Defect - By Ryann Kerekes Page 0,17
join our soldiers at the starting line and complete the obstacle course.”
My first impulse is to not cooperate. If I resist, they can’t use me as a pawn in their games. I know I have something they want and – though I don’t know what it is – I have the sense to guard it.
Kane steps from the shadows, and that’s all the motivation I need. I involuntarily move toward the starting line, just wanting to be away from him. He smiles a sick, sardonic smile, proud of the fear he’s instilled in me.
I line up with the others and spot Sam near the back. “What are you doing here?” She looks worried, like I have no chance of surviving this course.
I shrug. “Any tips?”
She digs one toe into the dirt behind her, ready to spring forward when we hear the gun blast. Looking straight ahead, she says, “Pace yourself. Don’t get swept up by the crowd. And in the ring – keep your hands up – protect your face.”
The gun fires, and the group springs forward, breaking into a sprint. They’re scrambling over logs, splashing through the mud, shoving each other aside to get ahead. I realize we’re being timed and there’s some unknown incentive to do well. I jog after them, trying to remember Sam’s words. I don’t want to push myself too hard at the beginning, it’s a long race with lots of obstacles, and I’ll need my strength to make it through. I get to the first mud pit, and without thinking, I clamber through it.
The mud engulfs my feet, and I sink up to my ankles, making each step difficult as I pull myself free from the suction the mud creates. It gets deeper and deeper as I wade across. I sink up to my thighs, my chest. It’s cold and thick, but strangely refreshing and helps to wake me up to what I’m actually doing. I quickly learn it’s best to go as fast as you can through the mud so you don’t have the chance to sink. I abandon my strategy of going slow to pace myself. I pick my feet up and jog faster through the mud before it has the chance to pull me under.
I reach the rope wall and without hesitating, I step into the first hold and begin pulling myself up. My arms quiver, and I look from the ground and then up to the top, trying to judge if I’ll have the strength to actually do this. I worry that I’ll fall to the ground and venture a glance down, but then squeeze my eyes shut. No. I push aside the thought and keep moving. After a few more feet of climbing, I’m nearly at the top. I cross one leg over, then the other, while I balance precariously at the beam on the top. I begin to climb down the other side and drop to my feet when I’m close to the ground.
People push past me, and I follow, stumbling with one wet, heavy foot in front of the other. The faces around me are black with mud. There are guys – big guys – who sprint past me into another mud bog. This time, we have to get low and crawl on our bellies under crisscrossing ropes. I drop to my knees in the mud, get low and crawl on my elbows under the ropes. The girl ahead of me kicks her feet, splashing mud into my eyes. I blink away the muck and keep crawling. Sticks and gravel cut into my arms as I pull myself through the mud, but I keep moving.
The shot of adrenaline they’ve given me is starting to wear off, and I’m almost out of energy, but I know the course is nowhere near done. And I don’t even want to think about what’s waiting for me at the end. Surely, they won’t make me fight anyone.
Most of the crowd quickly makes their way ahead of me, which is fine with me. For the next hour, I crawl through dirt, swim through mud puddles, run up and down hills, hurdle logs, and climb ropes and makeshift walls until my fingers are sore and bleeding, my legs are trembling, and I’m covered from head to toe in mud. I even taste it in my mouth.
All of the others are much faster than me, and I soon find myself so far back behind the pack that I’m confused about which obstacle comes next