She watched Luke adjust the wrap while other cowboys tried to tighten the rope beneath the bull. He pounded on his fist, then squeezed his legs, adjusting his position again. The announcers talked over the action in heavy twangs.
“Luke Collins has finished third overall in the PBR world standings and is considered one of the best riders in the world, but this is a bull he’s never ridden before.”
“Not many people have, Clint. Big Ugly Critter has only been ridden twice, and he was the PBR World Champion Bucking Bull last year. He’s strong and mean and if Luke can stay on, he’s just about assured of getting a score in the nineties…”
“He’s getting ready…”
By then, Luke had grown strangely still, but the pause lasted only an instant. She watched the gate swing open and heard the roar of the crowd.
The bull came out hard, bucking, his rear legs pistoning into the air, his head pitched low to the ground. He half spun toward the left, kicking hard again, then literally jumped, all four legs coming off the ground, before suddenly beginning to spin in the opposite direction.
By then, four seconds had gone by and Sophia heard the crowd go berserk.
“He’s doing it!” one of the announcers shouted.
It was at that instant that Sophia saw Luke jerk forward, his body off balance, just as the bull’s head exploded backward.
The impact was horrific; Luke’s head rocketed in the opposite direction, as if devoid of any muscle at all…
“Oh, my!”
Luke’s body went suddenly limp as he toppled off the bull, his hand still tethered to the wrap.
But the bull appeared psychotic with rage, an animal out of control, and the bucking continued, fierce and unrelenting. Luke bobbed up and down like a rag doll, whipped in every direction. When the bull began to spin again, Luke followed in sickening motion, his feet skimming the ground like a whirligig.
By then the bullfighters and others had jumped into the ring, trying desperately to free Luke’s grip, but the bull just wouldn’t stop. He stopped spinning and charged at the new intruders, swinging his horns wildly, tossing one of the bullfighters aside as if he were weightless. Another tried and failed to free Luke’s wrist from the wrap; another few seconds passed before a bullfighter was able to jump up and hold on long enough – while running with the bull – to free Luke’s hand.
As soon as it happened, Luke toppled to the dirt and lay on his stomach, his head to the side, unmoving, while the bullfighter scurried away.
“He’s hurt! They gotta get folks in here now!”
And still the bull wouldn’t stop. Instead, as if realizing he was free of his rider but angry that Luke had even attempted to sit astride him in the first place, the bull turned around, oblivious to the others who were trying to distract him. Lowering his head, he charged Luke, gouging his horns at Luke’s prone figure with murderous intent. Two bullfighters jumped in, slapping and hitting, but the bull would not be denied. Instead, he kept swinging his massive horns at Luke’s inert figure, then suddenly lunged forward atop Luke’s body, where he began to buck again.
No, not buck. Trample. And spin. In speechless terror, Sophia heard the announcer shout:
“Get that bull off him!”
Up and down, the enraged bull brought his hooves down with furious impact, crushing Luke beneath him. Smashing down on his back, his legs, his head.
His head…
Five people circled the bull by then, doing everything they could to stop the rampage, but Big Ugly Critter continued his single-minded attack.
Up and down, crushing Luke over and over…
The announcer saying:
“They gotta stop this!”
The bull seemingly possessed…
Until finally – finally! – he moved off of Luke and skittered sideways onto the dirt floor of the arena, still bucking wildly.
The camera followed the bull as he continued to buck away and then zeroed in on Luke’s prone figure, his face bloody and unrecognizable, as others began to attend to him.
But by then, Sophia had covered her face, sobbing in horror and shock.
25
Luke
B
y Wednesday, Luke’s headache had abated slightly, but he feared he wouldn’t be well enough to compete in Macon, Georgia, over the coming weekend. After that, the next event was in Florence, South Carolina, and he wondered whether he’d be in better condition by then. From there, the tour moved to Texas, and the last thing he wanted was to head into that stretch of the season with a serious physical handicap.
Beyond that, he was beginning to worry about the expenses. Starting in February, the events required that he fly. It meant extra nights at the motels. Extra meals. Rental cars. In the past, when pursuing his dream, he’d viewed it as the cost of doing business. It still was, but now, with the loan repayment set to triple in six months, he’d found himself scouring the Web for the cheapest flights he could find, most of which had to be booked weeks in advance. As best as he could estimate, his winnings from the first event would cover the cost of travel to the next eight events. Which meant, of course, that not a dime would go toward meeting the upcoming loan payments. It wasn’t about winning to chase a dream anymore. It was about winning regularly because he had to.