Page 2 of Mountain Void

Lorenz’s stomach tightened, and this time it had nothing to do with the electrolytes he’d been downing.

“There’s no music, Karim,” he said. “Just wind.”

Karim frowned. He gestured again, more insistently this time. “You’re wrong. I can hear it.”

They were moving away from the neon markers that defined the course. This wasn’t good. Lorenz moved without thinking, blocking the man’s path.

“Stop. We need to get back to the course,” he said calmly. “It’s that way.”

The other runner rocked his head. His chest heaved. “I need to find it,” he gasped through cracked lips. Cracked lips. Glassy eyes. Uncontrolled shivering. Hallucinations.

A textbook case of severe fatigue and sleep deprivation. They’d been getting by on four to five hours of sleep a night. If Karim hadn’t been paying close attention to his body, if he’d missed one or two aid stations, a breakdown was more than possible.

“Come with me,” Lorenz said, firmer now.

Karim looked at him, irritation flashing across his face. “No. It’s right there. You can’t stop me.” Karim swayed. Lorenz caught his arm, feeling how cold the man’s skin was through the thin fabric.

Fuck.

He wished Beau and the rest of his team were here. He was going to need help to bring him in. Where were the other runners? A couple ahead, for sure. Most still behind. How far behind?

Karim struggled to free himself from Lorenz’s grip. Lorenz tightened his hold. He couldn’t let him run off in the darkness. He could knock the young man out, but—then what?

As if on cue, another figure jogged up behind them, lamplight bobbing in the darkness.

“See you later,” a cheerful voice said. Alistair. Lorenz would have recognized him anywhere, because of the posh British accent, and because only Alistair could sound this cheerful after four straight days of running.

Shit.

“Alistair, get your ass back here,” Lorenz called out. He knew this was the absolute worst form. Few men could complete this race. Fewer still had a chance in hell of winning. Alistair was one of the few. By calling him back, Lorenz was ruining that for him. But there was no alternative, so he called out again.

He watched as the bobbing light moved further away. For a long instant, he thought Alistair would keep going. Then the light turned.

“What. The. Fuck. Lorenz.” Four clipped words from Alistair. They weren’t friends, as such, but they’d known each other for years. The world of ultramarathon runners was small.

Karim swayed, harder this time. Lorenz bent his knees to absorb much of the man’s weight before easing him down onto the sand.

“What do you need?” Alistair’s voice was gentler this time.

“Get to the next aid station,” Lorenz instructed. “Tell Medical we have one runner down with severe dehydration and probable hypothermia. That he’s hallucinating and attempting to leave the course.”

“What about you?” Alistair asked.

“I’ll stay with him.” Lorenz looked down at his watch. “Km. 30.6. Get going, Alistair. He needs help now.”

Alistair nodded once and took off, a new urgency to his step as his headlamp disappeared into the darkness.

“When was the last time you urinated?” Lorenz asked.

Karim blinked. “What?”

“When,” Lorenz repeated, “was the last time you peed?”

Karim opened his mouth, then closed it again. He seemed to consider the question with exaggerated care. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “Earlier. I think.”

“How much earlier?”

Karim shrugged, his movements slow. “Today. Maybe.”