There’s a pounding in my head, the back of my head. I open my eyes to bright, blurry light. It hurts. Everything hurts. I blink several times, willing my eyes to focus. When they finally do, I’m still at the cage, and Naz is crouched next to me. He’s eating something. He breaks off a piece and hands it to me. He’s scanning the perimeter.

“It’s a Snickers bar, well, half of one. I got another one in my coat.” He reaches for the other Snickers when I don’t take the piece he offers me.

I put my hand up to stop him and take the piece already in his hand.

“It’ll make you feel better,” he says.

I don’t believe him. The back of my head continues to throb. I’m afraid to actually feel back there. “A Snickers bar? Where’d you hear that?”

“From a movie.”

“Figures.”

“Well, it can’t hurt.”

“What happened?”

“Skinny happened. Did you really think you could turn your back on him like that?”

“I didn’t turn my back on him. I took my eyes off him for a second because I thought I had some help.”

“Help?”

I don’t respond because it’s just occurred to me what he’s trying to do. But it’s too late; I’ve already taken the bait.

“I thought you said you could take care of yourself?” He dusts his hands off, knocking away loose candy bar crumbs.

“Didn’t learn anything from Coach about team … family?” I finally get enough courage to feel the back of my head. It’s a lump almost as big as a tennis ball.

“I told you before. This ain’t about team or family. It’s personal.” He finally looks at me. “You, OK?”

I nod, not really sure. At the very least, I probably have a concussion.

“I was giving you about one more minute to wake up before calling an ambulance.”

“I’m OK,” I stand up and stumble but refuse to fall. “How long was I out?”

“Not long, a few minutes. Take your time.” His eyes follow me as he pulls another candy bar out of his coat pocket. “That was pretty impressive. I figured you were tough and all, but I didn’t know you could fight like that. Martial arts, huh? How long?”

“Apparently not long enough.”

He laughs. “You should’ve used the fence, put your back up against it.”

“Allow them to corner me? No thanks.”

“Well, since you didn’t have enough sense to retreat … or run.” He laughs again. “Never allow yourself to be surrounded by superior numbers. It’s not like basketball. Keeping your head on a swivel isn’t good enough. There’s always a blind spot that some idiot like Skinny can get lucky enough to exploit.”

He has a point. “You must’ve read The Art of War … more than once.” I know that he has.

He shrugs. “Let’s go. They’ll be back soon … with reinforcements. I pretty much only scared them away. Skinny has a brother who’s almost as big as he is.”

“This is what you wanted, right?” We walk toward the exit.

“They didn’t know anything. Mindless fools.”

I remember what he did with their weapons and turn around to see if they’re still in the corner. They are. “Wait. Come on.”

“What?” He follows me as I grab the huge, green, cylindrical garbage can. It stinks to high heaven.

“Help me push it over there.” I indicate the corner where the weapons are, and we maneuver it there through a mixture of sliding and dragging. Metal scrapping concrete disturbs the winter afternoon, and words rush in. I stifle them. Now is not the time. We roll, push, and pull, trying not to let any of the sludge that lives in the giant container plop out on us. When we get it close enough, I go after the weapons.

“What are you gonna do?” he asks.

“Well, you said they’re coming back, probably for these, right?”

He nods, observing me pick up a handgun and eject the magazine. I pop out every bullet and hurl them along with the magazine over the fence into the grass across the street next to the parking lot.

“This ’ill slow ’em down.” I drop the gun into the garbage can, careful not to let it splash, and then grab another gun out of the pile. “Well?” I stare at him.

“I don’t know how to do that.” Naz finishes off the Snickers bar and drops the wrapper on the ground.

I pick up the wrapper and throw it in the can, shaking my head. “I’ll take care of the guns. You get everything else.”

“What’s the point? They’ll just get more.”

“Change occurs gradually, over time, not overnight.”

He doesn’t respond, but I can tell he’s listening. “Wait. Is this all the weapons they had?”

“Yup.”

“Well, what did Skinny hit me with?”

“His fist.” He laughs.