breathing labored.
The three of us ran for the spot where Mica and Peter had gone through. To the side, I could see the two tractors rumbling across the clearing, one of them clearly heading to the old break. Kelvin increased his lead, disappearing into the darkness as we neared the inner ditch, the berm beyond, and the tall and buzzing fence.
Tarsi and I shuffled down through the steep rut and scrambled up the berm. Kelvin cursed and fumbled in his pack for something. The fence hummed furiously above us; I crawled up even with Kelvin to see what was taking him so long.
The fence had been patched.
Solid replacement bars were welded across the breach. None of us had heard plans made for the repair that day, nor had anything been put on the timetables for the work. We had brought along insulated cutters and wire in case we needed to make our own hole, but there seemed little time with the klaxon and search party. Looking back toward base, I saw the tractor halfway to the fence already, lumbering along with a menacing roar.
“What do we do?” Tarsi asked.
I started to suggest we follow the ditch, sneak back into camp, blend in with the search party and pretend we were never attempting to flee. Then, figures materialized out of the darkness, coming for us along the ditch. And I realized it was too late.
••••
“Porter? Tarsi?” Jorge scampered up the berm toward us—the fear in his eyes marking him as a fellow escapee, not a warden on the prowl. Several other shapes materialized in the ditch, more people converging on yesterday’s exit.
“Make the cuts!” I yelled back to Kelvin, who had already begun doing just that. I ran down the berm and helped several others up, watching the tractor and people on foot make their way toward us. Cones of light splayed out from a few of the walkers as they scanned the ground with flashlights.
The klaxon went off again, hopefully a sign Kelvin had made the first cut, not messing with the wires. Three other people scampered up past me. I looked back and saw a pathetic, trembling crowd huddled by the fence, waiting for a way out. But the tractor and the men were going to get to us before we made it through. The machine’s headlights illuminated the ground just a hundred feet from us, but that distance was steadily decreasing.
My feet made the next decision, rather than my head. They led me out of the ditch and straight toward the headlights—my resolve laboring to catch up. When it did, I found myself running to meet the tractor and the walking, searching silhouettes. Over the buzzing of the fence and the revving of the engine, I heard Tarsi yell out for me, but even that didn’t shake me to my senses.
As soon as I hit the edge of the tractor’s lights, a set of shouts rang out from ahead, our pursuers barking with excitement at having made contact.
I turned to the side and ran parallel to the fence, hoping to draw the light away.
I drew gunfire instead.
A loud pop shot out over the hum of the tractor and something whistled through the air above my head, another reversal of the bombfruit sounds.
Again. Bang and whistle.
I ducked my head reflexively and churned my legs. After the next pop, a fountain of dirt erupted ahead of me. I had to force myself to not slow down, keeping in mind a moving target would be harder to hit. When I neared the edge of the tractor’s cone of light—almost back into darkness—I heard more shouting. Directions were yelled. The light turned, keeping me in its sight, taking us both away from the hole in the fence.
The pops started coming in groups, the buzzing and plumes of dirt surrounding me. I had pressed my luck too far. I veered back toward the perimeter, sprinting hard for the ditch as the tractor’s headlamps illuminated the high fence beyond. Diving for the edge, I tumbled inside, my small pack of supplies flying loose and spilling across the dirt. Like a fool, I clutched for a few of the precious items. I felt my flashlight
The three of us ran for the spot where Mica and Peter had gone through. To the side, I could see the two tractors rumbling across the clearing, one of them clearly heading to the old break. Kelvin increased his lead, disappearing into the darkness as we neared the inner ditch, the berm beyond, and the tall and buzzing fence.
Tarsi and I shuffled down through the steep rut and scrambled up the berm. Kelvin cursed and fumbled in his pack for something. The fence hummed furiously above us; I crawled up even with Kelvin to see what was taking him so long.
The fence had been patched.
Solid replacement bars were welded across the breach. None of us had heard plans made for the repair that day, nor had anything been put on the timetables for the work. We had brought along insulated cutters and wire in case we needed to make our own hole, but there seemed little time with the klaxon and search party. Looking back toward base, I saw the tractor halfway to the fence already, lumbering along with a menacing roar.
“What do we do?” Tarsi asked.
I started to suggest we follow the ditch, sneak back into camp, blend in with the search party and pretend we were never attempting to flee. Then, figures materialized out of the darkness, coming for us along the ditch. And I realized it was too late.
••••
“Porter? Tarsi?” Jorge scampered up the berm toward us—the fear in his eyes marking him as a fellow escapee, not a warden on the prowl. Several other shapes materialized in the ditch, more people converging on yesterday’s exit.
“Make the cuts!” I yelled back to Kelvin, who had already begun doing just that. I ran down the berm and helped several others up, watching the tractor and people on foot make their way toward us. Cones of light splayed out from a few of the walkers as they scanned the ground with flashlights.
The klaxon went off again, hopefully a sign Kelvin had made the first cut, not messing with the wires. Three other people scampered up past me. I looked back and saw a pathetic, trembling crowd huddled by the fence, waiting for a way out. But the tractor and the men were going to get to us before we made it through. The machine’s headlights illuminated the ground just a hundred feet from us, but that distance was steadily decreasing.
My feet made the next decision, rather than my head. They led me out of the ditch and straight toward the headlights—my resolve laboring to catch up. When it did, I found myself running to meet the tractor and the walking, searching silhouettes. Over the buzzing of the fence and the revving of the engine, I heard Tarsi yell out for me, but even that didn’t shake me to my senses.
As soon as I hit the edge of the tractor’s lights, a set of shouts rang out from ahead, our pursuers barking with excitement at having made contact.
I turned to the side and ran parallel to the fence, hoping to draw the light away.
I drew gunfire instead.
A loud pop shot out over the hum of the tractor and something whistled through the air above my head, another reversal of the bombfruit sounds.
Again. Bang and whistle.
I ducked my head reflexively and churned my legs. After the next pop, a fountain of dirt erupted ahead of me. I had to force myself to not slow down, keeping in mind a moving target would be harder to hit. When I neared the edge of the tractor’s cone of light—almost back into darkness—I heard more shouting. Directions were yelled. The light turned, keeping me in its sight, taking us both away from the hole in the fence.
The pops started coming in groups, the buzzing and plumes of dirt surrounding me. I had pressed my luck too far. I veered back toward the perimeter, sprinting hard for the ditch as the tractor’s headlamps illuminated the high fence beyond. Diving for the edge, I tumbled inside, my small pack of supplies flying loose and spilling across the dirt. Like a fool, I clutched for a few of the precious items. I felt my flashlight
Similar Books
