Foul Play.

It’s just over there.

The sun is beating down relentlessly on my back, my breathing rhythm short and quick. I had come this far. It’s been days, weeks perhaps. I’ve lost all means of being able to keep track of time, so violently focused on escape. Never once did I look back, regardless of how temptation struck to get one last glimpse of where, and what my life had been for so many years. 

The prison was a cruel one. It was old, reeking of the musky scent of the past prisoners held there, immobile and trapped. The wiring, electric wiring it was, would sizzle and spark erratically as if just to scare us into staying put. For the most part, it worked. The meeker ones would never venture close to it, for fear of being shocked. Newcomers were curious, though. As if they hadn’t seen one before. They thought they were tough, thought they could handle it. I remember one time, it was in the winter I think. Real cold. Couple of the newbies got too close, joking around, egging each other on. The bigger one was darting back and forth, jeering at each other, who could get closer? You fucking pussy, go on, touch it, I dare ya. He turned around too soon I think. Mouth open, mid-laugh when his back ever so slightly brushed against the metal knots.

Fucking fried.

I could see it in the distance. There were many rumours about whether or not it actually existed. This halfway house for convicts to rest, feed and gain their bearings for as long as they needed to. No one knows who ran the establishment, and many have been caught and brought back trying to find it. If it’s even half as good as what I’ve heard, I can’t complain. I had walked miles to get to this point. The exhaustion was tolling, and the hunger was great. Since the escape I had only been able to find sustenance in the occasional insect that crawled by, or from the infrequent muddy puddles on the ground. I had been walking along this road for days, with only the occasional truck lumbering by.

I was so young when I got put in there. You get used to being punished, eventually. You sit there and you stare at the wall and you watch the tiniest trickle of sunlight tease you as it dances around the grim interior of the prison, reminding you of a freedom you can hardly recall you ever had. Like having your mouth water at the sight of food you’ve never tasted before. Or that memory that you’re not sure you actually remember, or if it’s just a story that’s been told to you so many times you feel like it was real. It was strange sensation, longing for what you don’t really know. But there wasn’t much else to do in there, and if you didn’t have something to keep you from going insane the whole place would just consume you.

Rumbling. 

Another truck. The sound of the engine in the distance was enough to shake the stagnant air around me. I shuffled to cover, too tired to run. Crouching low in a ditch on the side of the asphalt, I held my breath as the giant eighteen wheeler tore past me, kicking up a cloud of dust in it’s wake. I squeezed my eyes shut as I waited for the powder to settle. I shook myself off and watched the truck disappear into the shimmering horizon. I took a deep breath, got up and kept on walking.

Criss Cross was my main companion at the prison. He had gone in just before me, at about the same age. He was bunking next to me when I first got thrown into the damn place. I was unruly back then – rattling cages, causing a scene. I remember being shoved through the door on the first day, screaming and kicking.

“Settle down there, boy!”

The warden laughed at me, he had seen it all before, and in time I did as well. I was red in the face with fury, convinced that I had done nothing wrong, that I didn’t belong in there. That a mistake had been made, it wasn’t me that they wanted.

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE DOING! I DIDN’T DO SHIT!”

The door slammed into my face mid-yell. My voice had gone hoarse. I paced the cell, still muttering and cursing to myself.

“Calm down, kiddo.”

I looked up. The first thing I noticed, well, what anyone would have noticed, was that his left eye was missing. An old, scaly X-shaped scar had replaced it. His remaining eye was rolling across me, sizing me up.

“Who the fuck are you?”

I puffed my chest out and cocked my head to the side. I sure as hell wouldn’t let anyone think I was weak, or afraid. That much I knew about prison.

“They call me Criss Cross.”

He motioned to his eye. I sneered.

“Creative.”

He chuckled under his breath.

“You’re not bad, kiddo.”

He took a liking to me after that. Taken me under his wing, so to speak. He said I had the right attitude. To this day I’m still unsure as to whether that was a good thing or not. He introduced me to the guys that I should know, and pointed out the ones I needed to know of. It might have been sheer good luck that they threw me in with him, because without Criss Cross I would’ve died in there.

I guess without Criss Cross I wouldn’t be out here either.

It was the last straw that got me to try and escape. I had grown accustomed to the motions, eat, sleep, play nice with the warden, watch the newbies come and old guys go. It had become a routine. I stayed under the radar for the most part. I was plain as far as looks go, blended in with the crowd. Never got any attention.

One night, though.

Everyone was asleep. There’s an eerie quiet in a prison at night. It’s like that silence when you’re holding your breath – nothing’s happening now, but you never know how long that’s gunna last. Criss Cross was fast asleep, his arm covering his eye. I was about to drift off when I heard footsteps.

“Wardens? At this time?”

They were distant, but distinct. As they came closer I lay back and closed my eyes. They got louder, then stopped. I waited.

Nothing.

I cracked an eyelid open, just a hairline, and saw the shadowy figure in front of our cell. I shut my eye and listened. Jingling of keys, then metal on metal as one was shoved into our lock. Criss Cross stirring. Whispering, lots of whispering. Then material ruffling. I daren’t open my eyes. Criss Cross yelling. The thump of his body on the ground. He was bellowing and cursing and everyone around us was waking up. There was shouting and banging and so much noise. My eyes were still shut. When I opened them, Criss Cross was gone, and all that was left of him was a murky blood stain on the ground near the door where they had dragged him away.

They were slowly picking off the old guys. After Criss Cross was taken, every night they came. Same deal. Footsteps, a quick twist of the neck and then dragged away to god knows where. Everyone was restless, everyone was terrified. No one knew what was going on. All I knew was that I had to get out before it was me they came for.

On one of our scheduled roaming about the courtyard, I noticed that they were doing some sort of work on the fence. They had sectioned off areas, and there were extra eyes everywhere to make sure nothing got out of hand. During the day, that is.

The next night, I escaped.

All that shit was behind me now. The wardens, the fence, Criss Cross, the whole god forsaken place. All that separated me from this halfway house, this golden key to the rest of my life, was this final stretch of road. This strip of gravel and asphalt was all that was between me and freedom. My body was drained of life, almost too exhausted to breathe. But I wasn’t going to stop now. It was just there. I could see it. I could taste the food, the food I wasn’t even sure existed. The bed, the company, the release from fences and cages and containment.

Too tired to hold my head up any longer, I watched as my feet stepped onto the black. I dragged myself, step by step, towards the middle of the road. My ears were ringing, my eyelids falling closed every couple of seconds. So tired. Too tired to run. Too tired to notice the rumbling. Too tired to notice the pebbles shaking.

Was… that a horn?

---

Moe woke up with a start. His cap had fallen over his eyes and for a moment he thought he was blind.

“What the fuck, Rich?”

Rich was clutching the steering wheel. The coke can that had been balancing precariously on the dashboard had emptied itself on Moe’s lap.

“What happened? It’s a straight fucking road man, why’d you fucking veer and honk and shit? You know we’ve got to fucking switch in like, an hour, I need to sleep you fuck.”

“Did you see that, man?”

“See what?”

“Think I hit somethin’.”

Moe rubbed his eyes and squinted at the rearview mirror.

“Well shit, was it a person?”

“Nah man. Was tiny. I hit a fucking chicken.”