Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1) (32 page)

On the other hand, my motives are hidden.

They’ll never get into my mind.

It’s the only escape I have.

My fingertips relish the softness of the beautiful red dress Dad made for me to celebrate Mom’s big concert. I sway slightly, side to side, and feel the swish of the fabric against my legs. The sky darkens, and I lean against my father.

He hugs me with a wink. “Don’t fall asleep yet, hon. You have to wake up.”

My eyes fly open. I flail in the now-cool bath.

“Wake up, Silvia. I’m counting on you.” His voice again.

So close to my ear.

“Dad? Where are you?” I jump up, splashing water over the bathtub edge. “What’s going on?”

But he’s not here.

It’s just another cruel dream.

I dry off and go to bed, still shivering. The city lights filter through the bedroom window and settle on Dad’s face forever imprisoned in a picture frame on the wall.

Tears spring to my eyes. “Dad, I could really use some help.”

urry, wake up!” Mom shakes my arm.

I groan as the sunlight hits my eyes. “Is it morning already?”

“How do you feel?” She peers into my face. “Are you okay to run? I let you sleep as long as I could.”

“Of course I’m fine to race. I told you, I’m not sick. It’s just nerves.” I throw off the covers, jump out of bed, and change as fast as possible.

We rush down the street without breakfast to the race’s check in site. New Order flags in red, white, and blue flutter above each doorway in celebration of the event. Mom and I arrive, out of breath, at a tent. A long row of runners wait to reach the tables inside. The place is a madhouse. Lots of serious faces and attitude. Plenty of bulging leg muscles. A few splashes of face paint like ancient warriors. I wonder where they got the paint. Gus would probably know.

Liam pushes his way to us in the mob. “Hey there, Silvia. Time to hurry up and wait, eh?” He gestures to the line ahead of us.

“Did your family drop you off?” I ask him.

He nods.

I turn to Mom. “I guess you don’t have to wait with us, either, if you don’t want to.”

“What else do I have to do today?” She puts her hands on her hips. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. I want to be here.”

“Okay, then. Stay.” Why does every conversation with my mother turn into an argument?

We creep ahead in line as the runners check in, one by one. Each entrant leaves with a red shirt and blue baseball hat in hand.

“Are you kidding?” I sigh. “We have to wear red today?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Liam shrugs. “I’ll bet you look nice in red. I’ve never seen you wear it.”

Mom smirks, averting her eyes.

“I don’t like that color,” I explain.

“Why not?” Liam asks. “I thought your Dad’s hair was red—oh gosh, I can’t believe I just said that. I mean, Franco told me about that picture in your room, and—”

Mom puts a hand on Liam’s arm. “That’s okay. I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm, but when Silvia was a little girl, Daniel—her father—made her the most beautiful red dress. Then he died, and she’s never worn the color since.”

“I haven’t?” I ask.

“No,” Mom replies. “Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, I remember that dress, but I don’t recall ever having made the decision—”

“Name please!” A voice barks. I’ve reached the front of the line.

“Uh… Silvia Wood.”

“Give me your arm.” The check-in attendant scans my identification then hands me a standard red shirt and blue hat. “Good luck. Next!”

“Thanks,” I mumble and turn away.

Liam signs in, changes into the uniform shirt like a flash, then stands, holding his discarded green shirt in his hand. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I’ll take it,” Mom offers, and Liam hands it over. They both turn to stare at me.

“I’ve got to change out here in front of everyone?” I ask, flushing.

“You’re wearing a sports bra, or at least I hope so. What’s the problem?” asks Mom.

Liam chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll turn around.”

Once he does, I first make sure Franco isn’t anywhere near by, then I quickly change and hand my mom my extra shirt. Now, I hate looking at myself. All I can see is red. I slip my ponytail through my hat.

“Okay, I’ll let you two get to the starting line. Good luck! And don’t worry—you’ll both do fine. You’ve worked so hard.” Mom gives me a quick, tense hug and disappears into the crowd.

Liam elbows me. “You ready for this?”

I shake out my hands to try to get rid of the nerves. “Yes. How’s your knee?”

“Good as new. You’re gonna have trouble keeping up with me.”

“Oh yeah?” I smile. “So much for all your talk about us running this together as a team.”

He grins back. “I’m just kidding. I’d probably die out there without you egging me on. Franco’s right. I’m letting you be in charge today. So, do you want to use hand signals to let me know when you’re going to pass somebody?”

“How about we point ahead? Keep it simple and work from there.”

“Okay.” Liam leans in close as we approach the starting corral. “I like it. Now, where do you want to start?”

“Not right in the front, because I don’t want to get trampled, but not too far back so we get stuck. How about a few rows in, on the left side, because the first turn is to the left?”

Liam nods once. “This is why I let you make all the decisions. Okay, let’s go.”

The runners wait in the starting corral before the race begins. Everyone leans back to watch footage on an overhead screen near the Capitol Center. Each Representative gives a short speech encouraging the runners.

Liam whispers in my ear. “Are they seriously going to make us listen to all these speeches right before we take off? What a killjoy.”

I try to smile but can’t. I feel like I’m going to puke.

Representative Nielsen, an older man with a bad cough, attempts to speak from his hospital bed. “Congratulations to all of you young people, for putting forth such effort…” He coughs. “And determination.” Again, his speech is interrupted by a wet cough. “We are… saving the planet and saving ourselves… One step at a time.”

The crowd claps, and I follow suit to not stand out. Not when eyes and cameras are recording everything.

The announcer steps up to the podium and declares, “And now, the one you’ve been waiting for—Representative Waters-Royce and her new baby!”

I flinch as the crowd starts cheering and her image floods the screen, her glossy red hair flowing over her shoulders, her skin tight with no sign of wrinkles. She holds her newborn like an accessory. The people quiet as she begins to speak.

“This is the time to be proud of what you have accomplished,” she says. “A time to appreciate our New World. A time to move ahead. Expect great things from the future!”

The overhead screen goes blank. A cheer rises up from the crowd of runners again.

“Well, if that just doesn’t get me in the mood,” Liam jokes.

I can’t smile. My nerves are too on edge.

I shut out everything but the announcer’s voice. “On your mark, get set, GO!”

And we’re off.

The thunder of feet.

The erratic sound of my own breath.

People everywhere, both in the road and lining the streets. It’s elbow to elbow. There’s a scramble for placement. I keep pointing and surging.

I’ve got to get away from the crowd. It’s the only way I’ll be able to settle in.

Liam follows my lead.

A half mile in, sweat breaks across my upper back. The crowd thins slightly, but it’s still hard to maneuver to the front. Then we’re at the first mile. A 6:30 split.

Okay. We just need to keep this up. There are aid stations every two miles with water and sports drinks. Mentally, I break down the race by aid stations.

I keep pointing. We pass person after person without over-doing it. There’s still a long way to go.

Mile two. 13:01. We can’t get sloppy. Need to stay on track. Only the people ahead of us matter, not the exact time. But we can’t get slower with each mile, or we’ll lose our focus. I grab a sports drink, swallow, and toss.

We pass more people, picking them off, one by one. Once I can see we’re in the top ten, I settle in to ride it out. All I have to do is keep them in sight. Let them reel me in.

I relax my shoulders into the mountain yoga position then clench and release my hands. Can’t waste energy in the upper body. Use the core. My head sweats under the cap.

Miles three and four. My eyes start to water. The wind tunnel between the tall buildings grabs at my hat. With one swift move, I tighten it. Liam races beside me. So far, he isn’t favoring the leg. If he does, I’ll have to forge ahead alone, but I don’t want to do this by myself. I shove the thought away.

Miles five and six. More sports drink. I wipe my brow, get the salt out of my eyes. We’re in the top pack. Our times are on target.

“Silvia!” Mom screams from the sidelines. “Go, Silvia! And Liam, you too!”

Then she’s gone from view. We press on through mile seven.

A flash of red hair distracts me. I see my father pushing through the crowd and almost trip. Then the stranger bends down to hand a little girl some ice cream. I force my gaze back to the road.

Get a grip. Focus. Your father’s dead. Forget about him.

My right calf spasms. I wince. Why does it hurt? I’ve never had a problem with it before.

Never mind. Ignore it. Doesn’t matter.

We’re pulling up to mile eight. I need more sports drink. The electrolytes will fix my leg; I’m sure of it.

The refreshment table is up ahead. Volunteers hand cups to the few runners left in front of us. A red-haired girl dashes out to hand me a drink. Amelia had two younger sisters. What if this is one of them?

It is. She’s wearing a black scarf of mourning. I veer away, almost tripping over Liam to escape her.

“What are you doing?” he sputters, grabbing two cups from the girl and handing one to me.

As I take the cup, my vision clears. The girl’s not wearing a mourning scarf. She just has a black T-shirt on. I’ve got to relax.

No, I can’t relax. We’re only halfway into the race. Got to focus. Forget about the red hair, for once.

A half mile later, I notice that my leg stopped hurting. Now, pain shoots across my back, instead. I raise and drop my shoulders, stretch my neck side to side, do what I can to alleviate it. Despite the screaming crowds, my own breath echoes the loudest in my ears.