Page 138 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

138

Trek

V alor

I open the psychic link between the three of us and tap in. Once I feel Braveheart’s relief, I know he’s had the same thought as me—that we can make a try for the finish line.

Willow is still swirling in emotions. At first, it was compassion for the others and fear for our safety, even though we had already accepted our imminent death. Even after the Galerian informed us we were safe when we were on rocky footings, it took Willow a moment to take a breath and realize we still had a moment to live.

We may have been given the slightest reprieve, but time is still of the essence.

You realize this gives us a chance? I ask. A fighting chance?

Her thoughts are sluggish, still consumed with fear and revulsion. I push a picture at her, of us traversing the rocky ridge that circles above the bowl. It’s a picture of Braveheart on my back and her by my side as we hurry around the destruction below and make our way to the flagpole.

Got it, she says, nodding . I couldn’t… couldn’t get over the… deaths.

“But we can do this,” I say. “We can work toward the finish line. There are…” I pause and look at one of the screens, “Eleven teams and six openings.”

“It’s a longshot,” Braveheart says as he hands us each a bottle of water, then swigs his own. “It looks like we’ll have to go three, maybe four times the distance as the remaining teams. And then there’s…” He motions to his bad leg. “Our additional handicap—me. But I think we should leave our chairs and give it a try.”

“Well, we’ve got a secret weapon,” she says. “Valor.”

It feels good to know someone thinks so highly of me. No one has believed in me before. Not like this. Warmth washes over me even as I contemplate the hardest mission of my life. Well, maybe not the hardest, but the most important. It risks not just my life, but the two people I love.

I heave my friend onto my back. His legs lock around my waist and he grasps his wrists under my throat.

“We call that piggyback for some unknown reason,” Willow says.

“Piggyback it is,” I say, and off we go to our right. It seems to include the least jagged peaks.

“Usually the slowest goes first,” I say. “So no one gets left behind. But I’ll keep my psychic senses trained on you. I’ll stop at the first hint of trouble. I’m going first to make certain we stay on rocky ground. What we don’t need right now are any wyrms snapping us up.”

“You’re in charge,” she says, then adds with a slight smirk, “for now.”

I love how, even in the face of adversity, she tries to keep things light. It’s not an easy skill.

It’s not just rocky, the shale is crumbly. No foothold feels secure. You have to step, then pause to make sure the rocks don’t slide out beneath you and force you to tumble down the hill. The ridge we’re traveling is one- to two-hundred feet above the canyon floor. One misstep could be deadly.

Add Braveheart’s weight to the difficulty factor. I’m built for this and could easily do this in better conditions. Plus, there’s my sprained ankle from yesterday, not fully healed, as well as our lack of sleep last night. The recipe for success isn’t good.

We keep slogging toward our goal.

“Go at your own pace, Willow. I won’t get too far ahead of you. One misstep—”

“I know. If I go down, the whole team goes down with me.”

We’re silent for a long time. Talking about our circumstances would only slow our pace. Speaking about the beautiful moments we shared on our imaginary porch would desecrate those sacred moments we shared.

“Five hours, twenty-three minutes,” she announces after looking at her wrist.

We’re going to need every second of it.