The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,77
laughed and picked up the pace again.
“I won’t say anything about how you might be so slow that a pedometer wouldn’t register your steps.”
“Good.”
“Or mention that we’re moving slower than those zombies in the forest we saw who had no legs.”
“Good.”
“Definitely not going to tell you that I hope we finish before the next annual Zombiegeddon.”
“Good.” He bent down to pick up some debris and tossed it behind him. The next thing I knew I was showered in dirt clumps, crunched-up weeds, and small rocks.
“Pppppfth!” He’d thrown some into my mouth. “You jackass.”
He laughed. “Sorry, my over-the-shoulder aim is usually terrible.” He continued inching down the path. “Are you still moving to New York? After this?” he asked, barely loud enough for me to hear.
In all my time alone in the woods, I hadn’t actually thought much about my life after the competition. The zombies, my ballooned ankle, and Nate dumping me had kept me sufficiently distracted from my post-Zombiegeddon goals. Was I still moving to New York? If he’d asked me right after our make-out session, I would’ve scrunched my shoulders and dodged the question because I didn’t know.
But now I knew. There was no good reason to stay.
I didn’t want to work at Dad’s company.
I didn’t want to live under his roof under his rules.
I didn’t want all the tracking. Or the monitoring.
Most kids at school complained about their helicopter and bulldozer parents. My dad preferred a drone-parenting approach with me, using round-the-clock surveillance to watch my every move.
I wanted a fresh start. No, I needed a fresh start. Far away from here.
“I have enough in my savings for a one-way ticket. After a few months of couch surfing, I’ll try to get a place with roommates.”
He didn’t say anything. But since I promised him pleasant conversation, I continued with more questions. “And you? Going straight to college or starting your business in your parents’ basement?” I kicked some dirt off the path and listened to it shower down the steep edge.
“Maybe both?” His voice lilted and cracked in that goofy Nate way. He stopped in his tracks and asked in a hushed tone, “Can we talk about money for a second?”
“Not if it stresses you out. If you temporarily lose your shit, lose your footing, and plunge to your death, that would be tragic. No thanks to all of that.”
With the tops of his fingernails, he scratched his scruffy chin with upward strokes. “This is actually partly why I am so stressed. We need to talk—”
But we didn’t get to talk. Because a zombie got in the way.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nate
“A ZOMBIE! OHHH FUUUUUCK!”
Stating the obvious, but it was the only thing that popped into mind when that snapping, foot-dragging eyeless piece of shit came around the bend.
“GAAAAAAAAA!”
Someone had recently fought with this zombie and lost. Between the missing eye and the freshly torn clothes, he was in really bad shape, cosmetically speaking. Energy-wise, though, he was ready to rumble. Ten out of ten on the enthusiasm scale.
And I was the one in front. First in line for a good ol’-fashioned zombie mauling.
I pleaded, “Kate? Could you hand me my stuff?”
Kate handed me a pouch, and I rummaged around in it. No stun gun. Where was my—
“Sorry, I left the backpack way back there,” Kate apologized. “You said food and water only!”
The only weapons at my disposal were Clif Bars, two Camelbak water bottles, and a Strawberry Kiwi Capri Sun.
“GAAAAAAAAA!” Cyclops zombie cried out again, lurching forward just enough to make me scuttle back. Feet sliding, I sent stones off the cliff.
My breathing shortened and turned into little pants. A wave of nausea hit, and my legs went rubbery. “Kate?” I wheezed. “Do you still have a stun gun?”
“Yes. But are you okay to handle it?”
Meaning, could I remain steady enough to blast Cyclops instead of electrifying myself by mistake, or losing my balance and falling to