Max Annas - The Wall

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 .

“Who else has a key?”

“No one.”

“Think.”

“There’s the management,” they heard High Voice say. “Someone there probably has a key. A copy. We rented this from them.”

“The house doesn’t belong to you?”

“No, to people who work somewhere abroad. Saudi Arabia. Or Afghanistan. The Pines’ management office handles the rental.”

“Incredible.”

“I’m just saying.”

Silence. Nobody said anything. No footsteps. Thembinkosi almost burst in the wardrobe. It was so hot. He was drenched in sweat. If only they would keep talking.

“I really don’t have it.”

“If I believed that…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Outside, a dog began to bark.

“And when does the Czech want the money?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“In the restaurant?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why did you have to open a restaurant anyway? What a lousy idea.”

The dog didn’t stop.

As Nkosi started barking and then refused to stop, Meli was just in the process of trimming the small jasmine bush. He had to do everything slowly in order to his work hours, so he was devoting himself to his task with great passion. He had to find things to do until four o’clock, at which point he could knock on Mrs. Viljoen’s door and tell her that he was done for the day. The dog was barking incessantly. Meli decided it must have something to do with all the security guards and cops. But he didn’t know precisely what. It also had nothing to do with him. Everyone wearing a uniform looked down on him anyway.

Bismarck van Vuuren was lurking behind a bend in a wall that symbolically separated two properties. He didn’t know exactly why the dog had started barking like crazy. The boy was actually close by, and that was why the dog had been brought—to find him. But he had managed to find him himself. And had decided to save time by cutting through this way instead of chasing after him. The boy was much faster anyway. He’d soon catch him though. He just had to wait. He could already see him.

As Nkosi wore himself out, Sandi was standing in a backyard in Southernwood, far away from The Pines.

“You can take it as it is,” said Sy, the cousin of a friend. “It’s not exactly new, but you can see that. I bought it like this and don’t know what I’ll do with it. Great deal. You’ll need to gas it up,” Sy added. “And bring it back just like it is.”

Jay-Jay Dlomo hadn’t seen Nkosi bark like this all that often. In the end , he thought, dogs aren’t people, and you can’t read their minds But who could do that with a person either? He placed a hand on the animal’s head and hoped this would calm it back down. The dog had done his job. The fugitive was probably hidden in the house. He saw Bezuidenhout on his phone, probably calling for backup. His job was now done. He just needed to calm Nkosi back down, and then he could head out. But the dog just kept barking. He’d never known him to act like this.

“Dad, what are we doing?”

“We’ll catch him soon. Mark my words.”

“Okay… but it’s taking a long time. And we have… wait… six cars there and, just a sec… twelve people, not counting you. We need them other places.”

“Thanks for reminding me of that. That’s just what I need right now.”

“Sorry, Dad. You’re there. But what are we doing?… Dad?”

“Wait. The dog started barking. The police requested he be brought here. I’ll go check it out and call you back soon.”

Flower was afraid of dogs, but she knew instinctively that she wanted to be outside right now. He was barking at another house somewhere. Did it have something to do with Moses? She considered climbing out her window, but Mommy would be back upstairs in a few minutes, wanting her to eat her fruit salad. That would cause trouble. He wasn’t stopping, the dog.

Willie heard the dog. It had been barking for at least a minute, if not longer. He was once again in the wrong place, but all he had to do now was follow the barking. Maybe there would be a chance to be useful. A minor heroic act on the sidelines. The black boy might try to run, and he would stop him. And then, van Lange, that arrogant asshole, would finally offer him a job. What he really wanted to do was shoot the boy in the head. It had been a long time since he’d taken down any blacks.