The kid walks past us and Foster's eyes track him.
It's odd because Foster doesn't usually watch the people too much. He's usually tuned in to me and lets the world go by around us. But this kid is different.
Foster holds up a hand, signaling for me to wait by our cart, as he walks ahead to catch up with the kid. I'm not waiting by the cart, so I follow him.
He taps the kid on the shoulder. "Hey, did you lift something in there?"
"Fuck off." The kid stops for a second, glances at him, then turns and walks away.
"Hey! I saw you take something without paying." Foster follows him.
Then it all happens so fast, I can barely keep track. The kid spins and pulls a knife on Foster. He almost makes contact, but Foster ducks in time to miss it. "What the hell?"
Foster grabs the kid and whips him to the ground. Foster has him pinned on his stomach. With a chop, Foster sends the knife flying across the lot. Foster pulls something out of the back of the kid's pants. He holds what looks like a hammer or tool up to the kid's face. "This. Did you pay for this?"
"Yes." The kid struggles to keep his head up from the pavement.
"Bullshit. You got anything else?" Foster tosses the tool to the side and now I can see it's actually a small ax. He lifts up the bottom of the kid's hoodie and freezes. "What is this shit?"
I don't see what Foster sees so I'm not sure what's happening, but he saw something on his back.
The kid screams and thrashes under Foster. He's going absolutely berzerk. Oh my God. He could hurt himself. He's banging his elbows and head on the ground and twisting his torso to a point it must be painful.
"Get off me!" He shrieks with a desperation that is not a threat. It's a plea. Foster is triggering some kind of primal reaction in the kid.
Workers and customers from the store come out to see what's going on.
I'm not sure if the kid worked his way free or if Foster decided to give up the fight, but Foster is standing and taking a step back. He holds up his hands, "Okay, man. All right."
The kid climbs to his feet and his eyes shoot laser beams at Foster. He's scared and angry. Foster must sense it too, so he stays still.
The kid picks up the ax and turns to run, grabbing the knife on his way.
Foster and I make eye contact and his brow furrows. "You all right?"
"I'm fine."
He looks at the kid's retreating back. "Stay here." He follows the kid into the trees next to the parking lot.
"Wait." I chase after them. I'm not letting him go off into some trees with a crazy kid who pulls knives and steals an ax!
"Hey!" he calls to the kid.
"Leave me the fuck alone."
"Wanna talk to you."
The kid starts running faster. Now we are deep into the woods and I'm getting nervous.
"Why are you stealing an ax from Supply Depot?"
"Fuck off."
"Tell me about the marks on your skin."
The kid stops and turns around. His lips are pursed like he wants to say something. His eyes are wide and he's gripping the ax with a clenched fist. He could swing that thing at Foster and I could lose him in an instant. Looking closer, I see he's not as young as I first thought. He could be sixteen or seventeen? His chin has a scraggly scruff and he's tall and skinny. He's basically a homeless person. Which is why Foster should not be chasing him into the woods.
"Foster, please. Let him go."
"What's your name?" he asks the kid.
"Knox," he says reluctantly, looking down.
"Knox. I'm Foss. This is my girlfriend, Mila."
Aww. That's the first time he's ever introduced me to someone as his girlfriend. I didn't think it would be a homeless kid, but it still feels good.
"So, I'll give you a choice. You tell me about the scars or you tell me what you need the ax for. But I'm not leaving till you spill."
"What do you care?" He snorts and flips his hair back with a false bravado. Foster is twice as big as him and already pinned him in under ten seconds, but Knox has an ax and he could throw it suddenly.
Foster holds his palms up flat and takes a slow step closer to Knox. "I see that look in your eye. You're hungry. You're hurting. Let's just say I've stolen a few things in my life." The compassion in Foster's voice tugs at my heart.
Knox shuffles his feet in the dirt. "Over here." He waves his hand for us to follow him off the side of the path down into some bushes.
I'm slipping down the slope when Foster reaches back to help me. We end up in a clear area under some sycamore trees. A huge pile of driftwood is stacked in the middle.
"Need an ax to cut the wood." Knox's shoulders hunch forward as he points at the wood.
"What're you making?" I ask him.
Knox grabs his hair and pulls, the ax still in his hand. "I don't know." As he raises his arms, bright red slashes on his forearms become exposed. He quickly lowers his hands and tugs at his shirt, but it's too late. We've already seen them.
Foster looks at me. We both know what's up. He's homeless and he's going to make shelter out of driftwood. He's been abused. He's a mess.
"Let's sit and have a chat," Foster holds up his flat palm and nods for Knox to put the ax in it.
Knox hesitates like he's going to fight it, but then probably remembers Foster's strength and he gives it up.
The three of us take seats on the wood.
"How old are you?" Foster asks him as he turns the ax over in his hands.
"Sixteen." Knox looks away as he talks.
"You living alone out here?" I keep my voice soft and patient.
"No. Got a sister. Some friends." He's still having trouble making eye contact with Foster.
Foster's back straightens at the mention of his sister. "How old's your sister?" Foster's having trouble hiding the concern in his tone.
"Thirteen." Knox picks up some dirt and throws it.
Foster's gaze lands on mine and I know what he's thinking again. These kids are way too young to be out here in the woods alone.
"Gonna tell you something, Knox. I grew up in Foster care. Was skinny. Got beat up a lot."
Knox looks at Foster's huge shoulders and his eyes grow wide. It's hard to imagine Foster as a skinny teenager, but I remember when Donnie pushed him in the pool. He climbed out all wet, looking like skin and bones.
"Where are your parents?"
Knox makes a pattern in the dirt with his sneakers. "She's dead."
Hmm. He only mentioned his mom. "And your dad?"
His head pops up and fire fills his eyes. "He doesn't come around anymore."
Foster folds his hands in front of him and arches his head down to grab Knox's attention. "Your dad put those marks on your back?" He speaks very quietly because Knox is clearly spooked.
"He's not my dad. He's a monster. He's a fucking monster and I wish he wasn't my dad. I wish… Gah!" Knox stands and walks away from us. We give him a minute to come back.
When he sits down, Foster says, "It's not your fault your dad's an asshole."
Knox glares back at him, defeated. "It's my fault I couldn't protect Sutton from him."