Ultra by Carroll David Page A

continued bounding up the hill. “Come on!” she called back. “Let’s make some time!”
    We did our best to keep up with her. “Kara’s a cop,” I explained to Kneecap.
    “Really?” Kneecap said. “And here we are, breaking the speed limit!”
    The path veered right and we crossed a huge basin filled with loose scree. Kara led the way, hopping from boulder to boulder.
    “How much farther to the top?” Kneecap asked.
    “Probably about a mile,” said Kara.
    The trail edged back to the cliff, and the three of us found ourselves walking in single file along a narrow ledge. A curl of blue smoke rose out of the valley far below. Kara scrabbled along the path like a mountain goat.
    “The wind’s strong up here,” I said.
    “Cold too,” said Kneecap.
    “Enjoy it while you can,” said Kara. “It’ll be hotter than an oven on the other side.”
    I looked back at Kneecap. Her face was greenish grey, the colour of pressure-treated wood.
    “You okay?” I called out.
    She was staring at the water far below. “This is the craziest sport in the world,” she said.
    We walked a little farther and the trail broadened out. Relieved, I moved back from the ledge. Kara stood at the top of the ridge, waiting for us to catch up. Kneecap bent over and rubbed the backs of her legs. “What do they give you when you cross the finish line?” she asked. “A car?”
    “A belt buckle,” Kara said.
    Kneecap’s smile folded. “A
what
?” she said.
    “Belt buckle.”
    Kneecap shot me a you-gotta-be-joking look.
    “And get this,” Kara added. “You only get the belt buckle if you finish in twenty-four hours. Take longer than that and you don’t get anything at all.”
    Kneecap shook her head in disbelief. “Nuts, nuts, totally nuts,” she said.
    “Kara won this race last year,” I said.
    “No
way
.”
    “Way.”
    Kneecap smiled weakly at Kara. “And all you got for it was a belt buckle?” she said.
    “It’s not about the prize,” said Kara.
    “What’s it about?”
    “Enduring.”
    A gust of wind threw us against the rock face. We croucheddown. Kneecap was still massaging her legs.
    “You okay, hon?” Kara asked.
    “I think I’ve got shin splints.”
    “Those aren’t your shins.”
    “Really? What are they?”
    “Your calves.”
    Kneecap smirked. “Yeah? So I’ve got calf splints then.”
    The sunlight flickered, and I glanced up. A glider plane, white as a ghost, circled silently above our heads. Chimney Top’s blunted summit loomed not far away. We still had to get to the top of that crest.
    “Come on,” said Kara. “Final push.”
    Ten minutes later we reached the summit. The wind was fierce, so we walked in single file across the plateau. Kara went first, then me, then Kneecap. At last we came to the massive blade of rock that everyone calls the Shark’s Fin. We sat down behind it, sheltered from the wind. Kara shrugged off her hydration pack and leaned back against the rock.
    “Anyone want raisins?” she asked.
    Kneecap took a handful. Her face was blotchy and her shirt was soaked with sweat.
    “Having fun?” Kara asked her.
    “No,” said Kneecap. “It feels like my brain has turned to oatmeal.”
    “Want some yams?” I asked, pulling out my bag.
    “Have they got salt on them? Yessss!”
    Kneecap popped a chunk of sweet potato into her mouth and closed her eyes.
    “That’ll give you strength,” Kara said.
    “It tastes like I’m eating the sun,” said Kneecap.
    I stared down at the valley. It was misty green, and hay-coloured sunshine fell in stripes over the hills. I unclasped my hydration pack and pulled out the bladder to see how much water I had left. I’d drunk a lot on the trip up the mountain, but the bladder was still three-quarters full. I stuffed it back into the hydration pack.
    “How did you get your nickname?” Kara asked Kneecap.
    “My older brother gave it to me,” Kneecap said, swinging her legs back and forth.
    “She used to knee him,” I said.