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Emilio grabs it, turning it over in his hands. ‘That would do it.’
‘Should you be touching that?’
‘Why not?’ he asks me.
And I don’t have an answer for him. It’s not like the wound is suspicious. Just God-awful luck.
‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘We should show Boones, though. Maybe someone can learn from it.’
He nods. ‘He is with the Berbers.’
‘I’ll find him.’
I want to throw up. I should have never stopped looking for Dad. I could have said something. Stopped this idiocy. Because that’s the thing about my dad’s races.
People die.
As the helicopter lifts, it kicks up a cloud of dust. That’s when I see him. Standing, watching the chaos – but not interfering. There is a slight frown on his brow, but his moustache obscures his expression. His piercing blue eyes aren’t watching the chopper.
He’s looking only at me.
10
Adrienne
‘Adrienne, you must hurry.’
I wake up to Mariam’s concerned face, her hand shaking my shoulder.
For a second I don’t remember where I am. My back is sore, my eyes gritty, my tongue bone dry as it runs over my sandpaper lips. I’m a husk, all moisture sucked from my body by the wind. I sit up, open my eyes, then immediately have to shut them again against the brightness. The tent has been resurrected, sunlight streaming in.
The desert. The race. The storm. I don’t think I’ve had more than a couple of hours sleep. I feel like death. I can’t believe anyone is fit to run twenty-five miles today.
Mariam shakes me again. ‘Come.’
My voice is croaky as I attempt to speak. ‘What happened? Is everyone OK?’
She doesn’t answer me, just gestures with her arm and then starts moving. I scramble to follow her past the sleeping forms of Hiroko and Alex. They made it back. Mariam doesn’t wake them, though. She only wants me.
Even though the sun is up, I’m thankful for my jacket. There’s a chill in the air, or maybe it’s the state of the bivouac that’s leaving me shivering. It’s been decimated. There are going to be a lot more DNSs than even Boones could have anticipated once everyone wakes upand realizes that their belongings have been scattered to the wind.
Mariam slides her sunglasses on and adjusts the bandana holding back the short spikes of her silver hair, such a contrast against her dark skin. She takes me to where I can see a small crowd has gathered in front of a tent. She stops a little way back and puts a hand on my arm to stop me too. I realize we’re at tent number sixteen. ‘You said you needed to speak to Jason, right?’
‘Yes, urgently.’ My eyes scan her face; her expression is pained. ‘Why? Is he OK?’
She shakes her head. ‘He’s been taken away by helicopter.’
‘What?!’
‘He was covered in blood, unconscious … Struck in the head, apparently.’
A wave of nausea hits me. ‘My God,’ I say, breathlessly. ‘By who?’
I can’t help but think:Was it because of what he wanted to tell me?
Why did we have to get interrupted?
Mariam shakes her head. ‘Not by anyone.Apparently one of the tent pegs came unstuck in the storm and flew about like a weapon,’ Mariam says. ‘So unlucky. His belongings are strewn everywhere.’