The Wall

75

Moses vaulted over the waist-high hedge. Too much effort, too much strength, he thought. He didn’t need to jump so high. However, he also didn’t want to fall again. Lawn, small walls, a bed, lawn, another hedge. Falling down meant losing time. And getting hurt.

Everything was pointless. He hadn’t done anything. Another low wall, grass with flowers, children’s toys, a wide bed, a long jump, over the next hedge, as well. Something with thorns. Just don’t get tangled up. Just don’t fall. Okay… the two houses. The security guy with the leg. And the other with the… he didn’t want to think about it. The kick between his legs must have hurt horribly.

At the thought of what he could have done with that kick, Moses felt sick. Up ahead, a sharp bend in the wall because he had reached the Nahoon again. As far away from the exit as he could possibly be. He stopped for a second. Turning around, he saw the guard was on his trail but moving slowly. From somewhere, a police siren was coming closer. He heard a second one further off. A dog was barking its head off. Far away. He wiped the sweat off his face and glanced down at himself. His pants were torn and filthy. Luckily, he had put on his Adidas this morning. It was still too hot for them, but they had kept him from slipping when hauling around the boxes. Now he was glad to have on shoes that he could run in. His t-shirt had weathered everything amazingly well. A few spots, dirt, sweat, a tear. His lower arms were dirty. He tried to wipe them on his jeans. Again. The siren grew closer.

Only two more yards until the 90-degree angle, then along the river. Somewhere, he thought, there had to be a way out of this repeating loop. Run, get away, get found, run, get away. At some point. Soon, he added. Otherwise, they’ll catch me. There were already so many of them, and their numbers kept increasing.

Another hedge, a lawn, slow down a little to round the corner, speed back up. Ugh, this wall was really tall. A good launch, cleared it, landed, briefly off-balance, caught himself, keep going.

He didn’t see a thing. It came out of nowhere. An attack like in a war. He was just tensing up to take the next leap as his lower body was ripped apart. There was nothing he could do about it. There was the one movement, which was his, and there was the other, which came from somewhere else. And it was much stronger.

It knocked him over, and he tumbled across the lawn, barely missing hitting his head against a skateboard and landing in topsoil. Face first.

His relief to have not broken anything lasted less time than it took lightning to strike a tree. What landed on top of Moses was heavy and grunting.

“Bastard!”

Moses felt the air being squeezed out of him. The thing on his back punched him.

“Bastard!” Then again. “Always knew we’d get you. You can’t get out.”

As Moses tried to catch his breath, bare arms and legs wrapped around him. Shit, he thought. The referee.

The arms were workers’ arms, sturdy and muscular. What they lacked in flexibility, they made up for in sheer strength. The legs were wrapped around his own. Now he could breathe, but he couldn’t move even a little.

The sirens were nearby. One of them had stopped somewhere.

They were both lying on their sides. The referee’s fist was punching his chest, while his legs tightened more and more. How old was the man? Had to be almost retirement age. He wasn’t agile, but Moses still couldn’t move a centimeter. How was he supposed to get away? As soon as the others got here, he’d be done for.

Moses recalled his earlier train of thought in regards to the police. No hope there. He tried again to move.

An arm. A little. Hopeless. The other. No chance.

His legs. Something had to work.

Behind him, the referee growled: “Just wait. God has a plan for each one of us. Yours is prison.”

No! Moses thought. Only one part of his body was relatively free, a part that the referee had no way to control. You could use your head for more than thinking, Moses thought. He took a deep breath, as somewhere very, very close, tires squealed. The guard he’d seen a few moments before couldn’t be far away, either. Now or never, he told himself. He bent his head as far forward as possible. He was now lying half on his side, half on his stomach. His forehead pressed into the dry bed, and he pushed as far as he could until he felt resistance. He took two seconds to focus.

And then threw his head back as hard as he possibly could. A loud crack. Penetrating. Then a throbbing pain in his head.

“Ow!” he heard the referee cry.

The man immediately released him, both top and bottom. Moses pulled free from the slack arms and legs.

Dampness down his back. The referee’s blood. He had hit his mark.

As he stood up, he saw the man stretched out on the ground. He was in pain, and his nose was bleeding as if someone had sliced it off. Moses reached for the back of his head where it hurt, although he was aware which of the two of them was suffering more. He felt sorry for the man, knew how unnecessary this was. Now the referee started to whimper. All his strength was gone, all his confidence.

Get it together, Moses urged himself. He wouldn’t waste any time on you. Get out of here.

Now! Immediately!

Moses couldn’t. His legs were numb. Voices came from behind the corner of the outer wall. Low, but animated.

His watch was broken. A crack in the face. He could still see what time it was. 2:36.

His legs had to obey. He hurled himself over the next wall and crawled more than he ran to the next one. Hauled himself over that one as well, and collapsed. He was completely drained.

From where he hid, he saw two guards bend down to inspect the referee.

Keep going, Moses.