Ice Claw Read Free Page B

asleep.
    And then—what felt like two minutes later—the alarm clock’s bell clattered him awake.

The Xtreme sports competition’s heats had been held over the previous week. Three events: cross-country mountain biking on the lower slopes of the mountains, wildwater kayaking and freestyle snowboarding. The points system for each event quickly decided who went through to the next stage. Max was one of the youngest competitors, each of whom had to be between fifteen and eighteen and attend school in Europe. Bobby Morrell, ex–U.S. junior champion, was leading the points board so far. He attended the International School near Toulouse in southern France. Max knew he was the boy to beat. Thankfully, because of the costs involved, the mountain bikes and kayaks were provided by the organizers and were all standard. There was no unfair equipment advantage; success was down to a competitor’s skills. But the snowboarding was another matter. The really good riders had specialist boards for different events. Max would have to make do withhis own, modest, middle-of-the-road board—if he got through the kayak race in good-enough time.
    The water roared.
    “Max Gordon?” a steward shouted.
    “Here!”
    The previous heats had determined who was who time-wise, and at this stage of the competition the fastest kayakers went last. And that was Max and Bobby.
    The American shook his hand and they touched knuckles. “Good luck, Max. Remember, watch that drop at the halfway mark. You get it wrong and it’ll force you to the left where the river splits. Don’t get pushed down there. That’s damned near a grade four river in these conditions. It’s dangerous enough to put you under and kill you, Max. Okay?”
    Max nodded. He liked the American. The eighteen-year-old champion always passed on his experience to the younger competitors. They both wanted to win, but for Bobby it was nowhere near as big a deal as it was for Max. The five-thousand-euro prize money would go a long way towards helping Max buy equipment and pay for travel expenses if he wanted to continue competing in these events in the future. His dad didn’t have much money to speak of, and although the school had managed to secure a grant for him to stay on and study, any extras were up to Max.
    He fitted the splash apron around the kayak, then nodded to the stewards that he was ready. The roaring water almost deafened him to the beeps of the electronic starter. A steward helped with the countdown, spreading his fingers wide, the palm of his hand towards Max’s face. Five fingers, four, three, two …
    Max’s shoulders bunched; his grip tightened on the double-bladed paddle. A deep breath. Charge the energy. Win this thing. Go fast  …  go fast … go …
    One!
    The start Klaxon shrieked and Max plunged the kayak into the first swirling wave.
    He immediately realized the water was trickier than that of the previous time trials. It twisted and pounded him. The snowmelt farther up the peaks meant the heavy runoff was being funneled like water down a narrow drain.
    He thrust the paddle’s blades left and right and threw his body from side to side for balance. It was all about countering the strength of the river with skill and judgment. Wildwater kayaks are long and narrow; their rounded hulls made them fast, but unstable and hard to turn.
    Water thundered over him. He’d misjudged one of the eddies and nearly rolled, his helmet deflecting him from the boulder that was the cause of the spurting power. He had to use the curved boat to his advantage. The river was widening. Slower water nearer the bank gently swelled into calmer pools. Max stayed in the rough and tumble, curving turns—using the boat to pick up the energy of the water and hurtle him along. The dangerous bend wasn’t far now. No one would be on that side of the river anyway—not by choice. The rapids were treacherous there.
    Max saw the foaming water snarl angrily past hidden boulders; these were