Born to Lose by James G. Hollock

get out of the area, but as they pondered this concern, the pair heard the infernal wail of the prison siren. They had hoped for a longer lead time before their escape was discovered; instead, with the alarm raised when they were but half a mile from the workhouse walls, they’d have to move without further rest.
    Hoss crept up the embankment to scan the closest houses and streets. He’d figured that few people would be outside, but from his hiding spot he saw far too many milling about, some with flashlights. Sliding back down the embankment, he said to Lubresky, “It’s that damn siren, bringin’ everyone outdoors. C’mon, we gotta go. We’ll stay along the river till we get to the outskirts.”
    Lubresky struggled to keep up, limping as he was. Thick brush and trees grew right down to the river’s edge in many places, forcing the fugitives to scramble through, over, or around all that lay in their path. On several occasions, when the going was impossible, they had to jump in the river to bypass impenetrable vegetation.
    Hoss knew the search party was likely to head for the river, too, recognizing its value as a natural channel out of the area. The river’s wild shore offered endless opportunities to hunker down, unseen unless someone literally tripped over them. But the longer they stayed put, the greater the chance that the searchers would surround them, while daybreak was likely to be their undoing. Now was the time to move, while they still had hours of darknessleft to cover them, so, cold and tiring as it was, the two escapees kept moving upriver, away from Blawnox. After half an hour of rigorous work, however, they had made little progress. They discussed swimming to the other side of the river, but both knew that, however peaceful the water looked, treacherous currents lay just beneath the surface. They struck out again northward, managing another hundred yards before pausing. Then, looking back along their trail, they saw in the distance flashlights, jerking and bobbing crazily, as their pursuers slowly moved toward them. If more searchers were upriver, working their way down, Hoss and Lubresky would be trapped. Looking north, they strained their senses but saw or heard nothing. Still, that could change any moment. They had to get off the river.
    â€œTom, we’ll go straight up outta’ here and see where we are,” Hoss panted, “an’ grab the first car we can. If we’re gonna get caught and hafta’ run for it, it’s every man for himself.”
    Clambering up and away from the river, the escapees found themselves in luck, but they had to act fast. On flatter ground with greater visibility, they saw more search parties but none, judging by the sweep of the flashlights, closer to them than a couple of hundred yards. Telling Lubresky to follow, Hoss, in a crouched run, made his way into the backyard of the nearest house, then ran to the side of a detached garage. The door was closed and Hoss didn’t want to risk the noise of opening it. Both men could see some people out on their porches, taking stock of the search and trading news and rumor. Likely as not, these river folks were toting handguns and deer rifles. As to what they’d do if an escaped felon threatened kith and kin, there was no question.
    The escapees moved away from the garage back toward the river. Before reaching the tangled vines and brambles of the riverbank, however, the pair took the riskier but quicker route of running north along the furthest fringes of yards and fields—even through an apple orchard. As the two left the trees behind, they spotted another staggered set of flashlights, this time coming along the river from the north.
    â€œShit, they’re gonna get us, Stanley,” Lubresky moaned.
    â€œTom, shut up and listen. They’re still a couple minutes away, and that’s if they don’t stop to investigate anything, but we gotta find a car.