Shadow Dragon by Lance Horton Read Free Book Online

getting tired, his arms and legs burning from the effort, but he couldn’t stop. He had to keep moving.
    He imagined he was a famous cross-country skier, someone named Hans or Sven, striving for the finish line while the crowd cheered, chanting his name and waving their flags as he passed.
    His name was actually Adam Peterson, insurance salesman and part-time ski instructor at The Big Mountain ski resort at Whitefish. He had skied virtually his entire life, and he loved it, especially cross-country skiing. There was nothing better than being outdoors in the crisp, clean air with the sparkling glint of sunlight off the snow crystals. But more than that, it was the feeling he got when he pushed himself like he was pushing himself now. When all the troubles and issues of the outside world faded away until it was only him, his mind focused to pinpoint clarity. Push. Push. Push. Drive. Drive. Drive. Yard by yard. Mile by mile. In touch with himself. At one with the world.
    The crunching of the snow and the whisking of his nylon suit were the only sounds to be heard along the valley, but even those sounds went unheard by Adam, who was mentally humming along to the sounds of Kenny G playing in the earphones of the iPod tucked into his fanny pack.
    The sun had dipped behind the mountains to the west, the deep blue shadows fading to violet as he stroked along the last few miles of the trail leading back to the road, where he had left his car. He realized he was not going to make it back before it was pitch-black. Even now, it was getting difficult to make out the contours of the terrain in front of him, and he became concerned about falling and breaking a leg—or worse. His rhythm was momentarily interrupted as he slowed enough to pull his goggles onto his forehead in order to see better.
    He continued on, more cautiously than before. The shadows deepened among the trees, reaching out across the trail until it was impossible to distinguish them from the dark of night. He was upset with himself for not paying better attention to the time before he had started back, but he had been in such a groove that he had lost all track of—
    He was struck hard and fast on the right side like a quarterback blindsided by a blitzing linebacker. The world jerked sideways as he was knocked from the trail, tumbling down the slope to his left. His right ski smacked something, which snapped it in half and wrenched his knee. He cried out in pain as the ligaments ripped and tore.
    He rolled over once more and landed on his back. His goggles were left askew on his head, and his earphones had been jerked from his ears, the cord twisted tight around his neck and tangled in his poles.
    When he regained enough clarity to try to sit up, he felt a sharp pain in his right side. He looked down and was terrified to see a large gash ripped in his ski jacket. White Thinsulate lining spilled out of the rip, but as he looked, it began to darken before his eyes.
    “Oh, shit,” he stammered, his voice trembling with the onset of shock.
    He tossed aside the broken ski pole that he had managed to hang on to and tried to pull the jacket open enough to see how bad the wound was. It was dark, and the temperature was dropping quickly. If he was unable to make it back to his car, he might freeze to death overnight.
    With his earphones pulled from his ears, he was able to hear a rustling sound above him, one like the whistling of wind through the trees but different. He struggled to turn his head to look behind him for the source of the sound.
    At first, he was unable to make out anything in the blue-black depths beneath the trees. But then he saw it—a rapidly moving blur amid the darkness. It was like looking through a window filled with wavy imperfections. He watched in confusion as it moved across the landscape, a shadow among the darkness, shifting and changing as it went. At first, he thought it might be another skier, but as he watched, he noticed the shape was moving