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19
Adrienne
When I cross the line of the first stage, I raise my arms to the sky and pump my fists in the air. I think of Ethan watching the live feed at home, and I want him to see his mum cross the line fierce – not like every step over the last mile had made me want to be sick, which is how I really feel.
Hiroko and Alex finish seconds after me. They seem to be running as a team, helping each other keep pace and navigate the route. A race volunteer steps forward, handing out cups of hot, sugary mint tea, and giving us our water allotment for the rest of the night – all we’ll have to cook with, clean with and drink until the start of the second stage.
I’m parched, starving, exhausted and in pain – but I can’t keep the grin off my face. Runner’s high.
God, how I’ve missed this feeling.
But my smile is not returned by the volunteer. I take in her frown, her drooping shoulders. ‘Everything OK?’
‘We don’t know,’ she replies. ‘Something’s happened to Nabil …’
I don’t hesitate. I head straight to tent number one, where I spot Mariam sitting next to Farouk, who has his head in his hands.
‘I just heard. How is he?’ I ask, gulping down breath.
‘We don’t know,’ she replies. ‘We thought you might have been with him.’
‘I saw him at the checkpoint, then we ran together until the dune field. From there we went our separate ways. I didn’t want to follow his line.’
‘And how did he seem?’
‘At the checkpoint he didn’t look well. He’d run out of water so I gave him some of mine. But when we were running he seemed normal again. I thought maybe he’d been a bit dehydrated.’
Mariam shook her head. ‘Nabil wouldn’t make mistakes like that.’
‘I should have stayed with him,’ says Farouk, slapping his palm against the carpet.
‘It’s not your fault,’ says Mariam. ‘You couldn’t have known.’
‘I’ll go to the medical tent, see if I can get an update,’ I say.
Mariam nods, settling back inside the tent with Farouk, offering him what comfort she can.
I drop my backpack and water off in our tent, pouring some recovery shake into one of my bottles before walking over to the medical tent.
To my surprise, it’s almost empty – Emilio is the only doctor there, leaning against a tall tower of supplies. He runs his hands through his hair, looking sweaty, sandy and tired – almost as if he’s the one who ran a marathon today.
His head darts up as I walk in, as if he’s expecting someone else. But his face doesn’t fall when he sees me. In fact, it lights up. ‘Adrienne, you’re OK? Let me check you over. I was worried about you.’
I’m too tired to protest. He shines a penlight into my eyes and checks my pulse. ‘No dizziness or wooziness?’
‘A bit. Just didn’t drink enough. Trying to get on top of it now.’ I shake my drink for emphasis.
‘Of course. When I saw you in the dunes, you looked pretty rough. I was worried for a moment there.’
‘That was you? So you must have seen Nabil?’ I ask.
He exhales, slowly.
We lock eyes and my heart drops into my stomach. I almost throw up my recovery shake then and there. ‘No!’ I whisper.
He raises his hands to shush me, looking around, though there’s no one here but us. ‘We got him into the car as quickly as we could. They will have a much greater chance of saving him in Ouarzazate.’
I lean against one of the chairs, my legs suddenly feel unstable. ‘What happened?’