John

A dart whooshed past Oliver's left ear, close enough he could see the thin steel tip and the red tailbrush. His lungs screamed as he forced in a deep breath, sprinting past the outcrop and rolling into a shallow gully. In the worn leather satchel at his hip was a 250-gram packet of Coles Wellness Road Organic Psyllium Husk, resealable pouch ripped open, the last desperate teaspoon already scraped out. The baby peas were all gone, only a few droplets of pea juice lining the inside of the plastic cup. He was down to his last Cara Cara orange. The rhythmic thumping of a circling helicopter, closer, closer, as the wind whipped dust across the rock. Oliver knew what would happen next. The dart would find his shoulder, or his thigh, or wherever else. He would black out in seconds. He wouldn't be awake to see the unmarked van pull up, wouldn't feel them bundling him inside, wouldn't know how he got into maximum security. He thought about his mother, how carefully she asked him about his fibre consumption, her eyes becoming damp as she moved down the list of questions. Oliver winced as a shriek of feedback came from a megaphone above. On the helicopter's belly, he could make out the eSafety logo. "Lie down with your arms by your sides! Surrender now and we may show mercy!" He tried to dash into the long grass, but his legs refused to move. He let out a low, animalistic cry, and dragged himself out onto bare rock. A sharp sting at his shoulder — it didn't hurt as much as he feared — then nothingness.