by Jeff Stone
I heard the squeal of brakes again and figured it might be Jake coming up next, despite his poor starting position. I didn’t stick around to find out, though. I had work to do.
I crouched low, keeping my head well below the tops of the ferns. I removed my own hydration backpack and carried it, along with Hú Dié’s pack, into the forest.
I knew this area fairly well, having come here with Grandfather a couple of times to camp and hunt for morel mushrooms. Set into the hillside were numerous tiny caves, and I kept my eye out for one particular recess that was roughly the size of a bowling ball. It was above a bed of stinkhorn mushrooms, which smelled like ten-day-old garbage that had been rotting in the sun. I’d never seen a single animal track near that spot, and any hiker or mushroom hunter who happened past would also likely keep well away because of the putrid smell.
That was exactly what I was counting on.
I located the stinkhorn patch and, doing my best not to gag from the stench, opened both backpacks. From Hú Dié’s pack, I withdrew a folding camp shovel. From mine, I removed a silk bag containing enough dragon bone to last Grandfather at least fifteen years.
I’d set aside ten years’ worth at home, as Grandfather had instructed, and sent the rest off to PawPaw and Grandmaster Long. However, I couldn’t keep myself from holding back an additional fifteen years’ worth for Grandfather, in case he changed his mind. I was pretty sure PawPaw and Grandmaster Long wouldn’t notice the difference, because I’d sent them each enough to last more than a hundred years. If Grandfather decided ten years from now that he wanted to stick around a little longer, he would be able to. If not, he could always send it to PawPaw or Grandmaster Long in the future.
I told no one my plan except Hú Dié. I couldn’t pull this off alone. I figured if she was willing to take a bullet for me, my secret would be safe with her. We’d run through my plan twice when we rode here the other day with Ryan, who was none the wiser, and everything went smoothly then. I hoped it would go just as smoothly now.
I found the recess and shoved the dragon bone into it. I had done some research and learned that silk was resistant to mold and mildew, and most insects wouldn’t eat it. The dragon bone would be secure inside the new bag I’d purchased. I had a feeling it would somehow suffocate over time or be ruined by condensation if I buried it in a sealed container.
I gathered up a few fist-sized rocks and plugged the recess opening; then I unfolded the shovel and sealed the gaps with soil I dug from beyond the stinkhorn bed. Finally, I kicked a layer of fallen leaves over the entire spot and stepped back to admire my work. No one would ever guess that the ground had been disturbed here, and once the leaves settled and the stinkhorns poked their nasty, slimy heads back into the air, people and animals alike would continue to steer clear. I scraped the dirt off the shovel and wiped it clean with leaves; then I folded it up, stuck it back in Hú Dié’s pack, and headed for my bike. Someday I would have to return and mark the location with a GPS unit. If anything ever happened to those mushrooms, I might never find the dragon bone again.
I reached the bike a few minutes later and cautiously pushed it back to the trail. I didn’t see any riders, and hadn’t expected to. Even the slowest of the bunch would be well beyond this point by now. I slung my empty pack over one shoulder and Hú Dié’s pack over the other, and then I picked up the bike and went cross-country on foot.
I hurried across the bike trail and headed down the side of the ravine. It was slick and slow going, and I fell more than once. I did my best not to travel down the hill in a straight line, to minimize the chance of anybody seeing any sort of trail I might be leaving behind. Fortunately, the forecast called for heavy rain that afternoon, and the sheets of water that typically flowed down these slopes would wash away even my deepest footprints and skid marks.
I reached the bottom and found the return leg of the mountain bike trail. Like most single-tracks, this trail was one long loop. Riders rode along the top of the ravine at the beginning, and they passed along here at the bottom of the ravine on their way back to the finish line in the parking lot, where the race began.
I rushed along the trail in the direction of the finish line until I came to a particularly tight bend that flowed around a gigantic boulder. I continued around the boulder, still carrying the bike, and rammed the front wheel into the huge rock with all my might. The front wheel didn’t exactly taco, but it warped enough to make it unrideable. I felt bad about damaging Ryan’s bike, but I needed an excuse for having stopped riding. I could have finished the race ahead of the others, of course, and no one would have known about my shortcut, but I was no cheat. I also had to give Hú Dié her pack back.
I heard the familiar hum of bike tires on the far side of the boulder and I shouted, “Rider down!”
Brakes squealed, and Hú Dié eased around the bend. She was covered in sweat and was panting like a tigress, but she was winning. I tossed her pack to her and she slipped it on; then she flashed a brilliant smile and blasted off like a rocket without saying a word. If her hand was bothering her, she didn’t show it.
I grinned. The guys were going to be so angry when they got to the parking lot and found that they’d all been punked by a girl with a hole in her hand.
I heard another rider approaching, so I called out again, “Rider down!”
More brakes squealed, and Jake crept around the boulder.
“Phoenix?” he said. “What happened, bro? You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I replied. “I couldn’t make the stupid turn with this clunky ’cross bike and I crashed into the boulder. Looks like I’ll be buying Ryan a new rim. You’d better keep moving, unless you want Iron Butterfly to embarrass you even more than she already has.”
“Is that what Hú Dié means?” Jake asked. “Cool! Man, that girl can ride.”
Tires hummed on the far side of the boulder, and I shouted once more, “Rider down!”
“Later days,” Jake said, and he took off.
Ryan rounded the bend next. I was really impressed. His face was as red as a fire engine, and he was sweating so much that it looked as if a garden hose were connected to the underside of his helmet. I could detect a faint aroma of dragon bone coming from him, but it wasn’t bad. Maybe he was finally on his way to severing the connection.
“You’re doing great!” I said, encouraging him. “Keep it up!”
“I’ll … try,” Ryan huffed.
“Give it all you’ve got, my friend. I’m out of the race and Hú Dié is long gone, but Jake is only a few seconds ahead of you. Hunt him down and eat him for lunch!”
Ryan took a deep breath and gave one of his lion roars. He began to hammer. An instant later, he was gone.
The rest of the pack showed up, and I shouted my “rider down” warning several more times as the group came around the boulder, a few of the riders smirking when they saw my contorted front wheel. They passed, and I was about to begin walking toward the finish line when I heard another rider coming. I shouted my warning, and the little kid who’d been lined up next to Ryan at the beginning of the race teetered around the boulder.
“Don’t stop pedaling!” I warned. “You’ll fall over. Never stop moving forward.”
The kid began to pedal harder. He picked up some speed and leveled out, regaining his balance. “Thanks,” he huffed. “My parents … keep telling me … the same thing. Never stop … moving forward.”
I smiled. “Anyone else behind you?”
“No … I’m last. I told my dad … I was too young to race against … you older guys.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ll be the one bringing up the rear in this race.”
A huge grin stretched across his freckled cheeks, and he picked up even more speed. “Yes!” he shouted as he zipped past me. “Today is the day I beat Phoenix!”
I had to laugh. He was right. This would be the first time I’d ever crossed a finish line last, but I still couldn’t help feeling like I’d won.
&n
bsp; About the Author
Jeff Stone is the author of the hugely successful Five Ancestors books. When that series concluded, he wanted to write something different from another tale set in seventeenth-century China. However, he was reluctant to completely let go of kung fu or the characters he had grown to love, so he created an opportunity to update them to his own time. Jeff lives in Indiana with his wife and two children, and while he’s active in several forms of bike racing, mountain biking is his favorite. Sadly, without dragon bone, he is aging at the standard rate.
