by Justin Bell
********
Eight days ago. Day three of the Strickland experiment.
William Strickland forced himself awake at just before five o'clock in the morning, desperate to claw his way out of another haunting dream. In his dream, he was in the mind of a hungry beast as it clawed through the trees and brush looking for? looking for what? Woodland smells seared his flaring nostrils, and bitter copper frothed at the corners of his mouth as his narrow eyes darted back and forth, suddenly able to see everything. It was a red whirlpool of scattered and broken images all swarming together into a vicious single-minded task.
Kill.
Standing slowly, Strickland walked to the nearby window and eased open the curtain bracing himself against a light haze of a dawn sunrise. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and even though he had managed to escape his dream world, there was still a rapid thrum coming from his chest signaling danger and anticipation. His muscles felt tight and strained from his routine nightmares, but still he decided to go for a morning run to help clear his head. It was a crisp day that felt like a New England fall, and the wilderness called to him.
"We got us an early riser, boss," said Mathis as he looked back at Burndock who was bringing up the rear. They had just arrived on post at the edge of the backyard woods. Just as they were setting up for Day Watch, Strickland exited the front door and jogged down the road, heading south.
"Damn, man," Burndock grumbled, suddenly realizing that they were going to somehow have to keep up with this now moving target.
And it was a fast moving target
It started off as a routine morning jog, a slow and even pace across loose gravel and dirt. His breath came in short and winded gasps, and he immediately wondered just out of shape he was. It had taken him mere moments to find a pair of running shorts and a compression shirt in the dresser in his bedroom, so he was certain that he was a routine exerciser, but somehow this process felt foreign to him. Slowly, he picked up the pace, his feet scraping and nearly slipping on the loose gravel, his legs pumping back and forth, muscles tugging underneath his tight skin. His heart picked up its own pace, whacking the inside of his chest with a steady thrum. Slowly, his breath regained its natural rhythm as the trees around him began to lose focus. As he ran, he could no longer pick out individual trunks or groups of leaves, he couldn't see specific groups of bushes or even singular large rocks sitting on the side of the road. Suddenly everything was becoming a faded blur of motion, and the wind began picking up around him. Instead of a gentle breeze, it was a fierce, knifing stab across his face, and he had to squint his eyes to push through. His breath was coming regularly and even, and he felt as if he was jogging lightly, then his slipping feet struck pavement and caught hold, throwing him forward. Blurring along the edge of his vision became streaking as Strickland looked at his own legs in disbelief as they carried him down the road at a furious pace. His feet were slapping dirt and road, and unexpectedly he was moving along at great speed. Not just great running speed, but great speed. Driving speed. His mind raced and he had to concentrate to slow down his rapid pace, easing up to a slow jog that felt much more reasonable. Stopping at the side of the road, he glanced backwards, his eyes wide, surprised at just how far he had come in such a short time. His eyes went down and he looked at himself in a state of disbelief. For whatever weird circumstances had been surrounding Strickland over the past 36 hours, this was by far the weirdest yet, but it was also exhilarating. His heart was slamming, his lungs burning, and he felt this strange sense of absolute euphoria from the chemicals in his brain enhanced by extreme physical activity. Drawing in a slow breath, he collected himself and then broke into a full-on run. If he'd had a full head of hair, the wind would have blown it back in a refreshing wave of cool autumn air, but as it was, the push of breeze on his face did the trick nicely. He wasn't sure exactly how fast he was running, but his mind drifted back to a triathlon bike race down a particularly steep slope. Strickland couldn't be sure if that was a memory, or his mind just trying to rationalize this extraordinary experience. The most amazing thing was as fast as he was running, he barely felt winded, and his legs were not straining as one might expect them to be when exceeding human limitations for running speed. As the trees grew to a muddled green and brown blur beside him, he saw a small wooden sign on a post outside a gap in those same trees.
Norwood Pool 1 Mile
The sharp white blast of memory burst in the back of his head at the mere sight of the sign, and quite unexpectedly, he saw two young girls jumping in a natural pool of water on a hot sunny day. It was serene and peaceful. A young woman watched over them, both coaching the younger one to swim, and keeping a motherly watchful eye on the older as she leaped from an outcropping of rocks into the smooth glass surface-
The memory took him completely by surprise, and tears swiftly stung his eyes as he lost his focus and suddenly stumbled along the mix of rock and pavement road. His feet skidded on the loose gravel as he tried to reach back into his mind and just touch that memory, just for one more second, but then his foot struck a rock and he sprawled forward. As his momentum carried him into a potentially deadly stumble, he instinctively pressed his chin to his chest, curled his back, and dropped into a forward roll, striking the rough pavement with his right shoulder. He winced as pain laced up his shoulder and down his back, flesh tearing and burning, but as he rolled furiously and scrambled back up to a crouching position, he realized that the crash could have been significantly worse. Strickland crouched there on one knee, the strain of the quick run catching up to him, breathing in ragged gasps. His eyes were closed as he tried to recall that sudden flash of recollection, but it had faded away even more quickly than his tears took to dry in his eyes.
Strickland stood, stretching slightly, his breath already slowing back down to even. As he tried to think whether he wanted to head back home or not, he saw another sign just a little ways down the road.
Norwood Downtown 5 Miles
Unlike the pool, this sight drew no reaction from his memories, but he suspected that he might be able to find some answers downtown. This was his hometown, right? Bending over slightly, he dusted the dirt and gravel from his knees and prepared to continue his run, though he made a mental note to keep it at a more normal pace.