Wired

Sigmund Brouwer

orac
currents

Copyright © 2005 Sigmund Brouwer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Brouwer, Sigmund, 1959-
Wired / Sigmund Brouwer.

(Orca currents)
ISBN 1-55143-478-4

I. Title. II. Series.

PS8553.R68467W57 2005       jC813'.54      C2005-904404-7

Summary
: Keegan must snowboard to safety

First published in the United States, 2005
Library of Congress Control Number:
2005929719

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.

Cover design: Lynn O'Rourke
Cover photography: First Light

Orca Book Publishers       Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 5626, Stn. B      PO Box 468
Victoria, BC Canada     Custer, WA USA
V8R 6S4     98240-0468

www.orcabook.com

Printed and bound in Canada
Printed on 50% post-consumer recycled paper,
processed chlorine free using vegetable, low VOC inks.
08 07 06 05 • 4 3 2 1

I stood at the top of the mountain. Above me was bright blue sky and pale winter sun. Below me was a mile to the finish line. Steve, my coach, stood beside me. He wanted me to reach the finish line in less time than it takes to eat a sandwich.

“Keegan,” he said. “I see that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“You're thinking about Garth. Don't.”

Yes, I was thinking about Garth, one of the other racers on the team. Garth had broken both his legs during a time trial a couple of weeks earlier. And just like the run that had hurt him, this was a time trial too. I had to ace this run if I wanted to keep my number-one spot on the racing team. But that meant going really fast. And fast meant I could get hurt like Garth.

“Quit worrying about the speed, Keegan. Relax.”

When someone tells you not to think about something, it is the first thing you think of.

Speed. When I reached full speed my skis would be moving at 110 kilometers an hour. I would be standing on those skis. This meant I, too, would be moving 110 kilometers an hour. That is almost as fast as people fall from airplanes. Before they open their parachute.

I didn't have a parachute. Worse, skis are about as wide as a credit card and not much thicker. As a downhill skier, my job is to stand on those thin flat pieces of plastic and metal and make sure I don't fall.

What I really don't like to think about is that 110 kilometers an hour is the same as traveling thirty meters a second. My friend Mike, who likes to scare me, figured that out. Worse, after figuring it out he told me. So now I know that in the time it takes for me to breathe in and out my body will shoot the length of a football field.

At that speed, if I fall off those thin flat pieces of plastic and metal I will spend the rest of my life in a hospital. Eating jelly. Drinking warm milk. Getting yelled at by big ugly nurses.

“Keegan, I still see that look on your face.”

“Sorry,” I said. I smiled, hiding what I always hide on the slopes. I am a coward.

“That's better,” he told me. “Are you ready?”

“Sure,” I lied like I always did. I wasn't going to let anyone know I was afraid. Not Keegan Bishop, provincial champion downhill skier. No one was supposed to know my biggest secret.

“Now remember, when you get to the bottom confirm with the timekeeper that you're our last guy today. We'll be opening the run for the public as soon as you're down the hill.”

I nodded.

Steve continued. “And remind the officials that your number is wrong.”

On my back was a small jersey with big white numbers. Another guy on the team, Budgie McGee, had accidently taken my number. We hadn't noticed until he had gone, so I had his number on my back. It didn't matter, though, as long as I told the guys with the clipboards at the bottom of the hill.

I looked over at the timekeeper at the top. He nodded.

“Go!” My coach yelled.

I went.

I blinked twice. The wind filled my lungs. It filled my ears like the roar of a freight train.

I cut left to miss a boulder sticking out of the snow. I ducked beneath a branch. I hit a
jump at freeway speed. It launched me into the air at least one story off the ground. I leaned forward and made sure my skis stayed straight.

I thumped back to earth and crouched low, so I would block less wind. At this speed, the trees on each side of the slope seemed like flashing fence boards.

Halfway down the run I knew I was skiing the best I ever had. If I kept pushing, I would easily stay at number one.

Beneath my helmet, I grinned my grin of fear. And as I cut into a steep turn, I saw it. But couldn't believe it.

Wire. Black wire stretched between two trees at waist height. I was flashing toward it at thirty meters per second. Hitting the wire at that speed would slice me in two.

I dropped my poles and crouched lower on my skis. At 110 kilometers per hour this was not as easy as sitting down for supper. But I had no choice.

The wire scraped the top of my helmet as I slid beneath it. I wobbled. To keep my balance, I slapped my hand on the snow. My hand bounced off. I nearly fell over the other way. I fought to stay on my skis for another hundred meters. The sky tilted around me.
The snow seemed to spin. The trees were rising and falling at crazy angles. Still I did not fall.

Finally, I was able to turn and dig the edges of my skis into the snow. I began to slow down.

Just when I thought I was safe, I hit a patch of ice. My skis slid out from under me. I began to tumble and roll down the hill. I felt like a cannon ball rolling down a set of stairs.

The best thing to do in a fall is also the hardest thing to do. You have to make yourself go limp like a rag doll. If you are too tense, you can rip your muscles and snap your bones.

I waited to stop tumbling. It wasn't until I fell into some deep soft snow at the edge of the trees that I finally stopped.

I tasted for blood. Sometimes when you fall you bite your tongue. No blood.

I blinked. My eyelids worked. I wiggled my fingers. They worked too. So did my arms. And my legs. That was a good sign. If I could move all my body parts, then I hadn't broken my back.

This made me want to quit. Again. Every time I fell, I wanted to quit. Every time I stood at the top, waiting to begin another run, I wanted to quit. That's what fear will do to a person. But I couldn't let anyone know I was afraid.

But this had been too close. I could have ended up like Garth who was still in a hospital. Eating jelly. Drinking warm milk. Getting yelled at by big ugly nurses.

I took off my helmet and shook my hair loose.

Then I realized something. Black wire stretched between two trees is not an accident. What if something similar had happened to Garth?

If Garth's broken legs hadn't been an accident, there were questions I didn't want to think about.

Like who was doing this? And why?

I had my questions. But I also had something else to worry about.

The wire was still stretched between the trees. This run was closed for the racers to
use for time trials. I had been the last one in our group to go. That meant I didn't have to worry about anyone else on our team. But now that I was finished, the run would be open to other skiers.

Any minute, someone else might come over the hill—someone who wouldn't be able to duck in time. A wire like that could kill a person.

I stepped on the bindings and popped my boots loose from the skis. I tried to stay on the hard-packed run, but running back up the hill wasn't easy. My boots kept sinking into the snow. I felt like I was in one of those dreams where the monster is chasing you and your shoes seem to be glued to the ground.

I kept looking up the hill for skiers. I was ready to yell a warning if I saw someone.

I made it to the wire. No skiers yet. My heart was ready to explode. Running uphill in snow and ski boots is hard work.

I saw that the end of the wire was wrapped around one tree and twisted tight. It would have been easier if I had pliers. But all I had were fingers and fear.

I began to untwist. The wire was heavy and stiff. It cut through my ski gloves. I kept untwisting. It cut into the skin of my fingers. Finally, I had it nearly unwrapped.

I heard the sound of skis on snow. Someone was coming down the hill!

All I saw was the shiny purple of a ski suit and flying blonde hair as the girl came over the top of the rise. She was headed straight toward the wire. Not on skis, but on a snowboard.

“Stop!” I shouted. “Stop!”

I was too late.

She was going fast and didn't have a chance. The wire caught her across the middle of her body.

She screamed.

I thought the wire would slice her to pieces. It didn't. She hit the wire hard and yanked loose the last bit of wire that was still around the tree. She flipped over. As she fell, her snowboard and ankles got caught in the wire. She slid until she reached the end of the wire and then she snapped to a stop like a dog running to the end of its leash.

The girl yelped.

I ran over as fast as I could. “Are you all right?” I asked as I helped her to her feet.

She didn't thank me for saving her life. She punched me in the face.

“Hey!” I shouted. “What was that for?”

“You jerk!” she shouted back. “You could have killed me!”

She took another swing at me. I grabbed her wrist just before her fist hit my face a second time.

“Killed you?” I was breathing hard from running. My face hurt from her punch. And now this girl in a purple ski suit thought I had tried to kill her? “No way, I was trying to—”

“Do you think that kind of joke is funny?” She pulled her arm away from me. She gave me a dirty look. “What if you had tied the wire completely tight before I hit it? It could have sliced me in two.”

“I was trying to untie it.”

“Sure,” she said. It didn't sound like she believed me.

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a cell phone.

“Could we talk about this before you call the police or anyone else?” I said, “Here, look at my fingers. See the blood? I was trying to untie the wire when you came down.”

“Or,” she said, “you were just finished tying it and couldn't get away in time.”

“Sure. I'm on a timed run for the racing team and thought I'd just stop for a few minutes. You know, because I'm so much faster than anyone I wanted to give them a chance.”

She snapped her cell phone shut.

“So maybe you're telling the truth about the wire,” she said.

“Maybe?” I pointed at my skis farther down the hill.

“See,” I said. “The wire nearly got me too. That's where I fell. I came back up the hill in case anyone was behind me.”

She stared at me for long seconds.

“I'm sorry,” she said. She looked at the ground. “You probably saved my life.”

In a movie, she would have leaned forward and kissed me.

This wasn't a movie. I licked blood off my lip. It was dripping from my nose where she had punched me. Instead of kissing me, she unzipped a pocket and found some tissue. She wiped the blood off my face.

“What's your name?” she asked. She had an accent and spoke like the tourists from New York. Her hair was blonde and straight. She had light green eyes. She looked like she could be a model.