Bart backed toward the car that sat on the curb when he saw the mayor release the wrapped body. He didn't want the falling mass to land on him.
The body hit the concrete like a bag of wet cement. Bart couldn’t help but wince seeing the body bounce as it slammed against the frozen sidewalk. A fall like that would have proven fatal under normal circumstances.
Bart took no time powering his cargo into the trunk, pushing the body to the back before slamming it shut. He looked up and gave a salute to the mayor as he jumped back into the stolen car and sped away. Glenn breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the car containing Stevie’s body take off. Meanwhile, in the speeding car, Bart swallowed hard. His mission was only half completed.
Even as Bart was speeding away from city hall with the body of Stevie Grissom stashed in the trunk of a stolen car, Rhody Turner was crawling into the drop ceiling above sick bay. The last visit from the nurse came minutes before. His temperature was now stabilized, meaning there wouldn’t be another visit by the nurse for several hours.
After lifting himself into the ceiling with a blanket in tow, Rhody found himself facing a utility tunnel which led into a crawl space that lay between the interior and exterior walls of the jail. He pulled himself through the narrow opening. He slithered through the tight chamber and emerged just below the cell bars which faced the outside on the exterior wall. The exercise yard lay just on the other side of a layer of concrete block.
He wedged himself between the wall and the bars on the exterior wall. The interior walls shielded him from view of the guards. He then pulled out his shiv and began chipping away at the concrete that surrounded the metal bars. Other inmates had started the project over time. Part of the block was already chipped away leaving the bars loose. Rhody could hear the noise of inmates as they began a small uproar on the other side of the wall.
It was all part of his plan. His friends in the cellblock would create noise to cover the sound of him behind the wall. It was like a team game, the inmates all working together to get one of their own to the other side of the wire. It was almost like they were escaping vicariously through Rhody.
He chipped the concrete inch-by-inch until he could see open space begin to appear around the metal bar. The progress encouraging him, the smell of freedom becoming stronger, he began feverishly hacking on the now-crumbling concrete. He could almost feel the sun of the Costa Rican beach on his face.
Unwittingly aiding Rhody in his escape were the members of the Castle County council who decided to go with the low bid when giving the jail building contract almost a decade before. Against the recommendation of Sheriff Delaney, the county commission avoided raising taxes by hiring an inexperienced firm to build the jail. Given the fact the contractor had never built a jail before, he ignored suggested specifications, opting to cut corners. One of his cuts involved skimping when it came to building in proper support within the exterior walls. In short, the contractor built a hollow jail, something that was discovered over the years by inmates in the facility.
The metal bars now moving, Rhody gave them a hard pull. The concrete let go of its hold on the metal. With one last tug, Rhody ripped the bars out of their place, the force of his pull almost sending them falling into the crawl space below him. Such a blunder would have surely given him away. A loud sound like metal bars crashing to the floor would easily be heard on the other side of the wall even over the sounds of the inmate uproar. However, holding on to the dangling bars by just his index finger, he was able to salvage his mission. He breathed a sigh of relief as he laid the dislodged bars on the concrete ledge next to him.
Now the question was if he could squeeze through the hole he made by removing the bars. He would be working on faith since he would have to go out feet-first on his belly so he could lower himself into the exercise yard from the second floor. Anyone walking into the fenced yard would easily be able to see him once he emerged from inside the wall.
Chipping a few more inches of concrete away, Rhody realized it was now or never as he tossed his blanket in the exercise yard. He pushed himself above the hole and hung his legs outside the opening before wiggling through the gap. He became wedged in the jagged opening a couple of times but kept pushing himself outward. The lean inmate held his breath to get his stomach past the jagged remains of the wall. He could feel the concrete ripping his chest and back almost like the wall was eating him as he continued his slithering back-and-forth. Then, with one last push, he was able to push his chest free leaving him hanging a story above the exercise yard. Without pause, he let go of the ledge and landed on the frozen ground below. The impact jarred his teeth as his legs buckled beneath him. The next instant he was lying on his back in the exercise yard, looking up at the snow.
He struggled for air as the impact knocked his breath out. The fall from the second story hurt worse than he imagined. Sitting around in his jail cell twenty-three hours a day had left him out of shape. The meth probably had something to do with it too.
He was almost free. Now all he had to do was mount the fifteen-foot-high fence and crawl over. The only issue was the fence was topped with razor wire.
Rhody ran across the exercise yard and threw his blanket up over the razor wire as he began scaling the metal fence. His progress was quick as he reached the top of the fence within a few seconds. Now came the razor wire. While the blanket provided some protection from the sharp wire, it didn’t provide complete insulation. Rhody found that out as he felt his arm slashed by some of the razor that cut through the blanket.
He ignored the pain and the rush of blood from his arm as he continued pulling himself over the top, another sharp pain cutting through his leg as the razor wire dug in. Not deterred, the smell of freedom in his nostrils, he slung his leg over the top of the wire and straddled the fence. He hoped the razor wouldn't grab his man region. Sitting atop the fence like a roosting pigeon, he grabbed the top of the wire for support and tried to find his balance atop the span. It was then he not only felt, but he even heard, the razor slit his hand. The sound almost made him sick to his stomach.
The pain was not enough to stop him. He was halfway over the fence. He went to pull his left leg over the wire but found himself held fast. His black and white jail pants were snarled on the wire.
He felt panic set in for the first time as he sat fully exposed atop the wire. He fought to pull his pant leg free. His violent movements atop the wire had an unintended consequence - they attracted the attention of the drowsy guard in the crow’s nest who had been haphazardly watching the exterior surveillance camera.
“Prisoner in the wire!” the jailer yelled, pushing the button to the announcement system, alerting the other correction officers.
However, much like the county commission had tacitly helped with Rhody’s escape by not having the jail built to proper specifications, they were also responsible for understaffing the facility. There were just four jailers to guard nearly two hundred inmates.
Rhody was soon bathed in light, the flood lights filling the exercise yard. Realizing it was do or die, Rhody made a daring move. He undid his pants and pulled his legs through the pant legs, the razor ripping the front of his left leg. The move worked as he was free of the razor wire even as he saw a jailer running around the corner of the exercise yard.
He dropped to the outside of the fence, pant-less with just his boxers covering his lower half. The escapee hit the ground running and disappeared into the darkness before the jailer could identify him. The fugitive dashed into the woods that surrounded the jail, slapped in the face by frozen branches as he ran. Rhody was a free man, but for how long? Being discovered before he got away was not part of his plan. His get-away vehicle better be there on time or his goose was cooked.
He emerged from the woods about a hundred yards from the jail. He could see searchlights scanning the darkness. The yells of the jailer for him to “halt” fell on deaf ears. He knew guards didn’t have the green light to shoot fleeing prisoners. If they wanted hi
m back, they would have to catch him.
Keeping to his plan, the escapee made his way to the railroad tracks on the other side of the woods as he heard sirens coming from the direction of the jail. Rhody stumbled onto the tracks. The bitter cold was already robbing him of the feeling in his exposed legs. Time was limited. If he didn’t get to cover soon he would be faced with the choice of surrender or freezing to death. How he wished he had the blanket he left hanging in the razor wire.
Rhody began to run once he mounted the tracks. He knew his ride, if it were in fact there, was waiting at the first crossing. He had to get there before the police or his escape would be foiled. The cold air ripping his lungs like shards of glass, the fugitive pushed himself as he ran along the track. The cross ties nearly tripped him several times as he ran through the darkness.
Then he saw an outline. Something was sitting on the tracks. Was it his ride or was it the police just waiting for him to come to them? It didn’t matter. This was his only chance. Almost to the car, Rhody saw the red glow of a taillight. It was a signal. It was his ride! He had made it. However, raining on his parade was the wash of blue lights that were coming from the left on the other side of the woods.
“In the trunk, fast!” growled the driver as he popped the trunk.
The desperate escapee wasn't about to stop and argue the point. Rhody dove for the trunk without hesitation, slamming the lid closed above him. The car immediately accelerated leaving him immersed in the pitch darkness of its trunk. The sudden acceleration threw the fugitive against the back of the car. The sound of spinning wheels and quickly approaching sirens filled his ears. They were being chased!
What followed was an assault on the already bleeding escapee as he was thrown left and right against the hard metal of the trunk. The getaway driver drifted around corners at top speeds as he tried to elude his pursuers. Half-dazed from the pummeling he was taking in his uncomfortable refuge, Rhody tried to find something to hold on to in the cramped trunk. At one point he felt the car roll onto two wheels as the driver rounded a corner at break-neck speed.
“Was that a gun shot?” Rhody asked himself as he heard a blast from behind.
Police had opened fire on the fleeing car as the driver put space between him and his pursuers. The wheels of the sedan came off the road as he topped a hill traveling over a hundred miles per hour. While not sure their escapee was inside the car, police were taking no chances as they intended to stop the fleeing vehicle. The driver, however, was an expert. He weaved through the side roads outside Easton like a professional.
Bruised and battered from the wild ride, Rhody realized a few minutes later that the sounds of the sirens were getting fainter. He was getting away. A short time after that the sirens were a distant memory. All he could hear was the drone of the car's engine.
Now the only question in Rhody’s mind was how long he would have to remain cramped inside the trunk. While considerably warmer than being outside, the trunk still presented a chill on his exposed legs. Plus, the trunk stank. Whoever was doing the driving likely didn’t bother cleaning out his car. He probably used it to carry garbage to the dump considering the stench Rhody was noticing now that the chase was over. Judging from the scent, the driver may have actually left a bag in there.
Rhody rolled over and began feeling in the dark. His hands fumbled across something plastic deep inside the trunk. It wasn’t a garbage bag though. It was something larger. Rhody probed further and discovered there something really large taking up the back of the trunk. He hadn't noticed it earlier in all the excitement. What was that smell? It was starting to fill his nostrils with a sickly scent.
His curiosity now peaked, Rhody began pulling at the plastic. He found a seam and spread it open. The smell now flooded the closed trunk, filling it with dank air gagging the fugitive. Then it hit him. The smell wasn’t garbage. It was rotting flesh! There was a body in the trunk!
The hardened criminal let out a blood curdling scream. His cries were drowned out by the loud roar of the engine. Reaching to push the package away, his hand slipped inside the open tarp. He felt human flesh against his palm.
“Let me out of here!” Rhody yelled as he pounded the trunk lid with all his might.
His fear combined with the stench of the body robbed him of his breath as he struggled to breathe. He had to get out! He continued yelling and beating on the trunk lid with his bloody hand for several minutes until he felt the car slow down and come to a stop.
“Let me out!” Rhody yelled again.
He could hear the engine still idling but no one was answering his shouts.
“Do you hear me?" Rhody screamed. "Is anybody out there? Let me out!”
Again his cries were unanswered as he resumed his beating on the inside of the trunk even as he heard a door close. Was someone coming to let him out or were they coming to kill him? Something was wrong. Things were no longer going according to plan.
That, of course, was a matter of which side of the trunk one was on. For Bart, who stood outside the stolen blue sedan, things were proceeding smoothly with the exception of the heart-stopping run from the law. It reminded him of the old days when he would lead his father’s deputies on high speed pursuits through Castle County. He was caught on rare occasions. On those few nights, the rebellious youth would simply be taken home, his punishment usually being the business end of his father’s belt. After all, you couldn’t just throw the sheriff’s son in jail. That experience many years ago made Bart a bit of a professional when it came to evading the law. Even as a successful businessman, Bart still possessed many of his criminal skills.
Now came the easy part, provided his calculations were right. He had only a couple of feet clearance on either side of the guard rail. Too far one way and the car would slam into the rail, stopping it dead. However, if he aimed it right, the car would squeeze between the barrier and into the dark void.
Bart walked over to the top of the drop off, ignoring the yells and pounding of Rhody from the trunk. He could just make out the water seventy feet below at the bottom of the sheer cliff. It would just squeeze through.
“Sorry old buddy,” Bart muttered to himself as he reached inside and knocked the car into gear before stepping back to watch it heading toward the cliff.
“We’re moving again,” Rhody said to himself as he momentarily stopped his pounding.
Those would be his last words. Bart’s estimate was right. The car rolled over the sheer cliff and took a nose dive into the frigid water below. Despite the impact with the water having the same force as a head-on collision at highway speeds, Rhody would not die on impact. It would be the freezing water stealing away the last pocket of air in the locked trunk some five minutes later that would end the escapee’s life.
Bart lit a cigar and casually leaned against Hurricane Bridge. He took a puff of the Dominican as he saw lights coming from across the high span. It was his ride.
“Perfect timing,” Bart said with a grin as he hailed his associates from Pickett County.
THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY
“We got one over the wire,” Jail Administrator Chuck Lance shouted over the phone.
The call arrived at the Delaney home just as he was about to nod off following his long day. Sleep had become a luxury the sheriff couldn't afford.
“Who is it? Do we have someone on it?” Sam asked in a drowsy voice.
First a chain of unsolved murders and now a jailbreak. What would happen next? While unusual, jailbreaks were not unheard of at Castle County Jail. The sheriff knew full well the Achilles heel of his jail caused by the cutting of corners in its construction. He also knew the inmates had been probing for its weak spots. A few had been able to break through the unreinforced block over the years.
In most cases, the inmates would be caught before even getting over the razor wire. On rare occasions, prisoners were able to breach the fence and get to the outside. However, in the dozen years Sam had been sheriff, not one inmate had been able to make it
on the outside for more than a couple of weeks. Castle County Jail was a regular Stalag Thirteen.
Most escapees would turn up somewhere in Castle County while a few serious fugitives would be captured in nearby counties, usually nabbed while doing something stupid. While annoyed by the jailbreak, Sam had confidence the escapee would turn up in short order.
“We don’t know who it is yet,” the officer revealed. “We’re doing a head count right now. The prisoner was already over the fence by the time the jailer got out there so he wasn’t able to see his inmate number on his outfit. As far as we know it’s just one inmate.”
The timing of the escape seemed odd to the sheriff since the inmate decided to make a break for it on what was one of the coldest nights in years. Sam was more concerned for the inmate’s safety given the dangerous cold than he was getting him back in custody. Most inmates in Castle County Jail weren’t dangerous. The lion’s share of the inmate population was drug addicts, drunks and petty thieves. The dangerous offenders were sent to the state penitentiary to serve their sentences.
“Do we have any idea how he got away?” Sam asked as he pulled on his clothes. “Do we have any idea where he is?”
Lance revealed his suspicions as he spoke up, trying to be heard over noise in the background.
“We had a deputy who went in pursuit of a suspicious vehicle just a block from here right after the escape,” Lance explained. “The driver led them on a high speed chase around town until he gave them a slip. We think he may have been in that car but we can’t be for sure. It was a blue sedan last seen heading west on the outskirts of Easton. The tags came back stolen. Just in case he wasn't in there, we have our officers searching the woods next to the jail. But, if I were a betting man, I’d put my money on that blue sedan. Our boy can’t stay out too long in the elements, especially since he left his pants hanging in the wire.”
Sam couldn’t help but chuckle given the image of the pantless inmate running around somewhere. The headlines in the local paper would no doubt be hilarious once they got wind of their semi-nude escapee.
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