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  I figured it out eventually. At some point, without noticing, I’d started walking across a bridge. Now I was standing on a span above a pitch-black valley. I looked down at my feet. Thick, tarry-smelling beams ran crosswise beneath the tracks. There were gaps between the beams, and nothing underneath.

  I dropped to my knees and crawled to the edge of the track. There was no railing there, just a sudden drop. I reached down and picked up a pebble from one of the cross ties, dropped it over the edge and watched it disappear into the void. I didn’t hear it hit anything down below.

  What the heck was Bruce thinking? I wondered. A runner could easily trip and die out here!

  I crawled back to the middle of the tracks and stood up. I flashed my headlamp forward and backward. I couldn’t see any trail markers.

  That’s when it hit me. Crap, I thought. I’d gone off the trail! I wasn’t supposed to be on this bridge at all!

  A spear of ice shot through my heart. I was all alone. In a forest. In the middle of the night. And I was lost.

  Relax, I told myself. Stop freaking out and THINK. When was the last time you saw a pink flag?

  I couldn’t remember. Was it before I reached the tracks, or after? I was starting to hyperventilate. I couldn’t remember anything. Calm down, I told myself. Breathe deeply. You’ll find your way back to the trail.

  But would I? I was lost and scared and bleeding and hungry. All I could think of was how much I wanted some of those toast soldiers that Dad used to make every Sunday.

  Dammit, I thought. Why hadn’t I eaten some of Kaylin’s lasagna at the last rest stop? I’d have given anything for a mouthful of that now.

  Chill out, I told myself. Breathe deep.

  SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Sounds like you could’ve used your pacer just then.

  QUINN: For sure. I kept telling myself to chill out, breathe deep. It didn’t do a lot of good, though.

  SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Why didn’t you just turn around and walk back along the bridge to solid ground?

  QUINN: Because that would have been the smart thing to do, and as you already know, I’m not very smart. If I’d retraced my steps I would’ve eventually found the pink flags. But for some reason, that thought didn’t occur to me.

  SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: You’d been running for 21 hours, so I think we can cut you some slack. But what did you do to get out of that mess?

  I walked farther out onto the trestle. I was curious to see what was on the other side of the gorge, so I walked for 20 metres and then suddenly I stopped.

  My foot was sticking out over nothing. The iron tracks were shorn off and the bridge simply ended. Broken timbers stuck out in all directions. There was nothing in front of me but a 200-metre drop.

  Whoa! I thought. Ever heard of a guardrail?

  I sat down and swung my legs over the edge and stared down at the canyon that had nearly become my grave. I took out my bag of yogurt-covered cranberries and tossed them, one by one, into the abyss. What had happened to the bridge? I wondered. Had it collapsed while a train was passing over? If so, what had happened to the people on the train? Was I looking down at their bones right now?

  Weird, I thought. One moment you could be riding on a train, looking out the window at the passing trees and lakes, and the next moment, for no other reason than really crappy luck, you could be plunging into a gorge, living out your last moment on earth.

  I promised myself I’d never get on another train. And certainly not a plane. Or a boat. Or a car. Or a bike.

  From now on, I’d run wherever I needed to go. Running was the safest mode of transportation ever.

  But then I thought: That is SO not true. Just look at how many times I’d nearly died today!

  My watch beeped, signalling the time. It was 3:30. I swung my legs back and forth. The wind blew cold air down my back, and for a moment I considered letting myself slip off the edge of the bridge. That’s how miserable I felt — like a nickel that’s been placed on the tracks and flattened into a smear of tinfoil by a passing freight.

  I felt dead. Ultra dead.

  I squinted at the far side of the gorge. I thought I could see a grey blanket of trees. They seemed to be whispering in the breeze. And then, far away, I heard the train.

  “Mwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

  It was hard to hear over the sound of the wind. At first I thought it was my imagination.

  “Mwaaaa-Mwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

  No doubt about it — it wasn’t my imagination. It was coming closer. But it can’t be, I thought. The bridge is out.

  “Mwaaaa-Mwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

  Still closer, I thought. But something wasn’t right. It didn’t sound quite like a train.

  “Mwaaaaa-Mwaaaaa-Mwaaaaaaaaa!”

  The noise echoed off the canyon walls. It sounded more animal than machine. And it was coming from below.

  “Mwaaaa-Mweeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  I crawled back from the edge of the bridge and poked my headlamp between the cross ties. A black shadow drifted beneath the trestle. It was massive, the size of a submarine.

  “What the heck is that?” I whispered.

  “MWAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOO–AAAAAAAA– IIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!”

  It was bigger than twenty school buses caught in a net. It was a blue whale, swimming up from the bottom of the gorge.

  This is so not happening, I thought.

  But it was.

  The bulk of its body rose up above the bridge, and a huge watery eye blinked down at me. The whale slapped its flipper against the tracks and rubbed its barnacle-encrusted head on the sharp end of the trestle. Eventually, it floated in beside the bridge, lowering its back down to my level.

  “Nice parking job,” I said.

  The whale waggled its tail fluke, and the whole bridge shook. It would have been so easy for me to climb onto its back.

  Just then, the moon stepped out from behind a cloud and sprayed a rainbow of silver rays over the clearing.

  “The moon can make rainbows?” I asked.

  The whale didn’t answer.

  It was a rainbow without colour. A moon-bow. A ghost-bow. It was the strangest, most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  The whale twitched its flipper again. Then it started singing.

  Saaaaaaay helllloooooooooooooooo!

  Waaaaaave gooooodbyyyyyyyyyyyye!

  Yes. The whale was singing in English. Which made it official: My mind was falling apart.

  “Please don’t,” I said, putting my hands over my ears. Of course the whale ignored me and carried on.

  Swiiiiiiiiiiiimmmm tooooodaaaaayyyy!

  Toooomoooorroooow weee flyyyyyyy!

  My headlamp flickered. My breath felt ragged. The leaves of the poplar trees hissed in the breeze.

  Wait a second — the leaves of the poplar trees hissed in the breeze!

  For the first time in hours, I remembered the promise I’d made to Wind.

  “I need to ask you a question,” I told the whale.

  The whale stared at me with its huge watery eye.

  “Wind’s shadow,” I said. “Do you know where it is?”

  Lightning flashed in the distance. Cold air stabbed my neck.

  The whale drifted up and down beside the trestle.

  “I know it doesn’t make sense,” I said. “I mean, I know Wind is invisible. So she can’t even block the light.”

  A flash of orange lit up the edges of the sky. Thunder sounded far away.

  The whale rolled sideways and sank down a couple of metres. Its tail remained perfectly level with the bridge.

  “You want me to climb on to your back, don’t you?”

  The whale’s huge tail moved slowly up and down. Just one step — that was all it would take.

  “It’s tempting,” I said. “But you’re just a hallucination. It’s a long way down if you’re not real.”

  The whale didn’t speak, but I read the meaning in its eye. Sometimes you have to trust, it said.

  Lightnin
g flashed in a corner of the sky. It was only a matter of time until Wind came back.

  SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Please tell me you didn’t step off that train bridge …

  QUINN: (Says nothing)

  SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: You did? But the whale was just a figment of your imagination.

  QUINN: Oh, I know that now. But it sure felt solid enough at the time.

  SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Great. You climbed on to the back of an imaginary whale. And what does a whale’s back feel like?

  QUINN: Like the skin of a mango that isn’t quite ripe. I could feel its beating heart through the duct tape on my feet.

  I sat down with my legs folded and my chin pressed against my knees. My heart was beating faster than a baby squirrel’s.

  That lightning again. It was coming closer. The night sky was milky; the colour of a blind dog’s eye. And then I felt the thrashing of the tail.

  The whale and I rose into the air and angled away from the bridge. Everything got blurry as tears streamed from my eyes. Below us, the world was racing with shadows.

  The whale went into a dive and we plunged toward the trees. And then, for what seemed like hours, we swam through the forest. I clung to a mound of barnacles on the whale’s head to keep from sliding off, flashing my headlamp from side to side.

  But as hard as we searched, we didn’t find Wind’s shadow. I was beginning to suspect that Wind never had one in the first place. Why did it matter so much anyway? I wondered. Looking down, it was clear the whale didn’t have one either.

  * * *

  When I woke up, I was back on solid ground, lying beside the train tracks and a line of pink flags. I looked at my watch. It was 3:33. Three minutes had passed.

  I suppose you could say that the thing with the whale was just a dream. But it would be wrong to think that it didn’t happen. Something happened to me in those 3 missing minutes. I learned that there’s more than one type of shadow.

  I stood up and started running. I felt completely recharged! I hadn’t felt this good in hours.

  I ran and ran, glancing up at the moon-bow as I went. It looked like a frozen river in the sky. The beam from my headlamp was stronger than ever. My mind felt clear. My superpowers were back!

  Wind is invisible, I told myself. That’s why it doesn’t have a shadow.

  But invisible things have different kinds of shadows. That’s what I realized on the back of the whale. Nightmares, for instance. They cast shadows inside your brain.

  And stories, also invisible, throw shadows on your heart.

  The trail dropped into a ravine and followed a creek. The glow of my headlamp lit up the rocks in the water.

  And what about love? I asked myself. It’s invisible too, but it casts a very long shadow. It can make you feel safe when you’re lying in bed, but when it leaves, it hurts worse than a tooth that’s been pulled.

  I shone my headlamp down at the rushing water. The rocks beneath the surface looked like grinning skulls.

  The ravine broadened out at Hither Lake, and I saw huge waves heaving themselves against the shore. The silver moon melted and turned sickly green. The moon-bow darkened and disappeared.

  No doubt about it, I thought, love has a shadow. The bleakest and angriest shadow of them all.

  The moon swam through sooty clouds. Another wave crashed against the rocks.

  In the tattered spray, I saw the face.

  “There you are!” Wind hissed.

  THE SHADOW OF THE WIND

  Mile 97, 4:39 a.m.

  Wind’s voice was as welcome as a dentist’s drill.

  “I suppose you’ve come for your shadow,” I said.

  “Did you find it?” Wind hissed.

  Its voice sounded like sand blowing across a parking lot. I reminded myself that none of this was real. Hallucinations can’t hurt you, Dad had assured me. They’re just a reminder to eat more sugar.

  “I have good news,” I said.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. But first, I have a question.”

  Wind swirled between the trees. A thick branch snapped and crashed to the rocks below.

  “Why do you steal things?” I asked.

  A monster wave clobbered the shore. “I never steal,” Wind said. “I just move stuff around.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “You stole my dad’s pants. There’s no way you could have got them unless —”

  A cloud of sand swirled in the air. The lightning storm was coming closer.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wind said.

  I leaned over and coughed. It was getting hard to breathe. Each time I exhaled, I wondered if I’d have the strength to pull another breath of air back into my lungs.

  “And what were you doing with my song?” I said, raising my voice. “There’s no way you could have got that paper unless —”

  “Are you going to give me my shadow, or what?”

  “Stupid Wind,” I said. “You never had a shadow.”

  “What?”

  “There’s nothing to you!” I shouted. “You’re nothing but thin air!”

  The howling wind dropped away to nothing.

  “That’s right!” I shouted. “You’re completely invisible! You don’t have a shadow because you can’t block the light!”

  Far away, thunder hammered the mountains. It rumbled over the valley and then slowly echoed into silence.

  “But everything has a shadow,” Wind whispered.

  “Not everything,” I said.

  Lightning flashed again, revealing mountains of charcoal cloud. A blast of air threw me against a tree.

  “Name one other thing that doesn’t have a shadow!” Wind shrieked.

  “That’s easy,” I spluttered. “Memories.”

  Another wave hit the shore, and spray lashed my face. “Don’t be mad,” I cried. “It’s okay not to have a shadow. There are other types of shadows that you can —”

  “Shut up!” said Wind. “Shut up now!”

  Something stung my skin. My eyes were full of grit. Wind was running around on the beach, spraying sand in all directions.

  Then, very quickly, everything went dark, as if someone had drawn a curtain across the moon. I could hear the treetops hissing like snakes. A bitter smell filled the air. There was a deafening crack and then a blinding flash.

  Through a thick crust of sand, I could make out the shadows of writhing trees. Then everything went dark again.

  I staggered down to the shore to flush out my eyes. The lake churned and the waves rushed at me like rabid dogs. One crash of thunder followed another, and between the crashes I could hear the sound of someone screaming.

  “Kara!” I shouted. “Kara, is that you?”

  No answer. My eyes were blurry and wet. The thunder was deafening, but I could still hear someone wailing.

  “Dad?” I shouted. “Dad, are you there?”

  The screaming sounded more like a man than a woman, and I worried that it was Kern, the bandit. I crouched down beside a boulder. My eyeballs felt like they’d been scrubbed with steel wool.

  Suddenly, an ice pick stabbed my neck. Something else took a bite out of my arm.

  Hail!

  I blinked away the rest of the sand, ran to the edge of the forest and crouched down.

  For the next 3 minutes, hailstones crashed down. It felt like I was in a blizzard of molars. In no time, the forest was carpeted in grey slush. The air filled up with the tang of pine, as if someone had run a lawnmower through the treetops.

  Then, as suddenly as it had started, the hail stopped. A hush fell over the forest. The air was still and fragrant.

  A high-pitched whistle filled my ears. It was far away, but rushing closer every moment.

  “What the …?”

  It was Wind. It sped across the lake with a papery sound, like handfuls of dry rice being thrown on a kitchen floor. Lightning flashed every 2 or 3 seconds, and through the choppy light I could see a wall of rain. It swept across the lake l
ike a huge grey blanket. Then, like a bulldozer, it smashed into the forest.

  The trees thrashed, yanking at their roots. Rocks flew through the air like ice cubes in a blender.

  “There’s no point breaking stuff!” I shouted. “It won’t make your shadow appear.”

  “Maybe not,” roared Wind. “But it makes me feel better!”

  There was a splintering crack, and a giant spruce tree collapsed. I realized that I needed to get out of the forest, so I ran back down to the edge of the lake. Colossal waves battered the shore, and sheets of spray lashed the rocks.

  Then a new sound arose — a throttling hum. It sounded like an airplane taking off.

  In the dim light I saw a rope fall out of the clouds. The hum turned into a scream. The rope was a tornado.

  THE SHRINE

  Mile 97, 4:51 a.m.

  Trees flew through the air like laundry from a clothes line. Other stuff too — rocks, branches, an old rowboat. A flurry of pink flags whipped past my eyes. The trail markers! I thought. The path home. Gone!

  The weirdest part was the air. It was impossible to breathe. It was clogged with dirt and water. It was like inhaling mud.

  Lightning flashed and rain sheeted. It felt like a fire hose was being shot at my head. I kept worrying about the other runners. Kara, Kern, even the Dirt Eater.

  I wedged myself down between two boulders. There was a series of pops, and another tree crashed down. The roar of the tornado got louder and louder. Then something hit my head, and everything went black.

  * * *

  Later, I woke to the smell of damp cedar. A cluster of stars shone down between the treetops. The lake was still, and the trees had stopped swaying. In the dripping silence, I could hear the croaking of frogs.

  I pulled myself out of my hidey-hole. My head hurt, my arms hurt, my shoulders hurt too. My gums hurt, swallowing hurt, breathing hurt — everything hurt. I brushed the hair off my forehead. Even my hair hurt!

  I tugged off my shoes and held them upside down. Rivers of brown sludge poured out onto the ground. The duct tape was still holding my feet together, but two of my toenails had turned completely black.