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We ran along a narrow path that led up a mountainside, until we reached a pile of white stones. I'd never run that fast or that far before. My leg muscles felt as though they were being eaten by a thousand ants. The area around us was arid. Not a tree or blade of grass in sight. There was only a bare rock face, reaching towards the sky on one side, and a sheer drop falling down to hell on the other. The sun beat down on my head, slowly cooking me alive. I could have killed for some water, and I had a feeling I would probably have to do just that.
“That is first marker,” she said pointing at the stones. “There are six. The last is back at arena. We have two days to make it to final marker. If we are not there when sun sets on second day, they send men on horses to hunt you.”
“Aren't they going to try and kill us while we try and make our way there?” I asked, panting for breath.
“No. They only kill at start of race, to get rid of weak. You understand?” She wasn't even struggling for breath. She had to be a machine.
A helicopter circled overhead.
“No, I don't understand. I don't get any of this. This has got to be some elaborate nightmare or maybe I'm on a very bad trip. I haven't popped any acid in a while, but maybe I'm having a flashback or something. None of this can be real.” My voice rose, hysteria welled in the pit of my stomach. I took a deep breath and tried to keep the panic at bay.
“This is not a dream or a...what you say...flashback. This is real. You are warrior.” She jabbed her finger into my chest. The possibility that this was my reality was too horrible to contemplate.
“The winner is a hero and showered with gold. It is great honour. I have won three times. If I win again, I can retire with glory.” Her eyes had that crazy bitch glint to them. She looked like a zealot who had drunk too much of the Kool-Aid.
“And what happens to the women who don't win?”
“Those who survive and reach the final marker on second day, and have fought with honour, live to fight once more and earn their patrons much respect and glory.”
“So if I survive, I have to do it again?”
“Yes.”
“Great.” My sarcasm was lost on her.
“But first we must get you sword,” she said, staring off into the distance. She cocked her head, listening for something. All I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat, the vultures’ greedy cawing sounds as they descended on the corpses in the valley below, and that bloody chopper hovering above.
“Someone is coming,” she said, standing with her feet apart. She gripped her sword, ready to fight whoever was coming up the narrow path. “Stand behind me,” she ordered.
It didn't take long.
A warrior with a broad sword and the arms of Arnold Schwarzenegger crested the hill. It was like watching a clash of titans. The two women circled each other, testing each other’s weaknesses. It wasn't an even match. My Spaniard was faster, but the female version of Arnie was stronger, much stronger. Each time she swung the sword, I thought she'd cut my saviour in two. But then the Spaniard ducked to the side and Arnie overcompensated. She lost her head, quite literally.
It was over so quickly.
I'd seen people’s heads being chopped off in horror movies, but seeing it in reality was so very different. I threw up again, and the Spaniard celebrated her victory by picking up Arnie's head by her hair and thrusting it up into the air for the chopper to see. She then flung the head over the precipice.
“Here,” she said as she thrust Arnie's broad sword at me. I could barely wrap my hand around its cold, metal hilt. Why couldn't she have killed someone with a lighter sword, something like a Japanese Katana? Not that I knew anything about swords, but I’d watched enough Martial Arts movies to know that those were the sort of swords I’d be able to at least carry, or wrap my hand around the hilt.
“I can't use this,” I said as I tried to pick it up. “It's too heavy.”
“Grow stronger.” She shrugged and was running again before I could voice any more objections.
“Slow down,” I shouted, dragging the sword behind me as I tried to keep up. She stopped short and turned to glare at me.
“There is no slow down. Slow down, we die. Do you want be her?” She pointed at Arnie's headless body. The site of her corpse lying there made the blood drain from my face. It could have been my blood seeping into the hungry ground. Without another word she simply turned and ran again.
Taking a deep breath, I unzipped my sweat soaked tracksuit top, shrugged it off my shoulders and tied it around my waist. The white tank top I wore underneath would be far more comfortable to run in. Sweat dribbled down between my breasts.
I heard the sound of feet, running fast, coming from behind me. After a few shuddering heartbeats I picked up the sword and my feet and ran after the Spaniard. My heart pounded and my muscles burned, but I wasn't ready to die.
If I stopped running I knew I'd be joining Arnie.