Free Grave Shadows by Jerry B. Jenkins, Chris Fabry Page B

cloudier it got. The sky looked like a sheet of foam with the little nubs sticking out. It was pretty, and I’d never seen it like that before, but frankly I’d rather have seen it from inside a nice warm house or car.
    Every time lightning flashed, Jeff gasped. I asked if he wanted to pull over, but he said he wanted to keep up with the others.
    “Know what I do when I get scared?” he said, huffing and puffing. “I make up jokes.”
    “Okay,” I said.
    “What did the little kid on the trail say to the mountain lion?”
    I chuckled. “I give up.”
    “‘I hope you’re stuffed.’”
    It was bad, but it took my mind off the lightning. Then it was back and forth, trying to make each other laugh. “What did the buffalo dad say to his kid when he left the herd?”
    “Bye Son.”
    “What do you call two male cows who read Scripture?”
    “Bi-bulls.”
    “What did the mother llama say to the baby llama pushing the doorbell?”
    “‘I’m Mama Llama Ding-Dong!’”
    They were so bad we couldn’t help laughing. It started raining, but we didn’t care. We just kept pedaling, passing others who slowed.
    I told Jeff about the verse in Proverbs I had read a few days earlier, and he said, “What did the kid with cancer say to the guy who rode 200 miles with him?”
    “I give up.”
    “Thanks for being my friend.”

Chapter 65

    I felt caught between two cases —three counting the middle school—and I wished Bryce would get back to help me sort them out. I took a break to clear my head and drove my ATV to the Morris farm to check on our alpaca, Amazing Grace. She was prancing around her mother when I arrived.
    Mr. Morris had given Bryce and me the alpaca after an adventure while he and his family were out of town. Alpacas are gentle animals with really soft fur that people use for sweaters and other clothes. They have long necks and big eyes like camels, but they’re a lot cuter.
    I greeted Mr. Morris and gave Grace a treat.
    Mom’s phone buzzed. It was Bryce. “Ash,” he said, “pray for Jeff. He just collapsed.”

Chapter 66

    Jeff and I had stopped at a barn in a field not far from the road. We limped over to join the others watching the roiling clouds. Jeff’s parents had just pulled up when I heard a commotion and turned to see Jeff on the ground.
    As Jeff was being carried to the van, he waved and said he was okay, but I could tell everyone was scared.
    The rain came harder as we settled in. Several in our group gathered in a corner, holding hands and praying.
    A half hour later Mr. Alexander asked if Jeff had told me about his severe headaches all day.
    “No,” I said. “We were even joking most of the ride.”
    Mr. Alexander sat beside me. “He wants to finish more than anything, but I just don’t see it.”
    “He wouldn’t have to even pedal,” I said. “All he has to do is hang on.”
    “Some of the other riders want to help. They can give you a rest—you switch and ride their bikes for a while.”
    I shook my head. “No way. I want to do this. If I get to where I can’t go on, I’ll ask for help. As long as Jeff gets to finish.”
    The rain pecked at the metal roof like chickens searching for food. A mist swept across the valley. The temperature dropped, and it almost felt cold enough to snow. Yes, even in June. Trust me—I’ve seen it.
    “I’ll bet this is hard for you and your wife,” I said.
    “We’ve been letting go of Jeff since the day he was born,” Mr. Alexander said. “That’s a parent’s job. You watch him take his first step. You see him go to school. I was looking forward to teaching Jeff to drive. Sending him to college . . .”
    His voice trailed off as he looked out at the plains. “This is every parent’s nightmare. We’ve trusted God with Jeff since he was born. We need to trust him now even more.”

Chapter 67

    Mom and I taped the afternoon news, which carried a story about the bike ride. They showed the beginning, which I hadn’t seen before,