“Ok, y'all ready?” I asked the group of nine longhaired, sunburned men in front of me.

They all had backpacks filled to the brim and their arms full of gear. I keep telling people to pack light, but they never listen.

“On my count, we run. You can’t stop, or even hesitate. One moment's pause and you won’t make it. If you’re a step too slow, you die. And no one will come back for you. It’s every man for himself. Got it?”

I hear a few mumble got it. Not much enthusiasm in this bunch. Can’t say that I blame them after what happened to last week’s group. Boy, that was gruesome. We lost more than half on that run. I’m surprised I made it myself. I can’t be sure, but I think the water rose faster than usual. I hope it was just my imagination. If it is progressively rising faster, we’ll never get everyone off this island.

I stare across the group, analyzing the faces of the men about to make the run. They’re all visibly scared and shaken. The shaking could just be low blood sugar from lack of food. We’re all on the brink of starvation. Just one more problem for the list.

I don’t feel bad for painting a gruesome picture, they need to know the risks. It’s up to me to set expectations. They’re here of their own volition. I'm not forcing them to make the run. If anyone’s being forced to do it, it’s me. Forced by my own conscience. How could I leave everyone stranded? I don’t think I could live with myself if I abandoned those remaining on the island.

I used to think being this fast and in this good of shape was a good thing. Now, I see it as a curse. I’m the fastest by far, so Tom chose me to lead people across to the mainland. What’re they gonna do if I trip or something during a run? Die I guess. I’m their only hope.

“Ok, on three! One, two, three!”

We leap onto the land bridge, full sprint. Joe, trips right off the bat. He does the right thing and returns to where we started. No way he would make it across after a faltered start. He’ll just have to try again next week.

I pulled ahead of the group immediately.

“Come on everyone, let’s go, get moving!!” I yell over my shoulder.

The water began rising immediately. It’s up to my ankles and we’re not even a third of the way across. It’s definitely rising faster than usual. Holy hell this is bad.

“Drop your gear if you have to!” No one drops anything. Why does nobody ever take my advice?

I’m half way across and the water is up to my knees. Surprisingly, a few of the men have kept up well. They’re really moving.

I think we’ll make it, but this will be another close one.

Two thirds across and the water keeps rising. It’s up to mid thigh. Waste high. We have to get across before it’s waste high.

Loyd falls.

“Get up! Get up! Keep running!” I scream. He’ll never make it now, but no reason not to keep trying.

I reach the other end. Climbing out of the water and onto shore, I turn and look back towards the water. Three others, Bart, Ken, and David all climb onto shore right after. The other five are only at the two thirds point. They’re not going to make it. The water is above their waste and still rising. It’s only a matter of time.

They’re screaming and crying, horrified at what happens next.

The first one goes quick. He’s pulled under in a split second. A pool of blood colors the surface of the water.

The other four begin trying to swim. Won’t work. I’ve seen people try to swim to the other side many times before. Always ends the same. One run there was a brute of a man, John, who fought for a moment. He resurfaced once. But he’s the only to ever do it and he was immediately pulled under again. Humans just aren’t made for the water.

The other four all go under in a flash. None resurface.

I look over to the other three. Their eyes were wide with disbelief. It’s one thing to hear about what happens on a run. It’s another to witness it first hand.

“Let’s go”, I say, gesturing with my hand. “Don’t think about it, just be happy you made it”.

I try and hide my worry. I have to put on a confident front for the others or they won’t listen to anything I say. They don’t know it, but I’m just as afraid as them. This job takes its toll on the soul and body. Ive seen so many die on the run. Every week I feel like something is creeping in on me, like something could happen at any minute. I can’t help this feeling of impending loss, like my time is limited.

Looking at the ground I ask myself, when will my last time be? How long until my luck runs out and I trip or sprain an ankle?

When’s my last run?