He lifts his own enormous hand. For a moment, I brighten. I think maybe that — even though it looks like he hates every fiber of my being — he’s going to wave back. But he doesn’t. He holds up two fingers — his pointer and his middle — places them under his eyes, and then points in front of us.
Oh no he didn’t. I think he basically just told me to pay attention. I’m still processing this when the woman’s voice rings in my ear.
“Go!”
THE RAIN
CHAPTER EIGHT
It sounds like a stampede.
The Contenders run fast and hard, and the sound makes me feel drunk with energy. If I don’t start running, I’ll be trampled. Someone shoves me from behind and I almost fall. I don’t need another push.
I run.
I forget every fear I’ve held on to, and I run.
Breath rushes in and out of my lungs and my legs burn beneath me. I have no idea where I’m headed, and I’m sure no one else does, either. Somewhere out here is a blue flag, and I need to find it. The woman said the flags would lead to base camp and that we have two weeks to get there. Base camp sounds good, like it might have hot food and soft beds. So I run toward what I imagine could be the direction — straight ahead.
It seems many others have the same idea. Some race beside me, but most race before me. I don’t worry about catching up. Not yet. I just keep a hand on my satchel, ensuring the egg isn’t hurt by slapping against my thigh. It helps if I imagine I’m running for us both. If I imagine that right now I am my Pandora’s protector and maybe if I do well, someday soon the tables will turn.
After several minutes, Contenders start to slow. I begin to feel my first shock of confidence as I pass one person after another. No one would ever accuse me of being an athlete. I was always the girl who’d rather cheer from the sidelines than participate in something that’d make her sweat. I’m not a softball star or a volleyball champion or someone who knows her way around a basketball court.
But I can run like the wind.
I use every bit of speed I have to gain the only edge I may ever get. It isn’t long before there are only a few people left in front of me. I push myself harder, flattening my hands and slicing the air.
I pass a few more people, leaping over dead logs and the widest array of plants I’ve ever seen. Large leaves brush against my ankles and smaller ones kiss my cheeks. I wonder what creatures call this jungle home and how many of them rest beneath the same plants I’m stepping on. There are so many things to be afraid of in this jungle, but as I run, my blood pumping hard in my veins — I feel no fear.
I run for what feels like two hours before slowing, even though I know it can only have been minutes. Sweat pours down my face and drips onto my brown scrubs, leaving dark starbursts in their wake. Gross. I hope there’s laundry at whatever base camp we’re supposed to find. I throw my hands behind my head and try to walk off the stitch in my side. I’m not sure whether this actually helps, but I’ve seen runners do it, so what the hey.
When I glance around, I see only two Contenders. They’re fairly far away from where I’ve paused. For a moment, I’m thrilled. I left most of them behind, and for the first time, I feel like I may actually have a chance. I may be small, but I’m fast. And this is a race, after all. But when they both disappear into the foliage, a bolt of panic shoots up my legs.
I’m alone.
I think about chasing after the last person I saw. There’s no reason we can’t travel together for two weeks, then run for the finish line at the last minute, right? I run my hands over my freshly shorn hair and drop down onto my knees. Even if one of the other Contenders agrees to search for base camp with me, could I even find a fellow Contender at this point? Best bet is I’ll race after them and end up getting myself lost. I decide to stay put but reason that if I see another Contender soon, I’ll run my tag team idea across them. Deal? Deal.
Oh Jesus. I’m already talking to myself. Or thinking to myself as if there are two of me. Is that the same thing? I’m not sure. But I do know I’ve been alone for two minutes and I’m already losing my shit.
I slide from my knees onto my butt and nestle the egg into my lap. I’ve got to think. If I were a base camp, where would I be? I can only imagine that we’re on one side of this jungle, and it’s on the other. So we’d have to cross through the jungle in order to get there. That’s exactly what’d they want. To drag the Contenders through the worst of the jungle — the middle.
I don’t know who “they” are, but I feel like I’m onto something. If the camp is on the other side of the jungle, then I can just as easily get there by going around the jungle as I can by going through it. The trek may be longer, but I won’t encounter as many obstacles staying on the perimeter. At least, I think. No, that sounds right. It does.
Hot damn! I have a plan!
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I stand up. Holy mother of God, it’s hot up in here. It’s not a sweltering heat. In fact, it’s probably less than ninety degrees. But it feels like a wet heat, the kind that makes you perspire just by breathing. None of that matters, though, because I have an idea on how to get to base camp that doesn’t involve getting killed. Every few minutes, I have to laugh at what I’m planning. Because I used to sit on our blue-and-yellow, floral couch eating cheese and crackers and laughing at those I Survived shows in which people would take vacations to the jungle and end up fighting off wild animals.
“Idiots,” I’d say, crunching another cracker. “Who tafes vaca to the friggin’ hungle?”
And now here I am. Some people say life has no sense of humor. Please.
Something snaps and I freeze. A few yards ahead, I swear I see a man. It looks like he’s wearing face paint and trying hard to remain hidden. A second bolt of fear blasts up my spine. I glance around to see if there are others, and when I look back, he’s gone. Or he was never there to begin with. Which is probably more likely. A half hour into this race and I’m already hallucinating things.
I rehook my bag over my chest, repeat that there’s no strange man, and walk toward my right. Before, I ran straight ahead. But now that I have the plan, I need to cut across the jungle and find the perimeter. I’m not sure how I’ll know when I’ve reached this so-called perimeter, but I’m guessing the foliage will be thinner. Yeah. I’m going with that.
As I march across the jungle, lifting my knees high to keep from stumbling, I begin to list just how many things can end my life. If I eat the wrong thing … death. If I don’t find water … death. If a saber-toothed tiger stumbles upon me on an empty stomach … death. Granted, I don’t think saber-toothed tigers actually exist anymore. But if they do, they live here.
Sound is everywhere. Some I recognize: birds calling and bugs buzzing. Others, I’m uncertain of. Like the rustle the ground makes when something is slithering beneath it, and the high-pitched scream of an animal I can’t name. Even the trees seem to whisper as creatures dive into their leaves. The smell of earth fills my nose, and everywhere I look, pops of color rest against green. There are flowers the color of ripe oranges growing along a thin, spiraling vine. Other flowers are purple and yellow, and there’s a robust spray of something blue that’s shaped like avocados. I want to touch everything and nothing at once.