Race to Truth by Pamela Beason

Author:Pamela Beason
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ski to Sea Relay Race, big pharma, cross-country racing, assumed identity, fake identity, elephants, extreme sports, female protagonist
Publisher: WildWing Press
Published: 2016-05-22T00:00:00+00:00

THE NEXT DAY I HAVE to report to my job as usual. During the long days of spring and summer, I actually don’t mind starting work at six a.m. In the dark winter months, riding my bike to and from the zoo can be a harrowing experience.

The zoo is usually peaceful in the early morning. The animals act more naturally at this time of day than when hordes of kids hang over the fences and scream at them.

This morning, one of the reticulated giraffes leans down to look me in the eye as I shovel dung from his pasture into a wheelbarrow. I love giraffes. The skyscrapers of the ungulate world are gentle and quiet, and they have the prettiest big brown eyes with long lashes. I imagine them as the deer of Africa, gliding silently through the forests of that continent, shoulder to shoulder with all kinds of exotic antelopes and zebras and elephants. Mom used to tell us exciting stories about growing up with wildlife in Zimbabwe. I hope I get to see all those animals in the wild someday.

Unfortunately, Africa has few endurance races. There’s one in Egypt every now and then, and one across the desert of Morocco, but I don’t know of any in places that might have giraffes. That’s probably because most places that have giraffes also have creatures not so friendly to runners, such as lions and leopards.

Two of the assistant keepers, Karrie and Dave, want to know where I’ve been for the last few days. They know I’m a runner, but they’ve never heard of Ski to Sea, so I’m not going to get any kudos there.

“A cross-country race,” I tell them.

“Guess that explains the scratches.” Dave eyes the red stripes that decorate my arms and face, mementos from the strainer.

Karrie makes a face. “You do things like that on purpose, Tana?”

That’s how it is in the lesser sports. Each competition seems like a life-and-death contest to those of us who participate, while nobody on the outside of our circle is even aware it’s happening. I may be a champion endurance racer, but to my colleagues at the zoo, my skills with a pitchfork and shovel are the only talents that count.

I dump my load of giraffe and zebra doo and work my way down my habitat maintenance chore list as I continue my worryfest about everything that happened yesterday. I haven’t received any news about Shadow, so I try to focus on the drone. Dreck is techie enough to own a drone and icky enough to spy on us, and since he lives nearby, he could fly it in from his property. I hope he was the pilot, and I hope he was just playing around. I can’t think of any way to check up on that, short of asking the creep. It’s pretty hard to follow a drone. It’s not like they leave tracks behind.

During my morning break, I check my phone. No miracle messages from Shadow. Geographastic tells me that the capital of Lithuania is Vilnius.

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