Savage Run (34 page)

“
Hurry it up!” I
yell.

“
I’m trying, okay? It’s
really tight in here.”

I inch behind an unknown guy, the smell of
dirt, popcorn, and plastic becoming too strong to bear. “Go
faster!” The walls are pressing away the air around me and my hands
are cold and clammy.

“
I see a light up ahead,”
the guy in front of me says.

A light? We’ve hardly been crawling for ten
minutes, fifteen at the most. This can’t possibly be the end of
this obstacle, can it? There must be something else—I’m sure they
wouldn’t make this part of the obstacle so easy. Once we progress a
little more, I see the light shining beyond the guy ahead of me,
too, and I’m so relieved that tears well from my eyes. I crawl
forward, and finally at the end, I step out and into a large,
enclosed cave.

The cave’s walls are rust red, and are
tinged with green and blue algae. Dozens of clear booths stand in a
large circle, and inside the booths, participants are holding a
gun, appearing to be shooting at nothing. One of the participants
is grabbing his hair and is screaming. Just as his face catches the
light, I see tears wetting his cheeks. What would drive him to such
despair? The guy ahead of me runs toward one of stalls and enters
it. When I step onto my left foot, I clench my teeth and grunt. The
pain is still intense, but I can’t afford to let anyone else know
that I’m injured.

I hear a faint hissing sound, and the air
around me turns cloudy. The mist rises to my face and seeps into my
nose and mouth, causing me to cough, turning my surroundings
blurry. I feel like the back of my skull is falling, and unable to
hold my balance, I press my hand to the damp cavern wall, lowering
my head so I won’t pass out. What’s happening to me?

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long before the
dizziness passes, and once again, I can make out the details of the
cave. To my astonishment, there’s only one booth left with my name
on it— everything else has vanished.

“
Hello?” I take a few steps
backward, shrinking against the glistening wall. “Is anyone here?”
My voice bounces off the rocks and echoes on down the
cave.

“
Please enter the booth,” a
female voice announces.

What is this obstacle course about?
Cautiously, I walk toward the clear stall, open the door, and step
inside. When the door closes behind me, my surroundings change in
an instant: I am now in a large rectangular room with light gray
walls and white marble floors. In front of me is a floating,
square, glass counter with a small red button, and a message. I
read it.

1. Once you push the red button, two images will appear
   in front of you. You will have five minutes to eliminate one of
   them by shooting it.
   

2. The image you eliminate will fade away and be
   replaced with another image.
   

3. Repeat the cycle.
   

There are eight rounds total. If you do not finish
each round within five minutes, you will be disqualified.

Just as soon as I have finished reading, a
silver handgun appears in my fist and my stomach roils as if
telling me that this is the most dangerous—the most
telling—challenge of them all. What images will be there? What will
they be able to tell about me from what I choose to eliminate—and
keep?

Reluctantly, I press the button. A red
digital clock appears high up on the far wall, displaying ten
seconds. Below the clock is a 3D image of my sandals and the quilt
my mother made for me. How do they know about my quilt? It doesn’t
matter; I have to hurry. I aim for and shoot my sandals; though it
would be difficult to live without those, I’m not going to
eliminate the only thing I have left from my mother.

That was easy enough. When my sandals
vanish, up pops an image of my father’s trailer. The trailer
doesn’t mean nearly as much to me as the quilt does, but if I
remove the trailer, where will I live? I can live with Gemma’s
mother so I shoot the old, ugly trailer.

In the trailer’s stead, emerges Gemma’s
mother, Ruth. I shoot the blanket, but this is getting harder—more
personal. I feel great. Three shots in less than a minute.

Next appears Arthor. Arthor? What is he
doing here? Arthor against Ruth? Who do I choose? How do I choose?
Arthor means so much to me, and he’s one of the reason’s I’ve made
it this far in Savage Run. Why did it have to be him? And why is
this a choice? This is ridiculous; that’s what it is! It’s just a
game. It’s just a game. But the rules are clear and I have to
choose. Ruth or Arthor. Each time I lift my gun to shoot, I lower
my hand again. Several times I do this, until the timer flares up
red. Ten second left of five minutes. The five minutes have flown
by all too quickly. It’s time to choose. The bottom line is that I
can’t let Ruth go; she’s like a mother to me. I’m so sorry Arthor.
I look around to see if anyone is here, but I’m all alone. Besides,
it’s just a stupid game anyway. Since I have to choose, I point the
gun toward Arthor, hoping he’ll never find out that I shot him.

In Arthor’s stead appears my father. What is
the point of this? Whatever it is, I hate it. Why do they need to
know this about me—who I choose? This is ridiculous—abusive; that’s
what it is! Instead of the physical abuse I’ve gone through the
past few days, now it turns mental. I don’t love my father as much
as I love Ruth, but he is my father. And though I don’t linger on
them a lot, there have been moments where he was caring. Like all
those times when he repaired my bike, and the time when he gave me
my mother’s locket. I reach for the place on my chest where it used
to hang. He could have kept it for himself—the only thing we had of
value. My father’s desperate face appears before me “Heidi, don’t
do this! I’m sorry I messed up!” He looked so helpless lying there,
taking the beating from the Unifers at Culmination Airport. And
when Mai asked me if I knew him, I denied him. I hear his voice
echo in my ears. “Heidi!” Blood flowing from his nose—the strongest
man alive. Now…he might be dead. But there are so many painful
memories, too, and it’s his fault I’m not able to fully trust any
man. A tear rolls down my cheek. My father or Ruth? Ruth is kinder,
milder, like a mother to me. The clock is flashing red now. Five
seconds. I hate myself for who I am. I aim the gun at my father and
pull the trigger. I would never do that in real life, but just the
thought of having chosen Ruth over him makes me feel like a
traitor. Again.

In my father’s place, Nicholas appears. Even
before I am able to gasp, every fragment of my being feels like
it’s being shocked with electrical agony. How do they know about
him? Or maybe they don’t. Maybe the gas I inhaled earlier is
interacting with some part of my brain to uncover the things or the
people I care most about. But if that’s the case, why did my
sandals show up? I study Nicholas, his chestnut hair, his strong
nose, his chiseled jawline, his kind, and blue eyes. I hear him
saying that a stiff breeze would knock me over. Gemma was dead. And
then I remember the magazine incident. I laugh. And he was so sweet
when he first danced with me. His fingertips on my collarbone, on
my bare back. I hear his deep voice trembling, asking me not to go.
His wet lips on mine. His strong, hungry arms. Nicholas makes me
feel safe. Ruth makes me feel safe. I’ve known Ruth for much
longer, but the love I feel for her is so different than…do I love
Nicholas? It’s still so new, and too early to say. Eliminating
either of them—I just can’t do it. I can’t betray Gemma all over
again by killing her mother! Wait. This is just a stupid game! I
kick the walls with everything I’ve got. I can’t decide. I can’t
think—the gas must have done something to my brain because my
feelings seem exaggerated. The clock lights up red, showing five
seconds left. Nicholas or Ruth? Five. I don’t know! Four. I won’t
choose! Three. Two. Despising myself, and not understanding exactly
why, I point the gun at Ruth and fire. I watch her vanish into a
puff of smoke and it makes me feel like I have committed some
unpardonable sin.

As the echo of the gunshot settles, I lean
against the counter and swallow again and again to keep the tears
from coming. I don’t know why these images are making me so
emotional—especially because I know they’re just a figment of my
imagination. Without yet having seen the next image, it’s already
apparent to me who it will be: Gemma. I lift my eyes, and as
expected, there she is in the very yellow floral dress Ruth made
for her eleventh birthday. The rosiness in her cheeks is there and
she’s smiling as she braids her long, blonde hair. This is in
another realm of difficult and I don’t even think I know myself
well enough to make these kinds of decisions. Or maybe I do, and my
hesitancy comes from knowing that the decision was made the very
instant I saw Gemma up there. This entire process feels so wrong…so
invasive, like the most tender part of me is being violated and
used against me, and never before have I despised this program more
than now. But even so, I have to choose, and whether I think about
it for a second or an hour, my choice will be the same. By choosing
her, I can in my own way repay her for what I did. Guilt is a
ruthless ruler, and five minutes is way too short to make these
kinds of rulings—even for a mind game. Lifting the gun, I point it
toward Nicholas and pull the trigger. My heart is like a rock in my
chest.

Who’s next? There is no one else I care
about more than Gemma or Nicholas, is there? Anxiously, I wait for
the next person, wondering who it will be. But no person emerges.
Only the words ‘your freedom.’ Panic expands like a demon in my
chest. The words take me right back to Culmination when I was
running toward the Savage Run registration booth and was forced to
make a choice between Gemma and myself.

My gun raised, it vacillates between the
words ‘your freedom’ and Gemma. If I don’t have freedom, I have
nothing. But Gemma… Instead of making a decision, I want to curl up
into a ball and disappear and pass my will over someone else. And
perhaps in this rare instance, it is better to let someone choose
for me. Sometimes having a choice is a burden—a curse—and requires
a hundred times more than having no choice at all. I bring my hand
up to my eyes and sob.

I can’t choose.

I’m out.

I withdraw.

I lose.

Defeated, I lower the gun and set it on the
counter. I don’t understand this inability to choose—especially
since I full well recognize that this is the end of it for me. I’ll
be sent home. Then it hits me; this is exactly what Nicholas was
trying to explain: responsibility is a burden. But I refused to
listen. Mai’s words come back to me, too, and it’s like everything
I have been through these fast few days is all pointing to this one
choice. I have to rise to the occasion; be more than who I am. Be
braver than ever. Stronger than ever.

And being braver and
stronger means that I
have
to choose—that’s the cost of freedom: to not give
away my power to anyone else. If Gemma were here, she’d tell me to
choose freedom, but what I’d tell her in return is that life is
nothing without the ones we love.

Nothing.

Aiming the gun at the words ‘your freedom,’
I squeeze the trigger, and just as the shot goes off, I’m back in
the clear booth and red algae cave along with other participants
who are firing away.

With a heavy heart, I step out of my stall.
My foot is still very sore, but having crawled and stood motionless
for a while seems to have helped it a bit. As soon as I see others
tearing toward the exit sign, I take a deep breath, pull my
shoulders back, and shove the entire experience into the back of my
mind. There’s no time to second-guess my decision—not if I want to
be one of the top three.

Chapter 27

I stand in front of the cave’s exit—another
narrow, black passageway to wriggle through—and every area of my
body feels like it’s made of rock. I try to inhale and exhale
deeply, but with each breath, the suffocating sensation in my chest
just becomes tighter. Just do it, Heidi! I place my hands on the
smooth, warm opening edge, and lean my forehead onto the rock. Why
can’t I just climb in when I full well know that wasting my time
could cost me my spot in the top three? Still, I am unable to make
myself move even an inch. I would think that having crawled through
another tunnel just like this one earlier would make it easier this
time. However, thinking about how the walls closed in on me before,
and how dark it was in there, I just know I won’t be able to stop
the panic from rising within me.

“
Heidi!”

I turn around and see Arthor running toward
me. For a moment, seeing a familiar, friendly face helps take the
edge off my anxiety, but when the image of him vanishing beyond the
shot of my gun returns, the muscles in my face involuntarily
twitch.

“
What’s that look?” He
stops right next to me and pats me on the back, a patch of sweat
darkening the collar of his uniform. He’s panting and he has this
worried and wild look in his eyes, like something’s really
bothering him.

“
Uh…nothing—just don’t like
tight spaces, that’s all. Are you okay, though? You look like
you’ve been to hell and back.”

He blows a couple of times, his face drawing
closed. “Still thinking about my choices. Well, best to keep
moving. You ready?”

No. I glance into the dim tunnel again and
my shoulders go rigid. “Yes.”

“
Well then, ladies
first.”

I just can’t think about what I’m about to
do. If I do, I’ll start to hyperventilate again. With a thumping
heart and clammy hands wound into fists, I climb into the cavern.
The slick, warm rocks press against my palms, and I notice how the
dark, warm tunnel smells even more of sulfur. My heart rate
increases the farther in I crawl, and as the darkness envelops me,
I can’t breathe and go to pull back. But Arthor is already behind
me.