The Race

by Joan De La Haye

  Taking a deep breath, I unzipped my sweat soaked tracksuit top, shrugged it off my shoulders and tied it around my waist. The white tank top I wore underneath would be far more comfortable to run in. Sweat dribbled down between my breasts.

  I heard the sound of feet, running fast, coming from behind me. After a few shuddering heartbeats I picked up the sword and my feet and ran after the Spaniard. My heart pounded and my muscles burned, but I wasn't ready to die.

  If I stopped running I knew I'd be joining Arnie.

  3

  The sun started its decent as I crested a rise. The Spaniard sat waiting for me in the shade of the only tree I'd seen since leaving the amphitheatre. A pillar of white rocks stood sentinel next to it. My body ached all over and the skin on my naked arms and face felt as though it had been flayed. I had an inkling as to how some of Ramsey Bolton’s victims felt.

  I'd had enough bad suntans to recognise the symptoms of a third degree sunburn. My skin would be blistered and sore by tomorrow morning. I hobbled over to her and lowered myself down slowly. My muscles screamed out in pain. My clothes were dripping wet with sweat, and I probably stank to high heaven. I didn't know of any deodorant that could have kept me smelling like a rose in these conditions.

  “Why have you stopped?” I asked, once I'd caught my breath.

  “It will be dark soon. We cannot go further. This good place for night.”

  “Not that I'm complaining or anything, but why can't we go on?”

  She looked at me as though I was the dumbest person on the planet, shook her head, and then pretended that her fingers were someone running right over a cliff and made a whistling sound as her fingers fell and went splat.

  “But what about the women behind us? Won't they keep coming, and catch us?” I asked, my fear making it impossible to drop the subject and just enjoy the rest.

  “Only idiot keep running in dark. Time for rest and make fire now.”

  Even the helicopter that had followed us every step of the way turned in for the night.

  “Don't they film us at night?” I asked, gesturing at the chopper flying away.

  “Night vision camera in tree.” She pointed above her head, somewhere in the branches above our heads was a camera spying on us. “And cameras hidden in rocks all along path. They watch everything.”

  The thought that everything I did was being broadcast to the people sitting in the arena, or wherever they were for the night, and heaven only knew how many other people watching on the internet, made me feel dirty.

  Underground websites sporting action, especially blood sports, were big business. Massive bets were placed in illegal gambling dens. I'd always heard rumours about these sorts of things in the clubs I frequented and in the drug scene, but I'd never actually believed those rumours. A guy I'd once dated had taken me to an underground cage fight. Men with cigars had placed bets on the side-lines. It had all been rather seedy and surprisingly fast, and nothing like it was on TV or the movies. Watching a guy get knocked out or having his leg broken was a surreal experience, but it was nothing compared to this.

  What sort of people placed bets on whether someone lived or died? And what kind of people enjoyed watching a bunch of women with swords slice each other up? The whole thing made me want to throw up again, but there was nothing left inside me.

  The Spaniard stood up, stretched her lean frame and picked up small twigs and dead branches. I knew I should probably help her, but my body refused to cooperate. Every part of me screamed out in pain. The headache from the drugs had worn off only to be replaced by a throbbing at my temples from dehydration.

  “I don't suppose you know where a girl can get some water?” I asked. My tongue was thick and furry. It didn't feel like it belonged to me anymore. The Spaniard dropped the sticks she'd collected at my feet and scampered off. I watched with curiosity as she sliced a few fronds off a small aloe tucked into the rock. She peeled the skin off and handed one of the skinned pieces to me.

  “Suck slowly,” she said and then placed the aloe’s skin, flesh down, on my burnt shoulders.

  It was bitter and if I hadn't seen her cut it from the plant I'd wonder if I wasn't sucking on something used to clean drains. My facial expression must have said as much. The Spaniard pointed and laughed at me. It was the first time either of us had laughed since I woke up in the cell that morning. The laughter made me feel almost human again.

  I sucked some more on the aloe, getting used to its taste. Water would have been far more appreciated, but beggars can't be choosers. As the Spaniard built a fire, I realised that I didn't have a clue what her name was. She'd spent the entire day keeping me alive and I hadn't even stopped to ask her name. Under the circumstances I guess it was understandable, but now that we were taking a breather and chilling under a tree, it was time to find out a little more about my life saver.

  “So...” I said, trying not to sound too lame. “My name's Joanna, Joanna Parypinski. What's yours?”

  “Elena,” she grunted.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Madrid.”

  “Oh. I'm from Johannesburg. I've never been to Madrid. Actually I've never been anywhere. This is the first time I've been outside the borders of South Africa. This wasn't quite the international holiday I had in mind. I don't suppose you know where we are?” I was babbling, a clear sign that I was exhausted and nervous.

  “An island off west coast of Africa.”

  “Oh.” The information didn't help me much. It would be a long swim home and I didn't fancy being munched by sharks on the way. Escape wasn't an option.

  “What's Madrid like?” I asked as she lit some kindling with a Zippo lighter she pulled out of her leather bodice, and then added a few more twigs and branches.

  The fire was lit.

  “Madrid?” She frowned. “Madrid is beautiful.” Elena almost smiled, but then the moment was gone and so was she. Pulling a knife from the back of her costume she bounded off into the rocks again, leaving me behind to do god knows what. Tending to the fire seemed like a good idea. She would probably kill me if I let it go out. I picked up a twig and threw it into the small fire.

  An eerie silence settled around me. Elena didn’t make a sound doing whatever she was doing. My exhausted and shell shocked mind found solace in the flames. My back rested against a rock and my eyelids drooped as I started drifting towards much needed sleep.

  What I assumed was a pebble skittered across the ground, nudging me out of my nap. I ignored the soft sound. It was probably Elena coming back after killing some poor, unsuspecting animal. Knowing my luck I’d probably be eating a rat for dinner. The thought of food made my empty stomach rumble and woke me up enough to register the blade making its way towards my throat. As I rolled away, my brain registered that it wasn’t Elena.

  “Only a novice would be stupid enough to light a fire at night,” a blonde warrior said in perfect English with just a hint of a German accent. She sneered at me as she made another lunge for my throat.

  She looked like a Viking, and probably would have been back in the day. In the light of the fire I noticed her cold blue eyes staring down at me. Her knee was on my chest and her dagger at my throat. My fingers crawled towards where I vaguely remembered Arnie’s sword being, but I couldn’t reach it. I tried to wriggle out from under her, but she pushed me down hard. Stones dug into my back.

  “Not so fast my little bunny rabbit,” she said. “I am going to take my time with you. I haven’t been able to enjoy the kill enough today. It all happened too fast. There was no true pleasure to be had.”

  She ran the tip of her dagger along my jawline.

  “What would you like to lose first? Perhaps an ear?” She asked as she pricked my earlobe with the tip.

  “Or an eye?” The blade made a circuit around my right eye. My senses reeled and went into overdrive. I noticed the two sword hilts protruding from holsters on her back. The ice-blue of her eyes. The stink of her breath.

  My heart pounded
in my throat while my fingers travelled across the ground trying to find a weapon. The heat from the flames singed the fingers on my left hand when it touched a burning branch. Swallowing the pain and the scream trying to force its way out, I wrapped my hand around the bottom of the flaming stick, and smacked her over the head with it.

  Fire kissed her blonde hair.

  It was her turn to scream.

  My own smothered scream burst out and joined hers. It was a primal sound. The fear, frustration, and pain of the day were released into the night air. I was free from it. With a howl I kicked the burning blonde off me. As she writhed in agony, the flames licked her face, blistering her skin. As she tried to stand and stab me, I bludgeoned her over and over again with the still burning branch. I couldn’t stop hitting her. Only when my arm was too tired to lift the branch, and her face was a concave mess of bone and burnt flesh, did I stop. Only once I stopped did I realise I was still screaming and tears ran down my sunburnt cheeks. I felt completely hollow as I looked down at the dead woman.

  A hand gripped my shoulder. I swung the stick and missed Elena’s head by an inch. Elena moved fast. I considered the possibility that she could be part feline.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” I screeched.

  “Watching,” she said as she took the stick out of my hands and dropped it back on the fire, which was on the verge of going out.

  “Why didn’t you help me?” I wanted to slap her, but realised I would probably lose the hand I used, so resisted the urge.

  “Why should I?” She shrugged, stepped over the corpse, and began skinning a rabbit I hadn’t noticed.

  My stomach growled, distracting me from what I was about to say and the fact that I’d just committed murder. All thoughts or guilty feelings about the dead woman evaporated.

  I was so hungry I would have eaten it raw if I’d had to. I could feel myself salivating at the sight of it. I didn’t care that it was a skinny little creature with barely any meat on its bones. It was food, that’s all I cared about. I didn’t even blink when she shoved a stick up the poor creatures arse. It was dead and I was happy not to be. The smell of the roasting meat was intoxicating.

  I stepped over the dead Viking so I could get closer to the food. I licked my lips in anticipation.

  “What are we going to do with her?” I asked, nodding my head at the dead woman on the other side of the fire.

  “Nothing,” Elena said as she roasted the bunny. “They will take care of body.” Elena nodded towards the tree.

  At first I thought she was talking about the camera in the tree and the people watching, but as I looked closer, I noticed there were other shapes and shadows cast by the flames. A hungry looking venue of vultures perched on one of the lower branches. Above them sat a murder of crows. I swallowed the bile that had made its way up my throat and tried to ignore the unwelcome vision of them feasting on me while I slept. They must have shown up while I’d been napping, along with the now dead Viking.

  “How far do we still have to go?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the birds.

  “We are at half-way marker,” Elena said gesturing at the pile of white stones.

  She was clearly not much of a conversationalist. Her focus was on cooking and not on making me feel better. I had to respect that. We both had another rough twenty-four hours ahead of us, which we might not survive.

  Stealing a glance at the dead woman, I couldn’t help feeling relieved it wasn’t me. There were things she’d said about lighting a fire at night being a stupid move, that should probably have made me think, but I was too tired and hungry to really give a shit about anything. I’d worry about survival once I’d eaten some rabbit and had a little sleep. I also didn’t want to contemplate how sore my body was going to be in the morning.

  Elena tore off a skinny thigh, handed it to me, and proceeded to eat the rest herself.

  “Hey,” I said as I watched her bite into it. “Aren’t you going to split it equally?”

  “Did you kill it?” Elena asked with a mouthful of bunny.

  “No,” I said.

  “Then shut up and eat what I give,” she said and took another bite.

  “Thank you,” I said, realising I was lucky to have gotten anything to feed on. I took a bite of the roasted rabbit. It needed salt, some herbs, and a red wine sauce, but other than that it was good. It wasn’t enough to fill my growling stomach, but it was something.

  Elena picked the bones clean and discarded the remains next to the Viking’s corpse. Small sparks flew up into the air like fireflies as she stomped out the fire.

  After the heat of the day, the night air was surprisingly chilly and bit into my sunburnt arms. Putting my dirty tracksuit top back on, I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth and comfort, while Elena snored softly with her back resting against the tree.

  I tried to listen for more sounds, but the night was black and silent. Only the moon and the stars above seemed to have any light. There were no fires glowing in the distance. Only the occasional sob drifted on the breeze like a bad lullaby as I nodded off to sleep.

  4

  A slap across my sunburnt cheeks woke me up.

  I was too stunned to react. I’m used to waking up slowly, and certainly not before noon. I’m a night owl who is usually only getting home when the sun is contemplating rising. It’s the nature of my job. Bartenders are basically like vampires. We play and work at night and sleep during the day. I usually need a few cups of coffee before I’m even remotely able to function, but I have to admit the slap had the same effect as about ten espressos.

  The sun was only starting to wake up to the east and turning the sky from black to purple. It resembled a few of the bruises spread across my body, but at least I wasn’t dead, I thought as I cast a glance at the corpse lying a few feet away from me. I probably shouldn’t have looked that way. The sight of a crow plucking out an eye was one I could have done without. A wild dog ripped into what was left of her thigh, while the vulture pecked at her entrails.

  “Get up,” Elena shouted at me, her sword already firmly gripped and ready to fight either the birds or some other would-be assailant. I wasn’t sure which.

  I jumped up as fast as I could and peered into the pre-dawn gloom to see if there was another attacker, but there wasn’t one. My muscles screamed in agony. They’d gone into a spasm during the night and the sudden movement was not appreciated. Sleeping on the hard ground had not done my already aching body any favours either. I could have killed for a Swedish massage. Not that I could afford one or had ever had one, but I’d heard they’re really good. Actually anything that didn’t involve swords, sleeping on the ground, or getting killed sounded like a slice of heaven to me. But it could have been worse. I could have been the one the birds and dogs feasted on during the night. The thought turned my stomach.

  “We must go,” Elena said, and started running.

  Picking Arnie’s sword up off the ground, I hobbled after her. I contemplated stealing one of the Viking’s swords, but that would have involved touching what was left of her bloody corpse and interrupting the animals having their breakfast. The idea didn’t appeal.

  The terrain was tricky to navigate. My toe connected with a rock that decided to plant itself right in front of me.

  “Fuck,” I screeched as I tripped and skidded down the steep mountainside, tearing my once pink, but now brown, tracksuit pants. Rocks and other detritus smacked and cut into my skin on my way down.

  My fall, thankfully, came to an abrupt end about two meters down. A boulder jutting out had formed a ledge and stopped my tumble, and probably saved my life. The sudden stop jolted my knee sockets. I was just lucky it wasn’t a sheer drop down. I would have been road kill, very flat road kill. My heart thundered in my chest as I pictured being pancaked at the bottom of a sheer rock face, like in that movie—Vertical Limit, where the father cuts the rope and goes splat. Or that movie with Jason Statham where he falls out of a helicopter and bounces. At least I
didn’t do that.

  There was a part of me that was relieved it was too dark for me to see the ground, but another part of me wanted to scream at the sun and tell it to hurry the fuck up so I could see how to climb back up to where I hoped Elena waited for me. But she was probably long gone. And somewhere along my fall I’d lost the sword.

  Fuck!

  “What you are doing?” I heard Elena’s voice below me.

  I looked down as the first rays of dawn slithered through the cracks of the mountains around me and licked the earth. Elena stood with one hand on the hilt of her sword, and the other on her hip, judging me harshly. She was also only a few feet away from me, standing firmly on the ground. The look on her face as she glared up at me pretty much shouted: ‘Idiot.’ It was an accurate description of how I felt about myself in that moment.

  “How the fuck did you get down there?” I yelled at her.

  “Quiet, stupido,” Elena hissed. “You wake up the dead with all your noise. You are like dumb baby elephant.” She shook her head. “I come down trail like smart person.” She pointed to her left. Following the direction of her finger, and with the help of the early rays of sunlight filtering through, I noticed what could only be described as a narrow, steep, goat trail cutting through the mountainside. There was no way in hell I would have made it down without doing exactly what I’d just done. I couldn’t help but wonder if Elena was part mountain goat.

  Peering over the rocky ledge I was perched on, I checked to see what the best way down to Elena was. A whole lot of loose gravel and rock separated us. There was only one way down and it wasn’t going to be pretty. I ended up half sliding down on my backside and the soles of my running shoes, which were also starting to look a little the worse for wear, in my attempt to try a controlled skidded decent. I just hoped I wouldn’t rip my clothes and my skin more than I already had.