The journey was hard, nonstop running through woods, over hills, across rivers. Naruto had good intentions, but he tired right away and ended up being carried by Kurenai. Iruka ran at the back of the group to keep an eye on Lee, who had amazing endurance for his young age. His long legs carried him for more than three kilometers before he couldn't run any longer. After that, Iruka let Lee ride on his back.
To Genma's irritation, Kurenai's disappointment, and Iruka's anger, the team didn't reach their destination that night. Kakashi didn't seem bothered—he even announced that they were bedding down for the night. When met with protests from Iruka and Kurenai—after all, they were quite capable of running all night—he said, "If we went all out, we could catch them within a few days. But I want us to be in top form for the rescue. During the day, we run. We sleep at night." There were extra bedrolls for the boys. Exhausted as they were, they fell onto the blankets and fell asleep in minutes. Kurenai and Genma did, too, although it took them longer. But Iruka couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned while Kakashi stood guard nearby. "Go to sleep," he told Iruka flatly.
"I can't," Iruka answered under his breath.
"It wasn't a suggestion." Kakashi stared inscrutably at him, and to pacify the cell leader, Iruka lay still and contented himself with gazing at the two students he had managed to save. But he couldn't stop thinking about the others, surely being abused in some form far off. His worry kept him awake all night.
In the morning they redressed and loaded their gear. "Will we reach them today?" Lee asked the question on everyone's mind.
"If we go fast, maybe we can catch up by tomorrow," Kakashi replied with a shrug. His casual demeanor baffled and irked Iruka. Kakashi might have been as tranquil as a sunset, but
Iruka was irritable and discontented. No speed seemed fast enough. Genma and Kakashi, jonin as they were, made the endless sprint seem as easy as strolling. And although she was a chunin like Iruka, Kurenai was as light and fast as a feather. Iruka got the feeling that he was holding the other three back—and not just because he was carrying one of the boys more often than not. The fact that he couldn't seem to move quickly enough made him push himself that much harder. He was worn through by nightfall.
"Don't wear yourself out when we've barely begun," Kakashi warned him before bedtime with an edge to his tone. Equally edgy himself, Iruka snapped back,
"We're not even close yet—and who knows what they might be doing to those kids right now?" He took off his hitai-ate leaf headband to mop his forehead wearily. "Can't we run through the night, just once?"
"No," said Kakashi in no uncertain terms. He sighed and lay down next to Iruka: Genma was on sentry duty that night. "Look, you saw what they were going to do to those two. My guess is that their plan was to kill the deadweights, but keep the ones they thought might be of some use."
"Exactly!" Iruka hissed, agitated. "They're willing to do whatever they please, no conscience involved! We can't put anything past them! How can you be so calm?"
"They want the rest of the students." Kakashi seemed completely certain. "I don't know what for, but they wanted them alive. They're not going to murder them before we get there." His words were small comfort; Iruka found it hard to believe them. But because Kakashi was the leader, Iruka nodded and rolled over. That night, his body succumbed to the demands that had been placed upon it, and he managed to sleep.
The next morning, he awoke to see Kurenai helping Naruto on with his sandals. Genma handed out apples—a handy breakfast that they could eat while on the move. Iruka forced his sore feet to run again, and forced himself to be patient when Lee asked again how close they were, and Naruto whined that his apple was mealy.
They sped up once they crossed the Waterfall border. Kakashi carried Lee and Genma carried Naruto so that Iruka and Kurenai could pour all their effort into going as fast as possible. They were finally getting closer. . .
