Page 1 of Mountain Impact

Chapter 1

Drake

Drake Jacobs tightened his hold on the handlebars. Until now, he’d been coursing gently down the forest trail, but he’d now reached the spot where the trail became more technical—and a lot more fun.

He stood on the pedals, holding his hips back and his head up as he thundered down the slope. Standing at six-four and over two hundred and forty pounds, most of it muscle, Drake was a big man, but he wasn’t worried about his bike. He’d had it upgraded to cope with what the local bike store referred to as a heavy-duty load.

This was Drake’s favorite part of mountain biking, that overwhelming feeling of freedom that hit as he sped down after a hard climb.

He rode hard but kept his index fingers on the break levers in case any hikers or dogs suddenly appeared—both, he knew from painful experience, could come out of nowhere and, while he didn’t mind hitting the ground, he wasn’t about to risk hitting anybody else.

His front wheel hit a small rock, threatening to send him to the ground. Drake corrected—he managed to stay on the bike, but miscalculated and grazed his arm against a nearby tree, giving himself a bark tattoo.

He hissed in pain, but didn’t stop.

He’d made a bet with himself that he could make the run in two hours, and that wouldn’t happen if he stopped to admire the view. But then again, it was his day off—and it’s not like he had anybody waiting for him back at home.

Something glinted on the ground before him—he was moving too fast to tell with certainty, but he was pretty sure what it was. He braked hard and got off his bike, backtracking a few steps to where the shiny object lay—indeed, it was an energy gel wrapper. He picked it up and held it in his hand for a moment. There was nothing he hated more than people who dropped litter on the trails—or anywhere in the mountains.

He spared an uncharitable thought for the asshole who’d dropped the plastic wrapper, knowing it wasn’t going to decompose for oh, say, six or seven hundred years.

Would it have killed them to stick it back in their pack until they could drop it in a trash can?

Drake dug in his own pack for the small bag he always carried to keep his trash in. He allowed himself a final uncharitable thought for the idiots who thought they needed an energy gel as soon as they stepped out of their front door. If they’d bothered to research the topic at all, they’d know it takes a person a long while to need—

An unfamiliar hissing sound from above had Drake raising his head in alarm. The only thing above him was the Brévent cable car, and there was no reason for that sound, unless—Drake stared, open-mouthed, as a cabin plunged into the air, crashing onto the ground. In an instant, it disappeared from sight, but he could hear it tearing down trees as it tumbled down the mountain.

Fuck.

It was a scene right out of one of his nightmares.

In his hand, Drake still grasped the small trash bag that might just have saved his life, by delaying his descent those extra minutes.

He dumped it unceremoniously into his backpack and fished for his cell phone, praying it was properly charged. He hadn’t been expecting to speak with anyone today. He dialed the local emergency number, one of only three numbers he knew by heart.

“I need help,” he began, and was cut off immediately by a professional-sounding female voice.

“Sir, what’s your emergency?”

“Drake Jacobs here, with the PGHM,” he said, speaking loudly over the sound of screeching metal. Holding the phone to his ear, he started running down the slope.

“Sir, what’s your emergency?” the operator repeated stonily.

“Please look me up. Drake Jacobs,” he begged, spelling out his last name. His foot hit a rock, and he almost stumbled to the ground, barely managing to right himself while keeping the phone to his ear. “I’m below the Brévent cable car. There’s been an accident. I need you to put me through to Colonel Pelegrin.”

Drake jumped over an overturned log, following the destruction the cabin had left behind it as it slammed into the trees. Up in the air it might have seemed small, but the twelve-person cabin was the size of a mini bus—there was no mistaking the path it’d taken.

When she didn’t reply, Drake kept going.

“One of the cabins just crashed into the trees and went down the mountain. I’m running towards it now,” he panted.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Drake Jacobs,” Drake said in a clipped voice.

“Please hold. I’m patching you in with the colonel,” the voice said.

“Jacobs? Is that you?”