Chapter 22: The Final Day - Part 2
Evening count at 1900. I stood at my cell door, watching Bellick walk the tier.
He stopped at my cell.
"Miller."
"Boss."
"That magic show today. Convenient timing." His eyes were cold. Calculating. "Right when inspections were supposed to start. Right when Scofield's cell was on the list."
I kept my face neutral. "Just trying to keep morale up before the execution. Guards seemed to enjoy it."
"Yeah, they did. Pope loved it. Said you're a positive influence." Bellick leaned closer. "But I'm not Pope. And I see what's really happening."
"Which is?"
"You're always in the right place at the right time. Always helping the right people. Always one step ahead." He paused. "You, Scofield, Sucre, Abruzzi, T-Bag, C-Note. That's an odd crew. What are you planning?"
"Poker games. Friendly conversation. Nothing interesting."
"Bullshit." Bellick's hand moved to his baton. "I'm watching you. All of you. And tomorrow, during Lincoln's execution, I'm going to be watching extra close. You make one wrong move, I'm on you."
He walked away.
I exhaled slowly.
He knows something's wrong. Doesn't know what, but he's suspicious enough to be dangerous.
Across the tier, Michael had heard everything. Our eyes met.
Adapt. We'll adapt.
BELLICK'S POV
Brad Bellick sat in the guard station that evening, reviewing his notes.
Miller, Daniel: Thief. Mentalist. Too smart. Always where he shouldn't be. Connections to Scofield, Burrows, multiple escape-risk inmates.
Scofield, Michael: Structural engineer. Arrested on purpose. Timing matches brother's execution. PI access. Too many coincidences.
The crew: Seven inmates who shouldn't be associating. Different races, different gangs, different risk levels. But meeting regularly. Whispering in corners.
They're planning something.
Bellick didn't know what. Didn't have proof. But his gut screamed danger.
Tomorrow, he'd be ready. During the execution chaos, he'd watch them. Catch them in the act. Prove he was right.
Let's see how smart you really are, Miller.
DANIEL'S POV
At 2000 hours, Michael called an emergency crew meeting. The maintenance shed, one final time.
All seven of us squeezed into the small space. The air was thick with tension, sweat, fear.
"Abruzzi," Michael said. "Transportation?"
"Confirmed. Van waiting three miles north of the prison. Driver's ready. Cash and supplies loaded." Abruzzi's smile was predatory. "And Fibonacci's coordinates after we're clear of state lines."
"C-Note. Guard rotations?"
"Memorized. Shift change at 2015 hours. New guards on duty 2018. Three-minute window of disorganization." C-Note's military bearing was evident. "That's our opening."
"Westmoreland. You good?"
The old man coughed. "I'll make it. Don't worry about me."
He's dying. We all know it. But he's too stubborn to admit it.
"T-Bag?"
"Ready and willing, Fish. Just point me where you want me."
Michael's distaste was visible, but he nodded.
"Sucre?"
"All set, hermano. For Maricruz."
Michael turned to me. "Danny. Final intelligence?"
"Lincoln's execution scheduled for 2000 hours. Guards will be focused on death chamber. Riot planned for 1945—Abruzzi's people starting it. Chaos will pull security away from our route." I paused. "Guard rotation changes at 2015. Twelve-minute window before new shift settles. That's our opening."
"Bellick?"
"Suspicious. Watching us. But no proof. He'll be alert tomorrow, but we can work around him."
Michael took a breath. "Okay. Here's the play. 1945, riot starts. Chaos begins. 2000, Lincoln's execution begins. All eyes on death chamber. We move then. Through infirmary, through bolt hole, through tunnels. Out the exterior wall by 2015. Meet at the extraction point three miles north."
"And if something goes wrong?" T-Bag asked.
"Then we adapt. But nothing goes wrong if everyone follows the plan." Michael's eyes swept over us. "Last chance to back out. After tonight, we're committed."
Silence.
Nobody moved.
"Good," Michael said. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow we change our lives."
MICHAEL'S POV
At 2200, Michael lay in his bunk, unable to sleep.
Tomorrow, Lincoln died. Or they all escaped. No other options.
He'd spent six months planning this. Tattooed his entire body with the blueprint. Engineered his own arrest. Built a crew. Prepared for every contingency.
But what if I missed something?
The doubt crept in like poison. What if the timing was wrong? What if Bellick caught them? What if the tools failed? What if someone betrayed them?
What if Lincoln dies because I wasn't smart enough?
He couldn't breathe. The cell felt like it was shrinking, walls pressing in.
"Michael?" Sucre's voice from above. "You okay?"
"Fine. Just thinking."
"About tomorrow?"
"About everything that could go wrong."
Sucre climbed down, sat on the edge of Michael's bunk. "Hey, man. You've planned this perfectly. We've got tools, we've got people, we've got timing. We're ready."
"But what if—"
"No what-ifs. We trust the plan. We trust each other. We do this." Sucre gripped his shoulder. "Your brother's counting on you. Don't let doubt win now."
Michael nodded, but the fear didn't leave.
At 2300, footsteps in the corridor. Michael tensed.
Someone at his cell door.
Daniel.
"Can't sleep either?" Daniel whispered.
"No."
Daniel used the copied key to unlock the door, slipped inside. "Figured. Want to talk?"
"What if I miscalculated? What if the timing's wrong? What if—"
"Then we adapt. But you didn't miscalculate." Daniel sat against the wall. "I've seen your plan from every angle. Memorized every detail. Checked every calculation. It works, Michael. It actually works."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I've watched you for weeks. Seen how your mind works. You don't make mistakes—you account for variables and plan around them. This escape isn't luck. It's engineering."
Michael wanted to believe him. "What if—"
"No. No what-ifs. You trust me, right?"
"Yes."
"Then trust yourself. Because I do. Completely." Daniel's voice was firm. "This is going to work because you made it work. All I did was help execute your vision."
Michael met his eyes in the darkness. "I trust you. That's why this might actually work."
"Not might. Will." Daniel stood. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow we need you sharp."
"Danny?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For everything."
Daniel smiled. "Thank me when we're free."
He slipped out, relocking the door behind him.
Michael lay back down, breathing easier.
Trust the plan. Trust the crew. Trust Danny.
He closed his eyes.
Sleep didn't come, but the panic faded.
DANIEL'S POV
I returned to my cell at 2315.
Raul was snoring. The prison was quiet. Everyone asleep or pretending to be.
Tomorrow, everything changed.
Tomorrow, we broke out or died trying.
I lay in my bunk, mind palace reviewing every detail one final time.
Guard rotations: memorized. Blind spots: mapped. Contingencies: prepared. Crew: briefed. Timeline: locked.
Everything was ready.
But doubt whispered in the darkness: What if you missed something? What if your powers fail? What if someone dies because you weren't smart enough?
I pushed it away.
No room for doubt. Only action.
My hands shuffled cards automatically. Muscle memory. Rhythm. Preparation.
Across the prison, seven men prepared for the most important night of their lives.
Michael, finally sleeping, tattoo hidden under thin blankets.
Lincoln in death row, writing final letters.
Sucre praying to every saint he knew.
Abruzzi sharpening improvised weapons.
C-Note looking at pictures of his family.
T-Bag planning betrayals and violence.
Westmoreland coughing blood into his pillow, dreaming of his daughter.
And me, lying in darkness, organizing everything, preparing for chaos.
Tomorrow. Execution day. Escape day.
Freedom or death.
No middle ground.
The cards whispered between my fingers.
Tomorrow, I'd use every skill I had. Every power. Every trick.
Tomorrow, the impossible became possible.
Or we all died trying.
I smiled in the darkness.
Let's make some magic.
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