CHAPTER EIGHTOr was it just the beginning?
Just before dark, he came to. Maybe an hour later, maybe two. Underneath his belly felt damp.
At first, he thought: I’m not dead.
Then he thought: And I will not die.
He remembered: Why did they photograph me?
And suddenly realised: no one photographed him. It only seemed that way.
He tried to pick himself up. His arms, surprisingly, worked. But he couldn’t get up.
“Which parts are out of order?” Sasha said aloud to himself, grumbling quietly and, so it seemed to him, agreeably.
His bleeding chest, just below the n****e, stung wildly. And they seemed to have broken his leg after all. Something leaked across his brow from the crown of his head.
He couldn’t get up.
Sasha began to crawl.
Immediately he realised that his trousers weren’t on
