Speed Times Five (7 page)

Victoria leaned on the brothers and limped a bit as they returned to camp. “Do not worry,” she said. “I have only twisted it. It will be fine.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “But maybe you should leave the searching to other people.”

“But Georges is my brother,” Victoria said.

“We'll look for him as though he were our own brother,” Joe assured her.

The camp was already organizing a search by the time they got back. Checkpoint official Sullivan was on the phone to race HQ, requesting assistance.

“They say they'll send a couple of choppers,” Sullivan said. “We're checking with the event photographers, too—to see if they can give us a clue where Mr. Clemenceau might have disappeared to. It would help, Ms. Clemenceau, if you'd stay with us and give us some more information.”

Victoria Clemenceau nodded. “Of course,” she said, rubbing her twisted ankle.

“We'll organize some other racers,” Frank said. “Trace back along the route to see if we can find him.”

“I wouldn't recommend that,” Sullivan said. “We don't want anyone else lost. Our people should be able to cover it.”

“What if he's hurt?” Joe said. “Time could be essential. Don't worry about Frank and me. We're experienced.”

“So am I,” Kelly Hawk said, approaching the group. “I'll go with you. Three people can cover more ground than two.”

“Great,” said Frank. “Find another person and we can form two teams. Maybe Michael Lupin—he has the outdoor survival experience.”

Kelly frowned but said, “Okay. I guess we can't be too choosy at this point.” She sprinted off and quickly returned with Lupin in tow. Lupin didn't look too pleased at being drafted, but he didn't complain.

“The official search team will be taking the main trail,” Frank said, having coordinated his plan with Sullivan while Kelly was gone. “If we stick to the woods on either side of the path, we should be able to hit the ground they're not covering. If any of us find him, we'll get on the horn and contact HQ.”

“What if we don't find him?” Lupin asked.

Frank and Joe glanced toward Victoria Clemenceau, talking with the race team a short distance away.

“We'll find him,” Joe said.

“Even though I'm helping out here,” Lupin said, “I still want to win this race. I'll need time to rest before tomorrow's leg. I'm not staying out here all night.”

“Did it occur to you that they may
cancel
the race if Georges isn't found?” Kelly said angrily.

Lupin frowned. “Well, no,” he said sheepishly.

“Let's get going,” Frank said. “The sooner we find Georges, the sooner we get back.”

The official search crew set off down the trail, moving quickly but cautiously. Hawk and Lupin took the woods on the left-hand side, while the Hardys took the forest on the right.

Moving in the dark, they all quickly lost sight of the camp. Joe had a compass and a map of the route and used them to keep the Hardys on track. Frank kept the main trail and the search crew in sight as the brothers swept the woods for signs of Georges Clemenceau.

“Where could he be?” Joe asked after forty-five minutes of fruitless searching. “And why would he leave the path?”

“He might have run into an animal, like we did,” Frank said. “Or he might have been trying for a shortcut.” Radio checks told him the other searchers hadn't found anything, either. “We just have to keep looking.”

As they trudged through the brush, the night grew darker and the foliage thicker. Animal eyes shone in the beams of their flashlights, but the creatures quickly flitted away into the darkness.

The brothers found several small game trails and, each time they did, tracked the trail back to the main path before resuming their original course. In the distance, they heard Hawk, Lupin, and the other searchers calling Georges's name.

Two hours into the search, Joe noticed some broken foliage at the edge of a game trail as they backtracked from the main path. Shining his flashlight through the brush, he saw a flash of red in the woods.

“Frank!” he called. “I see something.”

The older Hardy looked where Joe indicated. “Too red to be leaves at this time of year,” Frank said. “And it looks as though someone left the path here.”

The brothers quickly followed the tracks toward the red object. “Georges and Victoria wear red uniforms,” Frank noted.

“Oh, man! That looks like a body!” Joe said.

They sprinted the last few yards, ignoring the brush that scratched their arms and legs.

Georges Clemenceau lay on his face in a pile of leaves in the middle of the small trail. Frank knelt to check on him. “He's still breathing,” Frank said, “but it looks like he's had a nasty crack on the head.”

“What do you think hit him?” Joe asked. Looking around, he saw no low-lying branches or any other obvious obstacles.

“It doesn't matter. Get on the horn while I see what I can do for him.” The brothers' first-aid and EMT training had served them well during their previous cases.

Joe pulled out his radio and called the other searchers. “We've found him,” Joe said. “He's alive, but he's had a bad crack on his head.” He checked the Global Positioning System display on the
emergency phone and read off the coordinates to the searchers. Then he stowed the radio and shone his flashlight toward the main trail so the others could locate them. “They're sending a chopper,” he said.

“The woods are too thick to land here,” Frank replied. “We'll have to move him to the main trail.”

“Let's wait,” Joe said. “The main team has a portable stretcher. How's he doing?”

“I think he's got a concussion,” Frank said, “but I can't tell how bad it is. He doesn't seem to have any broken bones, and his breathing is regular. That's good, anyway. Why do you think Georges left the main path?”

“He might have tried to use this trail as a shortcut,” Joe said. “It fits the directions on the map.”

“If he did, it was a bad choice,” Frank replied.

The main rescue team arrived within fifteen minutes.

“We sent Hawk and Lupin back already,” one of the rescuers said. “You boys should head back, too, if you're going to continue racing.” She and her colleague quickly assembled the portable stretcher they'd been carrying in their backpacks.

“We'll stick with you until the helicopter comes,” Frank said.

“After all,” Joe added, “who needs sleep?”

The four of them put Georges on the stretcher, carried him back to the main trail, and then found a spot where the chopper could pick him up. They used their flashlights to signal the chopper pilot, and soon Georges was on his way to a local hospital.

One of the rescue teams went with Clemenceau. The other hiked back to camp with the Hardys. Even moving quickly, it still took them an hour and a half to get back.

“Not much shuteye tonight,” Joe groaned.

“Suck it up, Hardy,” Frank joked. “This is a race, not a vacation.”

The brothers fell asleep almost as soon as they rolled themselves into their blankets.

•   •   •

As the racers assembled the next morning, the Hardys were surprised to see Victoria Clemenceau near the front of the pack.

“Georges would not want me to drop out just because he cannot continue,” she said stoically, her twisted ankle wound in sports tape.

Vince Bennett had arrived by helicopter during the night, and he spoke to the racers before the start of the new leg.

“I'm sure you'll all be glad to hear that Georges Clemenceau is recovering from that nasty bump on his head,” Bennett said. “This seems a good time to remind all of you of the importance of safety during the competition. I would recommend sticking to the official course route rather than blazing your own trails.

“And look out for one another, please. I'd like to thank the people who helped our searchers find Georges last night.” He paused for some brief applause from the crowd. “Now, let's get racing!”

With that, the first group of racers sprinted into
the woods once more. Hawk, Clemenceau, Lupin, and a number of others took to the trails before the brothers, which gave the Hardys a bit of much-needed rest before they, too, set off.

The course grew steeper and rockier, and quickly entered an area of steep-sided ravines. The Hardys found themselves climbing nearly as much as they were hiking.

“We'll be hitting the rappelling section pretty soon,” Joe said.

Frank nodded, too winded to say anything at that moment.

Because of the brothers' adventure the previous night, some of the other competitors began to catch up with them once more. Roger Baldwin and Robert Frid made a push in the late morning and passed the brothers just before a long rope climb up a cliff face.

Frank and Joe struggled up the ropes and found Kelly Hawk and a number of others resting at the top of the cliff. Hawk was talking animatedly to a camera crew covering the race. As the brothers caught their breath and drank some water, they listened.

“Just ahead,” Kelly said, wiping the sweat from her brow, “you'll see the kind of thing my people object to. The ravaged forests are a clear indication that the stewardship of this land has been forsaken. This is one reason my people are asserting their ancient treaty rights.” She stood. “Come on,” she said to the camera people, “I'll show you.”

As Hawk and the crew hiked off toward the next hillside, Joe said, “She's lost quite a bit of time.”

“I think making her point is probably more important to her,” Frank replied. “She'll still have time to catch up later.”

“We will, too,” Joe said, taking another drink of water. “I wonder what she was talking about, though.”

A few minutes later the brothers started off again. Their legs and arms burned from the long days of exertion, but they knew the other racers were facing the same trouble.

“I can't wait to hit Montreal and sleep in a real bed,” Joe said as they topped the shoulder of another rugged hill.

“Whoa,” Frank said as they crested the ridge, “I guess
this
is what Hawk was complaining about.”

Ahead lay a hillside nearly devoid of trees. The barren swath stretched from the shoulder where the Hardys stood, back up the hillside beyond, and then down to a forest in the valley below. Tire tracks marked the rocky slopes where the lumber had been hauled away. The vista was desolate and nearly as lifeless as the surface of the moon.

Joe scowled and spat the dust from his mouth. “They should make clear-cutting illegal,” he said.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “Let's send a donation to Hawk's cause when we get home. But first, we have to finish this race. C'mon.”

Cautiously, he began to hike down the blasted landscape, his feet kicking loose small rocks and
gravel. Joe did the same, trying not to slip on the uneven ground.

“Is that Hawk and the camera crew down below?” Joe asked, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun.

Frank peered in that direction and spotted three figures at the edge of a forest in the valley below. “I think so,” Frank said. “But I doubt they'll wait for us to catch up and find out.”

Joe looked up into the clear blue sky. “Do you hear thunder?” he asked.

Frank looked around, his gaze settling on the hillside behind them. What he saw set his heart pounding.

“Landslide!” he shouted.

8 Running in Place

High up the slope behind the Hardys, the hillside moved. Small rocks tumbled over bare ground, shaking loose dirt and larger rocks. Those rocks shook loose still more, until the whole hillside slumped toward the ridge the Hardys had crossed just minutes before.

“Run!” Frank urged.

He and Joe took off downslope, their feet slipping on the barren ground. Behind them, a cloud of gray dust roared and grew to huge proportions.

Sparing a momentary glance back as he ran, Joe shouted, “Cut to the right! Try to get out of the slide's direct path!”

Frank and Joe ran to the right, all the while continuing their downward plunge. The brothers moved as fast as they could while still maintaining
their footing. Both knew that a single slip could leave them buried under tons of dirt and rock.

The slide toppled the few trees remaining on the slope and tossed them forward like driftwood on a dusty sea. The roar of the landslide grew louder—a rocky monster hungry to devour the brothers.

“We're not going to make it!” Joe cried.

“Just keep running,” Frank said. Glancing back, he spotted a tall tree trunk coasting atop the rubble like a boat. The tree was near the leading edge of the slide and close to where Joe and Frank were running. With luck, they could just make it. “Go for the tree, Joe!” he called. “Maybe we can ride this out!”

As the slide caught up with them, the brothers turned and leaped for the tree. Joe landed solidly on the trunk and grabbed hold with both hands. Frank, however, tripped over some hurtling scree. He landed half on the uprooted tree, with his legs and lower body dangling in the dust.

The speed of the slide threatened to pull him off the trunk and into the crashing rubble. Frank's fingers lost their grip on the rough bark. He slipped off.

Joe stabbed out and grabbed his brother's arms. Frank's feet bounced among the sliding rocks for a moment, then Joe pulled him atop the tree trunk.

Even aboard the tree, the Hardys' position was dangerous. The trunk swayed and reeled, threatening to flip over. Frank and Joe used all their balance and agility to stay with the trunk as the slide rushed downhill.

The forest in the valley loomed large before them even as the landslide slowed its descent. They hit the woods with a mighty crash and tumbled off their boatlike tree trunk just as the slide rumbled to a halt.

The Hardys rose to their feet, battered and bruised, but glad to be alive. A cloud of gray dust washed over them as the remains of the landslide settled to the ground.