“Somebody’s there now,” said Will. “Ever been out there?”
“Hell, no,” said Nick, huffing. “Private property … trespassers verboten … guarded by vicious dogs and … snipers … and I really … really … hate you.”
Will glanced at his watch, calculating time, pace, and distance. “We’ve got a click and a half left. Will you be all right getting back to the Barn from here?”
“Nuh-uh. I just bonked,” gasped Nick. “Total lactic meltdown.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I’ll go blind. Die from hypothermia. Then bears will eat me.”
“Good,” said Will. “So I won’t worry.”
“Where are you going?”
OceanofPDF.com
#13: YOU ONLY GET ONE CHANCE TO MAKE A FIRST IMPRESSION.
“Hammer time,” said Will.
Will took off, hard, leaving Nick behind as if he were walking on a treadmill. Will barely heard his roommate’s last feeble protest.
“Curse you, Will West!”
The trail turned left, rounding the northern end of the lake. Will churned up the track, digging into every stride. Quickly and methodically he closed the gap. Fifty yards. Then thirty. At this point in the race, the pack had spread out, less fluid runners filtering to the back. He zipped by the first trailer, then the second; they looked stunned as he passed and couldn’t even respond.
Vaporized.
Through a gap in the trees ahead, Will saw Todd Hodak and another powerful runner, an African American kid, pushing the pace, about to pull away. The rabbit, his job done, was about to surrender the lead.
One kilometer to go.
The track straightened and widened as it moved inland, then stretched toward a dead uphill climb to the Barn and the Riven Oak. It was steep enough to function as a ski run once winter arrived. The whole length of the severe slope was visible for a quarter mile before you reached it, inflicting maximum damage on a tired runner’s mind. Designed to scare whatever life was left out of you at the toughest point of the race. A fiendish finish.
Suicide Hill.
The tall kid working as the rabbit hit the base of the hill and fell away like a discarded booster rocket. Hodak and the other senior jammed past him and attacked the grade in lockstep.
Will accelerated as he approached the slope. Suicide Hill would have mentally terrified him in the past, back before he knew what he was capable of, but today it didn’t faze him. He cruised by another trailer, slipped outside and torched three more, flashing by them in a blur. Focused. Mind and body meshed.
Go for it. No reason to hold back anymore, right, Dad? For the first time ever.
Will hit the hill at full throttle, without pain, strain, or effort. He hurtled by another trailer, and then the rabbit, still in free fall. Only two runners left between Will and the leaders. Deep steady breathing. He could feel how much energy each breath delivered to his core, fueling him to push harder and faster, still nowhere near his limit. Exhilarated. Liberated.
The two runners ahead heard him coming and glanced over their shoulders. Big guys, seniors, running side by side. Only the squad’s elite would be near the front this deep into a race. Seasoned competitors who had won major races and who on any given day could be leading this one.
Shock hit their faces. A faceless scrub in heavy sweats trying to pass them on Suicide Hill? WTF! They looked at each other and called on their kicks. They spread out to narrow and protect the trail, determined to block this punk from getting past them. Will altered his path and made a move toward the middle. They wanted him to split that gap between them; they were inviting him in.
A trap.
As he drew even, the kid on the right slammed a vicious elbow into Will’s shoulder, knocking him off stride. The kid on the left stomped at his foot, trying to spike him. Will swerved away; the spikes grazed his calf, shredding the leg of his sweats. Will was forced to drop back for a beat and regroup.
The two gatekeepers glanced at him again and at each other. Hard grins. Thinking they’d delivered the message and protected their leaders, forty yards ahead. The grade went vertical another degree, halfway up the hill. Merciless now.
A structure came into view on top of the hill, a tall wooden viewing stand, like a ranger’s fire watch station. Coach Jericho stood on top near the rail with binoculars, watching them finish. Watching him.
Check this out, Coach.
Will darted to the left side. The kid on the left shifted to block him. Will spun a 360 back to the right without breaking stride and darted between them. The kid on the right grabbed at his sweats, but Will shot past him untouched. Off balance, the kid stumbled and went down hard. The other kid tried to hop over his buddy but clipped his foot and crashed. They shouted a warning to the leaders as they tumbled.
Hodak and the African American kid looked back and saw Will ten yards behind them and closing fast. Both put their heads down and dug harder.
Fifty yards from the top of the hill.
Will’s lungs finally began to burn. He was nearing his red line—Suicide Hill and the squad’s rough tactics had cut into his reserves—but he felt exhilarated. Hodak glanced back and then pulled away from his partner; the team’s alpha dog still had something left in his tank. The African American kid labored, steadily losing ground, and by the time they reached the crest, Will had passed him.
Once they topped the hill, the track flattened. Will took a few strides to adjust to level ground again. Only two hundred yards left, a two-man dash to the Riven Oak. The trail passed right by the viewing platform. Coach Jericho darted to the opposite rail to watch them finish.
Will felt doubt stab him for the first time. This was Hodak’s home course. He held the school’s records. He was running freely ten yards in front. He probably had a whole wing of the family mansion devoted to his trophies, and Will had never won a single race in his life; he’d never even been allowed to try. On any other day, in any other race, he would have been happy to finish the way things stood right now. But he wasn’t going to settle for second today. He doubled his breathing and dialed up every emotional trigger he could think of to spur him on.
Images flashed: Sedans. Black Caps. Monsters. Everything they’d done—whoever they were—to his parents and to him. Deep red anger. Projecting it all onto the one man left in front of him. Rocket fuel.
One hundred yards to the opening in the oak.
Raw fury gave Will what he needed for one last attack. He rode it hard and pulled up just behind Hodak’s left shoulder, drafting off him, and then with another push drew up beside him. Hodak glanced over. He was straining at max effort, furious at Will’s challenge but prepared. Determined to beat him. He threw an elbow but Will dodged it.
Sprinting, dead even, stride for stride. The opening in the oak zoomed at them. Only room for one of them to pass through.
RUN, WILL!
His father’s voice, as real and clear as if he were standing right next to him.
With a final burst, Will veered right and cut in front of Hodak on the next-to-last step, spikes nipping his heels. Cool air swirled around him as he passed into the hole in the oak—his sweats brushing the sides—and then he was through.
Will ran on, letting momentum carry him, powering down with each step, legs melting to rubber. Hodak went down on his hands and knees as soon as he cleared the tree, heaving for breath. Will turned, bent over, and struggled for air. The rest of the team came in and gathered around their captain. The two thugs who’d tried to take Will out on the hill pulled Hodak to his feet.
His face white, fists bunched at his side, Todd Hodak stalked toward him. Will straightened and stood his ground. Hodak stopped a foot away, still trying to catch his breath. Pointed a finger at Will’s face and stuttered, speechless.