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Eve started off at a warm-up jog, chose the left fork on the track. Another, bigger crash, and a tree fell across the path only a few feet ahead of her. She vaulted over it, racked up a few points. Increased her pace.
She veered right, heard a rumbling, echoing growl, and decided to backtrack. She’d just take the longer route.
She ran flat out now, finding her rhythm, muscles warming.
She saw the narrow, swaying bridge ahead—rope and open planks—with some gaps—over a wide chasm. A river, the color of mud, roared and churned below. She rushed the bridge, leaping over gaps, nearly crashed through when wood cracked under her feet.
Then the whole business began to vibrate. She thought, Oh shit, as frayed rope snapped, and the planks behind her tumbled down to splash into the swirling river.
She sprang up, snagged dangling rope and propelled herself forward. The surge of wind, speed, struck her, as exhilarating as it was terrifying. She landed hard—a jolt from ankles to knees—on a narrow ledge.
To the right, the ledge widened and stacked into rough stone steps. On which stood a howling pack of wolves. Even as she considered her options they began to slink forward.
She stopped, considering, and started climbing, dragging herself up the cliff face.
Sweaty, straining, she reached the top.
Reward, the screen flashed. You now have a knife.
She patted her hip, felt the sheath.
Frosty.
Panting a bit, she ran left, away from the wolves. Just as she found her rhythm again, something snaked around her ankle. The next thing she knew she hung upside down, dangling from a rope from a tree branch.
Somewhere, drums began to beat.
Probably cannibals, she thought. It would figure.
By the time she levered herself up—oh, her aching abs—and cut the rope, landed hard on the forest floor, the drums sounded a whole lot closer.
She caught her breath, glanced at the map to choose directions.
An arrow dug with a thwack into the tree an inch away from her braced hand.
She ran hard. Climbed a mountain of stones, fell into a bog, jumped off a cliff into a river to avoid a really big bear.
Her next reward—a flashlight—came in handy when dark fell like an avalanche.
Wet, winded, momentarily lost, she found herself surprised when the screen flashed END TIME.
She pulled off her goggles, turned to Roarke, and was pleased to find him as winded as she.
Plus, she’d edged his score by three points.
“Apparently I have a broken arm,” he told her. “It cost me.”
“I was nearly snack food for a bear, and lost my knife when I fell into a bog. That was fun.”
He grinned. “It was. Want another thirty?”
She’d planned on an hour, she reminded herself. So why not?
“You’re on. I want a quick swim after, then I’ve got work. Questions. Lots of them. Maybe if I bounce some off you, you’ll have an answer.”
“All right then. Loser deals with dinner. I’ve a mind for red meat after this.”
“Again, you’re on.”
