Page 31 of Caged In

“Sorry. I didn’t know that.”

Pretty sure you’re lying on that front. This is the main corridor to the cafeteria, hardly likely any gang would own it. Not with every gang needing to use it to get to the cafeteria.

He leaves his inner ramblings unsaid. No need to provoke these inmates any more than necessary. He doesn’t need to give them an excuse to become pissed off.

“I waswalking to the cafeteria. I’ll go straight there and get out of your hair.” Pun intended, mockery meant to be included, even though Izz keeps his voice low and respectful. He still doesn’t like these inmates with their swagger andI-own-this-placepersona.

He backs away slowly, keeping his eyes on the four men. Edging closer to the cafeteria and its relative safety. He doubts these inmates would have a go at him in the open cafeteria in front of hundreds of witnesses and a dozen, or so,guards.

He has countless off shooting corridors he could run down, but only the doors at the end will lead him straight into the arms of witnesses. The cafeteria is his safest bet. He doesn’t know the prison’s layout enough to gamble with which other corridor could potentially lead to safety.

“I think you should stay. Let us show you where youcanandcan’tgo. Give you atour,” the bald leader sneers, glancing back at his lackeys like he’s scaredthey left and he isn’t man enough to take on anyone in a fair, one on one, fight.

“Already had one of those,” Izz firesback, backing away faster to get out of here and into the safety of the cafeteria and its crowded interior—

The leader swivels two fingers. A small movement Izz would have missed if he hadn’t been focusingintenselyon the man. Two of his lackeys surge forward, right at Izz.

He back-pedals fast, catching himself on the wall as he spins around, digging his heels in, he guns for the exit. For the cafeteria behind it. He makesitseveral steps before a thick arm snaps around his middle. Poppinghim off his feet and hauling him back the way he’d come.

Flight failed.

Trapped. With only one option now—

His back becomesacquainted with the floor, the harsh landing expelling air from his lungs in an explosive rush—

Izz swings his head to the side dodging his attacker’s fist by a fraction of an inch. Hearing the solid thud as meaty flesh hits the concrete byhis ear—

He tucks both feet in, kicking out with all the force he can muster—

He hits a solid chest with both feet planted, sending his attacker sprawling backwards. He’s never been in a hand-to-hand fight—or any fight for that matter—but he knows he has to get up.

Being on the floor—with three men standing threateningly above him, and one other who is no doubt getting their footing back under them this very second—is not a hot idea.

Rolling to his side, Izz pushes himself onto his hands and knees, ready to spring to his feet and defend himself—

He doesn’t achieve his goal.What he does accomplish is opening his stomach up—leaving his organs exposed—to cop the full brunt of the prison-issued shoethat lands the blow.

Insides screaming and convulsing, he curls around his middle to protect himself from further harm. Coughing out what little breath he managed to suck in after his back slammed into the floor—

The next kick is aimed at his head—he has enough presence of mind to raise his arm to block it—effectively punching himself in the face when his weak block fails to stop the kick’s followthrough. His head snapping back, off balancing him and sending him sprawling onto the concrete floor.

On his back once more. Vulnerable to the men above him, who are hell-bent on causing him grievous injuries.

He can taste metal—a metallic warmth—he’s split something in his mouth, the taste is foul, causing him to gag, coughing out as much as he can—

A savagestomp lands on his ribs, the pain is immediate and sharp, sending a tidal wave of agonythrough his whole body.

Curling into a ball—as the assaulting leg rises above him—he tries his best to shield his body from the blow he knows is coming. The blow that will cause more excruciating pain. His body is already screaming in agony. It isn’t going to appreciate another bone-stomping hit.

My first fight, and I’m going to die—

The inmate with the death stomp lined up to crush his ribs—flies off out of sight. A quick flick of an invisible giant’s hand sends the inmate into the air and crashing onto the floor.

How is that possible . . . ?

A blur of multi-coloured ocean creatures’ swishespast his line of sight—

Izz coughs, spittingup warm liquid. He reaches for his face with a shaky hand, swipingatthe rapidly-cooling fluidover his chin. Pulling his hand back, he looks down at the dark red coating his fingers, sliding through the cracks to drip . . .

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