Savage Run Book I

19

  The sound of the start pistol brings me right back to that moment when Gemma was shot. And suddenly all I can see is her lifeless body in the Unifer’s arms, slaughtered like an animal.

  “Joseph!” I hear Arthor yell. “We have to go.” He pulls me by the elbow, and I shuffle unwillingly after him. What am I doing here? I don’t belong here. It was a huge mistake to come here, and now I’m suffering the consequences of my actions. There’s no way I can survive these obstacles, and I was stupid to think that I have a chance. In the end, my father was right: I’ll bring shame to our family’s name.

  “Joseph, snap out of it. We have to go.”

  Suddenly, my cheek stings, and I’m back at the start line with Arthor. I don’t know how long I’ve been away, but every last contender has left.

  “Get your act together, Joseph.”

  “You slapped me?”

  “And I’ll do it again if it makes your feet move,” he says, shaking me.

  I snap my arm away from his grasp and dash down the wide, rocky pathway—not so much to start the marathon, but more to get away from him—both because he slapped me and I don’t want to run next to him. Soon he catches up to me, though we don’t speak. I’m running so fast that we’re panting.

  My legs are strong from having biked up the steep mountains in Culmination all these years, and my anger from Arthor’s slap, combined with all that has happened over the past twenty-four hours, feeds my speed. My heart rate finds a steady rhythm, and as I continue to move ahead, inching closer to the last contender in front of me, I feel warmth spread through my body and beads of sweat gathering on my forehead.

  Why am I doing this? When I planned this, it was to gain my freedom, yes, but it was mostly to help Gemma escape. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself all along. However, if I’m completely honest, she never asked me to get her out of there. I just assumed it was for her best interest. I knew best. But I didn’t. I didn’t know anything at all. So why am I doing this?

  I pump my arms and move my legs faster, passing a few of the other participants. Nicholas’s question pops into my mind. What is the first thing I want to do? If I survive, I will have to answer that question. And more. What are all of the other things I want to do? I realize Nicholas’s question was exceptionally well placed. He must have known how down I was, how much I was struggling, and that I needed that question to move myself forward.

  Arthor is the first one to break the silence. “Sorry I…slapped you. I didn’t know…how else to get…your attention.” He’s sucking wind.

  I know he did it to get me going, but I’m still upset. Besides, I really wish he would figure out that running alone is the best and safest option. Do I have to spell it out for him? Maybe if I try the opposite and run a little slower, letting all the others pass, Arthor will get tired of waiting for me and move ahead with the others. I slow my pace, but he keeps on me like a pesky mosquito. I speed up, but again, he’s right there with me. Finally, I run as close as I can to the barbed wires lining the edges of the pathway, thinking, surely, he won’t follow me there, or at least he’ll say something. But no.

  Doesn’t he get that if one of us sets off a landmine, we’ll both be blown to bits? Doesn’t he see that absolutely no one else is running together? They all seem smarter than this.

  I hold my tongue awhile longer, and instead of continuing to mull over how upset I am at Arthor, I scrutinize the ground, searching for clues as to where the landmines are hidden. Then, I remember that there are shortcuts. But what shortcuts could there be in a marathon? Maybe there’s a safe zone, a part of the path containing no landmines. I decide to look for the safe zone—maybe then I could keep running with Arthor.

  I jog ahead, keeping at the tail end of the group with Arthor. Minutes pass, and I feel strong, like I could run forever. I thought for sure, by now, I would have heard or seen an explosion, but all I hear are the footsteps of the participants and an occasional shouted greeting between friends. After running for a good hour without seeing or hearing a single explosion, I relax a little. They never did mention how many landmines they had buried. Maybe there aren’t as many as I had imagined.

  “How far do you think we’ve run?” I ask, having almost forgotten that I was upset at Arthor in the first place.

  “I’d say we’re closing in on eight miles. You’re doing really great, Heidi.”

  I give him a mean look. “Don’t call me that here.”

  “Sorry. It just slipped out.”

  As we continue to run, Arthor’s face becomes increasingly redder. It seems like I’m not really perspiring, since the Savage Run uniform absorbs the moisture right away. But I know from the wetness in the nape of my neck, and the drops rolling down my forehead stinging my eyes, that I’m sweating like a pig. Once I become dehydrated, my performance will suffer—all of ours will—and the bad news is I don’t think they will be providing any water or refreshments along the way.

  We continue for a couple more miles in silence, and my mouth slowly takes on the consistency of rawhide. The muscles in my lower body start to cramp; I’m used to biking, not running. It doesn’t help that the clouds have evaporated and that the sun is scorching the skin on my face.

  When I hear the first blast, my chest feels like it will implode on itself. The blast is far ahead, but I still see the smoke rise and hear the clamors. Now I can no longer fool myself into thinking that the road is safe and I can continue to run alongside Arthor.

  Closing in on the place where the blast went off, I veer away as far as I can and keep my eyes glued forward. Still, my curiosity compels me to look, so I slow down, falling behind Arthor.

  There’s a crater in the road, about the size of my trailer back home—though nothing else. No body. No blood. No smell other than the scent of smoke. But the strange thing is that I didn’t see or hear a hovercraft pass by. Was the landmine so powerful that it disintegrated the victim’s entire body, blood and all, not leaving a single trace of the poor guy’s existence? When the rogue Unifers usurped our land, it is said they used bombs that completely evaporated anything they came in touch with. Are these similar to the ones they used back then?

  I continue onward, trying to think of other things, forcing my mind to move beyond the shock. I see Arthor running in the distance and intentionally run very slowly so I don’t catch up with him. The blast makes me even more certain that I absolutely should not be running with him. It will get me killed. But then the guilt sets in. He stood up for me when I needed him to, vouching I was a friend of his from school, telling me he’d help me if I needed it during the Savage Run. Slapping me…plus, he’s here running with me now when he could be solely worrying about himself. I think of how I betrayed Gemma and how much I regret not running to save her. But this is different—isn’t it? Out here we’re on our own. Back there, I was in charge of her.

  When a deafening blast goes off much closer to me, I cower at first, but then reflexively look toward the sound. A body flies through the air and lands with a bounce. I avert my eyes, but not before I recognize the boy as one of the participants from Culmination. I don’t know his name. His body lies lifeless—dismembered—on the rocks and dirt. Then there’s the god-awful smell of roasting flesh. My stomach revolts, and I bend over when I feel the warm and acidic fluid rise up my throat.

  “You okay?” Arthor rubs my back as I hurl.

  I wipe the sides of my lips with the back of my hand, wishing I had some water to rinse the vomit from my mouth. “I’m fine.”

  “Just try not to look or think about it,” he says.

  “Yeah.” I glance back at the boy, but there’s no use in going over to him to see if he’ll make it. His body is beyond repair—shredded—and the expression on his face is vacant and dead. A hovercraft zooms down from the sky and beams a ray on his leftovers, causing them to disintegrate. All the guys dying in the obstacles, is this the burial they’ll receive? What will their families say when they find out?

  Arthor
runs ahead, but I intentionally wait until there’s ample distance between us before I continue to run. He stops and waits for me. As I catch up to him, I speed up. But instead of losing him, he’s right by my side.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  I have to say something. “It’s way more dangerous if we run together. Seriously, if one of us sets off a landmine, the other one will die.”

  “Oh.” He thinks for a moment. “But I’m looking out for you.”

  I huff. Why can’t he just recognize it’s a stupid thing to do?

  “If you think it’s…,” he starts.

  “Yes, I think so.” I sprint ahead, leaving Arthor a good thirty feet behind me. Taking action is the best way to handle this situation—I mean, does he expect us to stand in the middle of the field and talk about emotions and how we should have each other’s backs and all that stuff? Why do I have to be the rational one? Still, I can’t help but glance back at Arthor, and when I do, I see he’s keeping his distance. I feel bad for him, especially since I’m only acting out of self-preservation. He’s acting out of pure selflessness.