Amanda Lynn's Arc

Chapter 13 of 14

Amanda Lynn reached the start line with the vial against her ankle. Runners crowded the open ground below the ridge. She needed a flat, dry spot to swap her soft boots for the cleated ones, and to paint the green liquid on the iron. If she slipped the cleats on wrong, the poison would touch bare skin and numb her feet before the gun. She looked for a corner out of the churn of elbows and nervous feet. There was none. Everyone fought for space. A woman knelt apart from the crowd, by a stone wall. She had sea-blue hair and a diver's heavy gear beside her. She was spreading a wide square of oilcloth on the ground, smoothing every wrinkle with flat hands. Amanda Lynn did not know her. The woman worked like someone used to doing careful things with no one watching. "That your dry ground?" Amanda Lynn asked. The woman looked up. "Clean cloth over wet rock. I lay my kit out this way on the dive boat." She tapped the oilcloth. "Water ruins everything. I lost three years of notes to water once. Sounds dramatic. It was." She went back to smoothing. "There's room. Sit." Amanda Lynn knelt on the far edge. The oilcloth was dry and clean. She unwound the cloth from one foot and set her soft boot aside. She lifted the cleated boot and the vial. "Careful with that," the woman said, eyeing the green fluid. "Smells like it bites." "It numbs skin," Amanda Lynn said. "I paint the iron, not the inside." She tipped the vial and ran the liquid along the heel cleats and the mid-sole, keeping the toe bare. She held the boot by its edges so no drop reached the leather lip where her foot would go. The woman handed her a dry rag without being asked. Amanda Lynn wiped the rim clean, twice. Then she wrapped her foot fresh and slid it in, toes first, heel last. No sting. The cloth held. She flexed her foot. The iron bit the stone and her skin stayed quiet. She did the second boot the same way on the dry square. When both were laced, she capped the vial and tucked it away. Her feet were coated right, wrapped right, and still her own. "Thanks for the cloth," Amanda Lynn said. "It's just cloth." The woman gathered her gear. "Run fast. I have my own date to beat." She shouldered her heavy kit and moved off along the wall. Amanda Lynn stood. Her feet were ready, the poison where it belonged and nowhere it shouldn't be. She stepped toward the line. The swifts lifted off the ridge and traced the race path above her. The horn would sound soon. Now the only thing left was the running.