The Grotto's Secret: A Historical Conspiracy Mystery Thriller by Paula Wynne Page B

stump made him feel as if he was walking on stilts with his phantom foot constricting as if it had been glued into his shoe.
    He’d consulted specialists and now his legs were designed to crack most sporting activities. This particular leg could pivot at the ankle and included a robust shock absorber that could endure heavy drops when walking down steep hillsides.
    With his family by his side and a growing pile of new legs, he had so much to look forward to. He loved this. The freedom of riding in the country and exploring a new culture. Totally awesome.
    In a burst of exhilaration, Gary started the incline, all plans driven from his head. Blowing hard, he concentrated his eyeline at a point four metres in front of the bike, keeping his pedal rhythm steady. Now and then, he flicked his eyes at his watch to check his heart rate was holding a steady one-fifty-sixty rate. With his cardiovascular coming under pressure, and his quads starting to burn, he preferred staying in the saddle rather than standing on the pedals, forcing himself to accept the pain. The more he increased his endurance capabilities now, the better he’d cope during his Lands’ End charity ride. Even though he was gasping for air, a thrill flooded through him.
    As he reached the brow of the hill, he glanced over the other side. Mark wasn’t even a speck of dust in the valley. Gary frowned, hoping Mark hadn’t taken a wrong turn and got lost. Sure, the place was out on a limb, but they’d gone over the Guadalhorce route a few times so he should be on track. Maybe he’d gone into the bush for a leak.
    Gary bolted over the brow and the road fell away dramatically. Gathering speed, Gary’s mountain bike hurtled down the hill at forty kilometres an hour. As he raced down the treacherous descent, he clung to the handlebars. While he tried to maintain balance, he corrected the bike’s desire to drift towards a steep cliff on the side of the road.
    Suddenly his front tyre hit rubble and veered to the left. He corrected the steering, but couldn’t stop it gunning into a gully along the rocky verge. Gary’s heart raced. Sweat saturated his armpits.
    The wheel took on a life of its own.
    The front tyre crashed into a crag and rammed between two huge boulders, wedging itself like an arrow into bark. Gary jettisoned forward, his arms and legs flailing, automatically preparing to cushion his landing. Instead, he somersaulted and his left shoulder smashed into the bedrock. His cycling shirt ripped on a jagged point, tearing his skin beneath. A sharp blast of pain bit into his arm.
    As the back of his helmet struck the granite wall, Gary lost consciousness.

22
    Gary’s eyes fluttered open. It seemed as though a pneumatic drill hammered in his head, as if builders were digging up the dirt road right behind him. He tasted copper in his mouth and knew he’d bitten
his tongue.
    For a moment, his memory blurred. Within seconds, he became aware everything ached. It felt as though his hip was smashed. Thankfully, his left side had taken the brunt, but he wasn’t sure how much his right could endure with a third of it missing. Slowly and carefully, he wriggled his toes. Then he flexed his joints, from his ankles to his neck. Nothing bust.
    Instant relief swept through him. Abrasions, criss-crossing his palms and elbows, left blood smears across his clothes. Suddenly, a vision of his daughter stood in front of him, her thin cotton shirt billowing in the fresh mountain breeze.
    ‘Annie? Is that you, pumpkin?’ he croaked, blinking his eyes to focus on the silhouette blocking the sun. No, it couldn’t be Annie, this angel was much older than his at home.
    Gary smiled and raised himself onto his shoulder. ‘ Buenos días .’ As the movement sent another flash of pain through his upper body, he grunted and bit away the agony.
    ‘ No se mueva !’ The girl repeated herself in stilted English, ‘Don’t … move.’
    From the corner of his eye, he saw a long, bloody