Page 67 of Runner 13
Five hundred thousand dollars would go a long way to achieving that. The thought creeps in. What would it be like to win? There are only ten of us left now. My odds are increasing.
Without realizing it I’ve walked almost halfway round the perimeter of the bivouac, towards the admin trailers. They look surprisingly cosy in the darkening sky, lights illuminating their windows. The bit of black fabric over my head and the egg-carton foam serving as my mattress is just not cutting it when it comes to comfort.
Suddenly someone storms out of one of them, the trailer door slamming out on its hinges. They rush down the stairs, almost pushing me over in their haste. It’s Emilio.
He swears loudly in Italian, then he spins round. ‘He’s a madman,’ he says to me, pointing back at the trailer. ‘You shouldn’t race any more. Please, Adri. It’s not worth it. It’s not worth your life.’
He seems almost mad himself, his eyes so wide I can see their whites, his hair in disarray from where he’s run his hands through it.
‘What happened in there?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t understand. You know he doesn’tactually wantanyone to win, right?’
His earnestness makes me laugh, even in the face of his anger. ‘Of course. That’s the whole point of entering a Boones race. He wants “can they even finish?” to be the main question, not “who won?”.’
‘But that’s crazy!’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘I’m his doctor, not an ultrarunner. I had never heard of Boones or these races before he came to me.’
I frown. ‘So you’re not a doctor for Hot & Sandy?’
‘I am. I’m also treating Boones for … well, Iwastreating him, for all the good that’s done him. What a waste of time. He’ll be lucky to even see the end of the race.’
‘Boones is that ill?’ I feel panic start to rise.
He waves his hands. ‘Ah, I’m exaggerating. He’s got time. Well, as long as he doesn’t try to run the last leg himself or something equally idiotic.’ Emilio seems to have calmed over the course of our conversation, his breathing becoming more regular, his features less lined with anger and worry. Behind him, the sun is setting, bursting with colours that seem too vibrant to be natural. The Sahara seems to bring its drama and scale to everything – not just the sand but even the sky.
I’m so distracted by it that I miss that Emilio has been staring at me, his eyes scanning my face. His scrutiny makes me blush.
‘Only nine left,’ he says so softly that I can hardly hear. ‘Nine out of twenty. One poisoned. One nearly brained to death. Not to mention the ones who have dropped out from severe dehydration, skeletal injuries, dysentery …’
‘Wait, poisoned? You’re talking about Nabil?’ I think back to how I felt in the dunes. Woozy. Unable to stay focused. Hardly able to stay upright.
I’d shared my water with Nabil.
What if I had been poisoned too?
Still wants revenge.
Icould have been the target.
‘You mean to tell me his death wasn’t natural?’ I press again, when his lips remain tightly shut.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Adrienne, I’m worried about you.’ He takes a step forward, lifting his hand to my cheek. The boldness of it stills me. His fingers are warm to the touch, and his eyes – when I stare into them – are filled with kindness, worry and maybe a hint of desire too. I place my hand over his, leaning into his touch just the tiniest bit. But it’s not butterflies in my stomach, not right now. It’s fear. ‘Do you really want to be next?’ he whispers, and the fluttering gets even worse.
When he puts it that way, my plan to put my life at risk and run hundreds of miles for Boones’s promised answers sounds ridiculous. Taking the advice of this handsome kind doctor seems like a much better plan, quite frankly. Fifty miles are already in the tank, but there are still two hundred to go. Poor, poor Nabil.
I wonder if Emilio takes my silence as agreement, because he breaks out into a smile – and I’ll be damned if it isn’t as breathtaking as the sunset. I teeter on the edge of the decision. When he lowers his hand from my face, our fingers are intertwined.
But the moment is broken when Boones’s trailer door opens again, and he steps out. After what Emilio said, I had expected to see a frail, fragile figure – but Boones looks full of vigour. It’s like the drama of the race energizes him rather than depletes him. His moustache is sharp, his eyes bright. And when they land on me, I know I’m going to give it my everything. I’m not going to let this opportunity slip away.
‘You’ll want to come and hear my announcement,’ saysBoones. ‘It’s a doozy.’ He doesn’t wait for my answer, just strides off in the direction of the bivouac.
I break out of Emilio’s grip and follow, my feet moving of their own accord.
Emilio’s interest in me is flattering. But I haven’t come here for that. I’m here for answers. And the news about Nabil’s death only cements my decision. If someone is trying to scare me off, then that means they’re here – and not after my son.
