Jack Kilborn - Endurance

What was wrong with his face? It was all messed up.

They were almost to the top of the hill now. Ten steps. Five steps. Kelly willed her mom to be there. Not only there, but with the tire already fixed so they could get the hell away from here. Kelly pulled even further in front, reaching the crest, staring down on the winding road and—

Nothing. Mom and the car weren’t there.

Then JD took off, pulling the leash out of Kelly’s hand, jerking her forward and almost making her fall. He tore ahead, running around the bend, out of sight.

Kelly glanced at Grandma, who was matching her pace. The old woman stared back, her face solemn.

“The car...” Kelly sputtered.

“It’s ahead.”

“JD...”

“Ahead.”

Kelly felt like crying. “I’m… scared.”

“Use it. Everyone gets scared. Don’t let it paralyze you. Your body, or your mind.”

Kelly lengthened her stride again; a dangerous move since they were going downhill. If she hit some loose gravel, or stumbled somehow at this speed, it would cause more damage than just a skinned knee.

“Kelly. Slow down.”

But Kelly didn’t slow down. Her feet pressed against the street faster and faster, and Kelly became off-balance on the decline. She pitched forward, envisioning her chin cracking against the pavement, her face scraping down to the teeth and cheekbones, her knees breaking and head bursting—

“Kelly!”

Grandma caught Kelly’s shirt, steadying her. Kelly took a few more unsteady steps and then slowed down enough to keep her balance.

They pushed through the turn, Kelly hoping she’d see Mom and the car and JD, fearing she’d see the strange man with the gun.

But there was nothing ahead but empty road.

“We went... the wrong... way,” Kelly said between pants. She began to slow down even more.

“Keep running.”

Kelly wished she’d paid more attention on the car ride up. None of this seemed familiar. The road. The woods. The mountains. It all looked the same.

“Is this...” she gasped, “the right road?”

“Yes.”

“But...”

“Don’t talk. Run.”

Grandma pulled in front. Kelly fell back five paces, thinking Grandma was wrong, thinking about turning around and going the other way.

Then they rounded another turn and Kelly saw their car.

JD left Mom’s side and came sprinting over to Kelly. He knew not to jump on her, and instead doubled back and ran with her until they reached the car.

“I changed the tire. Did you and Grandma enjoy—” Mom squinted at Kelly. “Babe, are you okay?”

“There was a man,” Kelly huffed and puffed. “His face was messed up. He had a gun.”

Grandma coasted to a stop alongside them.

“Florence? What happened?”

Mom hadn’t called Grandma Mom since Dad died.

Grandma blew out a deep breath. “I’m not sure. Could have been a hunter. Could have been some hillbilly protecting his whiskey still. Scary-looking fellow, wasn’t he, Kelly?”

“Did he threaten you?” Mom asked.

Grandma shook her head. “Kept his gun down. Didn’t say a word. Might not be used to talking, though. He had a severe harelip, probably a cleft palate. Talking would be difficult.”

“Should we call the police?”

“For having a gun in West Virginia? They’d laugh us off the phone.”

“Are you okay, Kelly?”

Kelly felt like crying, and Mom showing concern made the emotion even stronger. But she sucked it in, got her breathing under control.

I’m almost a teenager. Teenagers don’t cry.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Grandma folded her arms. “She said she’s fine, Letti. Kelly’s almost a teenager. Quit treating her like a child.”

Kelly matched Grandma’s pose, taking strength from it. “Yeah, Mom. Now can we get going?”

Mom made a face, then looked at her watch. “We’ve got another forty minutes before we get to the bed and breakfast. Do you need to pee?”

Kelly rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Geez, Mom.” She walked over to the car and climbed into the backseat.

Surprisingly, Grandma got in next to her.

“Let’s let JD ride shotgun. I’d like to see that game you’re playing on your iPod.”

“Uh, sure.”

As Mom pulled back onto the road, Kelly showed Grandma Zombie Apocalypse.

“It’s really hard. I can’t get past level 65.”

“Sure you can,” Grandma said. “You just haven’t yet.”

Kelly attacked the level with a frenzy. For some reason, more than anything, she wanted to prove Grandma right.

# # #

“I’m sorry, Miss Novachek. All of our rooms are booked.”

Deb Novachek kept her anger in check. She was an expert at that.

“But I have a reservation. I confirmed it yesterday.”

The concierge looked pained. He was a tall, pasty man with a bad hairpiece that looked like an animal was perched on his head. His nametag read Franklin . “I realize that. And I humbly apologize for the inconvenience. We overbooked. Your room will be available tomorrow morning, and we’ll upgrade you to a suite at no extra cost.”

“That’s not good enough. Tomorrow is the pre-event briefing. I have to be there early.”

Deb fleetingly considered playing the special needs card, but she knew she’d sleep in her car before she did that. Hell, she’d sleep on the street with a newspaper blanket before she asked for preferential treatment.

“I really wish there was something I could do. I’m very sorry.”

“I’d like to speak to the manager.”

“Miss Novachek, I am the manager. I’ll not only upgrade to a suite tomorrow, but we’d be happy to pay for it to make up for the inconvenience.”

“That doesn’t do me any good tonight.”

Deb felt like crossing her arms, but resisted. It messed with her balance.

“Unfortunately, this seems to happen every year at triathlon time. Every hotel and motel in town is filled to capacity.”

Deb frowned. “Could I room with another contestant staying here?”

Franklin reached for the phone. “That would be up to them. If you give me a name, I can connect you.”

“I don’t know anyone here. This is my first time at Iron Woman .”

“I’m sorry. I can’t just start randomly calling guests.” He put the receiver down and tapped his pale chin, apparently thinking. “You know, there is a bed and breakfast, forty miles out of town. It’s so out of the way, it probably has some rooms available. Would you like me to check for you?”

Deb took a deep breath, let it our slow. “Yes. Please.”

“I’ll need to find the number. I’ll be right back.”

Franklin waddled off. Deb turned away from the check-in counter and faced the lobby. It was crammed full of people. Some of them spectators. Several of them reporters, complete with video cameras and microphones. A few of the women were obviously athletes, and Deb considered approaching some of them, asking if they’d like to share a room. But she didn’t move.

Deb valued her privacy. Social situations were painfully awkward for her.

Which is why she quickly turned away when she saw the man staring.

Men stared at her all the time. So did women. And kids. Even animals did, somehow able to sense something was wrong with her.

But this man wasn’t gawking. He had a playful smile on his face, and his eyes crinkled when she caught him looking.

This wasn’t a gawker. This was a flirt.

Deb preferred the gawkers. She unconsciously glanced down at her cosmetic legs. They were covered by sweatpants. Unless someone was paying close attention, they couldn’t tell, even when she was walking.