Hunt for the Wilderpeople Page #4

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Ricky. Stick on the rations.

# I belong in the middle

of the ocean blue.

# I'm getting nowhere, but that

shouldn't really bother you.

Stuff this,

Tupac. We're going home.

# Don't you worry about me. #

Are you lost?

Oh!

No.

Yeah, you are.

Told you you wouldn't last more

than five minutes out here.

You got yourself very lost.

I'm amazed how lost you got.

I move fast. I've got my

own thing going on here-

Ricky Town.

Population- Ricky.

Yeah, well. You're going

back to Reality Town.

Like hell. I live here now.

Like hell.

I've got better things to do

than to run around the bush

looking for little

shits like you. So get up.

I hate you.

Well, I hate you too.

I hope you die.

Me too!

You may as well just kill me now.

Don't kill me.

Anyway, I'm excited

to go back to the city.

Good.

Can't wait. I hate it here-

so much dirt.

It's going to be cool.

Get me some new gears, become a drug

dealer, a rapper, and die in a drive-by.

Just keep an eye on

where you're going.

This is wet.

I'm hungry. Where are we?

Shut it.

I hate the bush.

Shut it.

My shoes are wet.

You're the useless bugger who got lost

in the first place. You remember that.

You don't even have a map.

Where's our map?

Don't need one.

I know where I am.

Probably couldn't

even read it anyway.

Why would I need to read a map?

I already told you- I know where I am.

Reading is stupid anyway.

Only people who can't read

say things like that.

What?

No. You can't read?!

Watch it, pal.

You're like one of those people who are, like,

raised by, like, wolves or something, eh?

Ooga booga! Me Hec- me no read!

What's this? This is words.

Me stupid.

You little bast-

Ah, my foot.

You OK?

No. I'm not OK. This is all your fault,

you little bastard!

Come on, let's get you comfortable.

I don't really think

you're a bastard.

Yeah, you do. That's OK,

because I think you're a bastard too.

Anyway, it's good. It's...

healthy to get these feelings out.

Can you move it yet?

'Course I can't. It's fractured.

Take weeks to heal.

OK, Debbie Downer, can we think

of something more positive?

Maybe you could... write a

haiku to express your feelings.

A what?

Lost in the forest.

A sore ankle, poor uncle.

Oh well, never mind.

Oh God, we really need

to get out of here.

Do you want me to go find help?

I'd die, wouldn't I?

No, we've got no choice but to

camp out here for a few weeks.

But I'm hungry!

There's plenty to eat

if you know where to look.

Well, I don't know where to look, Hector.

And also, I ran out of toilet paper.

Give me some of yours.

Eh?

I've gotta poop. I need a poop,

you need a poop. We all poop.

Use a leaf.

A leaf?

I hate you.

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