CHAPTER 11
Blaze
Despite his prowess at piloting a plane, Blaze had never actually driven a quad.
A fact that became glaringly obvious after five minutes. The trail was rough and bumpy and kept tea-bagging him in the ugliest of ways, not to mention that he rode behind their private instructor and Colette, bringing up the rear. He’d paid extra to have their own private tour along the desert trails, past old gold mines, cactuses, and rolling red dirt hills. It was quite pretty, if the sand in the eyes, the grit between his teeth, and the sore nuts didn’t count.
They were just passing a narrow section of trail, flying along, when the dust from the first two quads went down his throat, choking him. His eyes were already gritty, dust grinding in behind the sunglasses he had on, when a vicious wind whipped up, and combined with the dust from the other quads, blinded him. It was shitty timing, given that as he was blinded, the quad’s rear tire hit a rock sticking out of the trail and bucked up, sacking him viciously. He let out a yelp and gripped the handlebars, his thumb hammering down on the throttle. The quad took off, bucking and twisting beneath him like a wild horse. The back kicked out and skidded and he leaned to the wrong side.
If he’d been a light man, it might have been alright. He could have just corrected and got on with it. As it was, the quad went roaring one way and he went flying the other. One second he was riding, the next the dirt was rising up to meet him.
Blaze hit hard. His first instinct was to tuck and roll, thanks to years of sports training. He’d played football in high school. Still. He’d never hit the ground so hard. He’d been overconfident in wearing a t-shirt, and the rocks bit into his skin as he skidded hard along the ground. He had a helmet on, so at least, his head was protected.
It only took a few seconds for his body to come to a stop, but it felt like hours.
Blaze landed facing the sky. He blinked up at the sea of blue and the puffy white clouds overhead. It was all he could do, as tears streamed out of the corners of his abused eyes, trying to clear the dust. His head ached, even with the helmet on, and his lungs felt pulverized, like an angry herd of elephants had just trampled him. To top it all off, like the icing on the shit cake, his skin felt like it had been flayed off his back and arms.
“Blaze!”
Someone was calling his name through the ringing in his ears. It got louder, presumably as the one doing the screaming got closer.
He waited for a few minutes. The roar of the other quads died away and the muffled stomp clomp stamp of boots shuffling towards him filled up his ears. His hearing felt foggy with the helmet on.
“Blaze!”
When he blinked and opened his eyes again, Colette was leaning over him. Her face was a mess of worry and horror and he managed to pass a grin on his face, even though it hurt like a bitch.
“That bad, huh? Geez. If I’d known that nearly dying was all it would take to get you this close, I would have given it a try years ago.”
She blinked at him, obviously too distraught to realize his slip up. He ground his teeth, disgusted at the grit between them. It felt like he’d just consumed half the desert floor.
“Are you hurt? Don’t try and move,” Colette instructed. She chewed her lower lip while their instructor, a grizzled sixty-odd year-old man who looked like he’d been picked by the sun’s harsh rays, dipped into view.
“Anything broken, son? Or did you just manage to wind yourself?” The instructor, John, turned to the side and spat a stream of brown tobacco spittle into the sand.
Blaze did a mental once over on his body. He wiggled his fingers and his toes. Moved his legs and flexed his arms. Everything seemed to be accounted for and in working order.
“Nothing broken. At least not that I can feel. Not too sure about my internal organs.”
“Oh god. Oh my god.” Colette started chewing on her lip so hard it was a miracle she didn’t eat it right off her face.
John grinned back down. He reached into his back pocket and packed a little more tobacco into his mouth.
“Never seen anyone take a spill like that. Usually, we have bigger groups and that slows us down. Always a first for everything, I suppose.”
“Jesus. The quad okay?” He had to ask because his pride was taking a serious beating.
Of all the people to dump a bike, he had to be the one. He was just glad that the guy didn’t know who he really was. Since no ID was required, he’d booked under a different name and used a company credit card that didn’t have his name on it either.