Running Dark

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EMMA CALDRIDGE PASSED MILE THIRTY-SIX OF THE FIFTY-FIVE-MILE Comrades ultramarathon in South Africa when a roadside car bomb exploded. The force of the explosion blew her out of her shoes and catapulted her into the air ten feet before hammering her into the dirt at the side of the road. The detonated car burned, flames leaping out of the shattered windows. She lay in the clay-colored dust with the hot sun beating down, blinding her. She moaned, turned her head away from the sun’s glare, closed her eyes, and lay still, trying to gather her wits about her. A shadow fell over her face. She opened her eyes without moving her head and saw the blurry image of a man’s legs from the knees down. The limbs appeared to shimmer in the heat waves thrown by the burning vehicle. He wore running shoes, like everyone else that day. The shoes stopped next to her and rose to their toes as the person crouched down. A silver necklace in the shape of an antelope head swung into her line of vision. The amulet hung on a black rawhide cord. Emma tried to ask for help, but her dry mouth wouldn’t form the words.

The man’s dark hand came into view, holding a white plastic injector, similar to an EpiPen carried by people with allergies. In the next instant, the hand jammed the tip into Emma’s forearm, right above the wrist. She felt the prick of a needle and the rush of medication pulsing into her skin. Before she even had a chance to make a sound, he jerked the point out of her arm. The shoes flattened onto the dust and walked away with a crunching noise.