Powerslide (8 page)

“It's not going to work, Casey,” Jack said. “He's too tall, and he can't hold himself up.” I looked around for something to help us and grabbed my long board.

“Here,” I said, crouching down beside Jack. “Hold the other end of this. Goat can sit on it.”

Jack grabbed the board, and we helped Goat slide onto it.

“Put your arms around our necks, Goat. All right. Now, Jack, get up slowly,” I said once Goat was settled in the middle of the deck. Goat was heavy, and holding the board was awkward. “Good,” I said. “All right. One step at a time.”

It was going to be a very, very long walk.

chapter sixteen

We had no idea how long a walk it was to the base of the mountain. It felt as though we were walking endlessly over the same ground. Luckily we had the slope of the hill to guide us. Otherwise we would have ended up walking in circles.

Goat groaned occasionally but was mostly silent. His weight became more and more difficult to manage. Every ten minutes we had to set the board on the ground and rest. I rubbed my knee, which was feeling worse from bearing Goat's weight.

“This is going to take forever,” Jack said. “Maybe one of us should go get help and come back.”

“How would we do that, Jack? Leave a trail of bread crumbs? It's dark, and there's no way to know where we are.”

“I don't know. It's not like I've ever been in a situation like this before.” Goat was laid out on the ground between us, breathing in quick bursts.

“Why would your agent do all this?” I asked.

“What? The paparazzi stuff?”

“Sure. And getting someone to make it look like you're in trouble with the police.” Jack wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the ground. We were both shivering from the cold.

“He's my new agent,” Jack said. “My parents thought I needed someone fresh to help break into the regular film market. He's one of the best.”

“He sounds like an ass.”

“It's just the way he does business. The press, actors, directors—everyone knows this is how some agents work.”

I rubbed my knee, which felt as though it was seizing up. I wanted to lie down, but I knew I wouldn't be able to get back up again if I did. “It all seems so fake,” I said.

“Sure it does,” Jack said.

“So it doesn't bother you?” I asked.

“What, getting all that publicity? You know what they say, ‘no publicity is bad publicity.'”

“But it's not just publicity, right? I mean, you get accused of assaulting a girl, and people are going to think you would actually do something like that.”

“No, they won't. They might think that for a few days, until the real story comes out. And if people still thought I had done it, I would go on a talk show and say how disappointed I am about the situation and I had nothing to do with it. Then everyone sees I'm really a nice guy that got shafted, which makes me look even better.”

I couldn't understand any of it. And I wasn't certain I even wanted to be a part of this make-believe world. “We have to keep going,” I said, standing and stretching my leg out. I felt unbelievably tired, as though I could sleep for days.

“Okay,” Jack said, nodding his head. “All right. Let's keep going.”

We hoisted Goat up again and started moving. All three of us were shivering. The light rain had soaked our clothes through. We walked for about two minutes before a thick band of trees stopped us.

“Which way?” Jack said.

“Let's go this way,” I said, nodding to the left. As we turned, Jack caught his foot on a root and slipped. The board came out of my hands and Goat fell hard to the ground. Other than the thud of his body hitting the earth, he barely made a sound.

“Goat,” I said, shaking him. “Goat.” There was no response. He'd fallen forward and was lying with his face in the mud. “Help me roll him over,” I said to Jack. I grabbed Goat's shoulders, and Jack grabbed his legs. We gently rolled him onto his back. His eyes were still closed. I rubbed the mud off his face and put my ear to his mouth. He was breathing, but it sounded thin and weak. “He doesn't look good,” I said.

“There's a lot of blood down here,” Jack said.

I looked at Goat's leg. His pant leg was soaked with blood, and more was seeping onto the ground.

“What are we going to do?” Jack asked. “He's going to die out here. This isn't working. I can't carry him anymore.”

“What other choice do we have?” I said.

“I don't know!”

I wanted to start screaming “Help! Help!” over and over again. But who would hear us? I took a deep breath. “We have to keep going. At least until we can find some kind of marker.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like a really big tree or a path or
something
. Then one of us can run and get help.”

“He's completely out, Casey. It's like dragging dead weight.”

“Come on, help me get him up.” We sat there for a moment, holding Goat. I heard scurrying in the woods and remembered this was prime coyote territory. Jack got in behind Goat and held him forward. I flung one of his arms over my shoulders and sat him back on the board. “All right, get on the other side and lift him.”

Jack reached for Goat's other arm, and together we lifted him off the ground and back onto the long board.

“He's too heavy,” Jack said.

“No, he's not. Come on, we can do this.” There was more wrong with Goat than a broken ankle or wrist. His breathing was irregular, and blood dripped off his pant leg. If we didn't get him down the mountain soon, there was a good chance he wouldn't survive. “One step at a time, Jack. That's all we have to do.”

We stumbled forward. The forest thickened, making it difficult to keep the long board level. We didn't talk much except to give each other directions on how to navigate around a tree or to watch out for a thick root. The incline was leveling out, which probably meant we were nearing the bottom. But there was no way to know for sure.

“Let's put him down again,” Jack said.

“In a minute,” I said. I was afraid if I stopped, I wouldn't be able to stand up again, but I didn't want Jack to know. He was freaked-out enough already.

“I can't hold him,” Jack said. “I'm going to drop him.”

I kept walking. “No, you're not. You're going to keep carrying him.”

Jack closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

“You can do this, Jack.” We climbed over a series of large rocks and found a trail of sorts. “Wait a second,” I said.

Jack stopped. He looked down. “Is this a trail?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think I see something up ahead.”

“What? Where?”

“A field,” I said. “Over there. Come on, you can make it that far.”

“I can't, Casey. He's too heavy.”

“We don't have a choice, Jack. We have to get Goat out of here. If we stop, Goat dies.” Even before the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were true.

chapter seventeen

We shuffled down the trail. My arms were killing me. The rain had subsided, and a break in the clouds let enough moonlight through to wash the field in a hazy, silver glow. There was a fence around the field and a long cement water trough off to one side. “Let's get him over there,” I said, nodding toward the fence. We carried Goat a few more feet and then set him down with his back against the fence.

He still hadn't opened his eyes, and his skin was pale gray. I looked across the field for a farmhouse or some other structure.

Jack flopped down beside Goat. “Now what?” he said.

I didn't know where we were or which direction would take me to a road. The clearing was surrounded by forest. Why was there a field here? I slid the long board out from under Goat. “I'll go get help,” I said.

“And leave us here?” Jack said. He looked at Goat. “What if he dies?”

“He's not going to die,” I said, bending down close to Jack. “Because we're going to save him.” Jack stared at me. “You have to wait here, Jack. We can't leave him alone. I'll be back as soon as I can with help.” I stood up and scanned the edges of the field. There had to be a path leading to it.

“Hurry up, all right?” said Jack.

“I will. I promise.” I climbed over the fence and kept moving so my knee wouldn't seize. It ached, and a hot pain shot through it with every step.

I circled the perimeter of the fence looking for a gate. Three-quarters of the way around, I spotted a gap in the tree line and what looked like another path. Farther along, I found a break in the fence. I stepped through it and started to run as fast as my knee would allow.

The path was wide and snaked all over. Almost immediately, it cut back up the hill. I didn't want to be climbing. My knee didn't want me to be climbing. It felt as if I might be backtracking. But there was no other way to go, and I wasn't about to turn around. The trail had to lead somewhere. All I could do was follow it.

I had no idea what time it was or how long we'd been out in the forest, and I was exhausted. I needed to find help. I kept moving as best I could, dodging roots and rocks. The long board became heavier with every step. I was tempted to leave it on the side of the path. But what if I found a road ahead? It would be easier to skate than walk.

I slowed down to catch my breath. Being alone was scary. I could hear animals moving in the darkness. The trail was extremely narrow in some places, and I veered into the forest several times and had to find my way back out again.

A ridge jutted to the right. I stumbled over the top, tripped on something, and the next thing I knew, I was rolling down a mud-slick hill. I let go of the board, jammed my feet into the ground and came to a stop.

“Crap!” I yelled. My pant leg was torn, and my sore knee was bleeding. It was only a scrape, but it hurt even more than before. I sat down, stared at the blood oozing from my knee and felt like crying. What was I doing out here? Would I ever be a stunt double? What did Jack's agent's word mean when he obviously lacked any morals? Sara had been right. This whole thing was stupid and dangerous.

The trail looked as if it would keep going and going. I could be miles from a road. Maybe the trail didn't even meet up with a road. Maybe it was part of a giant web of trails through the woods. It was impossible to know. I tried to stand, and my knee gave out, dumping me back on the ground. I lay there with the back of my head in the mud and the rain pricking my face. I was in pain, but it didn't feel like I had any cracked bones. I heard a rustling in the woods behind me and used the long board as a makeshift crutch to stand. I grabbed a long stick with my other hand to use as a weapon in case an animal came out of the woods.

Then I took a step.

And another.

And another.

“This is all you have to do, Casey,” I said to myself. “You have to keep going.” The ground was muddy, and my foot slipped with each step.

I managed to cover ten feet before I stopped, dropped the stick and leaned against a tree to catch my breath. I was staring at the ground when I heard something. Not an animal in the woods, but something else. I listened carefully. It sounded like a stream, like water moving over rocks. But then it stopped. Streams don't stop. I listened harder, but there was nothing. I pushed off the tree, took a few steps, and then there it was again— the whooshing sound of water flowing over earth or—tires on wet pavement!

chapter eighteen

I squinted into the darkness. It had to be a road. And it couldn't be far. Maybe it was a hundred feet away? Start walking and count your steps, I told myself.

One.

Two.

“Help!” I yelled.

Three.

Four.

“I need help!” I leaned into the trail, jammed the long board into the ground in front of me and took another step. I saw the flash of headlights on trees.

“Keep going,” I said. “Just. Keep. Going.” I put my head down, determined not to look up until I reached the road. The incline wasn't very steep, but every step was a battle. The mud either sucked at my shoes or sent me sliding back down. I jammed the long board into the ground and used it like a claw to pull myself up the hill. My knee burned with white-hot pain. I gritted my teeth and heaved myself forward, trying not to think about the possibility that a nearby road was an illusion.

And then I looked up to find I was standing on the edge of a road that cut through the forest and curved downhill. Lights glowed at the bottom, a faint smudge of civilization in the distance.

I had no idea where I was. But it didn't matter. I looked back at the trail and tried to find a marker of some kind. A guardrail ended fifteen feet farther up the road. It wasn't distinct in any way, but I thought I could remember what it looked like when I came back with help.

I waited a couple of minutes for another car to pass. Nothing. It was the middle of the night, and this wasn't downtown LA. It could be hours before another car passed.

I checked where the trail was again, dropped my long board and put my foot on it. It felt as if someone had stabbed me in the knee. I bent over to squeeze and massage it. Then I tried again. I pushed once and quickly placed my back foot on the board. Then I knelt as close to the board as possible and let gravity do the rest.

The hill wasn't very steep, so I didn't pick up an unreasonable amount of speed. But soon enough I was cruising along faster than I wished. It was hard to steer. I considered sitting on the board, but sitting down would require stopping first. With my leg as it was, the only way for me to stop would be to bail, which would seriously hurt. So I kept going.

I rounded three corners, the wheels whipping along on the slick pavement. And then the road went straight down, and the glow I'd seen in the distance materialized into a line of streetlights and a flashing yellow traffic light.