Grave Shadows (5 page)

Chapter 15

Sam took off and my stomach fell.
It’s that first rush of lifting off the ground that’s strange. Jeff was staring out the window. “5,281, 82, 83 . . . ,” he said, pretending to announce our altitude after taking off from the Mile High City.

“You’re not going to do that the whole trip, are you?” I said, smiling.

We headed west toward the mountains with Sam pointing out the stadiums where the Rockies and Broncos play. As we rose, Denver took on the look of a lot of cities. A haze shrouded the buildings. Cars looked like they were going in slow motion, and the roads looked like a Mattel racetrack.

“Where are we going, Mr. Timberline?” Jeff said.

“Your route,” Sam said.

Jeff conked himself on the forehead with the heel of a hand. “What a great idea.”

We followed Interstate 70 into the mountains and were soon over the starting place for our bike trip. Jeff was going to spend a night at a camp where people with cancer relax and have fun. I would join him the next day.

The camp sat in the middle of a big forest surrounded by ski runs.

Sam said in his growly voice, “The bike trail runs along that stream—”

“I see it!” Jeff shouted. “Looks just like I thought.”

Sam banked left and followed the roads and paths we would take through the first leg of our journey. It didn’t look difficult from the air, but sometimes looks can fool you.

Sam flew low along the mountains, and every glance at the rocks and trees looked like a different page from a nature calendar. Huge slabs of rock rose out of the earth like castles, and I wondered what it would look like from the ground.

Sam pointed out a town where we would stop. Then we headed south toward Buena Vista. We flew over a campground—another planned stop—and soared through a valley that stretched for miles.

“I admire you guys for even attempting this,” Sam said.

“You should see all the sponsors I’m getting,” Jeff said. “With all the pledges so far, I’ll make $25,000 for the research fund if we finish.”

“Put me down for a dollar a mile,” Sam said.

Jeff smiled and scribbled on a pad of paper.

Sam dipped lower, and the ground came rushing up at us.

“Buffalo!” Jeff yelled.

A herd grazed in an open field. They must have been used to low-flying planes because we didn’t seem to bother them.

A yellow car pulled into a gas station on a lonely stretch of road, and I thought about Hayley’s cousin. Was he out here somewhere, lost and alone? Had he been banged on the head and forgotten his name?

Sam flew over Wilkerson Pass, one of my favorite places in the whole state. He showed us where we’d ride, winding through Woodland Park. We flew over the Garden of the Gods, where we’d finish. My legs were tired just looking at the route.

Jeff beamed. “Think of crossing the finish line. It’s going to be the best thing I’ll ever do in my life.”

Fear washed over me. What if I was the one who couldn’t finish? What if I let Jeff down?

Chapter 16

Jeff’s Diary

by Jeff Alexander

I’d like to welcome Colorado Springs readers to my column. My name is Jeff Alexander, and I’m like any 13-year-old kid, except I have cancer. This weekend is the biggest of my life because I’m riding 200 miles in a bike hike with my friend Bryce. A store donated a special bike we can ride together, and we’re really looking forward to it.

By the time you read this, I’ll be on the road, pedaling my feet off and breathing the fresh Colorado air. You can’t begin to understand how excited I am. I’ve been waiting and hoping for this for months, and now it’s finally here.

The great thing is, lots of people are sponsoring me for 25 cents a mile or even a few dollars a mile, and all the money goes to cancer research. In the hospital kids just like me are fighting for their lives, but you’d never know it. They’re really neat people who just have something wrong with them.

I’ve learned a lot over the past few months about what’s important, what’s not important, and to make every day count. I believe God gives us life for a reason, and when we get sick, he can use that too. (If you don’t believe in God, that’s okay. I just hope you give him a chance, because he really loves you a lot.)

People ask me sometimes what it’s like to not know how much longer you’re going to live. My dad let me see part of the movie
Braveheart
once where William Wallace says, “Every man dies; not every man really lives.” Whether I die in 50 years or 50 days, I want people to say that I really lived.

So if you see a lot of bikes and people wearing the same blue and red shirts, slow down and wave. We’re just people who want to really live and help others do the same.

Chapter 17

I found out that Darren Baldwin works
at the RadioShack in Red Rock, in a little strip mall near some restaurants. Before dinner I rode my ATV close to town and walked the rest of the way.

The sun, which is almost always out where we live, was staying up longer. Kids rode bikes on the middle school parking lot, trying to jump over a wood ramp they’d set up. Others played baseball behind the school.

The RadioShack sat between Red Rock Donuts and Spotless Dry Cleaners. A sign read Summer Blowout Sale. The store was packed with electronic gadgets, remote-control cars, TVs, batteries, computers, and every cable and plug ever invented.

An older man behind the counter looked over his glasses and asked if he could help me.

I felt like I should buy something, especially if I was going to ask questions. I touched the battery display. “I need double As for my CD player.”

He came out from behind the counter and recommended a package. I looked at the price and gulped, then grabbed the smallest one. “Darren working today?” I said.

The man’s eyebrows went up. “As a matter of fact he is. Darren?”

Darren ducked as he came through the low-hung door. He was thin and had a fair complexion, with freckles and white skin, and sandy red hair. His long arms reminded me of a jazz piano player I had seen on TV.

I introduced myself and said, “I hear you’re a friend of Gunnar Roberts.”

“Known him since we were kids. Why?”

“I’m trying to help find him. Any idea where he could be?”

Darren looked at the manager, and the man must have nodded or something because Darren relaxed. He pointed to a stool in the other room, and I sat. A computer lay on a workbench with lots of tools spread around. “Haven’t talked with Gunnar for a few weeks,” Darren said. “It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Went to a Rockies game. Sat in the Rockpile and tried to get a tan. I just got burned.”

“He didn’t say anything about leaving?”

He shook his head. “We talked about our jobs, girlfriend stuff.”

“He has a girlfriend?”

“Taryn broke up with him. He said she was really ticked.”

“Ticked enough to hurt him?”

He shrugged. “Never thought of that.”

I wrote down her name, and Darren told me where she lived. He chuckled. “You a junior detective or something?”

If I had a nickel for every time I heard that . . .
“You think Gunnar could have done something to himself? Was he that upset about this girl?”

He frowned. “Kill himself? Nah. He was squirrelly, always has been. But he wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“What do you mean, squirrelly?”

“He’d go off for a couple of days, and we wouldn’t know where he was. Take his dog and hike or go up in the mountains four-wheeling, I guess. He never told me what he did.”

“He have problems at work?”

“Didn’t like his job, but he needed the money for car payments. He always talked about winning the lottery.”

The store manager moved around behind us, and Darren shifted in his chair.

“I’d better go,” I said, standing and moving to the front counter. Darren followed and took the money for the batteries. “Any idea where he might have gone in the mountains?”

He shook his head.

“Was his Jeep muddy when he came back?”

He thought for a minute as he handed me my change. “He kept that thing spotless. I don’t ever remember him coming back with dirt on it.”

I thanked him and left. I looked back as I walked through the parking lot and saw Darren watching me through the window.

Chapter 18

The next day
was Jeff’s dad’s turn for a surprise. Just as Jeff and I were hitting the driveway on the bike, he pulled in front of us, hopped out, and grabbed something from the backseat. “These just came in. Try them on.”

“Dad, we already have helmets,” Jeff said.

“Not like these,” he said.

They looked like regular helmets, except they had little microphones. “You guys won’t have to yell at each other during your rides with these.”

We pulled the helmets on and flicked the switch for the microphone. I could hear every word Jeff said, even when he whispered.

We thanked his dad, and as we pedaled away I said, “Pretty neat, huh?”

“Dad’s having a hard time.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t want me to do this bike trip until Mom convinced him. I guess he’s entitled to have a hard time, though. Dad’s gotta let go of me a lot sooner than most.”

Jeff talked about his dad until we reached the Santa Fe Trail.

“Ready to kick up some dust?” I said.

“Hit it,” Jeff said.

We flew down the trail all the way to the Air Force Academy. The ride back was harder, especially for Jeff, but we made it in our fastest time yet. The trip was a little farther than we’d ride our first full day.

We stopped to have a drink. Each day I was feeling stronger, and my rear was getting used to the seat. Jeff went into a jiffy toilet and kept his helmet on. We found we could walk a long way away from each other and still talk through the microphones. I asked if there’d been any weird people at his house helping the family.

“That Denise girl is strange,” he said. “I don’t know why she comes over. She doesn’t want to be there—either her parents make her or she thinks bringing food to sick people will help her get into heaven.”

“How often does she come?”

“Every few days. And then there’s the lady who cleans our place. Mom says her family’s pretty poor. She takes one look at me and starts crying. I just go to my room when she shows up.”