Chapter 26: The Break - Part 2
2040 hours. We crawled through hell.
The tunnels were a maze of pipes and darkness. Steam vents that scalded skin. Water that soaked through everything. The smell of rust and mold and decades of neglect.
Michael led, following the tattoo map in his mind. I confirmed routes from my mind palace. Every turn matched. Every junction exactly where it should be.
But we were moving too slow.
Westmoreland's death had cost us five minutes. The dogs had cost us another three. We were behind schedule, and Bellick was closing in.
"How much farther?" T-Bag called from the front. He'd waited at the junction like ordered, but his patience was wearing thin.
"Half mile," Michael said. "Maybe twenty minutes at this pace."
"Twenty minutes? The guards will be on us in ten!"
"Then we move faster."
But we couldn't. The tunnels were too tight. The crew too exhausted. Lincoln was helping me—I could barely walk after the third Low Presence Zone activation. My head felt like it was splitting open, blood crusting under my nose and ears.
Pushed too far. Three uses in twelve hours. The power's burning me out.
"Danny." Lincoln's voice was quiet. "You with us?"
"Yeah. Just... tired."
"You saved our lives back there. Buying time with the dogs."
"Westmoreland saved our lives. He's the one who gave everything."
Lincoln was quiet. Then: "We'll honor him. Get that money to his daughter like he asked."
"Yeah. We will."
SUCRE'S POV
Fernando Sucre crawled through the darkness, praying to every saint he could remember.
Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, protect us. San Judas Tadeo, patron of lost causes, help us. San Cristóbal, keep us safe.
Westmoreland was dead. The first casualty. But not the last if they didn't move faster.
Behind them, the dogs. Ahead, freedom. Maybe.
"Maricruz," Sucre whispered. "I'm coming home, mi amor. I promise. Just hold on."
BELLICK'S POV
Brad Bellick led six guards and four dogs through the maintenance tunnels.
The dogs had lost the scent twice—impossible unless someone was actively interfering with the trail. But they'd found it again both times.
Miller. Has to be Miller. Somehow he's masking their scent.
But how? What kind of skills did the magician actually have?
Bellick pushed the thought away. Didn't matter. They'd catch them. Had to.
"How far ahead?" he asked the dog handler.
"Ten minutes. Maybe less. They're slowing down."
"Then we speed up. Move!"
DANIEL'S POV
At 2045, we reached another junction.
Michael checked his mental map. "This way. Through the steam pipe access. It'll be hot, but it's our fastest route to the exterior wall."
The steam pipe tunnel was exactly what it sounded like. Hot water pipes running the length of it, heating the small space to sauna temperatures.
We crawled in. The heat hit immediately. Suffocating. Skin blistering where it touched metal.
"Jesus Christ," C-Note gasped.
"Keep moving," Michael ordered. "We stop, we cook."
Five minutes of hell. Crawling over pipes that burned, through steam that made breathing impossible. Sweat pouring. Vision blurring from heat exhaustion.
But we made it through.
On the other side, cooler air. A larger junction. And ahead—natural light. Faint, but real.
"The exterior wall," Michael said. "We're close."
Behind us, barking. The dogs had entered the steam tunnel.
But dogs couldn't handle that heat. We heard them whimpering, refusing to go further. Guard voices cursing.
"They're turning back," C-Note said. "The heat's too much for the dogs."
"Then they'll come through on foot. And they'll be slower." Lincoln smiled grimly. "We just got lucky."
We kept moving. Through the final tunnels. Toward light. Toward freedom.
At 2055, we reached the exterior wall access.
Michael pushed aside a grate. Natural air flooded in. Night sky visible above.
"This is it," he said. "We climb up, we're outside the walls. Three miles to the extraction point."
One by one, we climbed.
T-Bag first, scrambling up the ladder with manic energy.
Then Lincoln. Sucre. C-Note. Abruzzi.
Michael looked at me. "You good to climb?"
"Yeah. Just need a minute."
"We don't have a minute."
"Then I don't need one." I grabbed the ladder and started up.
MICHAEL'S POV
Michael climbed last, pulling the grate closed behind him to slow pursuit.
They emerged into woods north of the prison. Trees everywhere. Darkness. Stars overhead.
Freedom.
"We made it," Sucre whispered. "We actually made it."
"Not yet," Abruzzi said. "Three miles to the van. And they'll have search teams out soon."
"Then we run." Lincoln was already moving. "Let's go."
They ran through the woods. Stumbling over roots. Branches tearing at clothes. But moving. Always moving.
Behind them, sirens. Searchlights. Helicopters in the distance.
The manhunt had begun.
DANIEL'S POV
I ran despite the exhaustion. Despite the headache. Despite every cell in my body screaming to stop.
We'd made it out. But we weren't free yet.
Westmoreland was dead. Left behind in a tunnel.
T-Bag was planning betrayal. I could see it in every movement.
The Company would be mobilizing. Hunting us. Hunting Veronica.
But Lincoln was alive. The escape had worked. We'd pulled off the impossible.
One mile down. Two to go.
Ahead, T-Bag was pulling away from the group. Running faster. Not helping anyone.
He's going to bolt. The moment we reach the van, he'll try to steal it or disappear or both.
I filed it away. Prepared contingencies.
First we survive. Then we deal with T-Bag.
Then we find Veronica.
Then we expose the conspiracy and clear Lincoln's name.
My hands shuffled imaginary cards as I ran. Muscle memory. Preparation.
The game had just entered its next phase.
We were free.
Now came the hard part: staying that way.
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