David Robbins: Spartan Run

“If one of their patrols spots us, we’re dead.”

“At least we’ll have died trying.”

The two men ran at a steady pace to the northwest, angling across a wild field, the landscape surrounding them brightly illuminated by the radiant full moon overhead. Both men were in superb physical condition due to their grueling daily toil, and both breathed easily as they silently ate up the distance to the next stretch of woods.

Off to the east an owl hooted.

“What if we don’t make it, Ansel?” asked the shorter of the pair. He cast repeated fearful glances to their rear, clearly far more nervous than his companion.

“How many times must I tell you, Merle?” responded the other. “We’ll escape if we keep our wits about us. You must calm yourself. We’ve gone fifteen miles already and there’s been no sign of them.”

“Their patrols cover a thirty-mile radius,” Merle noted apprehensively.

“Then only fifteen more miles and we’re free men,” Ansel stated. “Free for the first time in our lives.”

“Freedom,” Merle said softly, pronouncing the word with exquisite delicacy, as if the very term was too fragile to withstand its utterance.

For two minutes they jogged onward, until ahead loomed a dark wall of foliage typical of the lush vegetation found in the former state of Iowa.

“Can we rest when we reach the trees?” Merle inquired hopefully.

“If you must.”

“I’m sorry, Ansel. I know I’m slowing you down.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m glad you came along. I don’t know if I would have had the courage to try alone.”

“You would. You’re naturally brave. Even they knew that.”

“How do you figure?”

“They picked you to be an overseer.”

“They picked me because I followed their orders better than most. No other reason.”

Merle scrutinized the forest and licked his thick lips. “I hope we haven’t made a mistake we’ll live to regret.”

“Isn’t freedom worth the price?”

“Yes, but what if we’re wrong. What if there isn’t any place better?

What if the outside world is even worse? It’s been one hundred and six years since World War Three. Who knows what we’ll find?”

Ansel regarded his friend for a moment. “It’s too late to turn back now.

They’ve undoubtedly discovered we’re missing and have sent trackers after us.”

“Do you really think we have enough of a head start to outrun the dogs?”

“I hope so.”

Merle ran a little faster.

Soon the fleeing pair reached the treeline. Scarcely slowing, they plunged into the forest, swatting at branches that lashed their bodies and plowing through undergrowth that tried to snare their legs. The heavens were harder to discern, but every now and then they spotted the North Star and knew they were still on course. Twenty strenuous minutes elapsed, and at last they emerged from the oppressive gloom to find a seemingly limitless expanse of open plain ahead.

“I could use a break,” Merle commented, puffing from the exertion.

“I guess a rest can’t hurt,” Ansel said, and halted.

Expelling a breath in relief, Merle stopped and placed his hands on his knees. “I’m glad I didn’t eat much supper.”

Ansel glanced at his companion. “So am I.”

“Do you still think it was wise not to bring a food pouch along?”

“Yes. The less we carry, the better we run. That’s the reason I insisted on taking nothing except the clothes on our back.” Ansel looked down at his sweaty, torn T-shirt and his tattered jeans. “If I was one of them, I’d strip off all my clothes and run naked just as they do during the contests and processions.”

“If you were one of them, you wouldn’t need to run at all,” Merle said.

Ansel cocked his head, listening.

“Did you ever wish you were?” Merle inquired.

“Were what?” Ansel replied absently, still listening.

“One of them?”

The question distracted the taller man and he gazed at his companion.

“Did you?”

“Every damn day. I’d love to have someone grow all my food for me. I’d love to be able to lord it over Helots and have them do all my bidding.

Most of all, I’d love to wear one of those flowing red cloaks, bronze helmets, and short swords,” Merle said dreamily. “I’d love to have it easy like they do.”

“You really think they have it easy?”

“Sure. Don’t you?”

“Not at all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you think it’s easy for them to be taken from their parents at the age of seven and forced to live in a barracks? Do you think it’s easy for them to devote almost all of their time to perfecting the arts of war? Do you think not being permitted to marry or have children until the age of thirty is easy?” Ansel asked. “I don’t. I don’t envy them one bit.”

Merle uttered a light laugh. “You almost sound as if you pity them.”

“In a way, I do.”

“Amazing.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t hate them, if you sympathize with them, then why the hell are we out in the middle of nowhere running for our lives?”

Ansel cocked his head again. “I might sympathize with them, but that doesn’t mean I condone the status of the Helots. I’d rather be free. If I can’t be, then I might as well be dead.”

Merle opened his mouth to speak.

“Hush!” Ansel cautioned, motioning for silence with his right hand.

“What is it?” Merle blurted anyway.

“Listen.”

Merle did, and for several seconds he heard nothing out of the ordinary.

Then his ears registered the distant barking, and goose bumps broke out all over his skin. “Oh, God!”

“The dogs,” Ansel declared angrily.

“How far away?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a mile. Maybe less.”

“What should we do?”

“Keep going,” Ansel suggested, and suited action to words by racing to the northwest.

“Wait for me!” Merle bleated, and hastened to catch up, his short legs pumping furiously.

“Our only hope is to find a stream or a river,” Ansel said. “They can’t track our scent through water.”

“Are there any in this area?”

“Not according to the old-timer I talked to, the one who drew us the crude map.”

“We’re doomed!”

“Don’t give up yet. Where there’s hope, there’s life.”

Onward they sprinted, oblivious to everything except the barking of the canines to their rear. Both their forms became caked with sweat, their shirts drenched. The plain was unending.

“We’re doomed,” Merle repeated forlornly.

“Keep going.”

“Maybe we should give ourselves up.”

“Be serious.”

“I am,” Merle stated, breathing heavily. “If we stop now and let them capture us, they might decide to go easy on us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know the law. The Lawgivers stipulated that any Helot who tries to flee should be put to death.”

The reminder sparked Merle to increased effort. He looked over his shoulder every ten strides or so, dreading the moment when he would spot the lanterns. Three quarters of a mile later he finally did. “Look!”

Ansel glanced back and frowned. “Evidently I miscalculated.”

“Miscalculated? Damn, man, we’re about to die and you act like you made a mistake on a math problem.”

“We’re not dead yet.”

“I’m open to any bright ideas.”

“Let me think.”

“We’re doomed, doomed, doomed.”

Five minutes went by. The lanterns drew ever nearer, the barking ever louder and louder.