He tells me there’s a small tear in
the fence farther down, and I push through the tires to find it, a
jagged place where the links have been cut and bend up like deadly
spikes. A thin stream of muddy water spills through the torn
fencing, run-off from the water pump, and for a few minutes I pull
on the fence, thinking I can widen the hole, get it large enough
for the soldiers inside to crawl through. But the metal is stronger
than it looks, and the only thing I succeed in doing is getting my
pants damp with mud where I splash in the water. “Fuck.”
From the other side of the fence,
Tomas hangs his head in defeat. Then he looks up at me, that smirk
on his face telling me exactly what’s on his mind, and it’s got
nothing to do with the Dump or his friends behind him, watching us.
