"S.O.G."

The next morning, I wake up, don my usual set of clothes, grab my notebook and backpack, and head out to find Shizuko. A maid gives me the good news:

“She already left. Said she had to do some warm-ups before the race.”

There’s a skip in my step as I take a bus to the staging ground for the race - a field on the outskirts of Tsukamoto. A long road would take the runners through squares of crops turned golden by the sun and green by the season, up into winding trails lining the array of hills surrounding the town, then back into Tsukamoto itself, before finally getting back where it all began. At the starting line, there’s rows of tents filled with volunteers handing out water along with some food stalls. A couple of tents are reserved for high school track clubs and adult running clubs - the high school race is already underway. Almost over, in fact; throngs of students pat sweaty participants on the back for a job well done.

I see a familiar pair of students speaking with the captain of Kenji High School’s track club. Kentaro interviews him, jotting down quick notes in a journal, while Ayako films it all. The captain looks exhausted, and not just from running the race - Kentaro’s not lobbing him softballs.

“As a leader of today’s generation,” Kentaro says to the captain of a high school club, “You can be a great role model for those looking to become students of the world. Tell me, what are your thoughts on the deforestation of the Amazon?”

The captain looks at him blankly. “Uh…”

“Into the camera!” Ayako barks out, stuffing her instrument of torture closer to his face. She yelps and squirms when I lift her up by the back of the collar. The captain uses the interruption to flee to safety.

“You guys having fun?” I ask.

Still mid-air, Ayako stops fidgeting and nods. “You bet! Got a lot of good footage today. But you need to be more aggressive, Kentaro! Don’t just ask about his general thoughts - ask if he would take a stand and blow up pipelines or something. I know I would!”

I set all five feet of political action and conceit back down on the ground. “You guys seen Shizuko?”

Kentaro immediately nods with a slightly dream look on his face. “They’re gathering those participating in the adult race at the starting line.”

So I make my way to the starting line, pushing past the townspeople of Tsukamoto and other fans of the oldest sport known to man. Mrs. Yamazaki, dressed in an official looking uniform, gets all the runners into place. I see Ume with her long black hair, a wrist watch strapped tightly on her arm. She keeps glancing over to her left, because that’s where Shizuko is.

Her hair’s back up in the ponytail again, and she’s used the project fund to pick up a t-shirt and shorts. She can’t help but glance at Ume as well; whenever their eyes lock, Ume gives her a dark expression. Shizuko looks down at her own sneakers, the ones she’s been wearing this whole time.

“Give ‘em hell!” I call out. That makes Shizuko look back up again. She catches me in the corner of her eye and a small smile appears on her face. She stops glancing at Ume - she just focuses on the road ahead of her.

“Set!” Mrs. Yamazaki calls out, silencing the crowd. As they watch with bated breath, the runners assume the starting position, bent forward, knees and legs ready. Ume’s face twitches; I can see Shizuko mouth something to herself and smile.

Mrs. Yamazaki raises her gun, and then-

With a bang, off they go. In a mad dash of people, all the runners head out, sneakers slapping against concrete. Ume immediately takes the lead, but Shizuko isn’t too far behind, and I yell for her one last time before they head into the horizon.

And that’s kind of it. The thing about races is that once they leave the starting blocks, that’s all there really is to it until they come back in a couple of hours. I hear Ayako cough awkwardly in the silence, and then conversation among the crowd resumes as normal. Somebody cracks open a beer.

A firm hand grasps my shoulder. Aviator shades on his eyes and a toothpick in his mouth, Mr. Yamazaki smiles at me. Wordlessly, I follow him to his cop car. Mrs. Yamazaki shakes her head and sighs while Kentaro fumes in the background, because I’m about to get a front-row seat for the progress of the race instead of waiting at the starting line.

Except, when the car takes off, we head in the opposite direction. The runners disappear from view as we head down another road through the fields.

Mr. Yamazaki adjusts his windshield to make sure we’re not being followed. “After doing the math out, the most likely spot for the guerillas to strike today would be a grassy knoll located right where the race enters the forest.” He scratches his chin. “‘Course, my allies in the Tsukamoto High School Disciplinary Committee told me they didn’t see anyone there in the past hour.”

“Tsukamoto High? If the troupe is from the same school, then couldn’t they be helping each other?”

The toothpick almost drops from his slack-jawed mouth. “Oh my kami-sama.”

The siren blares alive as the car accelerates from its patrol speed of fifteen to serious business speed of twenty-five. The rice paddies metaphorically blur by as we approach the grassy knoll from afar, using a different road from the race to avoid any civilian casualties. When we get there, it’s empty - something far too suspicious for Yamazaki.

“They must’ve fled into the woods!” he cries out, swerving the car, drifting across a square of concrete apparently built for installation of a utility tower. We follow the concrete path of towers into the woods, sending packs of birds squawking and hordes of deer prancing this way and that. The siren continues to announce our presence and Yamazaki changes the radio station from a baseball broadcast to 1960s psychedelic rock. We hit a series of bumps, sending off a series of mechanical rattling resembling machine guns.

“The troupe uses trails in the woods to get around without being seen!” Yamazaki yells out to me, his hands gripping the steering wheel. I’m holding on for life in the passenger seat, the electric guitar on the radio pouncing on me, tall trees sending long shadows dancing across the windshield. Sunlight pours through the gaps in the foliage, sending a patchwork of golden color to join in on the samba. I briefly hear the rotors of a helicopter overhead, but it’s really just a noise caused by the rusting tailpipe of the car.

“We’re taking enemy fire!” Yamazaki calls out when acorns bounce across the windshield. He swerves down roads seemingly at random, pebbles rattling below our wheels, the radio blasting out random patterns of electric guitar. “Let’s see how they like this!”

He hands me a gun. I look at the gun. “This is a goddamn turkey baster.”

Yamazaki rolls down his window and fires his own turkey baster, filled with water, out the window. I stare at him for a long moment. “You really think they’re out here? That you’re gonna catch them?”

“The point isn’t to catch ‘em!” Yamazaki yells out over the music. “The point is to chase ‘em!”

My eyes widen. The road we’re on takes us out of the forest and into a mountain meadow full of summer. Rolling hills covered in green hills surround the valley, while red lilies, yellow chrysanthemums, purple lavender, and blue petunias surround us as far as the eye can see, lapping up the sunlight, pushed slowly by a gentle August breeze. And beyond it all, there would be snow-capped mountains, blue oceans, tropical islands, wide continents, humanity living and breathing. If it weren’t for our tank of gas, we could’ve kept going, kept chasing, to the tip of Hokkaido all the way up north and back again, over and over, forever in infinity.

Yamazaki gradually swerves the car to a stop at a small parking lot built in the meadow. The sight of random concrete brings the officer and I back to reality. We sit, catching our breath, staring at the green grass ahead of us.

Yamazaki taps his fingers along the steering wheel. He lowers his shades.

“You got any idea where we are?”