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The End of the World Running Club : To Survive You Need to Run

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  • ÃâÆÇ»ç : Ebury Press
  • ¹ßÇà : 2016³â 06¿ù 02ÀÏ
  • Âʼö : 0
  • ISBN : 9781785032660
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The End

I heard my name called. Once, twice, then a third time louder. I jerked awake. I was sitting down; my arms were folded, stiff with inaction. The air was full of noise and movement. Screams, colours flashing by, something tugging at my trouser leg. I tried to focus. A red, urgent face was looking down on me, shouting.

¡®Ed!¡¯

I croaked something, prised my lips apart and tried to work some moisture back into the foul pit that was my mouth. Beth gradually came into focus. She sighed and looked me up and down, blew a wet ringlet of hair from her forehead. A vague mixture of disappointment and disgust flickered across her face.


¡®Look after Arthur,¡¯ she said. I frowned. ¡®Our son,¡¯ she said. ¡®Your heir.¡¯ She pulled back her lips on this last word. I glanced down at Arthur, halfway up my shin, eyes wide as he prepared to attach his gums to my knee. ¡®I¡¯m taking Alice on the big slide.¡¯

It was Saturday afternoon, the day before it happened. I was badly hungover from after-work beers and we were at Cheeky Monkeys, probably the worst place to find yourself in such a state. Cheeky Monkeys was a vast indoor soft-play arena of gigantic foam climbing frames, nets, plastic slides and ? most notably ? children. A hundred or more of them, fully fuelled, fully wired, clambering, crawling, clawing and yowling up ladders, across rope bridges and around the padded maze. Parents trailed behind them, lumbering on all fours through the hot fug of their own offspring like damned souls in some long-forgotten circle of hell. Others, those who had been temporarily spared this doom, stood about in groups drinking tea and energy drinks; women with dark-ringed eyes compared notes and cackled, packs of men grinned like loons, as they rushed to take photographs of their little ones on their phones, their bellies bursting through T-shirts designed for teenagers.

Or men sat in the corner, like me, trying to sleep off the nine pints of strong lager that were still dribbling through an empty stomach.



"Fighting down my own stale bile, I watched it all and wondered what any man might wonder at any given moment of his life: how the hell did I get here?"

I picked up Arthur and got to my feet, and was immediately hit by a head rush that sent me careering into a table of three scowling teenage mothers. One tutted. I mumbled some apology and staggered away from them, dropped Arthur into the baby¡¯s section and fell back into my seat again, breathless. I watched him. He looked around for a bit, then crawled over to another little boy and began a wordless dispute over a plastic hammer. Another child cried as she was pushed head first off a bean bag by a red-faced sibling. Everywhere I looked there was some kind of conflict, infants disagreeing, trying to lay their own boundaries, little souls crashing together. All that noise and clamour; life beginning as it meant to go on ? a struggle. Fighting down my own stale bile, I watched it all and wondered what any man might wonder at any given moment of his life: how the hell did I get here?

The truth was that I was thirty-five and caught in my own headlock. I believed that I? Edgar Hill, husband, father of two young children, homeowner, Englishman, full-time employee of a large, self-serving corporation, the name of which was soon to be scorched forever from its office walls ? was the product of a sick environment, a civilisation that had failed beyond hope. I wondered daily how we had ever even made it this far. It was a joke, pointless. How could we look after a planet when we couldn¡¯t even look after our own countries, our own towns, our own communities?

Our own families. Our own selves.

Our own bodies. Our own heads.

I was only halfway to the age when it¡¯s OK to feel lethargic, cold, bitter and confused, and yet I felt those things every minute of every day. I was overweight. I ate double portions, drank double measures, avoided exercise. I was inflating like a

Ã¥¼Ò°³

The Number One Bestseller and featured on Simon Mayo's Radio 2 Book Club

THE ULTIMATE RACE-AGAINST-TIME THRILLER

When the world ends and you find yourself stranded on the wrong side of the country, every second counts.

No one knows this more than Edgar Hill. 550 miles away from his family, he must push himself to the very limit to get back to them, or risk losing them forever...

His best option is to run.
But what if your best isn¡¯t good enough?

An original and powerful post-apocalyptic thriller, perfect for fans of The Martian

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