The ambulance and EMTs arrived, and T.J. gratefully got out of the way. By then, the rider had taken off his own helmet and mask. He had brown hair a few inches long, a lean tanned face covered with sweat. He gasped for breath and winced with pain. When he moved, it was as if he’d slept wrong and cramped his muscles, not just tumbled over fifty yards at forty miles an hour.
At his side, an EMT pushed him back, slipped a breathing mask over his face, started putting a brace on his neck. The second EMT brought over a back board. Price pushed the mask away.
“I’m
“Lie
Grinning, Price laid back.
T.J. felt like he was watching something amazing, miraculous. He’d
Price rolled his eyes, caught T.J.’s gaze, and chuckled at his gaping stare. “What, you’ve never seen someone who’s invincible?”
The EMT’s shifted him to the board, secured the straps over him, and carried him off.
“Looks like he’s gonna be okay,” Mitch said, shrugging off his bafflement.
Invincible, T.J. thought. There wasn’t any such thing.
At the track the following weekend, T.J. was tuning Gary’s second bike when Mitch came up the aisle and leaned on the handlebars. “He’s back. Did you hear?”
The handlebars rocked, twisting the front tire and knocking T.J.’s wrench out of his hand. He sighed. “What? Who?”
“Price, Alex Price. He’s totally okay.”
“How is that even possible?” T.J. said. “You saw that crash. He should have been smashed to pieces.”
“Who knows? Guys walk away from the craziest shit.” Mitch went to the cab and pulled a beer out of the cooler.
It was true, anything was possible, Price might have fallen just right, so he didn’t break and the bike didn’t crush him. Every crash looked horrible, like it should tear the riders to ribbons, and most of the time no one was hurt worse than cuts and bruises. In fact, how many people even looked forward to the crashes, the spike of adrenaline and sense of horror, watching tragedy unfold? But something here didn’t track.
T.J. tossed the wrench in the tool box, closed and locked and lid, and set out to find Price.
Today was just practice runs; the atmosphere at the track was laid back and workmanlike. Not like race days, which were like carnivals. He went up one aisle of trucks and trailers, down the next, not sure what he was looking for—if he was local, Price probably didn’t ride for a team, and wouldn’t have sponsors with logos all over a fancy trailer. He’d have a plain homespun rig. His jacket had been black and red; T.J. looked for that.
Turned out, all he had to do was find the mob of people. T.J. worked his way to the edge of the crowd that had gathered to hear Price tell the story. This couldn’t have been the first time he told it.
“I just tucked in and let it happen,” Price said, a smile drawing in his audience. He gave an “awe, shucks” shrug and accepted their adoration.
T.J. wanted to hate the guy. Not sure why. He wasn’t quite his type. Or maybe it was the matter of survival. Price had survived, and T.J. wanted to. Arms crossed, looking skeptical, he stood off to the side.
Price looked friendly enough, smiling with people and shaking all the hands offered to him, but he also seemed twitchy. He kept glancing over his shoulder, like he was looking for a way out. T.J. worked his way forward as the crowd dispersed, until they were nearly alone.
“Can I talk to you privately?” T.J. said.
“Hey, I remember you,” Price said. “You helped, right after the crash. Thanks, man.”
T.J. found himself wanting to glance away. “I just want to talk for a second.”
“Come on, I’ll get you a beer.”
Price led him to the front part of the trailer, which was set up as a break area—lawn chairs, a cooler, a portable grill. From the cooler he pulled out a couple of bottles of a microbrew—the good stuff—and popped off the caps by hand. Absently, T.J. wiped the damp bottle on the hem of his T-shirt.
“What’s the problem?” Price asked.
T.J. wondered if he really came across that nervous, that transparent. He was trying to be steady. “The crash last week. What really happened?”
Price shrugged. “You were there. You saw the whole thing.”
T.J. shook his head. “Yeah. I saw it. You shouldn’t be standing here—your legs were smashed, your whole body twisted up. Everyone else can write it off and say you were lucky, but I’m not buying it. What really happened?”
He expected Price to deny it, to wave him away and tell him he was crazy. But the guy just looked at him, a funny smile playing on his lips. “Why do you want to know? Why so worked up over it?”
So much for playing it cool. “I need help.”
“And why do you think I can help you? What makes you think I can just hand over my good luck?”
He was right. T.J.’s own panic had gotten the better of him, and he’d gone grasping at soap bubbles. Whatever he’d seen on the day of the crash had been his own wishful thinking. He’d wanted to see the impossible.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Never mind.” Ducking to hide his blush, he turned away, looking for a place to set his untasted beer before he fled.
“Kid, wait a minute,” Price called him back, and T.J. stopped. “What’s your name?”
“T.J.”
“What would you say if I told you you’re right?”
“About what?”
“I’m invincible. I can’t be killed. Not by a little old crash, anyway. Now—what are you looking to get saved from? What are you so scared of?”
Now that he’d said it, T.J. didn’t believe him. Price was making fun of him. And how much worse would it be if T.J. actually told him? He turned to leave again.
“Hey. Seriously. What’s wrong? Why are you so scared of dying that you need me?”
T.J. took a long draw on the beer, then said, “I just tested positive for HIV.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud. It almost hurt.
“Rough,” Price said.
“Yeah.” T.J. kicked his toe in the dirt. And what did he expect Price say to him? What could anyone say? Nothing.
“Hey,” Price said, and once again T.J. had to turn back, obeying the command in his voice. “What are you willing to do to turn that around? You willing to become a monster?”
“You talk to some people, I already am,” T.J. said, putting on a lopsided smile.
“You know about the Dustbowl?”
“Yeah.”
“Stop by tonight, seven or seven-thirty. If you’re really sure.”
“Sure about what?” he asked.
“Just show up and I’ll explain it all.” He walked away, past the trailer to the cab of the truck. Meeting over.
It seemed like an obvious trap—he’d show up and walk into a beating. The Dustbowl was one of the bars up the road; some of the riders liked to hang out there. Not Gary—he was serious about riding and didn’t feel much of a need to show how tough he was off the track. T.J. had stayed away; the place had an uncomfortable vibe to it, a little too edgy, though it was hard to tell if the atmosphere was just for show. He preferred drinking at one of the larger bars, where he didn’t stand out so much.
He didn’t know whether to believe there really was something different about Price, something that had saved him from the awful wreck, or if Price was making fun of him. He could check it out. Just step in and step back out again if he didn’t like the look of the place. Make sure Mitch knew where he was going in case something happened and he vanished.
