Over the summer, Martin and I had become the best of friends. He got me on a health kick and I jogged with him twice a day, and we swam in the lake each evening. We typically talked about girls, school, or cars during our jogs and sometimes he’d try to ask me about old stuff in my life.

Barely two months had gone by since I learned that Thom somehow shut down the docks. It was still unbelievable to me. As he revealed where I lived, he also made the rest of the family aware of some of the horrors in my past life. Things I never wanted anyone to know about, but he touted that we were family and that nothing stayed hidden.

Martin had always been inquisitive since the first day I arrived in Thom’s home. I knew at times he’d been frustrated that I wouldn’t share things, but I really didn’t see what good could come out of it. He’d been persistent though.

“You had another bad dream last night, mate,” Martin commented as we jogged along the creek.

The nightmares still came often, and I had hoped they would go away because they’re waking Martin up. I had suggested we keep separate rooms, but he insisted on sharing with me.

The silence was awkward, so to break it I apologized. “Sorry I woke you.”

“I don’t mind that I woke up. It bugs me that you have them. From what Dad has said, that fucking place was hell.”

Hell was a good way to describe the docks.

“What were you dreaming about last night?”

I didn’t respond.

“You said something about fighting again.”

I remained quiet and continued jogging with him. I was amazed at his stamina. Martin could carry on conversations while he jogged without sounding short of breath.

“Were you fighting in your dream, Wes?”

I was.

I just kept jogging as I thought about my dream. I hated fighting.

Martin kept talking and asking questions. Maybe if I just told him, he’d stop. “Did you fight a lot while you were on the docks?”

I stopped running and put my hands on my hips and stared at him when he stopped a few feet ahead of me. Martin walked back to me and kept his eyes on mine.

“Why do you care?” I panted.

“We’re friends…brothers…I want to know what happened.”

I stared at him while trying to catch my breath. I was considering telling him a little bit but was apprehensive.

“If I tell you, are you going to tell Thom?”

Martin held his hand out for me to shake.

“You have my word that I won’t tell him.”

I stared at his hand for a few moments.

“Brothers, Wes. I’m not going to share anything with Dad about what you and I discuss. It stays between us.”

I nodded and shook his hand.

“I hate fighting.” I released his hand but looked down at the dirt path we had been running on. “If we didn’t work hard, we were more likely to be picked to fight that night. I didn’t want to fight, so I always worked hard.” I moved some dirt around with my shoe. “If you won the fight, you got an extra slice of bread or a glass of milk.”

“Did they pit kids that were similar in age against one another?” Martin asked.

I could only shake my head. I had gone against several kids that were older than I was…and younger.

“We fought in the yard in an area that was sectioned off by a short fence.”

“Could kids jump the fence to stop the fight?”

“No. The top of the fence had barbed wire on it.”

“Shit.”

“The owners and their friends would sit in some raised seats. Like bleachers or something. They’d bet on the fights. The kids who weren’t fighting had to sit on the ground and watch.”

“How many kids lived there, Wes?”

“A lot.” I shook my head trying to count as I ran through their initials on their chests. “Maybe eighteen, or so.”

Martin gave my shoulder a pat and gestured with his head up the road. I walked alongside him as he continued to ask more questions.

“Dare I ask what happened if a kid lost a fight?”

“Nothing really. We just went back to our room. Sometimes other kids would help if they were hurt.”

“Did anyone ever get hurt really bad?”

IA6. Isaac Alders.

I nodded as I thought about Isaac.

“Isaac,” I blurted out.

“How old was Isaac?”

Isaac. Poor Isaac.

“He was my age, but I think he had been there a little longer than I had.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died fighting when he was eight.”

I kept talking as we walked.

“Isaac was fighting a boy older than he was. The older boy was starving and determined to win.” I shook my head as I recalled how the older boy hadn’t eaten in four days. “He was hungry and pummeled Isaac against the fence where I sat with some other boys. The older boy delivered an uppercut to Isaac’s face.” I swallowed trying to catch my breath still from our jog. “His head snapped back, and I remember feeling something wet hit my face. I looked upward at the sky because I thought it started to rain. The boy sitting next to me started tapping me on my arm, and when I looked at him, blood was all over his face. When I wiped my face and looked at my hand, I saw blood.”

“Shit, Wes!”

I ignored Martin and kept going.

“In the fight pen, Isaac lay motionless right in front of me. Some of his hair spilled through the chain linked fence and was touching my knee. The other boy had fallen to his knees with his hands on his head. He knew that Isaac was badly hurt.”

“What the fuck were those bastards in the stands doing?”

“They were exchanging money. The other boy was screaming for someone to help. Eventually, the older boy was taken away, and Isaac was carried in a different direction.” I felt cold suddenly but kept rambling. “The rest of us were sent back to our room, but later that night we could hear them whipping the other boy from the fight. He was crying…we could hear him crying…then he stopped.”

“Did you guys help him when he came back to the room?”

When he came back?

“He never came back.”

I focused on the dirt path and didn’t look up.

“Wes—”

“A few days later, two new sticks appeared by the tree closest to the decking...then sometime later two bronze plates were bolted to the deck. One said IA6…the other CB5.”

“Wes.”

I kept walking, and when Martin put his hand on my arm to stop me, I yanked it away from him and turned to look at him.

“Wes, mate. Stop for a minute.”

I turned and began running as fast as I could and ignored him calling my name. Martin was trying to catch up, and it didn’t take him long before he was right next to me. He was faster and in better shape than I was. It was no use to try to outrun him and where was I running to anyhow? I slowed down, and when I stopped, I felt the bile coming up. I turned away from Martin just in time to double over and throw up.

“Wes, just be still, mate.”

Martin crouched down beside me while I continued throwing up. I felt terrible. Why did I tell him any of that?

“It’s okay, Wes. Get it out, mate.”

I didn’t try to fight the urge to throw up again, and when I felt like it was all out, I leaned back and looked upward. I was still trying to catch my breath.

“I’m okay. Sorry, Martin.”

He shook his head at me and gave my shoulder a pat. I let Martin help me up, and instead of going forward in the direction we had been going, he turned me around to face the direction we had come from.

“Let’s go home, Wes. You need to hydrate.”

We walked quietly back to the house, and I was worried he’d tell Thom.

“Martin, you’re not going to tell Thom, right?”

“Wes, I promised you that I wouldn’t. I won’t go back on my word. You have to trust me, mate.”

I did trust him. More than anyone.