Page 35 of Runner 13
Hiroko, standing on the other side of Mariam, is discussing that very possibility. ‘He didn’t cancel Long & Windy when poor Steve Parsons was blown off a cliff. I don’t think a sandstorm is going to put him off launchingHot & Sandy.’ His eyes drop to my race number. He grimaces and takes a step back, as if the number thirteen was something you could catch. If he’d been Catholic, I think he might have crossed himself. ‘You OK wearing that?’
I shrug. ‘It’s just a race number.’
His mirrored sunglasses make his eyes unreadable, but his lips quirk. ‘When Rupert had it, he wore his bib upside down, like they do in the Tour de France.’
‘I’m fine with how it is,’ I say through gritted teeth.
The crowd hushes, and Hiroko lifts on his tiptoes to see over the heads of the other runners. I, on the other hand, look up at the sky. The weather couldn’t be more different from last night. Now the sun radiates down on us, the air still. There’s not a breath of wind, nor a single cloud in the sky. Just miles of endless blue.
The crowd murmurs, as a Jeep drives slowly into the centre of the bivouac. We all stare expectantly at the doors, waiting for whoever is going to emerge.
But no one does.
There’s a clap. One loud smack of hands.
Then silence.
Another clap.
A man steps out from amongst the runners, walking right up to the car and clambering on to its roof, nimble and light-footed. He sheds his hat and glasses, revealing the person we’ve all been waiting for.
Boones.
He grins. Then he claps again.
The sound reverberates through the crowd. Even though he’s only one man in a crowd of almost a thousand, I hear him as loud as if he is right next to me. It’slike a camp counsellor’s attempt to gain rowdy teenagers’ attention.
But it works.
He does it again. Except this time, others join in. The claps sound louder than ever. As one, the beat continues, speeding up, spreading from person to person until it seems like the entire desert is applauding, then cheering and yelling, all the pent-up energy from the night before released, the whole mood of the bivouac changing.
If anyone else had tried it, I’m certain it would have flopped. But it’s like Boones has been able to alter our collective brain chemistry. There’s a frenzy, a fervour that takes hold. People stamp their feet and shout loud whoops. In front of me, Hiroko bounces up and down, Alex beside him, arms round each other. Even I’m clapping so hard my palms sting. A woman nearby starts crying – tears of joy. Or at the very least they’re a release.
Boones raises his hands again. It takes a little time but the crowd calms. There’s no dejection now in the shoulders around us. Chins are up. Heads held high. Mine too.
He lifts a microphone from his pocket. He speaks directly into it, his characteristic rasp somehow still crystal clear. ‘Well, I promised you hot and sandy,’ he says in his American drawl.
The crowd roars with laughter.
‘That was quite the night. Some of you have been hurt. Some of you have quit. The desert is testing us, even before the race has begun. But those of you who are still here – bravo. As you’re experiencing right now, you’re facing the toughest challenge of your life. It will be hard. It will be beautiful. Maybe you will be pushed to breakingpoint. You will come face to face with your demons, duke it out on those sands. But, my God, it will be worth it. And I for one can’t wait to see who manages it.’
The crowd roars again.
‘This is an experience like no other. And I want you to live every moment of it. So new rule: no electronic devices.’
My heart drops, my fingers automatically going to my phone. I grip it tight. I’d promised to message Ethan whenever I had signal. But, more than that, the last time I’d raced without a phone, the worst had happened. If he needed to reach me and couldn’t … I would never forgive myself.
‘No phones, cameras, music players, chargers, any watches with a function other than basic time. You get it. We’re going pure. We’re going simple. If you get into trouble, there’s no faster way to get help than to use your emergency beacons. Henry will run through the logistics. If you don’t want to comply, you can join the thirty-four others who have left already. No shame in admitting this isn’t for you. It’s not going to be for most of you. Only the brave can handle what’s coming. See you on the starting line. You have fifteen minutes.’
He clambers down from the Jeep as the murmurs grow.
He’s cutting us off from the outside world. Henry takes the microphone and is saying something about how volunteers will be coming round to collect the devices.
Mariam shrugs. ‘I didn’t even bring my phone.’
‘This is brilliant,’ says Hiroko. ‘I spend enough time on my devices at home. I can fully unplug and blame Boones.’
Volunteers in Hot & Sandy vests are moving throughthe crowd with what look like dry bags with roll-top lids. ‘I have to go,’ I reply. Mariam calls after me but I’m already on my way.
