The Ride - Chapter 17 Beek's Place at last!

[OMR]

Glen hadn’t noticed before but he did now. The temperature had slowly started to climb as the sun rose higher in the pale blue sky. The sweat was now running a small steady stream from underneath the helmet, down the side of his face, off his chin and onto the top tube of the bike. The cool breeze that had been gently blowing up the canyon had turned warm and then hot and now it felt like someone had turned on a hairdryer and was directing it at his face. His lips were starting to dry out and no matter how many swigs he took from the water sack, his throat remained dry.

He pulled to the side of the road, if you could call it that as the weeds had slowly taken over and all that remained was a narrow single track hardly used. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, he peered back over the canyon ledge and watched the trail down below. Nothing moved. Had they given up? He didn’t think so. He knew in his bones that they would never give up until they had caught him. He pulled a nutro bar out of the backpack, unwrapped it and took slow measured bites. He threw the wrapper on the ground than laughed at himself as he quickly picked it up. A tribe of bloody thirsty warriors were chasing him up a desolate mountain trail and he was worried about a little bit of litter. Well, old habits die hard and he just couldn’t throw trash on the ground.

Stuffing the wrapper in his pack, he swung a leg over the bike and pushed off again. He figured that he was nearing what use to be called Hidden Valley and he had a brief downhill before the trail turned upwards again.

Thirty minutes later he pulled into the remains of Beek’s Place. The first thing he noticed was how thick the foliage had become. The trees had taken over the place. The gnarled roots were everywhere. They now entangled the rock ruins that had stood the test of time. It didn’t look anything like the last time he had been here. Let’s see, how many life times ago was that? Glenn was too tired to count. He laid the bike against the low wall, noticed a large ant crawling along the top, slumped down, pulled off his sweaty helmet and took another long pull on the water sack that was getting considerably lighter. He pulled off his salt incrusted gloves and laid them along with the helmet on the top of the wall. He got shakily to his feet and walked over to the edge of the canyon and looked down hoping to see to movement below.

He could see them now. Three slow moving dots. Only they weren’t moving that slow. His lead had been cut into considerably. At this rate they would catch him in another hour or two. He started back towards the bike intending to climb on and continuing to pedal. But a thought occurred to him. It was better to pick your battle ground as he knew he was going to have to fight. Glen glanced around looking for some type of weapon to fight with but nothing came to mind…. The rocks were too big to effectively throw. There was a rather large pile of broken boards and what looked to be some old bailing wire. He winced as something bit him on the leg. Looking down he saw that he was standing next to a line of rather large vicious looking ants. Several had broken away from the line and had crawled onto his leg. Funny, he hadn’t felt them until one bit him. The bite was already inflamed and beginning to swell … and it hurt like hell! They must have mutated over the course of time. Bloody Hell, that single bite felt like a knife had been plunged into his leg. He quickly stepped aside out of the way of the mutant ants and picked up his pack and searched and found the first aid kit. The insect sting medicine he found quickly brought the sharp pain under control. It was now replaced by a dull ache. Rotten little buggers, Glen thought staring down at them. He followed the trail of ants to a rather large hole in back of the ruins that was probably 6 foot deep. It must have been a water cistern at one time Glen thought. The ants had moved in and had built a network of tunnels beneath the ground. They were all busy coming and going. It was then that Glen noticed the piles of bones around the holes. I wonder what they ate, Glen thought. He stared down at the ants and the longer he stared the more a plan began to form in his mind. You know it might just work….it might work, indeed, he mused. Funny how necessity is always the mother of invention.

The sun has high and hot when the first of the warriors approached Beek’s Place. They didn’t all come in at once. A single warrior slowly approached the ruins. He stopped and stood still and sniffed the air for any possible trace of Glen... They had been hurt by the surprise Glen had left for them at the car and they didn’t want to repeat that again. Several of their brothers had been burned beyond recognition. Two the trackers carried burn marks on their bodies as well. No, they didn’t want to repeat that mistake again. They moved quickly and quietly through the ruins. Everything seemed to be as it should. There were Glen’s tracks and the tracks of the bike. He had stopped here for a minute. Then they saw the food wrappers that lead off to the right of the stone ruins. Sensing their quarry might be close; they dropped into a crouch, pulled long wicked looking knives from their belts and silently moved forward. This was going to be a fun kill with a nice meal at the end.

Glen had watched all of this from his vantage point high up in one of the trees. The heavy foliage had successfully hidden him from the warriors below. Their concentration had been on the food wrappers leading around to the back of the ruins. He began to have doubts about his plan. There were just too many things that could go wrong and those long knives the warriors held in front of them were extremely dangerous looking. The warriors had stopped at the edge of the pit and looked down. What they saw had them excited and they leaned further over the side trying to peer into a black mass of swarming ants at the bottom of the pit. They could just make out the remains of Glenn’s shirt.

Adjusting the bailing wire that he had secured around his waist and to an upper tree branch, Glenn muttered, Oh well, here goes nothing, and swung down into the backs of the warriors. The wire held as his feet solidly connected against the backs of two of the warriors. They pitched face first into the pit. Their screams filled the air. Glen had no time to celebrate his victory as the last warrior had thrown himself to the side and had quickly gotten to his feet, knife in hand and looking for blood.

Glen’s momentum had carried him out over the pit of angry ants. He felt the wire starting to come loose around his waist. Suddenly, he didn’t like his survival chances. Willing himself to clear the pit, the wire released him and he found himself rolling on the ground on the other side of the pit. Dazed, he raised himself up on one arm trying to clear the cobwebs out of his head and saw that the other warrior was almost upon him. Glen arm collapsed, and his body fell backwards…thus saving his life as the curved knife bit into the ground where his head had been.

Glen kicked out almost instinctively, knocking the long blade from the warrior’s hand. The warrior landed on Glen pinning him to the ground, with one arm under him…his hands around Glen’s throat. Time seem to slow considerably. Glen could smell the warrior’s breath. It smelled of rotted decaying flesh. The warrior’s eyes were locked with Glen’s. He noticed that they were a strange kind of yellow. His face had been painted with white and black streaks. A single feather hung down from the back of his head. It was white against the long black strands of his hair. All the while they were struggling not a sound was made by either. The warrior’s choke hold on his throat was having an effect. Glen’s vision was beginning to darken. It can’t end like this, Glen thought. But it seemed it was going to.

He had one last trick up his sleeve and it had to work. With his one free hand he pulled the traffic flare free from his belt. He had had the good sense to pick this up from the car when he was stuffing his pack with anything he could find. Banging the head of the flare on the rocky ground, he it ignited, and none too soon. His vision had shrunk almost to a dot. He hardly remembered jamming the lighted end into the warrior’s eyes. The warrior screamed and clawed at his face, rolled off of Glen, got up and stumbled into the pit. The hungry ants made quick work of another dinner guest.

Glen slowly came back to full consciousness. He still held the burning flare in his hand. He rose up on one knee and stared down into the boiling mass of ants. He could almost make out the outline of the last warrior. The first two were gone completely. He shivered, thinking about being consumed by thousands of ants. Lofting the flare into the pit, it exploded into instant flame. He felt no remorse in killing those that had saved him. In fact he didn’t feel anything at all…. Not since they had killed Sandy.

He slowly rose and walked over to his bike that he had hidden in the dense foliage. Looking down, he saw one of the long curved knives that the warriors had carried. He picked it up and stuck it into his belt. Somehow it gave him a little comfort. He picked his pack up, slung it on, picked the bike up and walked over to the warrior’s bikes that had been left several yards down the path. They all looked to be a hodge podge of parts. Glen was surprised that they worked at all, yet they had ridden them very well and extremely fast. His old biking buddies would have laughed at them… but that was before Glen had seen them in action. He picked them up one by one and carried them over to the burning pit and threw them in. He wanted nothing left for others to find. Donning his helmet and gloves, he slowly pedaled up the trail.

At first he thought he might go back down the way he had come. The warriors that had been tracking him were now dead. But a glance down the canyon convinced him that he could only continue onward. He saw in the distance another group of warriors coming up the canyon. This was a much larger group. He lost count after 20. He had won a temporary victory at best. They were still coming after him. He had to make a plan, yet nothing came to mind and he was running out of time and tricks very quickly and the heat was becoming unbearable. It must be a hundred degrees out here, Glen thought.

It was at this opportune moment that his front tire blew out.

[KeepsWhatHappens]

Good stuff Gregg!

[onlyontwo]

KEEP IT COMING! Great work Gregg...love every minute.

Andy

[genusmtbkr5]

Just in the nick of time buddy, we all needed a good story.

[Kpeony]

Brilliant! I love a good bedtime story! Tell me more! K

[OMR]

Chapter 18 is coming along nicely. It's funny, when the weather sucks, I seem to write more... or is it just because I can't ride?