Second Chance in the Mountain Void

1. Chapter 1

Lorenz

S team rose with Lorenz’s every breath, pale clouds that disappeared almost instantly in the darkness. It was hard to believe he’d been running in a T-shirt just hours earlier, but the desert cooled down fast at night. Out here in the open dunes, the temperature was now close to freezing.

Four marathons. Four days. One under the stars.

He’d been looking forward to it. A new kind of challenge. He just hadn’t anticipated how different it would be, running out here in the desert. And it was different—a different view, a different kind of fatigue.

It’s almost over.

The words felt thin, but he repeated them anyway. Soon, he’d be able to stop. Sit. Lie down. Eventually sleep, without his legs twitching in protest.

Lorenz ran through the aches and pains in his body, looking for anything unusual.

His quadriceps burned—a heavy, poisoned feeling, as if his muscles were filled with wet cement.

His calves felt tight, on the edge of cramping—held in check only by the mint tea and electrolytes he’d been forcing down at every checkpoint.

He wasn’t worried. Not yet. Lorenz knew his body well.

He’d learned its limits the hard way, learned how to tell the difference between a warning pain and something dangerous.

This race, as grueling, even borderline masochistic as it might be, was still low-stakes compared to the challenges that awaited him back home.

Compared to decisions that couldn’t be undone.

He swallowed hard, his throat gritty. It was the sand. Sand everywhere. Inside his clothes, in his shoes, in his mouth. He resisted the urge to spit—moisture was too precious right now.

At least the glasses had done a good job keeping the sand out of his eyes. For now, at least.

In the last hour, the wind had picked up.

He’d gotten used to the sand blowing at ankle height, but it now surged higher, whipping against his shins and knees.

Every step felt weighted, like lifting against resistance bands, his feet sinking just enough to steal his momentum before he could push off again.

What did you expect? Did you expect it to be easy? You don’t do this because it’s easy.

No. He ran because it simplified things, because when he reduced the world to breath and movement, he felt more like himself. He ran because it helped quieten the ghosts—the echoes that crept in when he was still, when there was time to think. Echoes of a happier past.

Except the desert didn’t sleep. And neither, apparently, did Lorenz’s memories.

The darkness pressed in from all sides, the stars overhead a stark reminder of what he’d lost. With nothing to look at but the neon course markers that flew by every so often, his thoughts turned inward.

A face flickered at the edge of his awareness. A voice. Her voice.

The sharp snap of regret cut through him, sudden and unwelcome. He exhaled hard, breath stuttering before he forced it back into the right rhythm.

Not now.

Lorenz fixed his gaze on a headlamp bobbing in the distance. Another runner. A target. Somebody to overtake. That was something his body understood. Something easy.

He leaned forward and pushed for more speed, closing the distance.

He was almost on top of the man before he recognized the big Algerian runner—nineteen years old and so excited about his first international race. For a long instant, the man’s name eluded him, though they’d had a drink together the night before the first race. Finally, it came to him. Karim.

As Lorenz watched, Karim’s stride faltered, the headlamp swinging wide. Lorenz pulled up astride him.

“Karim. Hey. You okay?”

Karim startled. He turned to Lorenz, his headlamp blinding for an instant before his gaze went back to the sand beneath his feet. They’d all been wearing glasses when they started running, but Karim wasn’t wearing them anymore. Up close, his eyes were glassy, unfocused.

“Did you hear that?” Karim panted. He sidestepped Lorenz, turning in a slow, uncertain circle before purposefully turning west toward the dunes—the opposite direction of where they were heading—and picking up speed again.

Shit .

A man could get lost out here in the desert. Lost, never to be found again.

Lorenz took off behind him.

“Hear what?”

“The music. It’s coming from over there.”

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.”

Lorenz exhaled through his nose. Not good. Not good at all.

“Can you tell me the last time you drank?”

Karim stared past him, eyes drifting toward the dunes again. “The music is louder now,” he murmured. “Can you hear it?”

Lorenz didn’t answer. He reached for Karim’s wrist instead, fingers pressing into the pulse point. It was fast and thready beneath his skin.

“Karim,” he said, sharper now. “Count backwards from twenty for me.”

The long pause told Lorenz all he needed to know.

He pulled his own pack free and unwrapped a reflective thermal blanket, the crinkle competing against the wind for an instant. He wrapped it around Karim’s shoulders, glad for once for his over-preparedness. Then he pulled out his soft water flask. “Here. Drink this. Small sips.”

Karim shook his head weakly. “I have to finish.”

“I know,” Lorenz said. He guided the spout to the man’s lips. “But you won’t finish if you walk off into those dunes.”

Karim hesitated, then drank—slowly, then greedily, coughing until Lorenz took the flask from him.

They sat like that, the desert stretching around them. Lorenz talked about nothing, grateful that Karim wasn’t trying to walk off anymore. He would knock the man out if he had to, but he’d rather not.

When the approaching headlights crested a distant dune, Lorenz felt the tight knot in his chest loosen. He stayed with Karim until the medics arrived and wrapped the man in blankets, guiding him gently but firmly onto a quad.

Only then did Lorenz stand, legs stiff, heart still racing.

“Are you coming with us?”

Lorenz shook his head and adjusted his headlamp. “No. I’m good,” he said, not quite sure he was telling the truth. “Thank you.”

Soon, the night was quiet again. Taking one last look at the empty stretch of dunes, Lorenz eased back into a jog. The stiffness in his legs flared hot. Fuck, but that hurt . The brief stillness had let the pain catch up.

He shortened his stride and concentrated on his breathing, giving himself time to find his rhythm again. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. One. Two. Three. Distance crawled forward. Still only 32 kilometers.

Several runners passed him by. Tonight, it was all he could do to keep moving, one step at a time.

35 kilometers.

At the next aid station, a cluster of lanterns glowed warm against the blackness. Volunteers watched him approach, eyes searching his face. They must have been told to keep an eye out for him.

“Everything okay?” one of them asked, a cup in his outstretched hand.

Lorenz didn’t have the breath left to speak, but nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring way and kept going.

The wind beat harder against his legs. He hunched into it instinctively. His quads protested with every step, the burn creeping upwards into his hips. His calves twitched. He adjusted his pace again, conservative now. Winning wasn’t an option anymore, but finishing was.

The neon marker appeared again, reassuring and distant. Km 37.

Just over 5 kilometers left.

Doable .

Hell, back in Chamonix, he often ran longer than that over his lunch break.

Just when he thought they’d taken it away, another neon marker appeared. And each time he made a deal with himself. Get to that one. Then the next. Because the finish was there, so close he could feel it in the darkness.

Lorenz

“To Lorenz,” Alistair began, raising his glass of thick, beige protein smoothie. “Who just completed his slowest marathon of the decade.”

Laughter rippled around the table. Lorenz smiled and raised his glass. Alistair had come back for him. He could take the ribbing.

He hobbled over to where the rest of the runners were. Most of them men, but also a couple of women. All of them friends of sorts, since they kept meeting up time and time again.

“Thank you for coming back for us, Alistair.”

Alistair waved it off. “Hell, I wasn’t about to let you keep all the glory.”

“Sorry I screwed up the podium for you.”

Alistair shrugged, one shoulder lifting higher than the other. “It wasn’t going to happen today. This way, I’ll have a good story to tell when I get back home. Heroics. The moral choice. I’m thinking that’s going to be part of my branding from now on.”

“Your sponsors are going to eat it up!” somebody said.

“How’s Karim?” somebody else asked.

“He called from the hospital. He’s going to be fine. They’re keeping him for a few more hours before releasing him,” Lorenz said.

“I’m glad he’s going to be okay,” Mona said, her expression tight as she rubbed her calves.

“We should all have dinner together, after we’ve had a nap.

A long one.” She was one of the youngest here.

She’d been bitten by the ultramarathon bug early.

Lorenz would bet anything she wasn’t hurting half as much as he was.

Shit, those last few kilometers had been brutal.

Until he’d crossed that finish line, he hadn’t been sure he would make it.

Lorenz glanced at his watch, then winced as the simple motion sent warning flares through his body. Even his elbows hurt.

“Can’t,” he said. “I’m going straight to the airport as soon as I finish this protein shake. I’m due back at work tomorrow.” He tilted the glass. He couldn’t afford to miss his flight. Beau would have his ass.

“You’re joking.” Alistair laughed, a short, disbelieving bark. “Shit, you’re crazier than the craziest of us, and that’s saying something. Will you be in Sweden in the fall?”

“Is that the underground marathon?” Mona asked.

Lorenz suppressed a shiver. He wasn’t a fan of closed spaces. The thought of spending all those hours underground, hemmed in by rock on all sides … not happening . He could run anywhere, so why choose that?

“No way, man. Give me a mountain or a desert any day, but I’m not running in the dark.”

“I’m not sure about that one, either,” Mona said.

“I think you might be on your own, Alistair.”

“Cowards, the lot of you,” Alistair said fondly.

Lorenz stretched a leg out and hissed through his teeth. He already felt like shit, and it was going to get worse before it got better. Outside the hotel window, the morning was already brightening.

“I’ll be off, then.” Lorenz dropped his glass on the table closest to him. He’d never been one for drawn-out goodbyes. “Take care, everyone.”