D. MacHale - The Reality Bug

But we faced a tough decision. Between the two of us, Loor was the athlete. But if she couldn’t skate like me, it didn’t matter how strong she was. She’d never make it to the first checkpoint.

“I think I should be the one to race,” I said to Loor.

Loor nodded. She knew I was right. “Why must we play games?” she snapped. “We are on a serious mission. It should not be decided by a childish competition.”

“I know,” I said. “But let’s do it their way. If I finish, then we’ll get to Zetlin.”

“And if you don’t?” she asked.

I didn’t have an answer to that.

The five racers then skated right up to us and stopped in a group. “Ready?” the one who gave me the helmet asked.

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound like a winner. “Any other rules I should know about?”

The racers laughed again. I hated that.

“Absolutely,” the first racer said. “The main rule is: Anything goes. Finish any way you can.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. But this was their game; I wasn’t going to start arguing the finer points of slickshot. The five racers pushed off toward the starting line. I was about to follow when Loor touched my shoulder. She didn’t say anything; she simply looked into my eyes. I think she was trying to give me some of her strength and confidence. My knees went weak. In that moment I was more worried about letting her down than finding Dr. Zetlin. She gave me a wink and let me go.

I pushed off while putting on my helmet and fitting the goggles over my eyes. I never wanted to win anything more in my life. For her, for me, and even for Aja. I realized that the fate of Veelox might very well be decided on this icy racecourse.

How wrong was that?

(CONTINUED)

The five racers stood shoulder to shoulder at a tall, red post. “This is the start and finish,” the first racer explained. He then pointed out the course. “The first checkpoint is dead ahead.”

I looked across the flat expanse to a wall of ice that rose up in the distance. There I saw a red arrow painted on the face, pointing left.

“Just follow the arrows,” the rider said. “You can’t miss them. Get to the checkpoint, pick up a ball and drop it in the basket. If you miss one ball, you’re out. Got it?”

“Yeah,” I said.

My heart started to pump faster. This was suddenly looking like a bad idea. I had no clue as to how good these guys were. It’s not like they looked like pro speed skaters or anything. Just the opposite. They were all my size. But this was their home ice. I’ll bet they raced this course all the time. This was insane. But I was in it now. All I could hope was that I’d hold on long enough to stay in the race.

“On my go,” the first racer said.

All six of us crouched down, ready to spring forward. “One, two, go!”

What happened to three? This was a bad start. I was already a second behind and the race had barely begun. All I could do was push off and try to catch up, pumping my legs and swinging my arms for momentum. I was surprised to see that these guys didn’t leave me in the dust. Or maybe I should say leave me in the frost. Not only did I keep up with them, I quickly made up the ground I had lost with the bad start. I was still last, but my confidence zoomed. Maybe I had a chance after all.

We quickly arrived at the first arrow and made the turn toward the checkpoint. I made the turn easily, crossing my feet over and trying not to lose too much speed. Up ahead I saw a rack with six of the grapefruit-size red balls. The five other racers quickly snatched one apiece while barely slowing down. I was last, but right there with them.

That is, until the fifth racer knocked the last ball off the rack. The red ball hit the ice and rolled away. I had to come to a full stop to pick it up. No way that was an accident. I guess when they said that “anything goes,” they meant it. I realized there was more to worry about than just keeping pace. These guys cheated.

I snatched up the ball and took off again. A few yards ahead was a steel basket with the first five balls that the other racers had already dumped. I dropped mine off and dug in to catch up.

The other racers were skating easily. None of them looked as if they wanted the lead. That was fine with me. As long as they all were being cautious, I could keep up. This part of the course was a wide-open expanse of ice. I didn’t even look for any red arrows, all I did was follow the guys in front of me.

But it got frustrating because they were all skating in one line, shoulder to shoulder. I had no hope of getting around them. I skated up behind the group, but when I put on some speed to go around, the whole group moved in front of me, blocking the way. I’d try to skate the other way, and they’d all move as one in the other direction to block me again. I was beginning to think this wasn’t so much about somebody winning, as about making sure I would lose. As long as they kept me back like this, I would always be the last one to reach the rack of balls.

That would be bad news at checkpoint #3.

We quickly approached the second checkpoint. Like precision pilots the five racers smoothly moved into a single line, with me last, again. But this time I made sure to be close enough behind the fifth racer so he couldn’t try anything cute witfc the sixth ball.

He didn’t try. All six of us picked up a red ball and dumped it into the steel basket beyond the rack. This time, I was right there with them. But I was still in sixth place. Not good enough. I had to make a move.

The course then slid into a narrow canyon of ice. The walls rose up steeply on either side. There was maybe five feet between the walls where we were skating. It was so narrow, we had to skate single file. There was no way I could make up any ground.

I was in trouble. The next checkpoint only had five balls. If we stayed this way, I’d be gone. I tried to move up on the fifth racer, but it was like these guys had eyes in their butts. The whole line slid over in front of me. It was so frustrating! I was fast enough to keep up with them, but didn’t have the experience to do anything else.

We were closing in on the third checkpoint. I had to make some kind of move or the race would be over. An idea came to me that was either brilliant or totally whacked. Chances were good if I tried it, I’d crash and burn. But I didn’t see any other way. I looked ahead at the ice walls to either side of us. I needed a little luck, and got it. Ahead to my right I saw a spot that was a little less steep than the rest. There wasn’t time to think. I had to go for it.

I made a quick move to my left and sure enough, the whole line of racers slid in that direction to block me. But then I shot to my right and skated toward the wall of ice. The slope was forgiving enough that I didn’t slam into it. Instead I skated a few feet up onto the wall, forcing my chattering legs to hold firm. I then pivoted my body back left and shot for the center. The momentum from being up on the wall gave me just enough extra speed for a slingshot between the fourth and fifth skater. It was a NASCAR move all the way, and it worked.

The fifth guy couldn’t believe it. My surprise move threw off his rhythm and he nearly fell. By then we were at the checkpoint rack of balls. The fifth, and last, was mine. I scooped it up and jammed it into the basket. I was still alive.

The next section of the race was hairy. We shot out of the ice canyon and the course again moved left. I now realized we were moving in a big loop, counterclockwise, back to the starting line. The racers ahead of me broke out of formation. A second later, I saw why.

The expanse of ice before us was littered with boulder-size chunks of ice. There was no straight path through. It was an obstacle course. Blasting through at full speed would be suicide. We had to back off the speed, get more control, and dodge the boulders. Fpr me it was a relief, because I was getting tired. I’d bet Anything that these guys were in better shape than I was. My only advantage was that I had so much at stake, I couldn’t lose. I was racing on adrenaline.