Anna Schumacher - End Times

“Look!” Janie poked her in the ribs. “They’re trying to see who can get the most air.”

Daphne returned to the moment in time to see Doug soar into the sky. One after another, the bikes followed his lead, competing to see who could take the jump highest and longest. At the end of the track, they turned in a circle and came back the other way, Doug always in the lead.

The second time Doug executed the jump with a half spin, torquing his bike a quarter turn in the air and landing in a triumphant puddle of cheers before zooming off again.

“Go, baby, go!” Janie cheered, watching Doug’s back lovingly as a rider in a teal helmet approached the jump.

Teal Helmet got a little less air and wobbled as his wheels touched the track, but still managed to right himself and ride back to the starting line in a spray of dirt and burned rubber.

Voices floated up to the bleachers, the remaining riders daring one another to try the trick.

“Friggin’ idiots,” Hilary muttered. “They all act like they’re God’s gift—one of these days, someone’s gonna get himself killed.” As crude as Hilary was, Daphne couldn’t help liking her; she wore her attitude like a feather headdress, obviously not caring what anyone thought.

The third rider executed the jump with a perfect twist, even popping a wheelie after he landed. Janie sucked in her breath. “Oooh, Doug’s not gonna like that !” she said.

“Ten bucks he’ll try to one-up him next time—then maybe take off his shirt and do a victory dance,” Hilary predicted.

She was almost right. Doug had already geared up and was going through a series of easy jumps, gaining more and more air until finally soaring into the sky, torquing his bike, and then taking his hands from the handlebars and raising his arms above his head, fingers in the V -for- victory position, before he landed.

“That’s my man!” Janie cried.

“I dare any of you chicken-livered mofos to try that !” Doug crowed.

The boys revved their bikes like a pack of peacocks fanning their feathers.

“Oh, don’t even . . .” Hilary moaned. She leaned forward on the bleachers as a rider in an orange helmet emerged from the pack. “Hey, idiot, you’re not as badass as you think!”

“Is that your boyfriend?” Daphne asked.

“Who, him? Nah, that’s Trey—you know, the guy you were getting all cozy with earlier?”

Trey. So that was his name. “We weren’t getting cozy,” Daphne said. “He just gave me a Coke.”

Hilary smirked. “I bet he wanted to give you a whole lot more.”

Daphne opened her mouth to explain that she had the wrong idea, but Hilary had already turned back to the track, her eyes glued to Trey as he swung his bike around. Then he was racing toward the jump, leaving a plume of dust in his wake so thick she had to squint to see him hit the air.

“Yessssss!” the girls cried as his body twisted in a blinding flash of metal.

Trey raised his arms above his head, imitating Doug’s pose, and Daphne opened her mouth to cheer. But he’d turned his bike too far and couldn’t get it facing forward again. He grabbed the handlebars and tried to scramble into the right position, but it was too late. He slammed into the ground with his wheels facing backward, bike veering wildly from side to side as he tried, and failed, to gain control. Then he crumpled to one side.

“Aw, crap!” Hilary screamed. She shot up from the bleachers and raced down the steep incline to the track, dark dirt streaking her jeans. Daphne leapt up and followed her, half-running and half-sliding down the hill, leaving the other girls back on the bleachers, still slack-jawed with shock.

She had her phone out by the time she reached Trey, ready to call 911 if necessary. The other riders had already hopped off their bikes; two pulled the stilled Suzuki off of Trey while another helped him to his feet. He unbuckled his helmet and looked around, confused.

“I thought I landed it?” He took one wobbly step forward, then another. Daphne’s shoulders unclenched, and she slid her phone back in her pocket. She realized, with a small start of surprise, that the trumpet sounds had stopped.

“Not exactly, buddy,” Doug said patronizingly. Trey’s brow crumpled, and for an agonizing moment Daphne wondered if he was going to cry. Then he seemed to shake it off. He squared his shoulders, brushing the dirt from his jacket.

“Well, I guess you can’t land ’em all, can you?” He turned to the boys who had helped him up. “Who wants another beer? I could kind of use one after that.”

He turned and carefully, almost lovingly, righted his bike as the crowd broke up and drifted back toward the parking lot.

AFTER the guys had ratcheted their bikes back into their pickups and let the night breeze cool the sweat from their foreheads, they divvied up another of Doug’s twelve-packs and hung around the parking lot, speculating about the trumpets and bragging about their escapades on the track.

Exhausted from the effort of dodging questions, Daphne wandered away from the lot, taking the trail to the track on foot. They’d turned off the floodlights, but the moon was almost full, and the sky was blanketed in stars.

She stood in the middle of the track and raised her face to the heavens, taking in great deep lungfuls of air. Her feet felt planted in the ground, like they could take root right there and reach all the way to the center of the earth. So this was why she’d felt pulled to Carbon County, Wyoming: the space and silence, the feeling of finally being exactly where she belonged. She let out a long, whistling breath and stretched her arms out to the sides. “Home,” she mouthed. The word felt round and full, unusual but not unwelcome on her tongue.

“’Sup, Daffy!”

Her gaze snapped forward and caught a figure lumbering toward her. She saw the glint of a Coors can, heard the whoosh of boots tamping dust, and squinted as Doug’s big head came into view.

“Daphne,” she corrected. She hated phony-sounding nicknames. “Is it time to get going?”

“What?” Doug looked confused. “No, I just, uh . . . happened to be comin’ out here anyway.”

“Really?” She’d known Doug for only a few hours, but it was hard to imagine anything important enough to tear him away from his drinking buddies.

“Want a beer?” he offered. “I got an extra in my pocket.”

“No thanks.” Her shoulders went tight with the same uneasiness she’d always felt when her mom went to work the night shift, leaving her alone with Jim. “Where’s Janie?”

“Back up at the lot. Sure about that beer? We could hang out here and get a little buzz on away from all a’those idiots.” He was standing close to her, close enough that the cloud of cologne wafting off his neck nearly choked her. It smelled like being trapped inside a mall.

“How ’bout it?” He jiggled the can invitingly. “Just you and me.”

“Really, no. I should get back. Janie’s probably wondering where I am.” She ducked around him and started walking toward the parking lot.

“Well, hey, I’ll walk you back.” Doug tossed the beer can over his shoulder and hurried to catch up. He walked close, hovering like he wanted to say something, and the silence between them felt strained and uncomfortable. Daphne picked up the pace but he met it, practically trampling her heels.

When they were just short of the parking lot, he grasped her arm and spun her so she was facing him, his meaty chin and beery breath just inches away.

“Hey,” he said.

Daphne’s heartbeat thudded through her veins, the pressure of panic roaring in her ears. She tried to squirm away but his grip was strong, his fingers sinking deep into her flesh.