“Yeah,” Dean said, right along with the other boys.
“Those of you who are pursuing the flag bearers, your assignment is to take their flag,” Solomon said. “By whatever means you have at your disposal.”
“How physical can we get?” Perry asked.
“Short of permanent damage,” the phys-ed teacher answered. “Bruises and small cuts I can explain. You do anything more than that, and this unit and its status will be in danger at this school.”
“What do we get for reaching the tree with our flag?” Hercules Moxen asked He was close to six feet tall, almost a head taller than Dean, and had fiery red hair. Not all of his substantial weight was muscle, but there was enough to give most grown men pause. Coupled with the fact that Moxen loved to fight, he was a bad guy to have cross words with.
“You don’t have to do the extra PT the others will for failing to catch you.”
“What do we get if we catch them?” The question came from the other side of Dean.
Looking down the line, Dean saw the speaker was Louis McKenzie. Of all the boys in Perry’s group, Dean liked Louis best. The boy always had a smile and a gentle way about him if he cared to show it. He was blond and had light green eyes that belonged on a cat, and he was a little taller than Dean but built in the same lanky fashion.
“Then they get extra PT,” Solomon replied. “Some incentive both ways. After we do this once, we’ll do it again, and the pursued will become the pursuers.” He looked down the line of boys. “Everybody ready?”
“Yes, sir,” they answered.
Solomon paired the boys off, giving each of them a target.
Dean got Hercules Moxen. The other boy smirked and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it.
“See you at the tree, small fry,” Moxen said. “When you’re doing the extra PT, think of me.”
Dean didn’t say anything. Talk was just talk; his dad had taught him that. He drew in deep breaths, pumping up his oxygen level. Despite Solomon’s warning not to simply head for the tree, Dean figured Moxen would try to reach the tree as quick as he was able.
“Go!” Solomon said.
The first five boys launched themselves into the darkness, feet swishing through the underbrush.
“Stand ready,” Solomon ordered the other boys, checking his wrist chron.
Dean watched Moxen until the boy vanished behind a triangular pine tree. He kept on breathing, waiting. The minute passed slowly.
“Go,” the phys-ed teacher finally said.
Dean bolted, already moving at top speed, trusting his night vision and reflexes to keep him from serious damage. He pumped his feet against the ground, swinging his arms at his sides. It felt good to be out, testing himself against someone else, deep in the wild where his primitive senses could take care of him instead of social skills that he didn’t feel as confident about.
He ran, convinced he was closing the distance.
His breath sounded loud in his ears and burned along his throat as he ran through the brush. He used every skill he’d ever been taught, skirting plants, trees and bushes that would have warned of his passage had he touched them. He tried to listen for Hercules Moxen but couldn’t hear the boy.
The terrain was uneven and dangerous because the cloud-covered moon cast no light. Still, he increased his speed, not giving in. If the other boy had covered this much ground, he would be tired when Dean caught up with him, giving Dean an edge that he needed to overcome Moxen’s strength.
He was two steps up the rise before he knew it. Gravity pulled at him, sucking him off balance. He put his hands against the rough ground, slithering them through a painful tangle of brush as thorns tore at his flesh. When he got to the top of the ridge, the world opened up to him again, letting him see the small valley on the other side of the rise.
Moxen sprawled facedown at the bottom of it, arms flung out to his sides, one leg twisted over the other.