Spartan Run

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“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.”

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