Mark covered his head. Boots crushed his legs and his arms. His face crunched against the tarmac. The vest he wore protected his ribs, but the kicks got harder and harder, battering his exposed limbs. He tried to reach out, to launch himself back into the van. He rolled onto his knees, the vest absorbing the kicks to his back. With his eyes closed, he forced himself at the crowd, pushing who he could aside, and made a clearing to the transporter. He finally saw a chance to reach the vehicle when the engine started to rev. The crowd trampled over him again, moving like a tide towards the border shore. He scrambled through them on his hands and knees again. As he got to his feet a second time, he saw the van pull away. His fingertips brushed the back door, and then it was out of his reach.
