-----EC1--ep3-----

Malick 

The men open up to show an old one hunched over the rocks behind. His body is bent and his open palm reaches on a long skinny arm into the air.

I keep my eyes on the knife.

The old man lifts his head, his long grey beard brushing across the rock below. He looks up at me, his dirt covered face, his nose and mouth lost in the wrinkles.

“Come closer.”

The old man says. The man with the knife steps between us,

“What’s he…?”

He bounces his weight and waves the knife beneath his chin,

“It’s like you were saying Crent, they come here easy, but what is, I mean, what’s it that they are, they’re here for?”

The old man brings up his palm again. He nods his head towards me.

 “I thought there could be shelter?”

The man with the knife leans forward and waves it.

“There’s shelters out there you blind fuck.”

The old man rises to his feet,

 “Stand back.”

And then quieter,

“A kid could be useful.”

…

The old figure climbs forward through the rubble to meet me. His body is crooked and bent but he moves with light feet, balancing over the rocks like an insect.

“I am Crent.”

In his other arm the man holds a short stick with a metal top, he raises the stick and points it at the group.

“Mark, Carlton and Dave.”

The two black men nod over at me, one of them heavy, the other African looking and as tall and slim as a streetlight. Mark twists the knife in his grip and smiles over.

“Don’t mind him, he’s eager.”

The younger of the black men laughs deeply.

“Yeah, his father was a purple- slurper if you know.”

The kid wears a huge black jacket and rubs his hands across his belly.

“Daddy was a pogo player.”

Mark looks over at him.

“Alright, i'll chill, daddy weren’t a pogo sticker, nah nah, daddy didn't like pogo's at all.”

….

I could hear the dogs somewhere across the yard- as the evening came in and the men argued about a thick plastic sheet before hooking it over the camp and lighting a fire beneath. Crent pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and held it before them. A black and white print out with pictures of a building front across it. The men closed in, passing the sheet around in low whispers. Mark continued to finger his knife and I left for more wood. 

....

It is halfway across the dirt yard that I can see the animals, or one of them, a large orange muscle stalking the front of the cage. The outline is sharp, nothing like a dog. As I approach, the smaller ones come forward and press their pointed noises against the cage. The colour of them, the way they move together- these animals are more like wolves.

“Shit-mutt scavenger foxes.”

Mark walks out in front of me and bends to pick up a stick from beside the cage. The animals separate, the smallest ones falling back, the rest meeting him with a wall of wet teeth.

Mark weights the stick between his hands, teasing the cage. But the lead fox remains still, his long teeth dripping in a deep growl.

Mark lets the stick rest in his right hand like a fire poker. He looks over to me, pleased. Then he jumps forward, stabbing the weapon through the fence grates hard.

The smaller animals are rolled by the spike and sent backwards injured, but the lead fox fights on. Out stepping the man, pre-guessing him. 

With the hits that do find the target, the animal is toppled and dragged, releasing a soft whine through the pit yard.  

“You have to show them who’s the boss.”

Mark looks over at me, his arm stabbing blindly like a child. 

He pauses, the stick leans heavy on his arm. He pulls his jacket sleeve down and switches the stick to the fresh hand. The stick hovers for a second between the grips. 

The fox strikes, bringing his teeth down, setting his weight over the wood and dragging his body back into the cage.

Mark grabs for the sliding stick, the smaller animals racing forward to his feet.

“Fucking shits.”

The animals collect their prize, clawing along the woods length. Mark walks to the side of the cage and grabs a piece of wire resting on the ground. He pulls it, the other end trailing a metal bowl of water out of the fox-cage and into his hands. He flips the bowl and throws it to the side, watching the water spill out across the ground. The smaller animals jump to lap at the disappearing remnants.

“Dinnertime.”

Mark holds my eyes as he walks past. I turn to look at the shaken cage. The lead fox has laid neatly around the back corner, the smaller animals hidden beneath. The animal is still, staring upwards at the high boundaries of the yard. I can hear her young shivering beneath.  

PRESS ME for fox interlude, I do hope they'll ride again some day...

 

 …

Crent points to a space beside the flames.

“You can sleep there.”

He waves a hand at the men and they walk to the boundary fence and disappear over it, the fat boy struggling loudly against the silence of the yard.

“I can help you Malick.”

He sits down across from me, leaning his bony body over the stick,

“But you are young.”

The metal top catches the firelight,

“And you look lost.”

I circle my hand in the dirt

“Ok Malick. What about this. I think you can help me.”

He leans towards me,

“I will tell you how you can help me, and then if you need something in return, you will let me know.”

His body is twisted in the light, the bones look like they will come out of the skin,

“But you can't tell no one.”

I nod.
"A deal"
Crent reaches into his pocket and removes the crumpled print out,

“A genius plan.”

He laughs low,

“A fuckin teetering, thought-switching plan”

He coughs and spits on the floor beside him.

 “But we need a fifth man…”

Crent stands up as straight as he can and points a ringed finger towards me,

“We fuckin need you soldier.”

His laugh crackles, forcing him over again in fits. 
"You"
Crent holds his face up to the sky, producing another large ball of spit into the air. He has stopped laughing and sat down. The ball lands on the ground between us, wobbling against the fire like a wet slug.
……

It is dark and freezing. A white hand braces against my neck

“Don’t even sneeze.”

It wets my ear. I can feel something cold against my neck, pressing into my skin. Mark twists the knife across the light of the low embers.

“Up.”

The other men are asleep only metres from us. Crent is still sitting but his eyes are shut and his stick lays bedside him on the floor.

“Walk.”

The blade presses against me. Mark leads us over to the left hand corner of the dirt yard and leans a knee into my back.

“I have to teach you something.”

The blade hovers over my throat. Mark pulls my arm back towards him so my hand bends against his chest. He is breathing hard, his body shaking with the effort.

“Who then?”

He pushes the knee harder into my back.

“I’m not blind Malick, or a dumb fuck.”

I can hear the fox stalking in its cage behind us.

“The fucking church, that fucking soupy bitch.”

The fox’s breath is low and calm. Mark grabs both my wrists so my head drops into the dirt. He pulls them together behind my back. The knife has disappeared. He lifts my shirt up over my back. I struggle, the blade's tip scraping me somewhere to the side of my spine. Mark breaths hard, mumbling. The blade scratches across my skin, then pierces in with a jolt of pain,

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes”

I struggle. I whine. I can feel the warm blood, the pain folding as the knife runs through my skin. My eyes are shut. The image of her body screams.

“I’m looking for her.”

 Saliva dribbles through my teeth. The pain slows.

“I’m looking for my mother.”

Mark relaxes his grip on me for a second.

“You’ve pissed yourself you lame bitch.”

He laughs. The tip of the knife presses into my back, Mark's voice spits again,

“you lame fucking bitch, you pretty little fuck, I'm not so easy.”

My head feels light. The fox’s breath quivers. Then the place explodes into noise.

…

Crent stands over me.

“More comfortable over here was it kid?”

It’s freezing and the yard is filled with fresh light. My trousers and back are wet. The black kid calls at me from across the yard laughing,

“You like foxes do you man, that’s cool. You can like foxes if you like foxes, hell you should've met his mother.”

Mark glances over at me across his shoulder, pushing something deep into his bag.

Crent empties a water bottle into the metal bowl behind my head and places it carefully into the cage.

“It’s time to get up kid.”

I can hear the foxes lapping it up,

“ Take a look at this guy.”

I turn my head and Crent stands beside the cage, stroking his knuckles across the fighter's head.

“We could do with him in there today.”

He drops something from his fist and starts back to the other men. The fox jumps over it and sinks in his teeth. Crent walks away bent, then pauses. He taps his stick to the dirt and turns slowly to catch my eye,

“Don't be worried about today uh kid. You Just stay next to me and keep your eyes on that fucking lift.”