Page 1 of Mountain Void

1

Lorenz

Steam 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.

Lorenz flicked his wrist and squinted at his watch. 00:17, and he’d only just passed the thirty-kilometer mark. Slower than he’d expected. The last days had taken a toll on his body.

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.”