You're Going to Mars!

by Rob Dircks

  Claire gasps. “I honestly didn’t even think about that. Will we?”

  Mike Horner glares. “Claire, be quiet.” He and Daniels reach a hand down to me in the pit. Mike growls. “And you need to pay attention, Robin. I am not going home.”

  Daniels is pissed, as usual, but Mike is very pissed. Other than himself, I’m the most prepared for the physical challenge, so drifting off into la-la land, obsessing about my dearly-departed-and-now-suddenly-not-quite-so-departed mother is not being helpful. Benji and Claire can’t be counted on to make it past the Slip-N-Die, so he needs me to be on my game. It’s up to the two of us. I need to stop thinking about everything else except winning this thing.

  First things first. “Okay. Captain Daniels. Mike. Let’s start from the beginning one more time. If we can complete the course in under…” I do the math in my head, “…five and a half minutes, from what I’ve watched of the other teams, then Benji and Claire only have to make it to the Alligator Pit. They won’t even have to finish, and I’m pretty sure we won’t be last. We don’t have to win. We just can’t be last.”

  Daniels nods, and Mike pats Benji on the back. He still isn’t happy, being saddled with two of the physically weaker contestants on the show, but Benji and Claire are giving it a hundred percent. We all know the deal. We all stay or leave together.

  If you survey the obstacle course from above, as we did yesterday on our afternoon training flight, you’d say it can’t be done in five and a half minutes. It’s a gigantic zig-zag of ridiculous – and ridiculously difficult – tasks, most of which have nothing to do with Mars. Like the Alligator Pit. And the Truck Tire Roll. And the Slip-N-Die. If Zach Larson was going for equal parts physical endurance and wacky-looking humiliation, he nailed it. As Benji, Claire, and I watch Mike sprint through the first leg – the Quicksand Sprint – it’s hard to stifle our giggles. But he makes it through several obstacles and approaches the Slip-N-Die.

  “You’re doing great, Mike! Just run across!”

  “Just run across. Yeah. Easy just like that.”

  He’s right. The Slip-N-Die is the farthest thing from easy. An arched panel ten feet in the air, the Slip-N-Die makes a serpentine path maybe twenty feet long. And it’s covered in the most slippery substance I’ve ever felt, like oil on slowly melting ice. You either have to balance perfectly at the apex of the arch and tiptoe along its spine, or lay down, covering as much surface area with the lowest center of gravity possible, and slither along like a slug. Mike takes a deep breath, looks back at us, and grins. Then he takes a running start and jumps onto the panel, sliding like a surfer, angling his body to adjust for the wavelike shape of the path. By the time he falls, he’s only three feet from the end, and his momentum carries him onto the exit mat.

  Claire claps. “Oooh. I think I might try that.”

  “Please don’t try that, Claire.”

  Daniels agrees. “You’re not trying that, Soams.”

  Mike turns and bows. Then quickly takes to the thin ropes that hang over the Alligator Pit, pulling himself along through to the Truck Tire Roll. This mammoth device rolls truck tires towards you randomly, collecting them at the end and spitting them back at you. It requires jumping on top, from one to the other, against the crush of tires, toward the final obstacle: The Climb.

  Four and a half minutes. He has a full minute to climb the thirty foot vertical rock wall. He does it in forty-five seconds. We cheer. Benji exhales. “Dude! You’re my hero.”

  My trial isn’t quite as elegant, but I finish. Five minutes, fifty seconds. Damn. I’ll have to do better tomorrow.

  Benji, as expected, makes it halfway through the Slip-N-Die and falls. He’ll get enough progress points, even if he doesn’t finish. Good.

  “Okay, Claire. It’s up to you. Don’t worry about your time. You just have to get to the Alligator Pit. Take your time.”

  Claire hyperventilates for a few moments, psyching herself up, and tears across the Quicksand Sprint like a champ. “You got this, Claire! That’s awesome!”

  She smiles and launches onto the Swinging Rings with abandon.

  Then misses the second ring. It smacks her in the face, and she falls into the trench below.

  “Shit.” She climbs out. “They’ll turn off the flames tomorrow if somebody falls in, right?” She dusts off her training suit. “Well, how’d we do? We got a chance?”

  Mike shakes his head. “What do you think, Claire? You made it through one obstacle. One.”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’ll make it to the Alligator Pit. I promise, Mike. Here, let me do it one more time.”

  So Claire once again pumps herself up, sprints across the quicksand, vaults onto the rings, and… gets smacked in the face and falls.

  Yes. We’re screwed.

  27

  Good Luck. You’ll Need It.

  The next night, at eight, an audience of about a thousand greets us from huge temporary bleachers as we march onto the course, and another billion or so join us via TV. Larson has pulled out all the stops, once again, with floodlights, deafening rock music, fireworks, and even a flyby of Martha, the plane-ish thing, buzzing the crowd just feet above the makeshift arena.

  The teams stand side-by-side with their Team Leaders: Red, Green, Yellow, Orange, and Blue.

  One team will be leaving tonight.

  Aurora sneers at us. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

  I wave back, and she winks.

  Zach Larson takes to a platform set up in front of the first obstacle. “Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to the conclusion of Stage One: Endurance! Team Leaders. Are your teams ready for some fun?”

  The team leaders shout their confirmation, though I detect a little hesitancy from Daniels. We’ve accumulated points during the past two weeks, for small milestones like pounds lost or distances run or weights lifted, but our team is second to last, even with Mike Horner leading the entire field of contestants, and our formidable individual Likes won’t help our team total.

  Larson raises a gun into the air. “The rule is simple: each contestant must enter the course alone, completing as many obstacles as fast as possible, gaining five points for each, and extra points for better time. There are enough points available for any team to come in first. Likewise, any team can fall to last and go home. Good luck!” He pulls the trigger and a flare shoots into the air, exploding into the five colors of our teams. The crowd ooohs.

  Green Team is up first: Aurora, Marina Delacosta, Quinn Keller, and Albert Morse. Larson steps over with his microphone. “Green Team. You’re currently in the lead. Who will be humiliat- I mean, master – this course first?” Marina raises her hand. “I will, Zach darling. Issa piece of pie.”

  The crowd laughs, and honestly I don’t think a single one of us expects what happens next. The starting bell rings and the timer starts, and Marina’s feet dance across the Quicksand Sprint, then leap onto and across the Swinging Rings like a gazelle. She lands on the mat with a flourish, to absolute silence. This heiress to a global fortune, who has never lifted a finger without some giant diamond on it, who has a staff to ensure she never breaks a sweat, just did that.

  Her smile is the brightest and widest I’ve ever seen. She pretends to brush dust off her shoulder. “Well amici? Marina hassa some secrets up her sleeve, no?”

  The audience, jolted out of their stupor, begins to cheer wildly for the New & Improved Marina Delacosta. She curtsies and dives into the Underwater Swim Tank, squirming her way – somehow elegantly – through the Mudder, and climbs aboard the Rover like she was working a lift back at the fill. By the time she reaches The Climb, the crowd is hoarse from screaming and every single contestant is picking their jaw up off the floor.

  Marina scales thirty feet up The Climb like a spider, saunters over and pulls the chain that rings the finish line bell. Four minutes and ten seconds. Fifty-seven points. Wow.

  She blows a kiss down to the crowd. “Finito!” The applause and cheers are deafening.

 
I turn to Benji. “She did that for you, you know.”

  “Which part? The blowing the kiss part?”

  “The whole thing. She’s trying to impress you.”

  “I don’t know if I’m so impressed. You know, back in my day, we had to climb barefoot up a cliff twice that high on shards of glass to impress someone.”

  “You had feet?”

  Benji laughs, and Claire smacks him in the arm. “Hey, while you guys are joking Miss Italy over here is dancing on our graves. Jesus, are they all going to be like that? What kind of drugs is she on? And does she have any extra?”

  “Claire, your training pants are on backward.” Mike is already pacing, watching his dream dissolve in front of his eyes.

  But things get better – for us, anyway. Claire puts her pants on the right way, and several of the other contestants skid, flop, fall, get hit in the face with things, and more or less humiliate themselves. Jayden from Orange Team nearly decapitates himself on the Slip ‘N Die. Avery Jacobs from Yellow Team somehow falls into the Swinging Rings pit before they can turn off the flames, and winds up running around the whole course in a panic, medics chasing her with fire extinguishers. She’s fine, just a little singed, and the audience, and Zach Larson especially, love every moment of the pandemonium. I can hear Larson’s advertising cash register cha-chinging.

  Our team has drawn the shortest straw and is last to go. Despite the encouraging bad performances by other teams, we’re still in third place. In order not to end up in last and wind up on Larson’s ridiculous Wall of Heroes, both Mike and I have to finish the course in four minutes, and Benji and Claire have to at least make it to the Alligator Pit. Daniels barks at Mike. “You’re up.”

  Mike girds himself, and tears through the course like a madman. The Blue Team, currently just ahead of us, starts shifting on their feet and wringing their hands. Mike clambers up The Climb, rings the bell, and looks over at the clock.

  Three minutes and fifty seconds. Sixty-eight points.

  The crowd erupts. There are no official records to break here, but if there were, Mike has smashed them. He looks down, scanning the crowd and the contestants. His eyes find Marina, and even at this distance, you can see him wink at her. The cameras, of course, pull in close on her face, showing her defiant scowl – but she can’t hide a blush on her cheeks.

  “Smith. You’re next.” Daniels pushes me toward the Quicksand Sprint. “Just do the same thing.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to do it faster, sir?”

  “You’re hilarious, Smith.”

  Okay, Paper- Robin- whatever your name is at the moment: how bad do you want this?

  The timer starts, and I dart across the quicksand, through the rings, and into the tank. So far so good. Into the Mudder, and-

  Oh crap. I just lost a sneaker. Sucked right off my foot. No time to go back. I slither my way out of the mud pit, pull off the other sneaker and make my way barefoot to the Rover, feeling for the first time every single pebble on the soles of my feet.

  I race through the Rover – it’s more like the lifts at home than a car, so I’ve quickly mastered this boulder-ridden section of the course – and take a running start onto the Slip-N-Die.

  And my bare feet immediately fly out from under me, and I fall on my ass.

  As my body slides down one side, I turn onto my belly and wait for my body to feel open air and failure.

  But my toe finds a lip at the edge of the arc, and stops my slide.

  Yes!

  Just the slightest lip, it’s barely there, but it’s there. The audience goes hush, and holds its breath as I inch my way, toe by toe, to the end, falling off in a heap onto the exit mat. Cheers erupt, and I mouth a little “thank you” to whatever camera is in closeup, a thank-you to God, and to my family, for somehow granting my toes superhuman powers for a few moments.

  The Alligator Pit proves no match for me, and I smile as I balance on the advancing truck tires, making my way toward The Climb.

  But something’s wrong with the machine throwing the tires, a small glitch creating larger gaps between the tires. It’s totally unfair, I have to leap from tire to tire, no other contestant had to, I’m barely landing on each one in succession. But I can’t whine about fairness. Not now. Now I just have to finish. I lunge at the last tire, and then to the awaiting platform.

  And I hear a crunch.

  Searing pain tears through my torso. I just broke a rib, at least one and maybe two, I’m sure of it.

  I want to curl up in a ball and cry, it hurts so bad. Give up. But that’s when I hear it:

  “Get back in the saddle, kid.”

  It’s Dad. I open my eyes, fully expecting him to be here, standing above me, like every other time I’ve fallen, arms out to help me up. But he’s not here. And another feeling hits me, right where I just broke my rib, right in my gut, a feeling I’ve never had before:

  I miss them. My family. Desperately.

  Before this crazy show, I’d never been away from them, not for a day. Not for an hour. I dreamed of time to myself, of being alone for once, and now I’m here, utterly alone, and I have an incredible yearning for them. For Nana to put a warm compress on my boo-boo, and hum a tune until I can get to sleep. I ache to hear my Dad snoring on the recliner in the living room. I ache to see my sisters running around our little yard trying to catch chickens.

  “Get back in the saddle, kid.”

  It’s his voice again, and this time I raise my head and look around, it sounds so real. He’s not there, but I have the overwhelming sensation that somehow he is here, yes, watching breathlessly on our crappy TV, cheering me on with Rock and Scissors and Nana. They’re screaming for me to stop lying here and hurry the hell up. I can feel them pushing me, willing me to do better than I’ve ever done. Fueled with adrenalin, a feeling of invincibility washes over me, and I look thirty feet up at The Climb, and put the pain away somewhere deep, just for another minute, and get back in the saddle. Climbing hold by climbing hold, I pull myself up, as my rib cage begs me to give up, until I reach the top, roll over to the chain and pull.

  Four minutes and forty-eight seconds. Sixty points.

  Now I let myself curl up into a ball, wheezing, while the crowd cheers, and I cry like a baby, simultaneously trying to calculate if we still have a chance.

  Maybe. If Benji and Claire make it past the Slip-N-Die, we can stay alive. Maybe.

  They lead me back to our team’s area, and a medical tech attends to me with a scanner.

  “Hairline fracture of two ribs. Let’s get you into the MedBay.”

  “No.” I push him away. “I’m not leaving my team.”

  Daniels looks down at me. And for the first time since the day with the pushups, he smiles.

  Benji’s next, and he tries, he really does. But his Rover tumbles over a particularly large boulder, landing on its roof. Thank God he’s safe, but he can’t get the Rover righted. He’s finished. Only twenty points.

  Mike buries his face in his hands, sneaks a hesitant peek at the scoreboard, then turns to Claire. “You know what that means, right?”

  “Please don’t say it Mike. Please don’t say it.”

  He doesn’t have to say it. We all know.

  Claire has to finish the entire course.

  As Benji slumps back to us, guilty, like a dog who chewed a shoe, Mike does something very un-Mike-like, and places Claire’s hands in his. “You can do this, Claire. There’s more in there than you let the world see.”

  Claire seems to be part shocked at this intimacy, and inspired by his words, and unleashes her inner champion at the ring of the starting bell. Now if there’s something opposite Marina’s elegant show before, this is it, it’s awkward and lumbering and hilarious to watch, but Claire’s determination is lighting up the Likes, and the crowd is going insane for its last contestant, and she is, in fact, making progress. Somehow, possibly again with almighty God and my family wishing it, Claire makes it past the Rover, and, sliding like a slug, ac
ross the Slip-N-Die, then the Alligator Pit, and miraculously, through the Truck Tire Roll. The cheers are deafening, it feels like the positive vibe of the audience alone could lift Claire up The Climb.

  But she just stands there at its base. Bent over, hands on her knees, wheezing.

  And crying.

  She’s done. Spent. Totally, completely empty.

  She looks over at us, I don’t know, maybe expecting us to say, “Don’t worry, Claire, we didn’t want to go to Mars anyway,” but we just stare back at her, like “Any time you’re ready, Claire.”

  I’m on the verge of tears again, too. I don’t want to go home.

  Come on, Claire. I don’t belong here. I belong up there. I didn’t risk my life getting this far just to fail. Please stop crying and do something.

  There has to be a way. There’s always a solution. There’s alwa-

  Wait.

  An idea.

  I put my hand on Mike’s shoulder. “We’re not going home.”

  Marching across the course, to the gasps and shouts of the audience and the other contestants, I meet Claire at the base of The Climb and kneel, looking up into her eyes.

  She blubbers over her sobs, embarrassed. “It’s over, isn’t it?”

  I whisper, “We’re not going home, Claire. Not today. Reach up for the first climbing hold.”

  “But… you’re breaking the rules.”

  I grin. “And which rule is that?”

  She searches her mind, I can see the gears turning, trying to recall the rule that says one contestant couldn’t help another. “I just assumed…”

  “Don’t assume anything, Claire. Now reach up and grab that climbing hold.”

  She blows her nose in my shirt – gee, thanks Claire – and stretches and takes hold of the piece of hard rubber. “I… can’t.”

  “You can, Claire.” I lean down, put my shoulders under her ass, and push up. My ribs threaten to explode out of my body and a bolt of pain almost floors me. But Claire’s foot wiggles around and finds its first hold. I push again, through the pain. Her foot reaches the next hold, this time a little more confident.