The morning startled Rick back into existence, and once he’d woken up he wished he could die. He was in an enormous amount of pain. Ditching his bike and the subsequent discomfort it had caused him had turned out to be a good thing. When confronted, he had merely stated that he’d been mugged for …

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Late that same night, Jack jumped off his bike down near the river, in the light of the pale moon. It was quiet and still. An owl mopoked gently in the far-off dimness, and it was only by virtue of the hills around him that he could hear it echoing throughout the valley. Ditching his …

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Jack didn’t know it, but he was right on the money when he told Rick that Bevan was shit-stir crazy. When Bevan got home, he stashed his fishing gear in the back shed, underneath an old mattress that had been getting steadily worm-eaten underneath all the other shit that his mum and dad had been …

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For a couple of days things were almost normal again. Almost. At least, they weren’t fighting, and Jack would even look them in the eyes. And then they went fishing. Bevan and Jack were to meet Rick down there. Rick pelted down the hill on his crappy, rattling, shit-heap of a bike and ditched it …

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Jack and Bevan walked down the road early in the morning on the last day of their determined pact, heading to Rick’s house. Jack’s face was drawn and he didn’t speak. He stalked along moodily, hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie, the hood up, and his eyes rooted to the ground. Bevan …

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