Kneecap’s smile broadened and then slowly collapsed. “It’s great,” she said. “But the UHL’s dead.”
“I know,” I said. “But maybe we can revive it.”
She considered this. Then she said, “Nah, it’s had its day. It was a childish game, anyway.”
We followed the sound of laughter back to the rest stop. At the picnic table I found my drop bag among the others and yanked on a fresh shirt and my nylon jacket. I strapped my headlamp to my forehead. I also loaded up on banana-flavoured gels, jelly beans and a small spool of duct tape.
“What’s the tape for?” Ollie asked.
“In case my shoes get ripped,” I said.
Kneecap ran over. “I just talked to Bruce,” she said. “I asked him how the Dirt Eater could possibly be beating you.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He said that Ted — that’s the Dirt Eater’s name — is an experienced runner. And they rely on the honour system in this race.”
“What’s the honour system?” Ollie asked.
“It seems to mean that you can cheat all you want and not get caught,” muttered Kneecap.
Why would anyone cheat like that? It’s not like he had a real shot at winning the race. The fastest runners were probably hours ahead of us by now. They might even be close to the finish line.
Ollie helped himself to a handful of pretzels. “When will you pass the Shrine?” he asked.
“Soon,” I said. “A little over thirty miles.”
Ribbons of campfire smoke wafted through the trees. The glow of an mp3 player lit up Kneecap’s face.
“It’s my bedtime soon,” Ollie said. “I won’t be able to tell you any more stories.”
“Then tell me one right now,” I said.
Ollie knelt down to tie his shoelace. “What kind of story?” he asked.
“A true story,” I suggested.
Ollie pressed some pretzels into his mouth and sucked the salt off them. I clipped on my hydration pack and took a squirt of water.
“One time, last summer, I had a toad,” Ollie began. “I caught him under the climbing tree behind our house.”
I remembered this. “You named him Tony,” I said.
“Yeah, Tony. I kept him in my aquarium. I put grass and leaves in there. Fed him bugs. Sometimes a cricket.”
“One day I took him out of the aquarium and let him hop around the backyard. River was there.”
River’s our neighbour’s dog. He’s big and sleepy-eyed and he has incredibly bad breath.
“Anyway,” said Ollie, “Tony was hopping around on the grass, and River was lying close by, sort of watching, but not really. Then Tony decided to hop between River’s front paws. River leaned forward to sniff him. Tony took another hop forward. River went to lick Tony, and then Tony hopped right inside River’s mouth!”
Ollie scratched a mosquito bite on his leg.
“Why was River’s mouth open?” I asked.
“Because he was sticking out his tongue! And Tony just hopped into the hole!”
It was a horrifying story, but it was also kind of funny. “What happened then?” I asked.
“River looked surprised, like he was going to throw up. Toads don’t taste very good, you know. He shook his head and Tony popped out of his mouth and rolled across the grass. He was shiny from River’s slobber, but aside from that he was okay. I scooped him up really fast, and he peed all over my hand.”
I stared at the blue light fading over the lake.
“So what happened to Tony?” Kneecap asked. She’d taken off her headphones and was sitting up on the bench.
“I set him free,” Ollie said. “He wanted to get home to his family.”
A burst of laughter erupted behind us. The volunteers were drinking beer and telling stories around the fire. Mom was standing apart from the other people. I glanced at our car, the silver hatchback, and for a moment I imagined myself sliding into the passenger seat. I’d ease the seat back and rest my head against the window. I’d probably turn on the fan, and warm air would blow in my face as I slept …
Kneecap saw what I was looking at. “Don’t even think about it,” she growled.
I took a deep breath. “Right,” I said. And then I ran into the forest before I had a chance to change my mind.
“Don’t forget to keep singing!” Ollie shouted after me.
“Scare away the bears!” Kneecap added.
DO NOT LOOK INTO THE WOODS
Mile 67
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: What was it like, running in the forest at night?
QUINN: Weird.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Scary, I’ll bet.
QUINN: Definitely. And really, really dark.
All my life I’d heard stories about the Sasquatch. Not to mention Freddy Krueger and the Blair Witch. I’d always thought that those stories were lame. But now, they didn’t seem lame at all.
I had gone night running with my dad before. But I’d never done it by myself. In those first few minutes after the sun went down, I was pretty freaked out. I wanted to dig a hole at the side of the trail and lie down and cover myself with leaves. I wanted to bawl my eyes out until I felt better.
I admit it. I was so scared that I wanted to cry. I wanted my mom. I wanted to go home.
I didn’t give up, though. Instead, I kept running. Just like I’d been doing for the last 15 hours.
Just keep going, I told myself, and maybe you’ll forget that you’re scared … I never forgot, though. I always felt scared. The terrified feeling never went away.
For the first few miles, the trail followed the shoreline. A full moon came up and coated the lake in silver light. Chimney Top, which was now almost 40 miles behind me, glowed pale blue.
Thousands of moths flew toward my headlamp. A cloud of mist swirled around my legs. There were lots of stream crossings, and I had to be careful not to trip over fallen logs or tree roots. Somewhere, far off, a firecracker exploded.
I took Ollie’s advice and sang my lungs out. I sang the commercial for Albert’s Pancake House. Then I sang “Lose Yourself” by Eminem, and songs by Troutspawn:
He would lie down on train tracks!
Set his ponytail on fire!
He was a sky-diving BASE jumper, on the attack.
The adrenalin took him higher!
My dad went to see Troutspawn in concert once. He said the lead singer wore a traffic cone on his head and a sparkly suit made of tinfoil.
“Me and my buddies loved them,” Dad told me. “Their songs sounded like they were from a different universe. We thought they were such a weird band, we used the word Troutspawn as an adjective. When something was really sick, we’d say it was Troutspawn. When something was bizarre, we’d say, “That’s so Troutspawn!”
My favourite Troutspawn song is called “Rope to the Sky”:
You got bike spokes in your stomach
And your veins are full of stones
And did you need to fill your ’hood
With all those broken bones?
The song’s rhythm is perfect for running. It’s got 180 beats per minute, the same speed my legs like to go.
I sang “Rope to the Sky” for an hour or so, until the temperature dropped and I started to feel cold. I checked my watch — it was 10:37 p.m. I kept my eyes peeled for the tiny pink flags. They were planted in the ground, 200 metres apart.
Suddenly, right behind me, I heard a loud crack! I spun around. Saw the flash of a headlamp.
“Who’s there?” I demanded.
“Your worst nightmare!” someone shrieked.
The headlamp blinded me and for a second all I could see was a yellow-green halo. Two invisible arms pulled me into a hug.
“Hey there, Lucky Number Thirteen!” said the voice.
My heart was a jackhammer and my hands were curled into fists. “What the heck are you doing?” I shouted. “You scared me to death!”
Kara laughed. “Sorry about that. I would’ve shouted earlier, bu
t I was enjoying your singing.”
I was still half-blind from the glare of her headlamp, and embarrassed that she’d heard my lousy voice. “What are you doing behind me?” I shouted. “You should be at the finish line by now.”
“I got lost,” Kara said. “I zigged when I should have zagged. Did an extra loop around Ratjaw.”
“An extra loop?” I said.
“Yeah,” she said. “I lost the trail somehow. I figure I ran five extra miles.”
She laughed to think of it.
“When did you figure out you were lost?” I asked.
“When I noticed that I was running through a lot of spiderwebs. They were catching me right in the face. The only way you should be running into spiderwebs in a race is if you’re in first place, which I knew I wasn’t. So the only other possibility was that I’d gone off the trail. It took me about an hour to figure that out.”
“Spiderwebs are disgusting,” I said. “They come out of a spider’s bum, did you know that?”
Kara laughed. “I suppose that’s true, isn’t it? Hey, Bruce said I’m in seventh place, so you must be sixth. Have you seen any lights up ahead?”
“No,” I said. “But the guy ahead of me is a cheater.”
I told her about the Dirt Eater. “Is he the guy with those crazy socks?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Yeah, that dude looked shifty to me,” she said.
The moon, I noticed, had changed colour. It was now as orange as the inside of a cantaloupe.
“What happened back at Luther Marsh?” Kara asked. “I turned around and you were gone.”
“I bonked,” I said. “I needed to lie down.” I decided, for the moment, not to mention my conversation with the Wind.
Kara was still wearing a tensor bandage around her knee. “How’s your leg?” I asked.
“Iffy,” Kara said. “Your stomach?”
“Better,” I said. “But now my feet hurt.”
“We’re running a hundred miles,” said Kara. “Something always hurts.”
She took a plastic bag with little white pills out of her fanny pack. “Need something for the pain?”
“No thanks,” I said.
She swallowed two pills and then put the bag away. “I saw your friend Kneecap back at Ratjaw,” she said.
“Did you see my brother?”
“The little guy? He’s a cutie. He told me he’s your pacer.”
“He was,” I said. “But it’s past his bedtime.”
“That’s okay,” Kara said. “You and I can pace each other.”
We continued running. I took the lead, and Kara followed. The light from my headlamp splashed ahead of me into the forest. At one point we ran near a waterfall. The gurgling water was close to where we were standing, but when I shone my light around, I couldn’t find it.
“Don’t be doing that,” said Kara.
“What?” I said.
“Don’t shine your light into the forest.”
“Why not?” I said.
“Just trust me,” she said.
The temperature continued to drop. I was still wearing shorts and I was feeling the cold. I kept dreaming about the next rest stop. I had a drop bag there, crammed with tights, gloves and a hoodie, and I’d packed a chocolate bar. The thought of that chocolate bar made my mouth water.
“How far to the next rest stop?” I asked.
“Come What May? About sixteen miles.”
Oh, man, I thought. At my pace, that meant 3 hours of running — at least.
“Why’s it called Come What May?” I asked.
“Because once you pass beyond it, you’re completely on your own. All the other rest stops have road access, but not that one. The only way to get there is on horseback, or ATV.”
“Or on foot,” I added.
“That’s right,” said Kara. “But nobody would do that. That would be crazy!”
We laughed and kept running. The pain in my feet got worse and worse. It felt like I was running on thumbtacks — thumbtacks that had been dipped in acid. It felt like the soles of my feet had been shaved off with a rusty chisel. It was incredibly painful. Ultra painful.
Flash! A firefly lit itself ablaze and hovered between the trees like a green, glowing eye.
“That’s cool,” I said.
“Look, there are more.”
We stopped for a moment and switched off our headlamps. All around us, fireflies blinked on and off. The forest was almost totally silent, and I thought I could hear the clicking of the fireflies’ wings.
Kara flipped her headlamp back on. “Want me to take the lead?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
We ran some more and the pain got worse. It felt like a rattlesnake had bitten my feet, and the venom was racing up my legs. With every step, my brain screamed, Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, stop, stop, stop!
“I need to walk for a while,” I told Kara.
“Okay, we’ll walk then.”
For a moment we both strolled along. But it didn’t feel right.
“No,” I said. “You should run.”
Kara turned to face me. “No can do,” she said.
“Why not?” I said. “Because I’m a kid?”
“No,” said Kara. “Because you’re a friend.”
A warmth spread through my body when she said that. Still, I felt guilty for slowing her down.
“Listen,” I said. “I know that you’re a cop. But trust me on this. I’m totally fine.”
“I don’t mind going slow,” Kara said. “It’s a wonderful night for a hike.”
I reached out and grabbed her arm. “No,” I said. “If you’re feeling good, you have to keep running. You didn’t enter this race to hike. You could still win this thing.”
I didn’t mention my secret agenda: I wanted her to beat the Dirt Eater.
Kara stared at me for a very long moment.
“Trust me,” I said. “I’ll be fine. My feet hurt, that’s all. I just need to walk for a while.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” she said.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Just promise me you’ll beat that cheater.”
Kara grinned and gave me a hug. Then she set off down the trail. I watched the light from her headlamp bounce back and forth between the trees. Bit by bit, it got smaller and smaller. It disappeared, reappeared and then finally blinked out completely.
For a moment I felt like I was going to cry, I was so sad to see her go. “Kara!” I shouted.
No answer. No sound.
Kara was gone.
No, not gone, I told myself. She couldn’t be more than a half mile down the trail.
I walked and walked. The shadows around me seemed to vibrate.
To keep from getting scared, I sang:
Go ahead, just stare out that window
At the night that tears you to shreds.
There are other heads to turn,
other bridges you can burn,
And the moon, she can bring back the dead,
Yes the moon, she can bring back the dead.
Another Troutspawn song. I must’ve sung it for an hour. I wondered what creatures in the forest were listening to me.
Just keep the legs moving, I told myself. Don’t think about the creatures.
Maybe an hour later, I slipped and fell onto a rock. When I sat up, my hands were wet and sticky. Blood.
I sat on the ground for a few moments, giggling. My head hurt. My feet throbbed with pain.
“Kara!” I shouted. “Kara!”
Nothing.
“Dad!”
The crackle of twigs. A flurry of moving branches. Something was creeping around in the forest.
I forced myself back to my feet. Soon the rest stop will appear, I told myself. And after that, the finish line. Just keep moving forward. Just keep the legs moving. Soon the pain will end and the scars will heal.
I pushed on. Light from my headlamp flickered across the ground, and shadows shrank behind the trees.
Sometimes it looked like the shadows were alive, and I realized that my brain wasn’t working quite right. My thoughts darted back and forth between the real world and make-believe, and it was getting hard to know which was which.
I thought about Kern, the bandit. He’d said that people were either running from something, or to something. And if they weren’t doing either, then they were blessed.
I wondered what I was. I sure didn’t feel blessed. And I wasn’t running to anything, since my future mostly looked like crap.
Did that mean I was running away from something? If so, what was it? Could I ever outrun it?
The trail began climbing a long, rocky hill. It seemed to go up for miles and miles. I stopped and ate a banana-flavoured gel and a handful of jelly beans. A needle of pain shot up my leg. My left hamstring felt as tight as a bicycle spoke, so I sat down on a stump and massaged it for a few minutes. I looked up from where I was sitting and saw a sign that said Mile 70.
Just 30 miles left, I told myself. Thirty miles — that wasn’t very much! Just a marathon plus another 4 miles. Easy-peasy!
I stood up and limped forward. Another hour passed. The moon disappeared. The sky filled with mist.
Then something exploded beside my foot.
PLOOOOF!
It was as loud as a thunderbolt. There were three more explosions.
PLOOOOF! PLOOOOF! PLOOOOF!
Holy frack! What was that!?
Something ran screaming through the leaves. I spun and saw three cabbages run across the ground. The cabbages had stumpy wings. They zigzagged crazily between the bushes.
My heart stopped, then slowly rebooted. I knew what these were.
“Stupid birds!” I muttered. “You’re lucky I didn’t step on you!”
The wild turkeys clattered away into the forest. My heartbeat slowly returned to normal.
Another hour passed. The sky turned as black as tar. At a certain point, I noticed that I stank.
“You reek, buddy,” I muttered to myself. “You smell like sour milk. With rotten cucumber thrown in.”
Keep the legs moving. Keep the legs moving.
My back hurt. It felt like someone had whacked it with a crowbar. Still, I kept running. Well, sort of.
Keep the legs moving. Keep the legs moving. And whatever you do — do not shine your light into the forest.
Ultra Page 10
