The Paladin Prophecy (24 page)

“Dude, you’ll spoil the surprise.”

Will eyed the pack ahead, calibrating the gap, holding it steady. He thought he could handle their pace from back here as long as he stayed at striking distance, but they were all strong, confident runners. The weakest man on the Center’s squad was better than the best he’d ever faced. On any other day, this might have felt like a bad dream that had dropped him into the state finals without warning, the kind of nightmare where the gun’s up and you can’t find your shoes or you don’t know how to tie them.

He didn’t stress about it. Kujawa’s test results had changed all that.
Don’t hold back
. Screw it, no reason to now. For the first time in a real race, he could bust out the full RPMs of his turbo-charged system. But to make it count, he still had to run smart and wait for his moment.

#73: LEARN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TACTICS AND STRATEGY.

Will loped along as if they were walking, but Nick was already in distress. He was incredibly cut and buff, but his body was trained for different challenges: short bursts of power in the vault or floor work, the controlled propulsion of the rings and bars. There was almost no overlap with the demands made by the pounding animal drumbeat of a road race.

“I hate you for this,” said Nick. “Hope you know that … if you don’t, I’ll be sure to … remind you every few hundred feet.”

“Have your legs always been that stubby?”

“Hey, Laughing Boy, you try a dismount from a static hold … into a flyaway double back salto … with a five-forty somersault … and see if you can stick the landing … without snapping your neck like a chicken wing.”

They followed the path into the woods, where it rose and fell over a series of rolling ridges. The trees grew deeper and darker, marching into the shadowy distance in every direction. Will had never been in woods so thick or seen trees with so much life, variety, and character. The smells startled him, a savory mix of damp dirt, decaying leaves, and molds. The earth preparing for winter.

His new shoes felt light on his feet, every bit as good as he’d hoped. He kept the pack in sight as they kicked up the pace at the first kilometer.

“Tell me about Todd Hodak,” said Will.

“Dude, Todd’s real name should be Richard … because he’s a dick. His picture’s on the cover of the dick-tionary. He registers a constant nine-point-five on the Dickter Scale. In other words … if I’m not making this clear, Todd’s a massive dick, on the highest order of dick-titude.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.”

Nick sucked in a huge gulp of air, wincing in pain. “Dude was born on third … and thought he hit a triple.”

“What’s the deal with Todd and Brooke?”

“Families know each other … old money, like Moby Dick old … Daddy Ho-Dick’s a big Wall Street dude … runs one of those hedgehog funds.”

“A hedge fund?”

“Yeah, for hogs … so Brooke gets here and silver-spoon Todd comes on strong … with the moose jaw, Ranger Rick vibe.…”

“Please tell me she didn’t fall for it.”

“Dude, Brooke can handle the full-court press … but Todd’s so helpful, showing her around … introducing her to his fellow ass-hats … that he covers his stink with Old Spice … but once she catches a whiff of the
real
Todd? Thanks, but no thanks … Todd won’t take ‘no thanks’ for an answer … but Brooke won’t give it up … stupid, meet stubborn … game on, baby!”

Nick nearly stumbled. Will caught his arm and kept him upright. “So did they get together or what?”

“That’s the weird part … 
doesn’t
happen … she does everything but nail a crucifix to her door but … fourteen months later Todd’s still trying to crack the safe … he keeps harassing her … and Brooke’s too proud to blow the whistle.”

“You’re right,” said Will. “Dick with a capital D.”

“Todd puts the dick in
dick-tator …
which is an insult to
dictators
. And why … pray tell … do you ask?”

Will tried to sound casual. “No reason.”

“That was awesome … who’d ever suspect that … beneath your chill So Cal facade … beats the heart of a hopeless Romeo.”

Will scowled at him. “Don’t be a dick, Nick.”

“By the way, Ho-Dick owns every cross-country school record … the one place where he really is … the cast-iron stud monkey he sees in the mirror.…”

They climbed the last ridge, and the body of water Will had seen on the maps came into view: Lake Waukoma. The running trail led down to the shore and then snaked along the edge just inside the tree line. The lake looked much larger than Will had pictured, half a mile across at its widest and more than a couple of miles long. The sky had turned a slate gray, cloud cover rolling in, and the water mirrored it. A fresh wind stirred up whitecaps, tossing around lines of red buoys that marked a racing course on the surface. They passed an old wooden boathouse stacked with sailboats and various rowing sculls.

The pack rounded a corner ahead of them, Todd Hodak cruising just off the lead. He ran strong, with textbook form: even stride, perfect balance, upper and lower body working in unison. He was drafting off a tall thin kid who had gone out as the rabbit. Probably on Todd’s orders.

“Ever had your blood tested since you’ve been here?” asked Will.

“Yeah,” said Nick, wheezing. “Once or twice … Do we have to run this fast?”

“Yes. Did they find anything?”

“Lemme think … oh, yeah. It was red … why?”

“They want to give me a physical,” said Will.

“They do that every year with the athletes,” said Nick, staggering like he was about to keel over. “Did I mention … that I hate you?”

“Not in the last twenty seconds.”

To their right, away from the lake, the land rose abruptly beyond the trees into a long limestone ridgeline, broken by tall ribbed columns of rock. Each column was striped with horizontal striations of vivid reds, yellows, and creams.

This whole gorge must have once been an ancient riverbed
, thought Will.
The water carved its way down over the ages, leaving these strange artifacts behind
.

On the face of the ridge above them, Will noticed a number of black pockmarks. “What’s up on that ridge?” asked Will. “Are those caves?”

“Sacred Lakota burial grounds … ask Jericho about it … maybe it’s a casino and outlet mall now … and I hate you.”

“And this is all school property?”

“Over twenty thousand acres,” gasped Nick. “Bigger than my hometown …”

The island in the middle of Lake Waukoma came into view, along with the strange structure rising from its center. Will had seen photos of castles on the Rhine in Germany, and apparently so had whoever built this joint. Gray stones and concrete formed a high solid wall surrounding the central core that branched into two towers. Lights burned in the windows. A bridge from the entrance led to a landing and dock at the shore, where powerboats bobbed in the choppy water.

“That’s called the Crag,” said Nick.

“Does the school own it, too?”

“Private residence,” said Nick. “
Crag
is a Scottish word … that means big-ass house … in the middle of a lake.”

“Tell me you’re not trying to do homework with that brain,” said Will.

“Some bazillionaire lives there … big-time donor to the school. Haxley.”

“That’s the name on the medical center,” said Will.

“But he’s never around … that’s like his fourteenth home.”

“Somebody’s there now,” said Will. “Ever been out there?”

“Hell, no,” said Nick, huffing. “Private property … trespassers verboten … guarded by vicious dogs and … snipers … and I really … really … hate you.”

Will glanced at his watch, calculating time, pace, and distance. “We’ve got a click and a half left. Will you be all right getting back to the Barn from here?”

“Nuh-uh. I just bonked,” gasped Nick. “Total lactic meltdown.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I’ll go blind. Die from hypothermia. Then bears will eat me.”

“Good,” said Will. “So I won’t worry.”

“Where are you going?”

#13: YOU ONLY GET ONE CHANCE TO MAKE A FIRST IMPRESSION.

“Hammer time,” said Will.

Will took off, hard, leaving Nick behind as if he were walking on a treadmill. Will barely heard his roommate’s last feeble protest.

“Curse you, Will West!”

The trail turned left, rounding the northern end of the lake. Will churned up the track, digging into every stride. Quickly and methodically he closed the gap. Fifty yards. Then thirty. At this point in the race, the pack had spread out, less fluid runners filtering to the back. He zipped by the first trailer, then the second; they looked stunned as he passed and couldn’t even respond.

Vaporized.

Through a gap in the trees ahead, Will saw Todd Hodak and another powerful runner, an African American kid, pushing the pace, about to pull away. The rabbit, his job done, was about to surrender the lead.

One kilometer to go.

The track straightened and widened as it moved inland, then stretched toward a dead uphill climb to the Barn and the Riven Oak. It was steep enough to function as a ski run once winter arrived. The whole length of the severe slope was visible for a quarter mile before you reached it, inflicting maximum damage on a tired runner’s mind. Designed to scare whatever life was left out of you at the toughest point of the race. A fiendish finish.

Suicide Hill.

The tall kid working as the rabbit hit the base of the hill and fell away like a discarded booster rocket. Hodak and the other senior jammed past him and attacked the grade in lockstep.

Will accelerated as he approached the slope. Suicide Hill would have mentally terrified him in the past, back before he knew what he was capable of, but today it didn’t faze him. He cruised by another trailer, slipped outside and torched three more, flashing by them in a blur. Focused. Mind and body meshed.

Go for it. No reason to hold back anymore, right, Dad?
For the first time ever.

Will hit the hill at full throttle, without pain, strain, or effort. He hurtled by another trailer, and then the rabbit, still in free fall. Only two runners left between Will and the leaders. Deep steady breathing. He could feel how much energy each breath delivered to his core, fueling him to push harder and faster, still nowhere near his limit. Exhilarated. Liberated.

The two runners ahead heard him coming and glanced over their shoulders. Big guys, seniors, running side by side. Only the squad’s elite would be near the front this deep into a race. Seasoned competitors who had won major races and who on any given day could be leading this one.

Shock hit their faces. A faceless scrub in heavy sweats trying to pass them on Suicide Hill? WTF! They looked at each other and called on their kicks. They spread out to narrow and protect the trail, determined to block this punk from getting past them. Will altered his path and made a move toward the middle. They wanted him to split that gap between them; they were inviting him in.

A trap.

As he drew even, the kid on the right slammed a vicious elbow into Will’s shoulder, knocking him off stride. The kid on the left stomped at his foot, trying to spike him. Will swerved away; the spikes grazed his calf, shredding the leg of his sweats. Will was forced to drop back for a beat and regroup.

The two gatekeepers glanced at him again and at each other. Hard grins. Thinking they’d delivered the message and protected their leaders, forty yards ahead. The grade went vertical another degree, halfway up the hill. Merciless now.

A structure came into view on top of the hill, a tall wooden viewing stand, like a ranger’s fire watch station. Coach Jericho stood on top near the rail with binoculars, watching them finish. Watching him.

Check this out, Coach
.

Will darted to the left side. The kid on the left shifted to block him. Will spun a 360 back to the right without breaking stride and darted between them. The kid on the right grabbed at his sweats, but Will shot past him untouched. Off balance, the kid stumbled and went down hard. The other kid tried to hop over his buddy but clipped his foot and crashed. They shouted a warning to the leaders as they tumbled.

Hodak and the African American kid looked back and saw Will ten yards behind them and closing fast. Both put their heads down and dug harder.

Fifty yards from the top of the hill.

Will’s lungs finally began to burn. He was nearing his red line—Suicide Hill and the squad’s rough tactics had cut into his reserves—but he felt exhilarated. Hodak glanced back and then pulled away from his partner; the team’s alpha dog still had something left in his tank. The African American kid labored, steadily losing ground, and by the time they reached the crest, Will had passed him.

Once they topped the hill, the track flattened. Will took a few strides to adjust to level ground again. Only two hundred yards left, a two-man dash to the Riven Oak. The trail passed right by the viewing platform. Coach Jericho darted to the opposite rail to watch them finish.

Will felt doubt stab him for the first time. This was Hodak’s home course. He held the school’s records. He was running freely ten yards in front. He probably had a whole wing of the family mansion devoted to his trophies, and Will had never won a single race in his life; he’d never even been allowed to try. On any other day, in any other race, he would have been happy to finish the way things stood right now. But he wasn’t going to settle for second today. He doubled his breathing and dialed up every emotional trigger he could think of to spur him on.

Images flashed: Sedans. Black Caps. Monsters. Everything they’d done—whoever they were—to his parents and to him. Deep red anger. Projecting it all onto the one man left in front of him.
Rocket fuel
.

One hundred yards to the opening in the oak.

Raw fury gave Will what he needed for one last attack. He rode it hard and pulled up just behind Hodak’s left shoulder, drafting off him, and then with another push drew up beside him. Hodak glanced over. He was straining at max effort, furious at Will’s challenge but prepared. Determined to beat him. He threw an elbow but Will dodged it.