There's a moment when you're running; really running I mean, not postmodern jogging with all the fancy equipment and bright reflective colours, when the pain convinces you you don't really want to be alive anyway.

Most of you will never know this feeling. Never even come close. Even the sporty few that think you train some. A couple of hours here and there in the gym. You haven't a fucking clue.

Hell, I only know this because I joined the army. I wanted to be special forces, figured I was hot shit because I'd played soccer in high school and lifted a bit. So I tried out and showed up one day at pit surrounded on all sides by sand dunes. After a placement three kilometre run and a bunch of administrative bullshit they split us into groups and told us to get started. First up the sand dune. First down. First to have their number recorded.

Just got back? Go.

Need a breather? Go.

Thought it was easy running without weight? Go.

Put a sandbag on your back.

Go.

I was first up and first back. Then there was fire in my legs and I was second up and second back. Then fourth up and fourth back, and suddenly I could feel it loud and clear in my head.

"Maybe I'm not actually special forces material?"

I finished the day. I wasn't called back for further testing. That was years ago though, but I still remember the voice. My voice, clear and soft despite the pounding in my ears and screaming in my legs. "It's not worth it. Quit."

Now over the course of my service I came to recognise this voice not as a commander but as an enemy. You can fight it, hold it at bay, but it is difficult. It makes you no longer want what you set out to achieve and the only thing that keeps you going is pure stubbornness. You don't actually care about continuing, about being first up and first back on the sand dune. There is nothing in your head but pain and stubbornness, and unless an outside forces lets you stop, maybe a merciful drill sergeant, maybe a target time reached, the pain always wins eventually.

I'm telling you this for context.

This is why I'm still here. Still going. And why they're not. It's just me now.

But let me take it back a bit. I'm not in my homeland anymore. I've come to America, I'm here to study and I made a couple of friends along the way. I'm a bit older than most of them, having served before coming to college, but that doesn't really matter. We all bring something new and interesting to the table.

Like Charly- Charlotte I guess, but we call her Charly. Your typical college bimbo, blonde hair, blue eyes, big chest. And a wit so sharp she leaves a trail of traumatised guys behind her paying dearly for the innocently thinking they could chat her up.

Jet, true to his name, the wide receiver for the football team. Dark skin, dark hair, people think he's from my home before I do. Great guy.

Jainy, Jet's girlfriend, a new addition to the group. A bit weird but in an endearing way, totally not who you'd expect a college football player to be seeing.

Then there's Cain and Lana. Couldn't mention one without the other, good looking, firey redheaded twins. They tag team to tussle with Charly and it's always good fun to watch.

Then of course their's me. I guess in the end this is my fault. I wanted to go day tripping. I pulled them from their comfy college couches and corralled them in to coming along. "It'll be fun," I grinned "you Americans need to broaden your horizons!"

Charly joined me quickly. In hindsight, she had a thing for me, and that's why she was so on board with the idea. Bit late now for would have/could haves though.

So we set off. Jet's got a van, I filled it with blankets, and we started driving. The city was behind us in forty minutes. In eighty we couldn't see more than ten meters on either side of us through the thick forrest underbrush, but after five hours the forrest faded into shrubbery and then grass. We'd hit rolling prairie land and it was as beautiful as the movies make it out to be. I offered to drive for a while, and after an hour of missing the manual gearbox I had at home, I settled in. At least we drive on the same side of the road. There was a party going on in the back, but I was happy to sit up front and count the cows we passed. Charly came to join me after a while, and like that we sat, cruising, till the sun began to set. I was adamant about one more point. No maps, no waze, no GPS. Lets get lost. We had food for days and phones for emergencies but I figured it would all work out. And we've got time. That's something else the army taught me. Life is long. Time passes slow. Stretch your days and enjoy them. Awlward sentiment current situation considered. So, without a clue where we were we pulled off the road, barely feeling the transition from asphalt to grass, and settled down for the night.

Campfire, guitar, camper chairs, and wooly sweaters. The mood was set. The moon was full and bright and we had no trouble seeing each other. In the distance wolves howled, but we felt safe. As the conversation lulled, Cain raised a hand. "Scary story time everybody." Lana groans. "You're a walking cliche Cain."

"It's cute though," adds Jainy with a wink at Jet. Jet laughs and throws and arm round her.

"Go on gingy," he laughs.

And so Cain begins.

"I may have cheated a little guys." He admits. "I checked our location on my phone when we parked."

Collective groaning and good natured ribbing followed, naturally.

"Hold up hold up," he smiles "you're going to like this."

A light breeze blows the fire away from me and I shiver.

"So listen up," Cain begins, and proceeds to tell us that we've stopped in old Indian territory. He is, supposedly, like every non-Aryan American, one sixty-fourth (or some other ridiculous fraction) Cherokee, and has a story to tell us about the tribe in this area.

"When the white man rolled through here, they were especially bad to this area's tribe. So much so, that they feared for their extinction within months of the new devils' inception into the landscape. A scared, frantic people took scared, frantic measures. They sacrificed half their women and children to the hunter spirits, and then proceed to kill half of their able bodied men in a brutal ritual that was intended to imbue them with the trapped spirits strength. These men were supposedly able to track and hunt anything without fail. Legend has it that they disappeared chasing the spirit of the whiteman off this world, but historians seem to suggest that actually the ritual involved the slitting of their wrists and they all died too. What was left of the decimated tribe was assimilated into the white settlers settlements as slaves and all traces of them are lost to this day. The rumor, as spread by the neighbouring tribes however, is that they messed up the ritual. The spirits got the better of them, and punished them in payment for being disturbed. They're still here, stuck forever hunting the whiteman, but tethered to these plains and so unable ever to truly complete their hunt. The ultimate punishment."

We laughed and made fun of Cain, but I noticed Lana was somewhat reserved by the end of his speech, despite her earlier contribution. As the fire dimmed we passed around a joint, switched from the guitar to a small portable speaker, and settled down under the stars. Charly of course lay down next to me. Hindsight is a bitch. As we drifted off, the howling in the distance faded away until silence filled every nook and cranny.

I awoke suddenly, sitting up in pitch blackness that my eyes very quickly adjusted to. The moon was still bright and in actual fact the night no so dark. I blinked around, hazy from the weed, and realised that almost everybody else had sat up too. Only Cain and Lana were still asleep, and Lana was stirring. I checked my watch. Two forty six. I realised that stopping at sunset must have meant we went to sleep before midnight. So here we are, all awake, all still just a little high, without a clue as to what woke us. Lana finally sits up, and seeing us all moving shook her brother awake. Again I noted a hint of tension in her but pushed it away. A general understanding passed around the circle. Nobody was going to able to fall back asleep just yet. Cain finally stirred, stretched, yawned, and cracked a stupid joke. We all mumble at him that he's an idiot, and I put some coffee on a camp stove. The subject of discussion while we wait: Why we're all up. Suddenly, Cain puts on his serious face again. The same one he used for the ghost story.

"Well then," he says, breaking character for a wink, "I know the answer. There is one more piece of the ghost story, if you'll allow me to continue." We tease him some more but eventually encourage him to go on. We'd never tell him, but he's a good story teller.

"Rumour has it, that this great tribe held one rule of honour above the rest. On the hunt, the hunter must allow the hunted to flee. That was how the hunter earns his right to the prey. Alternate version of the story state the reason for the ritual's failure, was that the white man never fled, and so the hunters could never hunt them down."

"What are you saying Cain?" Charly quipped, egging him to confirm her suspicions. She was quick and had put two and two together before he'd finished speaking.

"Well my dear, I do believe we've been awoken to run away so the hunt can begin." He said, his voice losing it's storytelling depth at the end and curling into a smile.

"You're an idiot Cain." Shot off Jet. "A spooky idiot."

At that I remember seeing Lana relax a little. Jet was a reassuring presence. I poured coffee for everybody, added a touch of whiskey for those that wanted, and we sat there huddled and pensive under the wide open sky. Eventually, Jet broke the silence. "I have a grave and solemn announcement. I need a piss." I laughed and got up with him. Once he'd mentioned it, I did too.

We strolled a hundred meters away and once we'd relieved ourselves Jet turned to me. "You're a bit slow aren't you mate?"

I looked at his grinning face not comprehending. "Huh?"

"Charly bro, make a move."

I went to respond and then stopped. Something had caught my eye. Motion in the distance maybe. Definitely. A silhouette, grey on grey in the distance. I pointed it out to Jet. As we stared two more became apparent. Three, loping silhouettes, only visible highlighted by the powerful moon. Nervous, we jogged back to our little circle. Mentioning it to the group a tension fell between us. I guess Cain had put us more on edge than we realised. Then Jainy spoke up. "Ugh guys, there's three shapes coming down the highway..." We looked and she was right. Three more loping figures seemed to be trekking down the highway from the direction we'd been headed.

"I think we'd better get into the van." This statement was met with general agreement. We packed up haphazardly, climbed in, and Jet started driving. This was a three day excursion, and feeling safe in the car we decided to continue straight down the highway, towards the figures, intending to just drive past them and continue. We laughed at ourselves a little for being so skittish. As we drew closer, the headlights picked out what seemed to be three thin joggers carrying sticks, half dressed in shaggy half-clothing. Jet sounded the horn twice, but they took no notice and simply continued to jog towards us. Indicating, despite there being nobody else on the road, he pulled in to the oncoming lane intending to pass them by and continue on. We drew closer. Fifteen meters. Ten. Five. As we drew up beside them we saw through the windows of the van three bobbing heads turn to follow us. And then we slipped by. We got out half a sigh of relief before we heard a bang from the back of the truck and fishtailed sharply. Jet continued for another fifty meters before pulling the van to the side of the road. Sitting next to him in the passenger seat we caught each other's eyes, hands on the door handle. The tension was palpable.

We stepped out into the night together, and passed round to the back of the truck to see what had gone wrong. Both back tires were absolutely shredded to pieces. About thirty meters back down the road lay what appeared to be one of the jogger's sticks. And the joggers themselves had turned around, coming back for us at a slow and steady pace. Sure enough, one of them was now empty handed.

"What the actual fuck?" Jeff muttered. "Did they put a spear through my fucking tires?"

I realised then that he was right. The sticks were spears. That little fact clicked in my head and I realised that these "joggers" looked like the native Americans from my picture book as a kid. Chills.

The back of the van opened and I jumped. Everybody was climbing out now, curious. Nobody really had any clue what was going on. I kept an eye on the incoming figures. "Guys..."

"I'm going to fucking kill them." Growls Jet. Clearly he's not feeling as uneasy as I am. But they're closing the distance, and I don't like it. For the first time since I left the army, no, ever, I miss the weight of my M16 over my shoulder. In the army it was a burden to carry and to keep track of, but right now I'm very, very, scared.

Thirty meters. Twentyfive.

Jet shouts. "Yo what the fuck?"

Twenty. Details were starting to become clear. No shoes. Feathers. The works.

Fifteen. Jet shouts again. They stop. I see the third has picked up his spear along the way. Jet starts towards them. All three cocked back their arms and he stoped. They launched their spears at us in sync. One directly at Jet, which he dodged with superb athleticism. The other two however came directly at us. "What the actual fuck?" Jet screamed again, this time with a different tone in his voice. One spear had embedded itself in the back of the van, the other had scrapped Jainy's shoulder. "Run!"

We bolted, no thoughts of returning to the ruined van, each of us spriting down the highway. Ahead of the pack I looked back. Jet was gaining on me fast, Lana and Cain coming along quickly too. Charly and Jainy however were lagging badly. I watched the three figures slowly retrieve their spears, take aim again, and launch them. This time all three found targets, and I felt the urge to throw up as Charly and Jainy both went down. Terror froze me. Only I'd seen them fall. A part of me screamed to go back, but another part kept my legs churning. A stronger part that had seen them fall. I knew they were gone. I heard Lana sob. She'd looked back too, and made the same judgment call as I had. We were all running now, down the highway, our sprint transformed into a terrified jog. "What the fuck," "What the fuck," "What the fuck." I hear from Jet between gasps. Looking back again, I see the three Americans adopt their loping gait again. They're jogging after us and something primal grips my heart. I understand instinctively: we were being hunted.

Looking back at the horizon we saw three more shapes bobbing against the highway in front of us. I looked around. They'd seen them too. We stopped. Without a word we take off onto the grass. No plan, no discussion, there was no time for that. No air. We had just begun to run. Jet seemed to be breathing steadily, making a good pace. Lana too. Cain however was clutching his side. a stitch. He was lagging, and with every glance back I could see the distance closing. I realised I was setting the pace, leading the group, and I was holding us back to stay with him.

"Lets go." I gasped. "Come on, be strong, move." This is something else I learned in the army. You absolutely can talk somebody into pushing themselves. You just have to be careful not to waste your own breath in the process. Cain picked up the pace a little.

"Well done lets go!"

I looked back again. Six figures chased us across the prairie now. I didn't know where we were going. There was no plan. They just kept coming. I'd seen that gait before. Some of the best runners in my unit used to run like that. Long strides. Springy. Fast and low energy. I was nervous. And they gained on us.

And we kept running. Fear seemed to be fuelling Cain now. I could tell each ragged breath wasn't nearly enough to support his efforts. I made a quick decision.

"Quick Jet, grab him under his shoulder. Lana, get his legs." I took the other shoulder, and the other two understood quickly. We lifted him and quickly started running again, but slower. Cain protested, but was barely able to get the words out. I couldn't see a way out. Now, carrying Cain casualty style, they were gaining on us fast.

Two hundred meters.

One hundred and fifty.

I needed a plan, but I didn't have one. It's impossible to think when you're exhausted. Learned that in the army too.

One hundred meters. Lana drops Cain's legs. We put him down and he'd got a burst of fresh energy. Suddenly he stops however. I'm several meters ahead when I hear him gasp. "I think my ankle is twisted." I run back to him and threw him over my shoulders. He's not a big guy, but I was exhausted, and the effort nearly buckled my knees. Jet and Lana are ahead of me, glancing back. I was terrified. What to do. I can't leave Cain, but I can't keep this pace for too long. I'm stumbling forwards, losing ground quickly, when I'm knocked forwards onto my knees. Cain, thrown before me, spear sticking form his back. Turning back, a second spear just missed my head. They're thirty meters away and seconds from impaling me.

I stood up and was knocked off my feet again. This time sideways. Confused I see a spear stick out of the ground I knelt on only moments before. It was Jet. He'd tackled me out of the way just in time. He pulls me up and we sprint forwards, zig-zagging to avoid further attacks. I'm in too much shock, too shattered, to consider that we just lost another friend. Lana never stopped. She's several hundred meters ahead of us now. The adrenaline pushed us to new heights and we reached her again in minutes, putting serious distance between us and our jogging assailants. Jet was faster than me. More fit too I think. He was managing just fine. I saw then however that she wasn't. Each breath was ragged. Every step a struggle.

We kept running.

The moon tracked across the sky ever so slowly. Each breath heavier than the next, the three of us kept going. Looking back brought no change whatsoever. Same six figures, same loping stride, chasing us across endless plains. With time Lana fell behind.

Five meters.

Fifteen. Thirty. Fifty.

Then we heard a thud.

I didn't look back. Nor did Jet. He was holding up much better than me. Every fibre was tearing. The landscape unchanging, my head was getting light. Who knows how far we'd been running. And then I heard it. A hitch in his breath.

And we kept on running.

And we struggled together now. I watched him fight for oxygen. Fight to keep the pace. My legs had begun to feel like jelly. My shoulders felt sore and heavy. Every gulp of air teased my lungs.

In. In. Out. Out. In. In. Out. Out.

I could hear Jet begin to lose his rhythm. I was holding on through sheer willpower. And then he too began to fall behind. Just a couple of steps where before he had been leading.

Just two.

Then three. Then a few more than three.

And the whole time they loped behind us. Sometimes five hundred meters. Sometimes eight, but always there, with their furs and their spears against the moonlight.

And jet tripped. And scrambled back up and caught back up and then fell behind again and again and again and again and thud.

And now it's just me and I'm all alone. And I'm in my head trying to block out the pain. Trying to think of anything other than how much my body wants to quit. And that is how I got here. And the voice is back.

"I don't even really want to live."

"Give up it's not worth it."

"There's no end to this grassland you can't fight me."

And I can feel myself slipping. I've been running all night. My familiar enemy always was stronger than me. After all I never did make it to the special forces.

And the voice goes on. "You've done well but it's time to give up now, you know you can't run for ever."

But I can and I will.

"But you know you can't you're just hurting yourself."

But I can and I will.

"But you haven't before and look at Jet who was bigger and stronger than you and he quit as well."

And maybe the voice is right. Maybe it is time to stop running.