Dean Carter - Blood Water

He picked up a little speed as they climbed the hill, ready to slow down if the ascent became too tough, but the ground levelled out and then sloped down. He found a pace he was comfortable with and stayed with it, keeping his eye on his stopwatch and the mile markers that cropped up along the way. Three and a half miles in, he reached the first big hill. He took it at a slightly slower pace, and was able to get to the top without too much trouble, his breathing heavier but not a problem. There was a water station there, so he grabbed a cup, drank half of it while still moving and poured the rest over his head. He was disheartened to see another large hill up ahead, but he tried to keep up the pace, reluctant to slow down and walk like many of the other runners. He pushed on, perspiring, panting, driving himself forward, until eventually the top of the hill came into view.

Five miles gone, the end was in sight, but Sean was struggling. He was finding it harder and harder to stick to the pace he’d set himself, and his muscles were aching. He had forgotten to take on enough water, but he pushed on, determined to get to the finish without slowing down. He kept up with a runner in front, then pushed harder to overtake. His throat was paper dry and his running vest felt soaked. I must be nearing the finish now , he kept thinking, wondering how one mile could seem so long. He carried on, gasping, veering off course a little every now and then, until he saw the other competitors leaving the road and heading down a narrow tree-lined lane. Great , he thought. About time .

He decided to speed up now that the end was near, pushing his body as hard as he dared despite the pain in his lungs. He turned off the road and hurtled down the lane, trying to control his body at the increased speed. Suddenly something felt very wrong: his feet seemed detached, his body heavier and his vision cloudy. He felt like someone or something had hit him on the head and he swerved to the side, colliding with a loose iron railing, nearly falling, but somehow managing to stay on his feet. He heard the railing crash to the ground and a nearby sheep bleat in surprise, but there was no time to worry about that now.

He looked at his watch again, finding it hard to focus: this could be his best time ever. He had to speed up and use every last ounce of energy if he was going to make this race count. It was no longer a casual race, a bit of fun; it was everything to him, all important.

He emerged from the lane into the large field – a crowd of people were clustered around the finish line at the far end. His feet still felt like foreign objects, and he now realized how much he was weaving to and fro. Something was definitely wrong, and it was more than just exhaustion, but he was still ignoring it, pushing himself to the limit. To the spectators he looked like a drunkard, or someone staggering injured from a battlefield.

Thoughts swam in his head. He finally understood that there was a problem, but he had no idea what. He lurched on, seeing what looked like people running towards him. Was that James at the front? It looked like him. In seconds his brother was right in front of him, telling him to stop: he was still moving though, resisting his brother’s attempts to halt him, but then it registered. He was in trouble. All at once a black car appeared next to him. Where had it come from? And Mum was there too now. James was telling him to sit down.

Then they were getting him into the passenger seat; the owner of the vehicle – a man he didn’t recognize – was asking him if he was all right. He didn’t know though, he couldn’t really tell. They drove off to the other end of the field. He saw other runners finishing. Not him though. For some reason he wasn’t allowed to finish the race. Voices merged into each other, his vision swam and he started to panic.

Ten minutes later Sean was sitting in the St John’s Ambulance tent, an oxygen mask attached to his face, his hair matted to his forehead by sweat. He’d had some water and cola to drink, but he was still feeling awful. At his request they’d escorted him to the finish line so that he could complete the race, but that had just made things worse. His vision was swimming; he couldn’t focus on anything. His muscles felt stretched and like jelly, unresponsive. He looked at his arms and legs and barely recognized them.

He could remember little of the race now, and even less of what he’d done that morning. His brother and parents had spoken to the St John’s Ambulance man who’d picked him up in his car. The initial consensus was that he’d succumbed to heat exhaustion. The insufficient levels of water in his body combined with the heat from the sun had starved his brain of oxygen. He’d dehydrated quickly, and the situation had just gone from bad to worse. He sat there inhaling the oxygen, removing the mask every now and then to drink some more cola. Apparently the sugar would help him recover, but he had felt like telling the St John’s Ambulance man that he wanted to go to hospital. None of the people around him had any idea how bad things really were.

Eventually though, after nearly an hour, he agreed to try walking to the car. Mum and Dad helped him, staying close in case he felt faint. They stopped by a mauve Vauxhall Astra, but when it became clear that this was dad’s car, Sean panicked.

‘What’s wrong?’ his father asked, seeing the concern on his face.

‘Is this the car?’

‘Of course it is,’ Dad replied, almost laughing.

‘I don’t recognize it.’

‘Come on, get in.’ His dad opened the passenger door and helped Sean in. Mum and James got in the back.

Sean shook his head, looking around the vehicle, at the seats, the dashboard, the radio. None of it was familiar, none of it made sense. They left the car park, the other runners, the crowd of spectators and the sound of the voice over the public address system, encouraging the late finishers. As they drove through town Sean tried desperately to remember things, even the simplest things, but only fragments were clear; it felt as though his brain was collapsing, falling apart. His vision seemed stretched, and the sounds he heard as they passed people and other traffic were distorted, louder than they should be. What if I’m going to be like this for the rest of my life? he thought. What if it gets worse and I end up disabled? Th e panic rose, but he was unwilling to voice his concerns in case they became fact.

When they got home Dad helped Sean out of the car and guided him towards the back door. ‘Everything will be right as rain soon. Come on.’ He unlocked the back door and they all went in. Immediately Sean was hit by more unfamiliarity. The kitchen felt wrong. The table and chairs in the small dining area were also wrong – the tea, coffee and sugar containers… the toaster… completely wrong. It was as though someone had sneaked in while they were out and completely redecorated and refurnished. What the hell did it mean?

As if sensing his thoughts his brother said: ‘Relax, mate, it’s just the effects of heat exhaustion. Your brain’s suffered a kind of attack and needs a while to get back to normal. This happens to a lot of people who’ve experienced what you have. It’ll pass.’

‘I hope so,’ Sean replied, still finding the whole experience deeply unnerving. Part of him was convinced he’d been through some kind of time warp and had lost several months of his memory. That would explain why everything looked different. But that was crazy.

He managed to get upstairs without help and Mum ran his bath while he sipped a cool drink his brother had poured for him. Incredibly he started to feel better. He sank into the bath, letting his whole body relax, unmoving for several minutes until he heard his dad’s voice through the door.