He pointed at a battered stretch of fence in the front right-hand corner of the park, almost hidden behind the bulk of the log flume. There were piles and piles of scaffolding back here, rusted poles propped up against the wilting barricade. It reminded him of a bamboo forest, like in all the old martial arts movies, and he could even see a scraggly bird’s nest sitting precariously on the top of one. ‘Where?’ Brick asked. The two of them had been scouting the perimeter for the past few hours to make sure the park was secure. It had been Cal’s idea, and when he’d suggested it to Brick the boy had seemed to take it as a personal insult, as though Cal had said, Hey, man, you’re ugly, shall we see what we can do about it? Daisy and the new girl, Rilke, were keeping an eye on Schiller. ‘There,’ Cal said, stamping down a clutch of vicious-looking brambles in order to take a step closer to the fence. One corner had come loose from the ground leaving a flap of steel. Behind it was the towering bulk of the laurel hedge which shielded the park from the street.
