... at the vultures but eventually they flew off in a huff. They gathered a distance away and discussed their situation amongst themselves, giving us time to inspect the body. I steeled myself to look at it; from the distance it had seemed a right mess and I was mentally prepared for what we were going to see. I knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight because nobody could have survived the desert for long without food or water, and this guy had nothing, literally nothing on him. The shock came when we saw him close up and realized it was the dead inmate, the one who died from the helicopter fall the first night we got chucked out into the desert. Except now he was naked and was missing a hand, his left hand which had been shackled to the weedy little whiner. And he wasn’t shackled to the dead man now and I wondered how that was possible.

We circled the body carefully. It was in a truly disgusting state so we didn’t linger too close; we couldn’t afford to lose any of our newly-digested lunch. From a safe distance we concluded there was nothing we could do for this fellow and it might just be best to leave. We couldn’t bear the thought of setting up camp near here so we decided to put in another couple of hours of walking.

We hobbled on, quicker than before, going west, following the setting sun in silence. I was thinking how dreadful it would be to just die here, of thirst and exhaustion, left to the vultures that even now followed us relentlessly, keeping their distance but growing ever more interested. I was thinking how there always were one or two about, circling above us, and it filled me with dread. Up until this moment I had managed not to dwell but now, having seen that man, destroyed, torn to shreds, in a pool of his own blood …

‘The blood looked kind of fresh,’ Carl piped up all of a sudden, taking me by surprise. We must have been thinking the same thing.

‘I was just thinking that,’ I replied. ‘It did, didn’t it?’

We stopped briefly to gather our thoughts. In the stillness, everything appeared much sharper and I realized that if the blood was indeed fresh, the dead guy must have been only recently deceased. He must have been alive three days ago, when they threw us out of the helicopter.

‘He was alive back there, the first night,’ Carl said, confirming my suspicions.

‘He must have. He must have just been unconscious but not actually dead,’ I said, thinking the poor bugger was better off where he was now. I couldn’t imagine how I would feel waking up in the desert with a head injury and shackled to some guy who wouldn’t be able to help me. What a truly dreadful situation. For me and the other guy who, I realized, was really nowhere to be found. We’d been walking a good while now but found no traces of him. I mean I didn’t expect to be able to see him in the dark but we would have smelled him, had he been rotting somewhere nearby. So he must still be alive.

‘I wonder what happened to the other guy,’ said Carl, once again confirming what I already knew — he also thought the man must still be alive. Somewhere, maybe not too far, trying to find a way out of the desert like us.

‘I think he’s out there somewhere,’ I said. ‘Maybe not too far from here.’

‘He could be. We ought to be careful now, you know. Watch out for things,’ Carl replied. He sounded grave, like he was worried about something.

‘Why careful? He’s probably in a much worse shape than us,’ I said, not understanding where Carl was going with the conversation.

‘Or he could be in a much better shape. Think about it, Sonny. The dead guy’s handcuff had been cut, did you notice? The chain was snapped off.’

I visualized the terrible sight back there, the man all torn to shreds, eyeless, bloodless and handless, with those huge ugly birds on top of him. It had been a truly terrible experience looking at that mess that was once a human. Still, I did notice he’d only had a bit of his hand left, not much of it, but a bit was still there and the handcuff just sort of rested on the exposed bone. And yes, the chain had been snapped off.

‘We don’t know how that happened. The vultures could have done it.’

‘Don’t be a fool, man. The vultures ate the flesh around the handcuff. They certainly did not interfere with the chain. The chain was cut off by someone. The geezer who was handcuffed to the other side of it, most probably.’

‘Cut off? With what? A knife? You think the little dude had a knife? If he did, why didn’t he use it to free himself and everybody else, the first night we spent in the desert instead of sitting there all night hunkering down with what we all thought was a dead body? He even begged for help when we got ready to leave. He pleaded for someone to help him drag the body around. Remember? It doesn’t make sense for him not to have used the knife then, Carl.’

‘Man, man, calm down. He had something sharp on him, trust me. He simply didn’t get a chance to use it before the helicopter came back. Maybe he knew the injured man wasn’t dead. Who knows why he didn’t say anything then. But I’m telling you this guy is alive because he has a knife. Or a file or something.’

‘He couldn’t have brought anything out of the dungeon with him, you know that,’ I replied, finding his argument lacking in logic.

Carl laughed. ‘He had it before they put him in the dungeon. Carried it in up his arse, in a charger.’

I was speechless but intrigued. I’d heard of chargers before but never seen one. It had been described to me as a small waterproof tube, usually metal or plastic, with a screw lid into which one put small objects for safekeeping, such as knives or razors, drugs or money, or whatever you felt you needed to keep safe from other inmates and guards. Its use decreased over time as with modern technology in place, prisons were becoming harder to conceal things in and that’s why I’d never had one. Mind you, I’d never done a big stretch before so there was no need for me to walk around loaded, for my protection or to do business or what have you. Anyway, Carl’s argument began to make sense, in light of this new info.

‘Heaps of guys used to carry chargers in the old days. I’ll bet that weed has a few nifty things in there and that’s why we ought to be careful. He won’t wanna share ‘em, trust me,’ Carl said.

I trusted him and said so. Carl replied that he’d had enough talking and walking for the night so we settled in as we were, on the ground where there was nothing but sand.