False Idols - Published Version

Chapter 3

As she sat in the wet orange dust staring at her wounded foot, Sarah looked across the river at Willy. He was watching her with a sad expression.

She'd seen that expression before. In her nightmares. On her mother's face.

As before, she was going to lose her home because of her own carelessness. She reached up with a shivering hand and felt the silver cross around her neck.

No! Sarah resolved. I won't be the first to be kicked off the ranch. I will finish this race!

She dragged herself to her feet and resumed running at the best pace she could manage. Her left foot hurt too much to take the impact of a sprint, and the weight of her water-logged clothes slowed her as well. Instead of running normally, she lurched forward in a lopsided jog, each step with her left leg shorter and faster than the ones she took with her right leg.

After a minute of dragging herself along like this, she saw the first candidates reaching the fence, two hundred yards ahead of her. Then she noticed that instead of turning around and running back, they leaned against the chain links in exhaustion. It was several seconds before one of them – she thought it was Michael – turned around and began making his way back towards Willy. In those seconds, Sarah had made up fifty yards.

She pressed on. More and more of the candidates recovered and turned to make the journey back. But none of them were running anymore. Some were walking with their hands on their hips and their heads pointed up at the sky as if they were trying to drink in as much air as possible, and others were moving at a plodding pace, staring at their feet as they shuffled along.

Michael came jogging past her. His face was flushed and he was almost hyperventilating. He looked up at her and asked "Are... you... OK?" between huge gulps of air.

Sarah's breaths were rapid, but measured. "Yeah, I'm fine," Sarah responded as she flashed a thumbs-up sign.

She pressed forward, step by bloody step, and finally reached the fence right by where Rad stood. She placed her hand firmly on the metal and looked into his narrow grey eyes, waiting for acknowledgement from him that she had touched it. He held her gaze and motioned back in the direction of Willy with his chin.

With her leg muscles burning from exhaustion and the pain from her left foot now steadily crawling up her calf, Sarah reached up to the cross her dying mother had given her and smiled to herself. Surely her efforts would be enough to impress Willy. Maybe she would be allowed to stay.

The slowest candidates were only forty yards ahead of her. She pushed herself forward by focusing on the closest one and pretending she had lassoed him with a rope. Every time she pumped her arms, she was pulling herself along the rope, just a little bit closer. She used the rhythm of pumping her arms, punctuated with the pain that shot from her left foot every time it struck the ground, to modulate her breathing. The sense of rhythm made the motions seem a little easier than they really were, almost like they were all part of a crazy hip hop dance.

Sarah overtook several more candidates before she reached the stream again. Seeing several more figures ahead of her, foundering as they waded across the stream, she steeled herself and stepped in to the frigid waters.

This time, she ensured her footing was firm before each step. She didn't lose her balance, and she carefully felt the ground under her left foot before putting her weight on it. While crossing the stream, she passed three more of her exhausted competitors.

As she pulled herself out of the stream for the second time, she noticed Brian, the stocky boy that had arrived with Michael, sitting in the red dust near the edge of the stream, his clothes barely wet, with an ashamed look on his face. Despite her exhaustion and pain, she couldn't help giving him a quizzical look. Brian felt her eyes on him and looked up. "It was too cold," he murmured before looking away again.