Grave Shadows (10 page)

Chapter 37

I liked that we weren’t racing.
Not that I don’t like competition, but everyone was riding against cancer and with each other.

One of the Colorado Springs television stations sent their news truck and taped the start. The reporter, a nice-looking woman with short red hair, leaned down to ask Jeff some questions.

When she finished we put on our helmets and checked the microphones. Jeff’s mom and dad took pictures as we got into position. Someone fired a starter gun, and we all whooped and hollered as we took off.

Riding with the wind in our faces, going downhill, was the best. We’d waited for this for weeks, and Jeff had been planning it for months.

The first few miles were paved as part of a bike track. We started in the middle of the pack and coasted. People around us gave Jeff high fives.

Jeff’s voice came over the speakers in my helmet crystal clear. “We’re actually doing this, Timberline. Can you believe it?”

“You’re gonna believe it the first time we have to go uphill,” I said.

“I could ride a thousand hills today.”

Jeff sounded pumped, but his skin was pale and his eyes droopy. We were also at a high elevation, so there was less oxygen than we were used to.

The Alexanders drove slowly past us, shooting us with their video camera. Sam drove behind them and waved just before he turned around. There was something lonely about not having family with you but also something exciting. It was the summer adventure I’d been waiting for.

I just hoped Jeff and I would finish this race together.

Chapter 38

Instead of heading straight home,
I went to Johnny’s Pawn and Deli. People bring stuff in there to sell all the time, and I wondered if the owner had seen any of Jeff’s things.

The owner is a round man with a bizarre-looking beard. Part of it is tied with rubber bands. He also has tattoos of snakes crawling up both arms.

I showed him the list of stolen stuff. “I wish I had even one of these,” he said, shaking his head. “Good, expensive stuff.”

“It was all actually stolen from a friend of mine. He has cancer.”

The man clenched his teeth, and his jaw muscles flexed underneath the beard. “The kid that’s in the paper?”

I nodded.

He picked up a phone. “Hang on a minute.”

While he talked I moseyed around his store, which carried everything from used saxophones to chain saws. He also sold guns and jewelry, and Mrs. Watson said he made the best turkey-and-ham sub in town.

“I checked a couple of stores in the Springs,” he said. “We’ll all be on the lookout for this stuff.”

I passed our middle school on the way back to my ATV. I was looking forward to being one of the oldest kids in school for a change.

A concrete truck peeked out from the back of the building. A huge tarp stretched behind it, so I moved closer to see what was going on.

A guy wearing a hard hat was drinking coffee out of a thermos and sitting on a light pole. He waved. “Can’t go back there.”

“What are you building?”

“Can’t say. Just stay away, okay?”

Chapter 39

The first four miles were easy.
A stream ran by the bike trail, and it was a strange mix to hear water lapping over rocks and the
click-click
of bike chains, pedals, and tires on pavement.

I glanced back at Jeff. He looked tired but was still smiling as riders passed and waved.

“You okay?” I said.

He panted like a spent dog. “Couldn’t be better.”

As we neared an incline we talked about lunch, where we might camp that night, and what DVD to watch in his parents’ van.

“I don’t want anything to do with the van,” Jeff said.

I thought I’d better change the subject. “Anybody ever ask you about all the stuff in your trophy room?”

He chuckled. “It’s funny. I don’t like sports that much. And I haven’t seen any movies of most of the stars who sent pictures.”

“How’d they find out about you?”

“Probably got my name on some list. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the thoughts, but the thing that means the most to me is the letter I got from the president.”

“I’d like to see that,” I said.

“It’s in the glass case. I wrote and told him I’d prayed for him and mentioned I was going through treatment for cancer. He sent a handwritten letter back and said he was moved by what I had written. He told me he would pray for me during our bike ride and even pledged some money.”

“Wow!”

“Yeah, I’m hoping to keep that letter a long time.”

Chapter 40

Bryce beeped me from the trail
while they were on a 10-minute rest. I had asked Mom if I could keep her cell phone to stay in touch with him, and she said I could. I wanted to tell Bryce about the guys at Hayley’s aunt’s place, but he seemed in a hurry.

“I need a favor,” he whispered. “Get Sam’s binoculars and go over to Jeff’s house.”

“Why binoculars?”

“I need you to look in the trophy room and see if there’s a framed, handwritten letter from the president. I’ll call you later.”

I rode my ATV to Jeff’s house. Little flags stuck in the yard said things like “Good luck, Jeff” and “You go, boy!” I checked the doors and windows and found our pieces of paper still in place.

The window to the trophy room was too high off the ground for me to see inside. The only thing that would put me high enough was a picnic table a few yards away. It took a few minutes to edge it close enough, but I didn’t need the binoculars. The glass case was empty except for one thing in the back corner. In fact, the whole room was empty. Nothing on the walls. Nothing on top of the case.

Chapter 41

After the first four miles,
the riding got really hard. It made me wonder who had chosen the route—it almost felt like someone was trying to punish us.

I rode with my head down, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, and when I looked up, the sight took my breath away. Mountains rose on our right and left with trees so thick you couldn’t tell one from another.

“Makes you feel pretty small, huh?” Jeff said, trying to catch his breath. He was working hard to keep up his end of the pedaling.

We wound around a hill, always going up. The only thing between us and the edge was a guardrail. Others didn’t seem to struggle, but Jeff and I were going so slow it was hard to keep the bike upright.

The Alexanders pulled up beside us. “Why don’t you get in and we’ll drive you to the top?” Jeff’s mom said.

Jeff waved her off and pedaled harder. The bike lurched as he grunted and strained.

“Easy, big boy,” I said.

“Parents,” Jeff said.

By lunch we had gone up and down several hills. The leader and most experienced cyclist was a man named Gary. He was thin and wiry, and the muscles in his legs looked like ropes.

“The next part is probably the toughest climb, outside of the long ascent to Woodland Park,” he said. “Everybody feeling okay?”

Most shouted, “Yeah,” but I felt too tired to say anything. Jeff stared at his parents, still watching from their van.