The rest of our trek through Blackwood unfolded just as it should have. Somewhere behind us, the Italians were still shouting, still selling the story, still pulling eyes away from where they were actually needed.
By the time we reached the final checkpoint, my body felt light, almost detached.
Kyrill glanced at me as we crossed the threshold into the long hallway leading out to the loading dock; a look of disbelief touched his lips.
“That’s it?” he asked quietly.
“That’s it.”
We didn’t run because there was simply no reason to. Running would suggest urgency, and urgency invited mistakes.
By the time the final door opened and the cold air hit my face, the prison felt more like something I used to know than something I had escaped. I didn’t look back.
And that’s when the sirens started howling. Not in the far-off distance, but close.Tooclose.
Kyrill exhaled sharply. “They are ahead of schedule.”
“Hunter accounted for that,” I said. My little brother was nothing if not meticulously anal about his hacking jobs. I had full faith in him.
The first vehicle was precisely where it was supposed to be — a supply van, engine running, driver low in the seat.
We got into the back, the door slamming behind us with a bang. “Go, go, go!”
The van lurched forward and immediately a spotlight slammed across the yard.
“STOP THE VEHICLE!”
The driver didn’t hesitate and floored it. The van surged forward, tires screaming, bouncing hard over uneven concrete as we cut across the yard instead of following the designated exit route.
“Gate’s closing,” Kyrill barked.
“I see it.”
We didn’t slow.
The barrier dropped but it was too slow to stop us. Metal shrieked as the bar snapped, dragging across the roof with a grinding scream before tearing free.
We burst through. Behind us engines ignited and sirens flared to life.
Now, we were on the run.
Fuck!
In all planning stages, this had been the main thing we tried to avoid. The road outside the prison twisted through service access lanes barely wide enough for the van.
“Left,” I snapped.
The driver took it too fast, causing the van to fishtail. At the very last second he was able to correct it, sending gravel spraying into the air.
We cut right, then left and eventually onto a narrow strip of road. It looked like it hadn’t been maintained in years.
“Careful,” Kyrill muttered as the van hit a dip hard enough to jolt all of us forward.
“You want careful or you want to get your asses out of here?” the driver snapped.
Kyrill snapped his mouth shut, not bothering to answer.
We broke onto a wider road and almost ran straight into a patrol unit. The driver swerved violently, making the cruiser jerk in response.