Break in

He felt along the live wire of the electric fence, staying close enough to sense the buzz pulsing through it and far enough not to risk a shock. There was always a weak point. And if he couldn’t find it, he had the tools to break it if necessary. He never went anywhere without his prongs, he couldn’t, even though carrying them was dangerous. Some of the other guys had lost them in fights and they were tough to get back. You had to wait it out. But in a way not carrying arms also gave you a bit of peace. You stood out less to the authorities and could fade into the background. People wouldn’t notice you, wouldn’t snap photos, and best of all they wouldn’t start tracking you on those full moon nights. They were always active in the light. But he was wise to it. He knew to move at night.

If he was going to cut the wire, location was everything. It had to still be dark, so not too far from where he’d been passing the day quietly. Snacking, drinking plenty of water, preparing to make a move. There had to be a logical and easy escape route. A river would be best, that way there are no footprints and he’d be harder to follow. He could move more quickly and directly at night and it suited his senses. He’d never been able to see well, but he had a great mental map of this area. It wasn’t too far from where he’d grown up. He thought of his mum, the times he’d spent following her, always trusting her judgement, and her respect for family above everything. But he hadn’t seen her for years. Last time she’d told him it was safer this way. That he had to make it on his own, to trust some of the other guys for advice.

He squashed those memories down. It wasn’t the time to get trapped in them. It was the time to think strategically as she always had. He didn’t have the kids and the older family members slowing him down like mum had, so he could take the high risk, high gain strategy. When he first did it, there was a thrill to it, breaking the fence, getting in, gorging, dodging the authorities. Now it wasn’t just the rush, he’d come to depend on the product. Nothing else really matched up to it. And others who were more cautious would say, why risk it? Why not stay out here, stay away from the action? He told them it was his right to go where he liked, that no one could stop him. That he was young, didn’t want to hold himself back like some of the older ones. But he also worried a little that he couldn’t resist the pull of it. That it made him reckless, like coming out tonight without his friends and the safety in numbers they provided. And that reckless streak; realistically, it could be the end of him.

These thoughts weren’t useful either. The soft glow of the moon told him that the night, his cover, was slipping away. He could hear the road, the odd truck rumbling past on the smooth tarmac. And he could smell and hear the river, the minerals in it, the ripples. It was named after his family. But what good had been done to his family for generations? No one around here respected them anymore. Instead, he imagined himself when he was young, showering himself in the river, rolling around with his cousins, submerging and then bursting out, scaring the egrets. He decided the fence had to be broken there. He hooked the wire around his prong and pulled it back until he heard a snap. He climbed nimbly over the fence, leaving little damage behind. There was no need to flatten the thing when it was so easy to go over the top.

He waded into the river, knee deep, and dislodged some rocks. These days he was barely aware of his own strength. Having longed for years for it, he’d grown quickly as an adolescent and now marveled at his own reflection. Everything looked so grown-up; his ears, his neck was thicker, he was taller and bulkier too. He imagined he looked like his father, but he didn’t know for sure. He’d never met him. And it didn’t really matter, mum, his aunt and cousins, they were more than enough of a family.

He knew this river curved towards a place with great produce. He wouldn’t be welcome there. He’d crashed in a couple of times and shaken up the people there. They hadn’t reacted well. There were other options around, he knew that too. But there was a lot of good stuff at the mango place and he didn’t know if it was just in his head, but he thought he could smell it already.

There were some things that could put him off when he was on one of these night missions; acrid smoke, loud noises that agitated him. He still hated the thuk-thuk-thuk of helicopter blades, years after the war that had killed so many. It still felt like mum was running from it, she probably always would be. But he didn’t remember the dead as well. And he usually had to be chased away once he found some good stuff.

He covered ground rapidly, feeling light and alone, verging away from the river and walking in an almost straight line. He liked feeling so definitive. In the day he zig-zagged, keeping cover. Now he could be bold. By now the smell was filling his senses; sweet and ripe. He felt buzzed with adrenaline in anticipation of the hit of sugar. The fence he approached wasn’t as well-maintained as the last one and he soon found a weak spot. He didn’t have to expertly coil the wire around a prong. He just stood on it. And the fence was lower, definitely no match for him. The idea of the mango he was going to eat, that’s all he could think of at that point; mango, mango, mango.

But he’d barely approached the first tree when the shots rang out. His eyes couldn’t adjust well and he suddenly found it hard to turn. All the adrenaline that had got him this far was just making him panic. He knew this had been a risk, but this level of danger always seemed like a scare story the others would use to stifle the younger ones. Now it played out horribly with him in the lead role. People were shouting around him. He wasn’t sure whether to defend himself by attacking, but the people were coming from multiple directions. He backed up, lifting his trunk and splaying his ears in horror. He suddenly became conscious of his feet, not wanting people or even worse dogs around them. He lifted up his front foot. One of the people screamed, high pitched, and it rang in his ears like someone had kicked in a speaker. That was the frozen moment; that single scream in the dark, him with only three feet on the ground, and the smell of ammunition.