Jackal (9 page)

I reached the parking lot of a large grocery store as a long black limousine swung into it. I smiled despite my nervousness. The limo looked sweet. The driver parked, and I pulled up beside his window. He wasn’t all that old, maybe a college student, and was wearing a suit and tie. He tried to ignore me, but I banged on the window and pointed to the bike rack attached to the back of the limo. His eyebrows raised, and he lowered his window.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.

“No joke,” I said, taking off my helmet and sunglasses.
“You’re my ride. You want me to put my bike on the rack? Or should you do it?”

The driver frowned. “Just a minute. I was told that I was driving a kid to go mountain biking, but I figured there would be, you know, a parent or adult along for the ride.”

“Nope, just me.”

“I’m not sure this is cool. I need to check into it.” He picked up a cell phone.

“My dad booked the limo for me,” I said hurriedly. “He’s a lawyer. You want to check with him?”

“A lawyer?” the driver said, putting the phone back down. “Well, if he doesn’t have a problem with it, we’re good. I’ll get your bike, kid. You get in the back.” He opened his door and got out.

I did my best to contain my relief, glad that he didn’t call my bluff. I got off of my bike and handed it over, then climbed into the rear of the limo, removing my hydration backpack. I closed the door and glanced around. This was easily the coolest vehicle I’d ever been in. You could only enter the gigantic rear passenger section from one side of the limo because the other side was a massive leather seat that wrapped almost all the way around the perimeter. You could probably fit ten adults back here. There was a small bar stocked with bottled water and soda. There were also two televisions and at least a dozen surround-sound speakers. LED rope lights ringed the ceiling, the lights pulsing to the beat of dance music.

I took off my riding gloves and found the stereo controls. I had begun to flip through the satellite radio stations
when the large glass window separating the passenger area from the driver slid down.

“Ready to roll,” the driver said. “Your name’s Jake, right? At least, that’s what they told me.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Nice to meet you, Jake. I’m Michael. You okay back there?”

“I’m great. This is pretty sweet.”

“It is. The water and soda are yours for the taking. If you need anything else, just bang on the glass.”

“Okay.”

Michael glanced at a GPS unit set into the dashboard. “I’ve got us going to Brown County State Park for a couple hours.”

“Yeah,” I said. “There’s a mountain bike trail called Pine Loop.”

“Sounds good. Anyplace else?”

“No. Just back home—” I paused. “Er … I mean, here.”

Michael smirked. “Your folks don’t really know that you’re doing this, do they? Otherwise, I’d have picked you up in front of your house.”

“Um—”

Michael raised a hand. “No need to answer that. I’d rather not know. Just remember this little conversation when it comes time to tip me at the end of the day.”

I didn’t reply. I’d forgotten about a tip. It looked like I was going to have to give him a big one.

Michael turned away, but then he looked back over his shoulder. “It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“You’re going to meet a girl, aren’t you? I mean, there aren’t any races or anything on a Monday afternoon, right? And you wouldn’t just drop three hundred bucks to ride a stupid trail for a couple hours.”

I felt my cheeks begin to redden. I
was
taking this trip because of a girl.

Michael smirked. “I knew it! Your secret is safe with me. She isn’t getting into the back of this limo, though.”

“No worries,” I said. “I … I mean,
we
are only going to ride the trails.”

Michael nodded. “Just watch yourself. Girls are nothing but trouble, believe me.” He looked away again, and the window rose back up.

I shook my head. How many lies was I going to tell today?

The limo began to move, and I turned off the radio. I saw a switch for the lights and turned them off, too. I grabbed the television remote and sank into the long plush leather seat. I flipped through a few satellite TV channels, but just like at home, there wasn’t anything interesting on.

I yawned and turned off the TV. I was suddenly tired. It seemed the flight from California, my ride with Hú Dié, and the stress over what I was about to do had taken its toll. I lay down and stretched out. The long, heavy vehicle absorbed every trace of road vibrations, making it feel as though I was back home on my living room couch. Two minutes later, I was sound asleep.

“Jake! Wake up!”

I opened my eyes to find that we’d arrived at the state park. I’d slept like a rock the entire drive. I sat up and saw
that the window between Michael and me was down. The limo was pulling up to the park’s entrance gate.

“I hope you brought some cash, Jake,” Michael said.

“Yeah,” I groaned, and I fished my wallet out of my pocket.

Michael stopped beside an entry gate and lowered his window.

“Five dollars, please,” a park ranger said.

I handed Michael a five-dollar bill, and he gave it to the ranger in exchange for a receipt to tape to the front windshield.

“What’s the best way to get to Pine Loop?” Michael asked.

The ranger handed him a map. “It’s in here. Very easy. Just stay on this road.”

“Thanks,” Michael said. He pulled away from the gate and unfolded the map.

I rubbed my eyes.

“Looks easy enough,” Michael said.

“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s not too far from this entrance.”

By the time I put on my helmet, sunglasses, and gloves in the back of the limo, Michael was already pulling into the Pine Loop parking lot. I didn’t see any other cars. Michael parked, and we both got out. He took my mountain bike off of the rack as I slipped my hydration backpack over my shoulders.

“Here you go,” Michael said, handing my bike to me. “I don’t see any sign of your honey.”

“What?” I asked.

“Your girlfriend.”

“Oh.” I glanced at the time on my phone. “It’s only two forty-five. I’m early.”

“Well, take your time. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be waiting inside the limo for you. If I’m asleep in the driver’s seat, just knock on the window. I’ll have it open at least partway because it’s kind of hot out here. Don’t get heatstroke or anything.”

“I won’t,” I said, pointing to the hydration hose clipped near my right shoulder.

Michael nodded and climbed into the driver’s seat, and I pedaled across the parking lot to Pine Loop’s start/end point.

It was indeed a hot day, but the moment I hit the trail, which was shaded by tall leafy brush, the temperature dropped at least five degrees. It dropped another five degrees once the brushy stretch ended and the trail opened up to huge, widely spaced oak trees.

I inhaled deeply, savoring the rich aromas of the forest. I felt my stress begin to melt away. My oversized mountain bike was designed for this type of trail, and it handled this section as smoothly as the limo had handled the open road.

The view was spectacular, with the trail running up and then down several deep ravines. I’d learned in science class that the glaciers of the last ice age had stopped advancing near Indianapolis, which is where I lived. The land was flat as a pancake there. Here, though, it was very hilly, like Kentucky or Tennessee.

I breezed along the edge of a particularly deep ravine and slowed down. The trail was under a yellow cautionary status, after all, and this stretch contained a few puddles
of water. Riding through the puddles would leave ruts on the trail that would then harden and make it miserable for future riders. Worse than that, puddles were slippery. I didn’t want to find myself slipping down that nasty drop.

I cleared the stretch along the ravine and wove around a few switchbacks, then over some small hills.

Then I stopped.

Before me was the steep, silty hill that Hú Dié and I had talked about. To one side was a thick cluster of ferns.

I climbed off my bike and pushed it into the ferns. I didn’t think anyone would be riding along this trail at this time of day on a weekday, but I wanted to play it safe. I found a big pine tree among the ferns and dropped my bike behind it. I scanned the area with my eyes as well as my nose, searching for signs of stinkhorn mushrooms.

The wind picked up for a second, and I caught a whiff of something rotten. I noted the direction of the breeze and started walking. I hadn’t gone more than fifty yards before the stench became almost unbearable. I was on a hillside, and near the top of the hill was a level section of ground that was noticeably darker than the rest of the earth around it. The dark ground was covered with slender mushrooms. Set into the rocky hillside behind the mushrooms were a bunch of pockets that resembled tiny caves.

I grinned. This was the place.

Pulling the collar of my shirt up over my nose, I took the rake from my backpack and headed for the spot where the caves met the stinkhorns. The ground was soft and squishy, and I immediately sank to my ankles. Warm, moist earth
oozed into my shoes and seeped through my socks, pooling between my toes.

I cringed. I hadn’t been expecting this.

I scanned the line where the flat spot of rich soil met the hillside, but I didn’t see any signs that somebody had been here, so I just started whacking away with the little rake. Bits of pungent, gooey earth went airborne, sticking to my legs and arms despite my best efforts to direct the muck away from me.

It took me half an hour of clawing at the rotten ground, but I eventually located Phoenix’s hiding spot. He’d blocked off one of the tiny caves with a few rocks and some rancid soil. The blue silk bag appeared to be intact, and I carefully opened it. Inside were several handfuls of gray powder that, even through the mushroom stink, had a strange odor best described as
old
. I remembered Ryan smelling like that whenever he sweated while taking dragon bone. This was it.

I closed the bag and—
SNAP!
—heard a stick break.

I looked back the way I’d come.

A gigantic man was walking toward me. He wore a bicycle helmet and sunglasses and was pushing a huge mountain bike. He stopped at the edge of the mushroom patch, and I noticed that his bare arms were covered with tattoos.

Tattoos of gorillas.

I froze.

“Hello, Jake,” DaXing said. “What’s in the bag?”

I stared at
DaXing, my feet frozen ankle-deep in the squishy ground. This was Gorilla, the guy who’d strangled DuSow to death with his gigantic hands.

I swallowed my urge to scream and asked, “Wh-what’s up, DaXing?”

“No time for small talk,” he said. “Give me the dragon bone.”

“Dragon bone?” I asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I—”

“Don’t make a fool of yourself, Jake. I respect both you and your friends for the manner in which you handled yourselves in California. I do not wish to hurt you. Hand over the dragon bone and be on your way. Forget you ever saw me, and I won’t tell anyone that I saw you. I imagine your parents would be quite upset if they were to discover that you rented a limousine so that you could dig up a questionable substance.”

“How did you—”

“Lin Tan once told me that he spied on Phoenix racing along this very trail, only to abandon the race. He thought Phoenix might have hidden some dragon bone here. The substance is my ticket back home to China without the authorities catching me. Hand it over.”

“I can’t,” I said, and shoved the blue silk bag into my backpack. I slung the pack onto my back.

DaXing leaned his bike against a tree and took two quick steps toward me onto the rich, gooey soil. His massive bulk made him sink almost up to his knees.

“Argh!”
DaXing shouted, and he began to try to pull himself free.

I grabbed the rake and made a break for it, slogging my way to the edge of the mushroom patch. I was half a step from solid ground when DaXing suddenly lunged at me like a linebacker diving at a running back. His thick arms were impossibly long, and he managed to grab hold of my ankle as he went—
SPLAT!
—face-first into the stinkhorns.

I wasn’t sure whether the mushrooms were toxic, but he let out a choked wail that suggested something unpleasant had just filled his mouth. I tried to jerk my leg free of his grasp, but he didn’t let go. I fell onto my side in the rich soil and kicked at his hand with my free foot. I heard small bones snap each time the metal bracket on the bottom of my riding shoe connected with the slender bones in the back of his hand. He grunted in pain and his other massive hand suddenly shot forward, latching on to my kicking foot.

DaXing began to roll in the rancid patch of soft, moist soil like a crocodile. I had no choice but to roll with him, but
I remembered the rake. The instant we both rolled out of the stinkhorns onto solid ground, I twisted around and sank its three sharp tines into the back of his hand. He howled and let go, and I scrambled to my feet.

DaXing pulled the rake free and managed to hurl it at me with amazing force and accuracy. I turned and ducked, and the rake bounced off the back of my bicycle helmet. The impact knocked me to my knees and I saw stars, but the helmet had taken the brunt of the blow. I was fine.