All female racers are ordered to wear shorts and bras with no shirts for training, and the guys wear only shorts. The first couple of miles I’m very self-conscious and embarrassed. But as the sun crawls higher into the sky, I feel grateful for being half naked. The lack of clothes seems to help fight the heat.
Amy, Dennis, Sandro and I run together at the end of the group. Brutus runs ahead, setting our pace, while Joan jogs behind, whip in her hand. Giving up while running is strictly prohibited. I jog lightly, watching the ocean waves, smelling the air and enjoying the sunshine. Maybe it wasn’t a mistake to leave my home after all, I think. Maybe I’ll be happy here.
An hour later we return to our training base, where Joan makes us jog in circles around a running track, then do push-ups. My arms quickly tire and start aching. My legs are heavy and wobbly after the long run. I manage to perform only eight push-ups before sprawling on the ground in exhaustion. Joan approaches with the whip, and I struggle on, squeezing out three more push-ups. Amy easily performs fifteen before becoming exhausted.
“Come on, ladies!” Joan shouts at the guys. “Push-ups are for girls. Real men do pull-ups.” Then she turns to girls and announces that we’ll have to do pull-ups as well.
I hang from a wooden plank like some sort of animal carcass, trying to pull myself up. No dice. It’s just not happening. Joan swings her whip around, striking the ground beneath my feet. After her encouragement, I finally manage to perform two miserable pull-ups. Amy manages six. Dennis performs nine. Topaz and Martha along with a few others fail the task completely. Sandro impresses everybody, including Joan, performing twenty pull-ups. Blacksmiths obviously have very strong arms.
Joan finally dismisses us and we proceed to the dining room for lunch. On the opposite side of the table, I notice Trent and Samantha speaking. I turn away, looking into my bowl of creamy tomato soup.
Back in our room, I fall flat on my bed and instantly drift off to sleep. No dreams this time around, I’m too exhausted.
***
“Get up! Time for some real training!”
I sit up in bed, holding my aching head. Joan bangs on doors, demanding all the racers to come outside for an evening session. I pull my running uniform back on, tie my shoes and jog toward the door, fixing my hair in a quick pony-tail as I go. Amy, Martha and Topaz groggily follow.
The evening session is different. Joan leads us to another section of the training base, where logs, empty barrels, ropes and huge tires are all put together into odd-looking contraptions. We have to jog around a track. We have to climb ropes, step through the tires and crawl through long hollow pipes. The training goes on and on for hours. My muscles ache and I become dizzy. I clench my teeth together and keep pushing. I think about my freedom. I think about my future and the life I’m trying to earn.
Approaching an eight foot wall, I stop and look up. It’s the one place in the obstacle course where I just have to have some help. I notice the guy who called me a varmint earlier on top of the wall.
“Come on, Kora!” he shouts, smiling and stretching an arm toward me. “I’ll help you.”
I know it’s some sort of prank. But part of me wants to believe this guy for some reason. I jump, grabbing his hand, and he pulls me up. For a moment I think that everything is going to be all right, but he suddenly releases my arm and I fall. The guy lets out a mocking laugh and proceeds over the wall. I sit up, cursing quietly under my breath. My back hurts.
“What a jerk!” Amy spits, approaching me along with Sandro and Dennis.
“No stopping!” Joan yells, swinging her whip. “Come on! Move it!”
Sandro and Dennis quickly climb the wall and pull Amy and me up. We continue our training. I can’t stop thinking about the guy who called me trash and made me fall. What does he want from me? Why can’t he just leave me alone? I wish I could punch him in the face, but unfortunately I don’t even know how to punch.
Back in our quarters, Amy paces the floor, frowning and snorting like an angry bull.
“Something is wrong with this training,” she blurts out. “Why does nobody tell us what this Terror Race really is? Are we supposed to compete with other racers or what? And why do we need to pass an obstacle course? What’s this all about?”
I remain silent. I’ve been asking myself the same questions but am too exhausted to answer.
“Where are all the other racers from previous years?” Amy continues, looking fresh and full of energy even after everything we’ve been through today.
“Maybe they’ve earned their freedom and left,” Topaz suggests, lying on her back in bed.
“Maybe,” Amy says. “Or maybe they didn’t survive the Terror Race or whatever it is.”
I turn on my side and pull my legs up to my chest. I rub my aching calves, only to start suffering new pains in my back and shoulders.
“I mean, did you girls see all those scars Joan and Brutus have?” Amy adds. “And his missing hand… I mean… What happened to them? They’re former racers, aren’t they?”
That they are. I saw racer brand marks on their shoulders.
“You think they’re the only two racers to survive?” I ask.
“I don’t know what to think,” Amy states. “But what I do
