Squealing and spinning, Claire tumbled down the porch steps, landing on the cement walkway that divided the grass yard. Derek pounced, grabbing her ankle with both hands before she recovered.

“No tricks!” Roman cried, pushing past Summer onto the porch. “No more games or you’ll be sorry!”

“I think he broke my leg,” Claire whimpered.

“Don’t move,” Derek warned.

Trevor looked closely at the guidestone. “What is this? The world’s smallest globe? I don’t see any markings.”

“Give it back,” Roman demanded. “Not to Derek. He’ll keep hold of Claire. Give it to me, and you guys can leave.”

“What do I care about Claire?” Trevor said, putting the guidestone in his pocket. “She’s the worst. You can have her. Keep Paige, too, if you can catch her.”

Paige and Hailey glared at him.

Roman looked furious. “If you don’t give us the guidestone—”

“Do what you want to them,” Trevor said. “That’s your business. Mine is winning.”

Before Roman could reply, Trevor turned and streaked away at top speed.

*****

As Trevor sprinted away from the trailer, he hoped he had made a good choice. He doubted they would hurt Claire. The Tanks were strong, but they were kids. They weren’t out for blood. If the guy with the stone they wanted ran off, there would be nobody to threaten and no reason to hold hostages.

As he dashed away, Trevor heard Roman shouting something, the words unintelligibly slow. It didn’t matter what he said. By stopping to listen, he would give them a reason to keep harassing Claire. By pretending that he didn’t care, he would decrease her value as a hostage and hopefully make her safer.

If he kept hurrying, the Racers should win, which was probably for the best. Trevor had taken some time to think it through while the Tanks were in the mobile home. He had firmly concluded that he would have more luck backstabbing the other Racers than Summer would have betraying the Tanks.

Using his maximum speed, Trevor ran past the trailers, distantly aware of how slowly the rest of the world was moving. Water leaked from a spigot, dripping as if gravity had almost ceased. A few small birds took flight in slow motion, startled by his rapid approach. Everything but him seemed restrained by some invisible force, while he was free to run like normal.

Except the running was making him much more tired than any natural sprint. As the arched DEVIL’S SHADOW entryway came into view, his head started to pound and his lungs burned. It felt as though he had sprinted ten times as far as he had actually run. The day had grown inexplicably hotter, and his mouth was suddenly parched.

Trevor shifted down to normal race mode and reduced his sprint to a jog. All he had to do was make it to the car. His burst of super speed meant he was well ahead of the Tanks.

Even in normal race mode, moving at a jog almost felt like too much. He knew through practice how much running at top speed sapped his energy. Adrenalized by the need to escape the Tanks, he had stayed at top speed for longer than ever before. He had known that overdoing it could wipe him out, but fear and excitement had driven him to push the limits.

Even at this slower pace, his legs felt rubbery, his head remained sore, and his heart was drumming like a hummingbird’s. He began to get dizzy. Wouldn’t that be great if he fainted?

Trevor slowed to a quick walk. In race mode, this would still be like a normal run, and his time at top speed had given him a huge head start. A glance back showed nobody following him yet—not Paige, Hailey, or any Tanks.

It was probably best if Paige and Hailey stayed with Claire. They could help her get back to Arcadeland and find the medical care she needed. Had she really broken her leg falling off the porch? It was possible. She had fallen hard.

All Trevor had to do was make it to the car. Then he could rest while the driver sped away. The Tanks would try to pursue him, but with his lead, hopefully they would never catch up. If they did, he would be rested and could escape on foot.

Trevor dropped to his knees and dry heaved. The need hit urgently, leaving him no chance to resist. He briefly wondered how this would look to an observer, watching somebody violently gag in fast motion.

Trevor staggered back to his feet. His muscles remained fatigued, his head woozy. Would it help if he left race mode altogether? But then his walk really would be just a walk. He couldn’t risk the Tanks catching up. Race mode had never tired him much more than normal mode. It was the speediest mode that really drained him.

Beyond the arched entrance, Trevor stopped in his tracks. Both cars were still waiting out front. But his was upside down.

What had happened? The Tanks must have flipped it over before they followed the Racers into the trailer park. Was that allowed? He supposed there had been no rules against it.

His driver stood outside the flipped vehicle, leaning against it. He saw Trevor looking and shrugged, hands raised helplessly.

Would the other driver take him? It was worth a try. Motivated by desperation, Trevor picked up his pace and trotted to the car that had brought the Tanks. When he reached the driver’s door, he shifted back into normal mode so they could converse.

The driver, a Middle-Eastern man with a scruffy beard, rolled down the window. “Yes?”

“Would you take me back to Arcadeland?” Trevor panted.

“I’m their driver,” the man said. “Not yours. Overturning your car was a dirty trick, but so it goes.”

“I could pay you,” Trevor tried.

With his wrists still on the steering wheel, the driver raised his hands. “I’ve already been paid. I accepted the job. I’m sorry.”

Trevor slumped. His body remained unusually exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep.

What if he sabotaged this car? Let the air out of the tires or something? Would the driver prevent him? Maybe.

Trevor looked back at the trailer park to see all four of the Tanks racing into view, sprinting at their best speed. He shifted back into race mode. He could run off and try to lose them in the wilderness. But he had wrecked his endurance. The thought of running made bile rise in his throat. His head was throbbing a little less, but it still hurt.

Trevor knew from Summer that the Tanks tired slowly. They weren’t fast like a Racer, but they would keep coming. Running at top speed was no longer an option. How long could he last in race mode? Could he get far enough ahead of the Tanks to lose them before he collapsed? If he got away, they’d try to head him off back at Arcadeland.