They put slow kids on the outside track, hoping one of us runs too close to a hole in the fence or gets winded long enough for the pack to get us.

Inevitably, someone gets eaten or…worse. Last time, I almost tripped over Jimmy and Ginger who’d gotten tangled up long enough to end up devoured up to their stomachs.

But now we’re doing Presidential Physical Fitness tests. My brother tells me the winner gets to live in the Bunker. No school. No more races.

So, I’m stretching up, doing wind-sprints. I’m almost ready. That record’s mine.