22.
Grod rode the motorbike across the desert like a madman, swerving around giant rocks and cacti as the cars trailed farther and farther behind. Suddenly, as we flew across a lonely dirt road and back into the desert, there was a blinding flash of light and the boom of thunder right overhead, and a heavy rain began to fall. The chase started to take on an epic feel, and I could almost hear a Wagner piece playing in the background. Grod seemed immune to the weather, and we continued to bounce and slide across the desert as the horizon disappeared in the rain.
"Where are we going?" I shouted as loud as I could.
Grod turned his head away from me, vomited longer than I've ever seen anyone vomit, then turned his attention back to the desert just in time to sloppily dodge a car-sized boulder. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe and yelled back to me, "City limits, man, we've got to get the fuck out of this city." He sounded very, very drunk. I wanted to ask how far it was, how he knew where he was going, but I decided I didn't need a lapful of Grod vomit and kept my mouth shut.
Out of nowhere a gulf opened in the ground before us, and I realized that there was a canyon or gulch below us and we were about to fly over the edge. I felt the terribly familiar feeling of free-fall as the bike flew over a last small hill and onto the rocky ledge of the canyon. The fog began to move in as the water drove down onto the hot ground and began to blot out the horizon. I couldn't believe Grod could see where he was going. But just before the canyon edge rushed past, leaving us to hurtle into the certainly death-filled chasm, he swung the handlebars violently to the right, and we slid to a stop.
Out of the fog in front of us, fifteen or twenty feet away, a giant rock appeared, materializing in the distance like a skillful ghost. The top of this rock rose from the ground with a suspisciously uniform slope, and its edge hung five or six feet over the dropoff.
Behind, a distant buzzing reminded me that we were being chased. Grod looked at me, and I looked back at him. "Better hang the fuck on," he slurred out. He revved the engine, sending a frightening chill up my spine, and in a split second the bike sprinted toward the jump, throwing me back into the seat.
I turned again to see the van along with the Cadillac slowly closing in on us. From the opposite direction the chasm charged straight for us. Grod seem overly focused on going straight ahead, and from the gentle swerving from side to side, I judged he was failing.
"Are you holding on?" He yelled to me.
I was holding on, but only to prepare myself for the inevitable impact when Grod failed to make that jump. "Yeah," I meant to scream, but before I could Grod pulled the pin connecting the side car to the bike. He turned hard left away from me to drive parallel to the canyon while I continued to hurtle perpendicularly toward it.
I stared after him for a second in disbelief, then turned to see the edge of the canyon closing in. The sidecar, which had been sliding more or less forward across the ground, crashed into a rock on the edge and tipped onto its side, and I jumped out. I landed on my left side, feeling an immediate pain in my ribs along with a more familiar pain in my leg. The sand and rocks tumbled past my vision as I rolled over several times toward the edge, then crunched into a sagebrush growing precariously on the very edge of the void. I struggled to my feet as quickly as my increasingly-battered body could manage and stared into the canyon. The sidecar was already far away, and I watched it tumble down the rocky wall and crash into another outcropping of rock, breaking into several pieces, before it disappeared in the dark fog filling the bottom of the canyon.
I couldn't stand any longer, and sat down in the wet sand. I squinted through the rain, searching for Grod and his would-be captors, but to no avail. Eventually I'd have to get up and try to make my way to civilization, but right now I just wanted to sleep and forget about the pain. I started to lay down but then the ground shook, and moments later, after I heard the explosion, the pain in my ears overshadowed the pain in my leg. At the edge of visibility a mushroom cloud grew upwards until it met the storm clouds.
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"Where are we going?" I shouted as loud as I could.
Grod turned his head away from me, vomited longer than I've ever seen anyone vomit, then turned his attention back to the desert just in time to sloppily dodge a car-sized boulder. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe and yelled back to me, "City limits, man, we've got to get the fuck out of this city." He sounded very, very drunk. I wanted to ask how far it was, how he knew where he was going, but I decided I didn't need a lapful of Grod vomit and kept my mouth shut.
Out of nowhere a gulf opened in the ground before us, and I realized that there was a canyon or gulch below us and we were about to fly over the edge. I felt the terribly familiar feeling of free-fall as the bike flew over a last small hill and onto the rocky ledge of the canyon. The fog began to move in as the water drove down onto the hot ground and began to blot out the horizon. I couldn't believe Grod could see where he was going. But just before the canyon edge rushed past, leaving us to hurtle into the certainly death-filled chasm, he swung the handlebars violently to the right, and we slid to a stop.
Out of the fog in front of us, fifteen or twenty feet away, a giant rock appeared, materializing in the distance like a skillful ghost. The top of this rock rose from the ground with a suspisciously uniform slope, and its edge hung five or six feet over the dropoff.
Behind, a distant buzzing reminded me that we were being chased. Grod looked at me, and I looked back at him. "Better hang the fuck on," he slurred out. He revved the engine, sending a frightening chill up my spine, and in a split second the bike sprinted toward the jump, throwing me back into the seat.
I turned again to see the van along with the Cadillac slowly closing in on us. From the opposite direction the chasm charged straight for us. Grod seem overly focused on going straight ahead, and from the gentle swerving from side to side, I judged he was failing.
"Are you holding on?" He yelled to me.
I was holding on, but only to prepare myself for the inevitable impact when Grod failed to make that jump. "Yeah," I meant to scream, but before I could Grod pulled the pin connecting the side car to the bike. He turned hard left away from me to drive parallel to the canyon while I continued to hurtle perpendicularly toward it.
I stared after him for a second in disbelief, then turned to see the edge of the canyon closing in. The sidecar, which had been sliding more or less forward across the ground, crashed into a rock on the edge and tipped onto its side, and I jumped out. I landed on my left side, feeling an immediate pain in my ribs along with a more familiar pain in my leg. The sand and rocks tumbled past my vision as I rolled over several times toward the edge, then crunched into a sagebrush growing precariously on the very edge of the void. I struggled to my feet as quickly as my increasingly-battered body could manage and stared into the canyon. The sidecar was already far away, and I watched it tumble down the rocky wall and crash into another outcropping of rock, breaking into several pieces, before it disappeared in the dark fog filling the bottom of the canyon.
I couldn't stand any longer, and sat down in the wet sand. I squinted through the rain, searching for Grod and his would-be captors, but to no avail. Eventually I'd have to get up and try to make my way to civilization, but right now I just wanted to sleep and forget about the pain. I started to lay down but then the ground shook, and moments later, after I heard the explosion, the pain in my ears overshadowed the pain in my leg. At the edge of visibility a mushroom cloud grew upwards until it met the storm clouds.
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© 2006 Ian Blake & Marshall Scott
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