Ultra Read online

  At the top of the next hill I took a break. The pale outline of Hither Lake was visible in the valley, and the ribbon of orange was thickening on the horizon. Ahead of me, a spear of light stabbed into the sky. What the heck is that? I wondered.

  I ran toward the light and then I saw the lump.

  A fallen runner was slumped against a tree. He was lying on his back. He was moaning in pain.

  Aha! I thought. The Dirt Eater! I’d caught him!

  But then I heard the voice. It wasn’t a man.

  “Where did I put my hair dryer?” she groaned.

  Kara looked like a melted candle. Her eyes were scribbles. Her cheekbones had caved in.

  I ran over to her. She looked like absolute crap.

  “Quinn,” she croaked. “Lucky Number Thirteen. Did you see my hair dryer? I lost it on the trail.”

  Her voice sounded crusty. She’d torn the flesh over one eye. Worse, she was shivering and her forehead felt hot.

  “Are you okay?” I said, crouching down.

  Kara closed her eyes. “Awesome possum,” she muttered.

  Her lips were white and glowed in the dark, as if she were wearing chalk-coloured lipstick. I hugged her until the worst of her shivering had passed, and then I dug an extra T-shirt out of my pack.

  “Put this on,” I said. “It’s damp, but it’s better than nothing.”

  I helped to pull it over her head. Her fingers weren’t moving very quickly.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’re almost at the finish.” I tried pulling her to her feet.

  Kara went into a coughing fit. “No thank you!” she choked. “I’m just taking a little nap.”

  “No you’re not,” I said and I tried to stand her up. I pulled her halfway to her feet, but her knees crumpled like a paper cup. She fell sideways, smacking my chin with her arm. Stung, I fell back against a cedar bush, and the water from the branches sprinkled down on me like rain.

  “Let me go!” she cried. And then she started to laugh. She squeezed a handful of mud between her fingers and giggled as it oozed down her arm.

  For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to do. I looked at my GPS. We only had 1 mile to go.

  One mile. 1600 metres. 5280 feet. That was all.

  The fastest humans can run a mile in less than 4 minutes. We’d be lucky if we did it in 20.

  Twenty minutes, I thought. Kara could go hypothermic in that time. I needed to get her to the finish line.

  “Stand up!” I yelled. “Or I’ll call 911! They’ll drag you out of here on a stretcher!”

  Kara stopped laughing. Her eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t,” she said.

  “I absolutely would,” I said. “And you’d get a DNF. Just think how embarrassing that would be.”

  She blinked twice, and this time her eyes seemed to focus.

  “They have hair dryers at the finish line,” I added.

  Kara thought about this for precisely one second and then she abruptly held out her hand. I took it and somehow managed to pull her to her feet.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” she muttered.

  “Yes you can,” I said. “You absolutely can.”

  The final mile of the Shin-Kicker is a long, downhill straightaway that runs along a narrow dirt road. We staggered along it, arm in arm. It took all of my strength just to keep Kara upright.

  “What happened to your shoes?” I asked.

  Kara looked down. Her feet were bare. “I guess I lost them in the mud,” she said.

  We weren’t really running. We were barely even walking. If you’d seen us, you’d have thought we were escapees from an asylum.

  Suddenly Kara stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Don’t you hear it?” she said.

  Now that she mentioned it, I did. It was the sound of wet running shoes slapping on mud. Someone was running on the road behind us! So I hadn’t been going crazy, after all!

  Slap! Slap! Slap!

  The sound was far away — but getting closer every second.

  I turned to look, but it was too dark to see anything. Whoever it was, he wasn’t wearing a headlamp. But we could sure hear those shoes.

  “He’s trying to sneak up on us,” Kara said. “That’s why he’s got his headlamp turned off.”

  Slap! Slap! Slap!

  The sound was getting louder. The runner couldn’t be more than a couple hundred metres back.

  “Come on!” said Kara. “Let’s do this thing!”

  Do what thing? I thought.

  And then I realized. She wanted to RUN.

  She started sprinting and pulled me behind her. “Yow! Yow! Yowch!” I cried.

  It felt like my legs were being pressed through a cheese grater. And yet, somehow, we continued to stagger forward.

  “What’s the time?” Kara asked.

  I looked at my watch. “Five fifty-five,” I said.

  She scowled. “And how far to the finish?”

  I checked the phone’s GPS. “Half a mile,” I said.

  “We still have a shot at those buckles!” Kara said.

  We kept moving. But for every metre we travelled, whoever was behind us must have travelled two. His footsteps grew louder, and when I looked back, I could see splashes of dull light close to the ground.

  But it was a strange thing. It wasn’t light from a flashlight. It was something else. Something green.

  Then, suddenly, I knew. I knew who it was. He could turn off his headlamp, but he couldn’t turn off his socks. “It’s the Dirt Eater!” I said.

  “No!” said Kara. “How’d he get behind us?”

  I pointed out the sock light. Kara groaned. “The storm must have thrown him off course,” she said.

  “Come on,” I said. “We can’t let him beat us.”

  Kara nodded, but our little sprint had sapped all her energy. She was slowing down again. At least her lips weren’t white anymore.

  Suddenly, I heard clapping.

  “You guys look great!” someone barked. “You’ve run ninety-nine and three-quarter miles and you’ve still got a spring in your step!”

  It was Bruce — wearing a yellow raincoat and rubber boots. The little kid at his side looked strangely familiar.

  “How much farther?” Kara gasped.

  “Only four hundred metres!” Bruce shouted.

  “But someone’s right behind you!” said the boy. “Pick it up! You’re in first place!”

  First place? Kara and I glanced at each other.

  “It’s true,” Bruce said. “This race is yours to lose. Keep those legs moving! You’re almost there!”

  The little kid, I noticed, was wearing Star Wars jammies. He was holding a bowl of breakfast cereal. I suddenly realized who he was.

  “Hey, Ollie,” I said.

  “Go, Quinn, GO!” he shouted.

  Down the road I could see a long white banner. The banner had one word on it. The most beautiful word in the world:

  FINISH

  I could see people streaming out of the gatehouse. “Go for it, Ultra Boy!” a familiar voice shouted. That could only be Kneecap, I knew.

  For the last time, I checked the GPS. It said: Miles Remaining: 0.1.

  “How much farther?” Kara asked.

  “About sixty seconds,” I said.

  And that was when the Dirt Eater passed us.

  I’d heard his footsteps getting closer, but now he slipped past us like the easiest of ground balls. All I could do was watch him go. I knew I didn’t have the strength to chase him.

  “Nice pace, Monkey Boy,” he sneered as he flew past.

  “What was that?” Kara said. “What did you say?”

  The Dirt Eater didn’t answer; he just kept on running. His running shoes weren’t even very muddy, I noticed.

  “What did he say?” Kara asked.

  “He was talking to me,” I said. “He said, ‘Nice pace, Monkey Boy.’”

  Kara suddenly stopped running and sat down on the wet grass. Her h
air and face were mapped with sweat.

  “What are you doing?” I said. “You’re almost there!”

  She glared after the Dirt Eater, who was vanishing down the road. Her face was bright red. “You have to crush him,” she said.

  “No,” I said. “You and I are finishing this together.”

  “No,” she said. “There’s no way I’ll catch him. But you’ve got to beat that no-good cheater!”

  I stared at her and then back at the Dirt Eater, who was charging up the road in front of us.

  “GO!” shouted Kara. “Do it for me! Better yet, do it for your dad!”

  Her eyes were rust-coloured and determined and tears were streaming down her face.

  “You know about my dad?” I said.

  “Of course,” said Kara. “The guy is a legend.”

  And then, somehow, I broke into a run. It wasn’t pretty; in fact, it was downright ugly, since my legs felt like they’d been dipped in cement.

  The crowd cheered. “You can do it!” someone shouted.

  I thought: Next person who tells me I can do it gets this cellphone straight in the head.

  Suddenly I noticed someone running beside me. It was Ollie. He was running faster than me.

  “Use your superpowers!” he shouted.

  “What?” I said.

  “Your superpowers!” Ollie screamed. “Your heart! Use your heart!”

  Right — my big heart! I’d forgotten about that!

  Then I saw Kneecap. “C’mon, Quinn!” she hollered. “KICK SOME SHINS!”

  When I saw her there, something snapped. Electricity sizzled through my body and my legs felt full of juice. I leaned forward and remembered what my dad had said: “Your heart is stronger than you think.”

  I shot down the road, my legs spinning like pinwheels. The world blurred past me — trees, puddles, mud.

  I could hear myself laughing and I heard the blood in my veins, and the volunteers were screaming, “Go! Go! Go!”

  A strange feeling came over me then. For one moment, all my pain and anger were gone. Nothing hurt. Everything was peaceful. I couldn’t even hear any voices in my head. For a moment, it felt like my heart had stopped beating. I even had this strange feeling that I’d become invisible.

  Twenty metres from the finish, I sprinted past my mom, who was standing at the side of the road, clapping. Her cheeks were shiny and wet. Not far ahead, the Dirt Eater was slowing down — he thought he’d won the race already.

  The finish line was 10 metres away. Then 5, then only 3. I flew past the Dirt Eater like he was standing still!

  Me — Quinn Scheurmann. I won the Shin-Kicker 100.

  I raised my arms as I crossed the line.

  Time: 23 hours, 59 minutes, 32 seconds.

  SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: And Kneecap was filming the whole thing?

  QUINN: Yeah. She uploaded the video later that afternoon. It went viral two days later, after Michelle Obama posted it on her blog. Six million people viewed it in three days.

  SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: And then you started getting invited to appear on TV shows like mine.

  QUINN: Yeah. Life got a bit more colourful then.

  THE LONG SHADOW

  Mile 100

  The volunteers clapped for 10 or 15 seconds, and someone stuffed a bottle of water into my hands. Behind me, I could hear the Dirt Eater cursing. People clapped for him too, though not as much.

  Mom wrapped her arms around me and wouldn’t let me go. She didn’t seem to care that I was covered in mud.

  “What are you doing winning?” she said. “You promised me you’d take it easy.”

  “I tried to!” I said. “But the tornado messed everything up!”

  The Dirt Eater threw his water bottle at the ground so hard it bounced. I thought he was going to say something mean, but instead he just stomped off toward the toilets.

  A few seconds later, Kara staggered across the line. People whooped and hollered as she knelt down in the road. I thought that she was going to throw up, but instead she bent her head to the ground and kissed the dirt.

  “What time is it?” she said, looking up.

  We all looked at the clock. It said 23:59:59.

  “Yesss!” said Kara.

  Somewhere in the valley, a chainsaw roared to life. I leaned over and started to cough.

  “Hands above your head,” said Mom. “Breathe deep.”

  I raised my arms and coughed some more. When the coughing fit ended, I leaned over and stretched out my back.

  “What do you need?” Mom said. “Something to eat? Warm clothes?” Her eyes looked bruised, as if she hadn’t slept.

  “I could use some dry shoes and socks,” I said.

  Mom looked at my feet. My shoes were caked with mud, and the toes were bright red from the blood that had seeped through.

  Mom took a deep breath. “I’ll get the first-aid kit,” she said. “Give me two minutes. I’ll be back.”

  She dashed off. Kneecap and Ollie rushed over. “Way to go!” Ollie said. “That was EPIC!”

  The camera was still rolling. “What happened to your head?” Kneecap asked.

  “That’s nothing,” I said. “Wait till you see my feet.”

  Behind me, two volunteers helped Kara to the medical tent. She could barely walk, even with their support.

  Ollie high-fived me. “I knew you could do it,” he said. “You know that I was only kidding before, right?”

  “I know,” I said. “You did exactly the right thing.”

  He was still holding that bowl of cereal. That’s when it hit me — it really was six in the morning. I really had been running for 24 hours. Not only that, I’d somehow won the race.

  As if to confirm this, Bruce exploded out of the gatehouse. He splashed through a puddle and held out his hand. “Congratulations!” he said. “Incredible effort.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He fished into his pocket and pulled out a silver belt buckle. A black bear leered at me from the centre of the medallion.

  “Don’t lose that,” said Bruce. “Those things aren’t easy to come by. I’m only handing out two of them this year.”

  “Don’t you mean three?” I said. “Kara finished one second before the cut-off.”

  “Oh, she’ll get one for sure,” Bruce said. “But I’m not so sure about Ted Parker. There are some irregularities with his times.”

  Kneecap’s face lit up. “Good!” she squealed. “That guy’s a total cheater.” She ran her finger over the engraving of the bear. “Kara was right,” she said. “That thing is gorge-E-ous!”

  “Hey, that reminds me,” I said, “I need to give you this.” I handed over her phone.

  “Does it still work after all that rain?”

  “It works perfect,” I said. “It actually saved my life.”

  She handed back my belt buckle. It weighed a quarter kilo, easy. I pulled a muddy shoelace out of one of my trainers, slung it through the clasps and tied the loop around my neck. At that moment, as far as I was concerned, that buckle was the most valuable piece of metal in the world.

  “Sorry about that tornado,” Bruce said.

  “No probs,” I said. “I’ve lived through worse.”

  Kneecap pulled her headphones down over her ears and lay down on a log.

  “Your dad would be proud of you,” Bruce said.

  “You knew him?” Ollie asked.

  “Of course,” said Bruce. “Your old man paced me in this race, one time. He never set any speed records, but he was a great pacer. An awesome storyteller too, but you already know that.”

  I rubbed a sleeve across my nose.

  “I heard about what happened,” Bruce went on. “It didn’t surprise me that he was serving his country. He was always looking out for others, that guy. He was one of the good ones. He left an awfully long shadow.”

  The sun was up now, turning the treetops gold, and the wet grass glinted at the edge of the road. Somewhere in the trees, a crow was screeching. I
ran my tongue across the roof of my mouth. I had terrible breath. Ultra bad breath.

  “Want a mug of hot chocolate?” Bruce asked.

  “Yes please!” said Kneecap, jolting upright.

  Bruce grinned and walked off toward the gatehouse.

  “I’ll help!” said Ollie, running after him.

  A pair of toads, grim and ancient-looking, hopped across the silvery grass. I watched their progress and then noticed Kneecap’s fingers, which were tapping out a rhythm against the side of her leg.

  I went over and poked her in the ribs. “Hey,” I said.

  Her eyes opened a crack. “Hey, yourself,” she said.

  “Thanks for coming out,” I mumbled.

  Kneecap yawned and took off her headphones. “What was that?” she said.

  “I said, Thanks.”

  “What for?” she asked.

  “For running with me yesterday,” I said. “And thanks for … I don’t know … for everything else.” I looked up at the sky. A pair of red-tailed hawks was circling. “I know I haven’t been much of a friend this year …” I stopped. A mitten was stuck in my throat.

  “Go on,” Kneecap said. “I’m listening.”

  “What I wanted to say is … I’m sorry about that joke I told. At the Hallowe’en dance last year. It was so stupid. I meant to apologize …”

  Kneecap yawned. “Forget it,” she said. “We all say stupid things. Besides, we were just kids back then. And you had other stuff on your mind.”

  I lifted the belt buckle from around my neck. “Here,” I said. “This belongs to you.”

  Kneecap’s eyes bulged. “I can’t take that,” she said.

  “Sure you can,” I said.

  I placed the buckle over her head. She grinned, and I could feel my heart speeding up.

  Kneecap turned the buckle over in her hand. “But it’s your keepsake,” she said. “To remind you of the race.”

  “I don’t need a reminder,” I said. “This is one day I’ll never forget.”

  Bruce and Ollie came out of the gatehouse carrying two mugs of hot chocolate each. It was the creamiest, most delicious hot chocolate I’d ever tasted. “Thanks,” I said, giving Ollie a hug.

  He squirmed free. “I did a good job as your pacer, right?”

  “You sure did,” I said. “I wouldn’t have finished without you.”