In Hot Pursuit
… and here they come!
They are running, running as fast as they can. Oh, I can tell you, a few thousand people running all at once is one mesmerizing experience. They are like a stampede, thundering. The dust and sand bellows behind them in a large cloud. It is obscuring their hunters, but we know of course that they are there.
And now I can see them, stepping out of the cloud. They have horses and wagons. Chariots as fast as the wind. It looks like they are gaining on their prey.
… Yes, I'm pretty sure they do. And the fugitives...
Oh no, they do not notice it. But they run right in the direction of the sea. There's water to the left, to the right, and to the middle! They need to make a sharp turn but they don't. Their leader, he's running right towards the water.
What's he planning to do? Is a death in the floods really preferable to fighting their enemies?
He comes to an abrupt stop, slithering in the sand of the dunes. The stopping motion flows through the mass of people like a wave. They bend over like one, panting and coughing. The dust settles slowly. A much needed rest!
But their enemies' cloud of sand and sweat doesn't settle down.
They do not stop.
I see the fugitives throw fearful looks back. They must be aware of the swords and spears so close behind them. Some sink to the ground. Resignation? Utter exhaustion? I cannot tell, but I do feel a sense of hopelessness coursing through them. The sea in front of them, their pursuers behind – there is little hope of escape.
What was that? Heads turn towards the leader. He's standing in an elated position. His arms seem to grasp for the sky. A thunderous noise has caught everyone's attention. They sky is as blue as they come, but for a second it sounded like the atmosphere itself would fall down.
Lightning twitches in the bright sunlight. It's focused on the leader. A moment before, it were just his hands reaching for the sky, now his old wooden staff, the walking stick of many years, helps him reach further. He speaks words I cannot hear.
I don't notice it at first and neither do any of the onlooker. Those not paying attention to their leader glance fearfully back to the host of enemies. Slowly, in the greater scheme of things, but, in their current state of mind, alarmingly fast they come nearer and nearer. After a while, the gentle waves in the water become more pronounced, their swelling and shrinking loses its balance. More and more water retreats and returns only to be stopped by a wall I cannot see.
This leader is one hell of a spellcaster!
A murmur runs through the exhausted files of fugitives, disbelieving looks spread over their faces. It slowly turns to hope and breathless, painful coughing turns to strength. They get back up on their feet. First just some of them, then more and more. For the briefest of seconds, their fears seem to be forgotten.
They do not run. Too destroyed are their bodies from the flight. But they move swiftly, as fast as they can. Scrambling to get away, they follow one another into the dark gorge between two imposing walls of murky water. Fish and algae swim close to the walls, tentacles of unknown and unspeakable creatures swipe at the fleeing people.
The distance is shorter now, between the fugitives and the pursuers. The short rest has given the men, women and children new strength, but it also allowed their enemies to gain on them.
And they do not stop!
Confronted with the divided waters, they hesitate a moment, but they do not stop. Cries for revenge, for justice for their murdered children rings out from among them. And they charged into the depths of the ocean.
The last of the fugitives, those closest to the enemies never stopped looking back. Now they urge their comrades forward, pressing into their backs. Faster and faster their run, but the distance is close to nothing now.
Something cuts through the mass of people like a knife. They split around an unmovable obstacle. It is their leader. He stands in the middle of two kinds of seas, a sea of water and one of people, the only one standing and staring back instead of just turning around in fearful expectation. As the last of his charges passes him, he holds up his staff again.
And now the water comes rushing in. It's not gentle and slow as before. It twists and turns and hunts them with cold wet fingers. Faster and faster they run. Now, not to catch their prey. Now, they are the prey. Chariots overtake footsoldiers, some overrun them. Like fingers, waves interlace above their heads. Giant waves silence screams and only their rushing is heard for a while.
Drowning is a silent death.
But the fugitives further ahead are not out of the water. Quite literally, I might add. Just freed from the dangers of their enemies, they now have to run from the returning power of the sea.
Their leader holds up his hands, commanding the waves. Is he exhausted too? Is he too weak? They don't follow his order. They come, closer and closer.
He starts to run too.
Slowly, the people crawl up the shores. Beyond exhaustion, they sink to the ground, most even too tired to look back for friend and foe. They shuffle away as more and more leave the dangers below.
I cannot help myself. As one is saved, really saved, then the next and the next, I sigh with relief. A gentle breeze rustles through the reed.
Now, their voices, silent and raw, can be heard over the wind. “Thank the Lord. Thank the Lord!”
I shudder under their sudden attention. Ah, to bask in glory...
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Did this story sound familiar to you? At least, in large parts?
It's from the Bible, Exodus 14 (in some versions 2. Mose 14). I did not try to stay particularly faithful (pun not intended) to the text and added a twist.
Bible versions are easy enough to google and search, so I won't put a link, mainly because I don't actually want to promote any one version.
This was obviously not an attempt to write an original story, more of an exercise in trying to tell a known story in an engaging way. This is not intended as religious commentary in any way or form.
