
“Hey, you!” Joe called. He sprinted toward the saboteur and threw a punch at the man’s head. The man ducked out of the way and swung the wire cutters at Joe’s face.
Joe reeled back, almost running into Frank as the older Hardy charged forward. Frank spun out of Joe’s way and launched into a martial arts kick.
Frank’s kick caught the man in the right forearm, and the wire cutters flew from the saboteur’s gloved hand. The man staggered back, then turned and hopped over the first bicycle rack.
The Hardys leaped after him. The saboteur cleared three racks in succession like an Olympic hurdler. The brothers charged right after him, but their jumps weren’t as clean. Joe nearly got caught in the last rack, and Frank had to reach out to steady his brother.
The slip allowed the saboteur to open up a big lead on the Hardys. He disappeared into the shadows behind the registration building. Their legs aching, the Hardys sprinted after him.
“Which way did he go?” Joe asked as they skidded to a halt behind the structure. The building was a long log cabin camp office that Vince Bennett had pressed into service for the race crews. The surrounding woods crept up almost to the back of the building. The shadows under the boughs were black as night; those near the cabin were not much brighter. The brothers saw no sign of the saboteur.
“Let’s split up and circle the building,” Frank said. “Whistle if you see him.”
Joe nodded and lit out to the right, while Frank circled left. They met by the vending machines in front of the building without finding anything.
Joe shook his fist in anger. “Whoever he was, he was quick and clever,” Joe said ruefully.
“Maybe not clever enough,” Frank replied, his brown eyes peering into the darkness toward the camping area. He pointed toward a figure moving away from them through the small sea of tents. “Let’s go,” he whispered.
Joe nodded and the two of them sprinted quietly toward the figure. It was hard to keep the man in sight among the darkened tents, but the Hardys quickly closed the distance. Frank motioned that they should circle around either side, and Joe nodded his agreement.
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