Page 113 of Runner 13
‘Adrienne!’ he roars.
He’s no longer shocked; he’s angry. He launches after me.
But this is my terrain. I’m fast. Even with the miles I’ve already run these past few days weighing them down, my legs carry me. I don’t have time to marvel at what my body is capable of. All I can do is pray that it lasts a little longer.
I don’t know if I can risk a glance back, but I need to. There’s a tall rock to navigate on the trail, so when my arms are wrapped round it, I look.
I wish I hadn’t. He’s fast too. But he’s not moving now. He’s stopped. That means it’s coming.
I dart round the rock and launch myself forward. But I feel a change in the air before I hear any sound. A loud bang, then the boulder behind me explodes into shards. Another bang and then comes pain, a cloudburst of it so intense it’s like I’ve been hit by lightning.
All of a sudden, I am flying.
51
Stella
‘It looks so much like him,’ says Pete, squinting at the photo on my phone. ‘He had a moustache before.’
He takes out his phone and searches on Google Images for Steve Parsons. Sure enough, there’s an old race photo from his obituary. We compare the two. It really could be him.
‘But how is this possible?’ Pete asks. ‘And what does it mean?’
‘Did they find a body?’ I ask.
Pete shakes his head.
‘So maybe it is him. Whoever it is, we know they’re dangerous, and they’re armed.’ I lean forward to speak to Ali. ‘How long until we reach Adrienne?’
‘Not long now. You can see the jebel up ahead.’
The jebel looks dark and foreboding from this angle; it’s bigger than the one they climbed before.
My phone rings, making me jump. It’s Henry. I ask about Mariam first.
‘She’s en route to Ouarzazate. She’s going to be fine. But I have to tell you something. I just received a disturbing email from your father’s solicitors. I’ve forwarded it to you. Let me know what you make of it.’
‘Shit, OK. Any sign of Dale?’
‘None. The police are crawling all over the bivouac. Ihave no idea how we’re going to run the last day of the fun run.’
‘I think your concern needs to be the fucking killer on the loose,’ I say, shutting off the phone.
I take a few deep breaths, then open the email. I frown.
‘What is it?’ asks Pete.
‘It’s an email from my dad’s lawyers, but it’s written in all sorts of legalese. Like a contract. An amendment to a contract,’ I clarify.
‘Knowing Boones, it’s going to be watertight. He’s surprisingly on top of those things in his other races.’
‘It says that in the event no elite athlete finishes the race, the prize money will be automatically transferred to this bank account.’ There are a series of numbers: a long international banking address. But there’s no name attached to it. Maybe there’s no need. My stomach fills with lead. ‘I think I know what’s happened. Boones’s ultimate race.’ I grab Pete’s hand. If I’m right, this changes everything. ‘Run this through with me. If one of the runners finishes, they get five hundred thousand, right?’
‘Right …’ says Pete.
‘And this contract says that ifnoneof them finish, the money is transferred to someone else. Some mystery person. What if that’s what “Dale” is after? If he can stop people from finishing the race …’
‘Then he’ll get the money,’ Pete finishes. He’s as white as a sheet.
