The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,81

German hard and nailed him in the nuts. Just like Nate had taught me.

The moment I made contact, my ankle made a loud popping sound.

The German rolled over, grabbing his crotch and screaming what I assumed were Deutschland profanities. I fell to the ground, rubbing my ankle and pulling it toward me to get a better look. The pain was worse than ever.

Nate stumbled to his feet, like a severely drunk person pretending he was okay to walk home without assistance. It looked like a cat had used his face as a scratching post. This competition had physically wrecked us.

“You need to go now.” I winced and handed him the stun gun from my backpack.

An aha look crossed his face. “Wait! I was supposed to tell you something. About winning—”

The German moaned as he pushed himself up.

Nate yelped, “Holy shit! Is he one of those robots? How in the hell is he getting up—”

“Go!” I screamed.

Nate glanced at his buzzing wristband. Then he ran.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Nate

Marathon runners talk about “runner’s high” a lot. The point where they hit their groove and running feels effortless. The euphoric feeling they get when their mind is clear, their body feels lighter, and they truly come alive. Endorphins kick in. When they approach the finish line, it’s like an out-of-body experience. One so otherworldly that these same people keep doing marathons, to relive these moments again and again and again.

I am not a marathon runner. And those people who do them are stupid as shit. Getting to the finish line of this zombie competition was the fucking worst thing ever. No way would I ever want to do this again. Never. Ever. Again.

There was no groove. No effortless, light-bodied feeling. No high-as-a-kite euphoria. Where the fuck were my endorphins?

This was nothing like my cross-country or track meets. Gasping, exhausted, and panting like a dog in peak summer heat, I left Kate and the German in a hurry when I got the next and final wristband message. LEAVE NOW AND I’LL THROW IN ANOTHER $10,000.

Kate had already lost, so it was just the German and me. He had a runner’s physique, too, so with no time to think, I got out of there fast.

I’d meant to tell Kate I’d send her half of my winnings, but there was no time.

A quarter of a mile away, large yellow posts and black-checkered flags marked the end of the course. An ogling crowd of onlookers stood at the finish line. I was so close.

Boots stomping hard, I kept my eyes locked on those yellow markers. My heart raced, a frenetic rhythm stemming from pure panic, not from any runner’s high bullshit. In the final stretch, I tried to remember my one-hundred- and two-hundred-meter race coaching. Shoulders down and relaxed (relaxed?), hips pulled upward, knees up high, elbows driven back, pumping to the shoulder for momentum.

What I wasn’t supposed to do was turn my head, to see where the German was. Because then I’d see he was just a few paces away. Distracted, I would panic even more. Then my critical mistake would allow him to gain on me.

The yellow posts were my North Star. Staying laser-focused on them was the only way to win.

As I drew closer to the finish line, my legs nearly buckled when I came to the horrifying realization that the onlookers weren’t people.

They were zombies.

And they were all heading my way.

Oh-shit-ohshitohshit!

Panic stricken, instead of running forward, or retreating backward, I froze.

A distant, familiar voice shouted from behind me. “Use the stun gun!”

Kate?

Oh right. The stun gun. The one in my hand.

To my left and right, the zombies attacked, but the voltage blasts proved effective. Each zap to any part of the zombie disabled them, frying their metal innards. With the zombie corpse fortress around me, through the gaps in the body pileup I saw the German knocking off the zombies one by one using hand-to-hand combat. Because of all of his noisy grunting and commotion, all of the remaining dozen or