The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,82
so robots headed straight for him.
This was my chance. I pushed myself through the stack of putrid robot bodies and tore out of there like a bat out of hell. Go, go, go, Nate!
Shoulders down, hips up, knees high, elbows back, and pump to shoulder.
Shoulders down, hips up, knees high, elbows back, and pump to shoulder.
Shoulders down, hips up, knees high, elbows back, and pump to shoulder.
The finish line was finally clear of zombies. Just a few yards away. So close.
Behind my left ear, I heard panting as I approached the yellow posts. The German was back, and he body-checked me so hard I flew through the air, soaring forward, legs no longer upright. Where the fuck did he come from, this German Terminator? I landed on the ground, wristband arm outstretched, like those football players did in the Super Bowl to get that “by a hair” touchdown. Titans tried it versus the Rams in 2000. Too bad the Titans lost that one.
Still robbed of my euphoria, the world went black when my head whacked the ground.
* * *
“Nate? Can you hear me?” My eyes opened to a gathering of people encircling me. Robbie Anderson-Steele was one of them, along with a team of medics. The stethoscope squad.
“He’s awake, everyone!” Robbie shouted over his shoulder. Barely within earshot, he said to the closest doctor, “Make sure it’s just a minor concussion. And clean up those scratches on his face. Get him some water and food. We need him to look good for the cameras and be coherent for the evening news.”
With a steely scowl, Robbie Anderson-Steele watched me pull myself into a seated position. I was in the same place where I’d collapsed, on the finish line. The only difference was my wristband had been removed. Using my right hand, I rubbed the sore area where the band had been.
“What happened? Did I—you know—”
He interrupted. “What? Did you win?” An iciness in his voice made me shiver.
“Yes?”
He paused before answering. “We had to review our rules to be sure, but your wristband crossed the line by a few millimeters, according to the data collected.” For my ears only, he hissed, “You’re a lucky son of a bitch, you know that?”
The $50,000 grand prize. Plus $20,000 more for going solo. Plus the $10,000 bonus at the end. I’d won it all! A wide smile spread across my face as I ran through my mental checklist of the things I’d do with the money. First, save the house. Then, Mom’s car. College tuition and seed money for my survivalist prep business were also at the top of the list if I had anything to spare. And of course, I’d give Kate her share.
The nurse wiped my face and took my temperature while the doctor examined my eyes. “Follow my finger,” he said, moving his index finger back and forth.
He took my pulse and checked my tongue. “Clean bill of health,” he concluded. “He just passed out from a small concussion most likely, plus he’s dehydrated.”
The nurse handed me a full cup of water with the Zeneration logo on it. I downed it in less than five seconds.
“Could I please have more?”
“Wow, so polite! Your girlfriend must be lucky,” she said with a wink.
Girlfriend? The closest thing I had to a girlfriend was Kate.
Funny Kate. Whip-smart Kate. Lovable Kate.
Kate and her identical plaid shirts.
Kate, who saved me on that cliff.
Kate, who blasted Pete with the stun gun and kicked that other guy in the balls.
Rising to a standing position, I looked past the doctors, the corporate sponsors, the press, and searched for her. As my disorientation subsided and my mind regained clarity, I knew, with all my heart, I wanted to be with Kate. I didn’t want her to leave. I wanted to tell her about the money. OUR money. To say what had been weighing on my heart for so long. It was something so unfamiliar, I had no idea how to articulate it until now.