Lungs aflame, heart ramming like a jackhammer. She crashed through the underbrush, sweat slick against her neoprene suit. A shot pealed somewhere behind her, ripping through the still air of the morning. She ignored it. Not her affair.
She ran through slick mud. Fell, got up, fell again. Mud in her mouth, her hair. She ran on.
The hill was getting steeper, required more energy than she had left. She didn't care. She was running like an animal now, primal instincts taking charge.
Another shot behind her. She felt a twinge of sympathy. Poor bugger was out of the game this time. She knew that wouldn't happen to her. Couldn't. She had too much willpower to go down that way.
She shifted the pack on her back. It was growing heavy. Soon she could drop it, move on. But not yet. She staggered, tripped on a rock and fell hard, the pack crushing her to the ground.
No. It would not end here.
The struggle. It was all about the struggle. Man against man. Man against nature. Electrifying.
She pushed herself to her feet, ran on. The top of the hill!
She found the red marker, dropped her pack.
She felt free now, her heavy burden gone. Two miles she had run, with 25 lbs of rocks strapped to her back. And it had ended in a steep climb. It was amazing what a woman could manage when so much depended on it.
But there would be no rest yet.
She walked to the edge of the cliff, looked down at the ocean. To jump would be insane, she knew. Like giving the finger to the grim reaper.
She touched the gun strapped to her side. Two shots, that's all it would take to end this. She removed the gun from it's holster, felt the weight of it in her hands. She thought of a soft bed and a warm meal. So easy. Two shots and they would come for her.
She remembered her thoughts earlier. 'Poor bugger.' Yet now she was considering the same.
She threw the gun over the cliff and watched it drop into the abyss. Failure became guilt. Guilt was a burden.
She cursed David for talking her into this. Then she smiled. He knew what she liked. She wouldn't have missed this for the world.
This was part of the challenge, had to be done. Fear of heights was not an asset. Yet it was one of the reasons she was here. She loved the warring of instincts. Fear and the need to conquer it. Fear kept a woman alive, but conquering it gave a woman life. Being alive and living. The two were not synonymous.
She jumped. Screamed all the way down.
When she plunged into the mouth of that sucking, raging animal she knew genuine fear. It was the terror that came when you heard death panting behind you, felt it reaching for your throat. She loved it. Hated it. Both at the same time. She forced herself to relax, to search for the light.
She reached the surface, sucked in the delicious oxygen. A wave filled her airways with water, pushed her toward the cliff she had jumped from. She sputtered, breathed, dived below the surface and swam with everything she had. Inch by inch she fought the dark beast, beat it back with fury and the will to survive. She was winning!
The beach was not far, but it was stealthy. Each time she turned from it, relaxed for an instant, it crept away. Never long and never far, but always a little.
She refused to let it cheat her out of her goal. Energy had left her long ago. Now only instinct remained. And will, mostly will. It was will that made a woman who she was. Every creature had instinct. Will was an individual trait. She struggled, kicked, WILLED herself to the beach. And she won.
She touched sand. Grabbed, squeezed it and held on.
She laughed. This was what it meant to be alive.
A faint splash near the cliff. Time to move.
The sand held her fast, refused to let go. Muscles turned to liquid. She struggled, lost. Struggled harder, made it up.
She found the red marker, grabbed the metal detector.
This was it. She felt the excitement surging through her blood, lending strength to her limbs. Nothing could stop her now. The goal was so close. The prize. She started to sweep.
She worked quickly, searching for signs. There would be no footprints, of that she was certain. They were too careful. Every detail of this game had been carefully planned. They hadn't even allowed her to meet the other participants. She'd been dropped alone, by helicopter.
But there could be other tells. A slight rise or dip in the sand, a scuff that had been missed. This was a hidden beach on a remote island. Small, undisturbed. It was likely no one else had been here in years, if ever. There would be no careless marks to distract.
It was important to find it on her first pass, before her own footprints confused the search.
There! A softer looking area in the sand. Not as hard-packed as the rest.
She swept the area slowly. The detector beeped. Once, twice. Lost the signal. Retrace...another beep. The signal grew stronger. She stopped and dug.
A metal box, cubic, maybe 10 inches. She picked it up. Light, very light. What was it? She paused, glanced at the water. The other swimmer reached the beach, lay still. Probably felt as she had. Exhausted, spent.
She knelt in the sand, placed the box down carefully. A simple clasp kept it closed. She looked back. The swimmer was up, approaching fast.
She took a deep breath, opened the box.
It sparkled in the morning sun. A diamond ring.
David was beside her now, kneeling in the sand. Took her hand in his.
She smiled. This was living.
Other articles by me:
Jungle Nightlife of the Cameron Highlands (Malaysia): A Photo Tour
Doing science in a developing country: my 2 month internship in Malaysia
Enormous spider eats a live caterpillar: night time in the Malaysian jungle
Two months in the Islamic heart of Malaysia
Empathy workshop, part 1: Why the world needs more empathy
Empathy workshop, part 2: How to increase your empathy
Empathy workshop, part 3: Getting better at understanding people you dislike or disagree with
Empathy workshop, part 4: Putting your empathy into action
Intolerance is fear of the unknown
The old man on the bench (a flash fiction story)
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