by Marina Epley
“What are you doing?” Amy laughs. “It’s a banana. You need to peel it.”
She demonstrates the peeling procedure. I end up eating three bananas. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything I liked better before.
Amy stops to chat with the two guys she was hanging out with yesterday. I walk alone to the door, anxious to see what kind of sky we have today. Outside, I squint into the hot blinding sunshine. The sky is the same blue perfection. I smile, breathing the fresh humid air, a few bees buzzing overhead.
A tall guy with dark brown hair watches me closely, a strange grin across his face.
“What’s your name, girl?” he asks.
“Kora,” I answer hesitantly.
“I believe your name is trash rat,” he states. “You were a picker, weren’t you?”
He must’ve noticed the scar on my shoulder. I don’t say anything.
“Stinking varmint,” he says slowly, relishing the words. Laughing, he leaves.
I stand motionless, feeling like something has died inside me. I can’t believe this is happening again. Why do they always have to choose me for their target? I think of Trent. He didn’t approach me during breakfast, lost deep in his own thoughts.
“There you are!” Amy exclaims, marching out of the building. The two guys follow obediently behind her. “Let me introduce my friends. This is Dennis. He used to be a hunter in his village” A short tough-looking guy shakes my hand. “And this is Sandro. He was a blacksmith.” The tall broad-shouldered Sandro nods his head, smiling shyly. His eyes are crossed and it’s hard to understand where exactly he’s looking. I introduce myself, informing them that I’m from the Recycling village. They don’t seem to mind the fact.
After breakfast, Joan has us run six miles along the ocean shore. Brutus, another coach, joins the training session. He’s a thin man in his early forties. Ugly-looking scars cover his arms and legs, and he’s missing his right hand. Joan is wearing shorts and a t-shirt today, and I notice similar scars on her legs. Where did they get all these injures?
All female racers are ordered to wear shorts and bras with no shirts for training, and the guys wear only shorts. The first couple of miles I’m very self-conscious and embarrassed. But as the sun crawls higher into the sky, I feel grateful for being half naked. The lack of clothes seems to help fight the heat.
Amy, Dennis, Sandro and I run together at the end of the group. Brutus runs ahead, setting our pace, while Joan jogs behind, whip in her hand. Giving up while running is strictly prohibited. I jog lightly, watching the ocean waves, smelling the air and enjoying the sunshine. Maybe it wasn’t a mistake to leave my home after all, I think. Maybe I’ll be happy here.
An hour later we return to our training base, where Joan makes us jog in circles around a running track, then do push-ups. My arms quickly tire and start aching. My legs are heavy and wobbly after the long run. I manage to perform only eight push-ups before sprawling on the ground in exhaustion. Joan approaches with the whip, and I struggle on, squeezing out three more push-ups. Amy easily performs fifteen before becoming exhausted.
“Come on, ladies!” Joan shouts at the guys. “Push-ups are for girls. Real men do pull-ups.” Then she turns to girls and announces that we’ll have to do pull-ups as well.
I hang from a wooden plank like some sort of animal carcass, trying to pull myself up. No dice. It’s just not happening. Joan swings her whip around, striking the ground beneath my feet. After her encouragement, I finally manage to perform two miserable pull-ups. Amy manages six. Dennis performs nine. Topaz and Martha along with a few others fail the task completely. Sandro impresses everybody, including Joan, performing twenty pull-ups. Blacksmiths obviously have very strong arms.
Joan finally dismisses us and we proceed to the dining room for lunch. On the opposite side of the table, I notice Trent and Samantha speaking. I turn away, looking into my bowl of creamy tomato soup.
Back in our room, I fall flat on my bed and instantly drift off to sleep. No dreams this time around, I’m too exhausted.
***
“Get up! Time for some real training!”
I sit up in bed, holding my aching head. Joan bangs on doors, demanding all the racers to come outside for an evening session. I pull my running uniform back on, tie my shoes and jog toward the door, fixing my hair in a quick pony-tail as I go. Amy, Martha and Topaz groggily follow.
The evening session is different. Joan leads us to another section of the training base, where logs, empty barrels, ropes and huge tires are all put together into odd-looking contraptions. We have to jog around a track. We have to climb ropes, step through the tires and crawl through long hollow pipes. The training goes on and on for hours. My muscles ache and I become dizzy. I clench my teeth together and keep pushing. I think about my freedom. I think about my future and the life I’m trying to earn.
Approaching an eight foot wall, I stop and look up. It’s the one place in the obstacle course where I just have to have some help. I notice the guy who called me a varmint earlier on top of the wall.
“Come on, Kora!” he shouts, smiling and stretching an arm toward me. “I’ll help you.”
I know it’s some sort of prank. But part of me wants to believe this guy for some reason. I jump, grabbing his hand, and he pulls me up. For a moment I think that everything is going to be all right, but he suddenly releases my arm and I fall. The guy lets out a mocking laugh and proceeds over the wall. I sit up, cursing quietly under my breath. My back hurts.
“What a jerk!” Amy spits, approaching me along with Sandro and Dennis.
“No stopping!” Joan yells, swinging her whip. “Come on! Move it!”
Sandro and Dennis quickly climb the wall and pull Amy and me up. We continue our training. I can’t stop thinking about the guy who called me trash and made me fall. What does he want from me? Why can’t he just leave me alone? I wish I could punch him in the face, but unfortunately I don’t even know how to punch.
Back in our quarters, Amy paces the floor, frowning and snorting like an angry bull.
“Something is wrong with this training,” she blurts out. “Why does nobody tell us what this Terror Race really is? Are we supposed to compete with other racers or what? And why do we need to pass an obstacle course? What’s this all about?”
I remain silent. I’ve been asking myself the same questions but am too exhausted to answer.
“Where are all the other racers from previous years?” Amy continues, looking fresh and full of energy even after everything we’ve been through today.
“Maybe they’ve earned their freedom and left,” Topaz suggests, lying on her back in bed.
“Maybe,” Amy says. “Or maybe they didn’t survive the Terror Race or whatever it is.”
I turn on my side and pull my legs up to my chest. I rub my aching calves, only to start suffering new pains in my back and shoulders.
“I mean, did you girls see all those scars Joan and Brutus have?” Amy adds. “And his missing hand… I mean… What happened to them? They’re former racers, aren’t they?”
That they are. I saw racer brand marks on their shoulders.
“You think they’re the only two racers to survive?” I ask.
“I don’t know what to think,” Amy states. “But what I do know is that I’m not going to stay in this place, should things become too much rougher.”
The room grows quiet. Topaz, Martha and I stare at Amethyst. Is she talking about running off?
“Where would you go?” Topaz asks.
“I don’t know,” Amy answers. “Maybe to Bastion. I heard it’s a large city in the north where they don’t have slavery. I also heard Bastion and Central Settlement are some sort of enemies.”
“Yeah, I heard that too,” Topaz says. “But you’ll have to cross the Dark Land where the roamers live.”
“So what?” Amy shrugs. “Roamers are just escaped servants, aren’t they?”
“No,” Topaz says, shaking her head. “They’re demons. They
sold their souls to become invincible and gain the ability to turn into wolves at night. They kill strangers on sight and bite off their heads.”
Amy gives her a blank stare. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s true,” Martha whispers, wide-eyed. “Roamers killed the previous high master of Central Settlement six years ago. His name was Christopher. They cut off his head and chopped his body into small pieces. They also murdered his wife and children, four princesses and a little prince.”
“Everybody in Central Settlement is afraid of them,” Topaz adds in a haunted voice. “They lurk out there in the darkness, waiting patiently for their victims.”
“Oh come on,” Amy groans, chuckling. “That’s just a silly tale parents tell to scare their kids.”
They continue arguing about the roamers. I close my eyes, thinking about evil strangers lurking in the darkness. I suppose I wouldn’t mind becoming a werewolf.
***
I knock lightly on the door of Trent’s room.
“What are you doing here?” He frowns upon seeing me.
I mumble that I need to speak with him privately. His three roommates smirk, sizing me up, which makes me uncomfortable.
Outside, I tell Trent about Amy’s suspicions concerning the Terror Race.
“Stop it,” he interrupts in a harsh voice. “I know what you’ve got on your mind, Kora. Please, get rid of any such bad ideas.”
“But Trent…” I mutter.
“Would you like to know what your problem is?” he asks. “You don’t seem to be able to make up your mind about what you want. You were dreaming about living in Central Settlement. And now you’re complaining about having to train too hard. You’re thinking of running off, aren’t you?”
I nod, becoming mute.
“You have to accept yourself and your new life,” he continues. “Can’t you see how you’re just trying to run away from yourself? That’s why you’re never happy.”
He pauses, looking at me. I still don’t speak. We stand very close and I envision Trent throwing his arms around me and giving me a kiss.
“Kora,” he says softly. “Look at me. I’m just worried about you. Your thoughts could get you killed someday, understand? You know what happens to runaway servants, don’t you?” He touches my face gently, sighing. “Stop dreaming so much,” he suggests.
Maybe Trent is right and I should just stop thinking and dreaming. But how can I? My dreams are all that I really have. Take them away and I’ll have nothing left.
He returns to his room and I head back toward mine. I convince myself that Amethyst must be mistaken. I tell myself that any ideas about running off are stupid. Trent wouldn’t join me in an escape attempt anyway, would he? I force myself to believe that everything here will be just fine.
By the end of the week, Joan and Brutus have us running from a pack of vicious dogs.
CHAPTER 7
I’m breathless. Running so hard that water from the puddles splashes up behind me, spraying the back of my legs. It’s raining. And a huge snarling dog is chasing me down.
No matter how fast you run, you can’t outrun a dog. I had a head start, but the distance between us is quickly closing. I can already sense its hot breath on my calves.
Zigzagging between obstacles, I come to a rope hanging from a wooden plank. I jump as high as I possibly can, grabbing the rope with both hands just in time to avoid being bitten. Its jaws snap angrily closed mere inches beneath my feet. I groan, pulling my legs up higher. I can’t climb further yet, being exhausted. My arms are shaking. I suck in gulps of air, but can’t get near enough oxygen.
The dog leaps, growling furiously. Looking down, I can distinctly see two rows of sharp yellow teeth inside its enormous mouth. If the dog gets hold of my leg, I’ll be done for.
I finally manage to climb a few feet higher, pulling my weight using only my arms. My legs dangle freely beneath me now. The dog continues raging below. I’ve never seen this breed before. It’s hairless, sand-colored and probably twice my weight. Under different circumstances, I might try to make friends with a dog like this. At the moment though, I truly wish I could smash in its head.
Half an hour ago, Brutus and Joan led us into a large fenced area of the training field filled with tires, barrels and hanging ropes. The guards then proceeded to release a pack of large dogs to attack us. There are no rules here protecting the fallen. No mercy or second chances. To avoid being attacked, we have to sprint between obstacles, climb ropes and work as a team to divert the dogs’ attention from one another. Joan and Brutus walk along the fence line, observing our performance and shouting orders. They don’t allow us to remain off the ground longer than a couple of minutes. As soon as a dog diverts its attention to another target, you have to jump down and continue running.
The dog underneath me finally gets bored. It lets out a last threatening growl and scurries off in search of a more accessible victim.
“Down!” Brutus yells. “Get back on the ground.”
I release the rope. Sweat drips freely, my skin red and hot. I’m wearing only shorts, sports bra and a pair of running shoes, yet I’m still overheated.
Dennis and Sandro sprint past, another furious dog giving chase. I grab cover behind a pile of stacked tires. I freeze, trying not to move, trying not to breathe, and suddenly hear the scream. One filled with pain and desperation. I cautiously glance around my cover and see a young girl spread across the ground, a crazed dog ripping the muscles and tendons from her legs. Something tightens in my chest and I want to turn away, yet continue watching. I don’t even know her name, but feel like crying anyway.
I hear a low growl and notice movement off to my left. I take off, sprinting desperately toward the fence, hoping to climb it. But the dog is only a few feet away and I’m way too slow.
Suddenly, Topaz cuts in between, redirecting attention to herself. Snarling, the dog greedily gives chase but Topaz makes it to a dangling rope. She jumps, catching the rope and trying to climb higher. But her arms aren’t strong enough so she only manages to ascend a few feet before stopping. I watch in horror as she begins to slide back down the rope, screaming. The dog raises on its hind legs to meet her. I feel a sickening sensation in my stomach, a mixture of anger and shock. I don’t have time to think or analyze what I’m doing. I just grab a dried-out branch off the ground and run straight for the dog.
“Back! Get away!” I shout so loudly that my own ears begin to ring.
I swing the branch around at the dog. It turns to face me, backing off a couple of steps, barking and sneering. I bare my teeth. I continue yelling hatefully. I’ve never really been scared of dogs, as we had plenty of them wandering about the Field back in the Recycling village. Some were friendly so I played with them, but others were dangerous. I’ve learned you have to stand your ground, showing no fear and behaving just as viciously as them.
This dog isn’t used to facing humans. It’s used to seeing the backs of the frightened and fleeing. The dog charges at me, but at the last second changes its mind and backs away. I step forward, swinging the branch violently and shouting. The dog runs around me, attempting to flank me and attack from behind. I quickly spin around to meet its charge. It’s like we’re performing some sort of wild dance, each growling, spinning around, lunging forward then stepping back. White foam drips from the dog’s snout. Spittle flies from my mouth. I continue snarling and turning, swinging the branch and always making sure to face the dog.
Joan finally grabs the dog’s collar and pulls it away. I kneel on the ground, still sneering in anger and panting.
“What was that?!” Joan shouts. “You weren’t instructed to fight the dogs. You must run from them.”
“I’m not afraid of dogs,” I utter, although the words make little sense even to myself.
Joan strikes my bare calves with her whip. I flinch in pain, my eyes watering. She orders me to stand up and continue training. I look down at my legs to see long red gashes f
rom the whip.
Shivering, Topaz stands a few feet away.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
At the end of our training session, Joan tells the other racers about what I’d done. She calls me a disobedient servant. She makes the other racers run ten circles around the track, then perform push-ups in puddles of water. I stand motionless, watching. It’s my punishment, doing nothing but watching the others suffer. After Joan finally dismisses us, most throw hateful glares my direction.
I guess I’m being made into an outcast. Again.
***
Over the next five weeks we run from the vicious dogs ten more times. The brutal exercise soon becomes routine, and doesn’t cause as much shock or panic. I no longer attempt fighting the animals. Four other racers get injured during this time and we never see or hear from them again.
We wake at sunrise each day and run six to ten miles along the shore. Then we perform exercises, eat breakfast, nap and continue training. We overcome obstacle courses and do interval training, building up our speed. We crawl on our hands and knees through mud, jump rope and run stairs. Then eat our final meal before returning to our quarters and passing out until the next morning, when we have to train again. It’s the same never-ending cycle. My legs and arms ache constantly. Cuts and bruises cover my entire body. I have blisters on my feet and my right knee hurts sometimes, so I wear a knee-brace during training.
I frequently curse myself for leaving my village. Being constantly worn out and in pain, I hate my new occupation. Only during the long distance runs along the shore can I relax and enjoy being a racer. Running gives me a sense of freedom. It makes me feel strong and powerful, and I can even temporarily forget the fact that I’m just a slave.
The meals are first rate. I somehow manage to put on a little weight, even with all the training. Maybe it’s because I eat twice as much as any other racer. Sometimes eating a second helping of stew or savoring a delicious banana, I remember an old book I read back in Augusta’s library. It was a story about two kids who met a wicked witch in the woods. She vigorously fed the boy only to later try to kill him for dinner. I wonder whether there’s any similarity between our fates.