Unexpected Repercussions - Chapter 2

Michael and the rest rushed over to Sucre, who was standing with one hand resting against a large tree. “Is this it?” he asked anxiously, his hopeful eyes darting to Michael.

Michael smiled when he saw the white marks he had painted onto the tree a few months ago.  “This is it,” he proclaimed. The rest of the escapees released a collective breath of relief at his words. They would have a chance after all.

Glancing around, he spotted two more trees with markings not far away. Purposefully, Michael walked into the middle of the triangle formed by the trees. “The manhole should be somewhere here,” he said, kicking away the bed of twigs and leaves.

“Come on, let’s find it,” C-Note said, heading towards Michael.

Between the five of them, it was not long before the circular metal lid of the manhole was exposed. Swiftly, they lifted the manhole cover aside.

Sucre went down on his knees and peered in. “It’s dark in there. How are we going to find our way?”

Ever prepared, Michael replied, “This manhole will lead us into the inspection chamber. There’s a rope along one side. It’ll lead us to where we want to go.”

“And where’s that?” C-Note asked warily.

“You’ll see,” Michael said enigmatically.

“How do we know it’s safe?” Abruzzi snapped with a frown. “They might be waiting for us at the other end,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the airstrip.

Calmly, Michael said, “No. It’s safe. We’ll just have to do our best to cover the manhole as much as possible. They shouldn’t be able to track us.” Tilting his head towards the hole, he continued, “Let’s go. We don’t have time. They’ll be here soon.”

Sucre was the first one in, climbing down the ladder at the side of the pit. C-Note was next, followed by Abruzzi.

When Lincoln gestured for Michael to go, he shook his head in refusal. “No, you go first. I’ll need to deal with the lid,” he said, kicking a pile of leaves towards the manhole cover.

A worried frown marring his expression, Lincoln protested, “But, how-”

Michael cut in firmly. “I’ve done this once before. Now go. I’ll catch up,” he said in a reassuring tone. He could see the reluctance in his brother’s eyes but thankfully, Lincoln did not say anything more before he disappeared down the hole.

Michael exhaled loudly before he lowered his foot onto the first rung of the ladder and began to step down, holding on to the rim of the manhole. When his shoulders were level with the ground, he began to pull the manhole cover towards him. The chords in his neck stood out as he strained with the effort of dragging the heavy lid without dislodging the pile of leaves over it. Blinking away the sweat which was dripping into his eyes, he gritted his teeth and continued to tug the lid closer.

When he got the lid over the opening, leaving only a small gap occupied by his shoulders, Michael reached out for a branch and began to level the leaves around the area. The dried foliage was now evenly spread around the area.

Satisfied with what he had achieved, he ducked down into the hole and carefully lifted the manhole cover into place. He dropped the last feet to solid ground and blinked. It was pitch black down in the redundant inspection chamber but it was no different from what he had seen before.

“Mike?” Lincoln’s voice sounded close to him, somewhere to his left.

“Scofield, you okay?” Sucre’s voice came at the same time, echoing softly down the long, narrow space.

Michael rubbed his hands together, brushing off the dirt. The dangling handcuffs knocked against his arm, reminding him again of the painful cost of his plan. Resolutely, he pushed the unpleasant thoughts to the back of his mind and focussed on the next step. “Yeah. Did you find the rope?”

C-Note’s voice came from somewhere on his right. “We found the rope alright. But it continues on in two directions. How do we know that we’re not going straight back to the runway?”

Michael started to move, and immediately walked into another body.

“Hey, watch it!”

“That might be a little bit of a problem in this place, Abruzzi,” Michael said dryly as he began to feel his way around the cold concrete wall to find the rope.

Before he could find anything, he found himself being yanked violently to the side, a pair of strong hands clamped over his arms.

Stiffening in shock, he was about to lash out when a voice came out in a harsh whisper. “So, when are you planning to hand me Fibonacci? Don’t forget about our deal, Fish. I want Fibonacci’s location.”

It was just Abruzzi, Michael noted in annoyance. Shaking his hands off roughly, Michael replied in a cold voice, “The deal is a plane for Fibonacci’s location.”

“It can still be arranged,” Abruzzi said tightly.

Abruzzi’s offer was valuable, but Michael needed some time to think. The mob-boss’s actions of late were erratic, and Michael simply did not know if he could be trusted. The best thing to do was to keep his options open. “Get us the plane. Then we talk. Right now, I don’t owe you anything,” Michael said levelly, moving away to continue his search for the rope. When his hands came into contact with it, he asked, “Everyone got the rope?”

A chorus of agreement sounded.

“Move forward with the rope on your left. That’s the right direction.”

He had just taken a few steps when someone came up to him from behind. “Hey, Fish. You’re sure about this? We won’t end up back in Fox River, right?” Sucre asked. Michael could hear a hint of anxiety in his voice.

Hoping that he was right, Michael said reassuringly, “Yeah, I’m sure. Now let’s go before they catch up with us.”

“And if they do, you’re going to find yourself in whole lot of trouble, genius,” Abruzzi warned darkly. “And it’s not just Bellick I’m talking about here.”

“Back off, Abruzzi,” Lincoln snapped. “You won’t even be out here at all without him.”

Exasperated, Michael ran a hand over his eyes, then up to his shaved head. “Listen, we don’t have time for this. We can deal with any issues any of you have later. Not now,” he rebuked in a deceptively calm voice. “Right now, we have to get as far away as possible from Fox River.”

A short silence followed his words, and then C-Note said, “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

As they shuffled forward, Michael’s mind went back to his short exchange with Abruzzi.

Fibonacci’s location was going to be a problem. Not because he did not know where the guy was located, but more because he could guess what Abruzzi intended to do with the guy. Abruzzi would not stop until he got the information he wanted, but Michael was not sure that he was able knowingly send yet another man to his death. Too many had died already.

The body count was climbing.

So what was he supposed to do?

They had been walking as fast as they could, but shortly after setting off, the drain had narrowed down considerably in width and height, forcing them to crouch down. The awkward stance made it difficult for them to move as fast as they wanted to.

The surrounding darkness and the stale air were oppressive, making even harder for them, testing their limits. But Michael knew that they had to go on. Somewhere in front, they would finally come out into the open.

“How long more?” Abruzzi asked irritably, his impatience getting the better of him.

“We need to go past another inspection chamber before we reach our destination. Not long more now,” Michael explained. “Is everyone alright?”

“We’ve been walking like old hags with bad backs for the last two hours. What do you think, Scofield?” C-Note asked sarcastically.

“You’re sure we’re on the right track?” Abruzzi asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Michael suddenly stopped.

Unable to see in the dark, Lincoln ran smack into his brother’s back.

Michael fisted his hand and thumped the wall. He could not believe that he had forgotten about it. It was so glaringly obvious. Squeezing his eyes shut, he let out a heart-felt groan.

“What’s wrong?”

Ignoring his brother’s question, Michael turned over his shoulders and called out. “Sucre?”

“Yeah?” Sucre asked, somewhere along the line behind the rest.

“You need to cut the rope. If they find this drain, we don’t want them to leave them a trail.”

“What?! The rope goes back miles, Scofield!” C-Note exclaimed incredulously. “For all we know, they’ve already started at the other end.”

“Should have cut it earlier, genius,” Abruzzi growled. “Great going.”

Michael pressed his lips together. It was his mistake, he knew that. But it was too late to go back know to fix it. “Just cut it now, alright? You got your knife, Abruzzi?”

“Here,” Abruzzi said, handing his knife to Sucre.

A scraping sound came to their ears, and a short moment later, Sucre said, “That’s done.”

“Let’s go. Sucre, roll up the rope and bring it along with us as we move, okay?”

“Sure thing, Fish.”

An hour later, they found themselves at the end of the rope and in an inspection chamber. Straightening for the first time in almost two hours, Michael exhaled a breath of relief. He pressed a button on his watch, and the illuminated digits displayed 04:12. Good, it was still dark, he thought.

“This is it, guys,” he said. Carefully, he palmed the wall in the dark until he found the ladder he was expecting.

“It’s about time,” Abruzzi grumbled under his breath.

“What’s up there, Mike?” Lincoln asked curiously, moving closer to him.

“A safe house,” Michael replied absently as he crouched down, feeling along the cold metal of the ladder. Just as his fingers touched the ridges of a key, someone bumped into him, making him stumble to the ground. The key flew out of his hands.

“No,” he breathed out in dismay.

“What are you doing down there, man?” Sucre exclaimed in surprise.

“Everyone, don’t move,” Michael instructed urgently as he shuffled onto his knees.

“You wanna tell us what you’re doing, Fish?” C-Note asked curiously.

“Looking for the key. Dropped it when Sucre knocked into me,” Michael explained impatiently, patting the grimy floor in distaste. “Check around you, but don’t move your feet. We don’t want to kick it further away.”

The sound of fabric scraping against concrete filled the air as they searched for the key.

It took a while, but Lincoln was the one who finally found the key. Thanking his brother gratefully, Michael took the key and began to climb up the ladder.

This was the hardest part. The manhole opened up to a back alley. Since it was still dark outside, they should be able to make it the short distance from the alley to the abandoned building. But keeping in mind all they had gone through, Michael knew that things might not necessarily turn out exactly as planned.

He had planned for an escape team of five, and he had ended up with nine. The original five, including himself, was Lincoln, his cellmate, Abruzzi and Westmoreland. And now, Westmoreland did not make it, leaving him with C-Note instead.

Michael shook the thoughts away, knowing that he needed all his attention for this next task. He pressed his hands against the manhole cover and pushed, feeling it move a little. Good, he thought.

Holding on to the ladder with one hand, he faced down towards the rest and said, “We need to make this quick. The second we’re out, we need to get to the house without being seen. It’s just at the end of the alley.”

“How are we supposed to do that? Someone’s gonna to see us,” C-Note remarked in an agitated tone.

“It’s 4 am in the morning. There shouldn’t be anyone around. We might be able to do it,” Lincoln said, sounding hopeful. “Come on, let’s go.”

Michael shoved hard against the metal lid and with a loud scrape, it shifted a little to the side, letting a ray of light from a streetlamp in. He held his breath, listening out for sound which might indicate that they had been heard.

Nothing.

Blinking against the sudden brightness, he released his breath and pushed the metal lid to the side.

Swiftly, he climbed out of the hole and crouched at the rim, scanning his surroundings. Then he stood up and took a few steps along the narrow alley sandwiched between two double-storey buildings. Both buildings had wooden boards over their windows. At one end, he could see the main street, and at the other end, a fenced up area. The place was eerily silent, devoid of any form of life.

Michael looked back over his shoulders to see Lincoln and C-Note standing behind him.

“Where’s this place?” Lincoln asked quietly, taking in his surroundings. Sucre and Abruzzi came up beside him, both glancing around warily.

Michael tilted his head in the direction of the main street. “The key will let us in through the back door of that building in the corner. Let’s move.”

Forming a line, they jogged in the shadows to the end of the building. Arriving at the door, Michael inserted the key and twisted, exhaling in relief when the door clicked open.

“Come on,” he said, holding the door open for the rest to go through.

When they were all in, Michael scanned the area again to make sure they were clear and then shut the door behind them, cutting off the light from the streetlamps. Now, the only source of illumination in the dusty room was the thin rays which filtered in between the wooden boards on the windows. Michael could make out the outline of some dusty cardboard boxes by a row of rusty built-in stoves and ovens. The sink was to the side of the room.

“Can we have some light in here?” Sucre grumbled.

In the dim light, Michael could see the incredulous expression on C-Note’s face as he replied, “What?! We ain’t having any light in here. Not unless we want to give them a homing beacon to come to.”

“Well, well, well. Look who’s in charge now?” Abruzzi mocked, crossing his arms, leaning his shoulders against a wall.

“We’ll go down to the basement,” Michael quickly interjected, not wanting to give it a chance to blow up into a fight.

“What’s this place, anyway?” Lincoln asked, his eyes sweeping the room which had been used as a kitchen at some point in the past.

Michael walked to the sink and turned the tap. He let a smile slip onto his lips when a few drops of discoloured water dripped from the tap. “This used to be a restaurant. This block and the next one are down for demolition to make way for a new office building. The residents moved out about a year ago. One of the Architects I worked with is working on the job, but it was stalled because of some cost issues. The negotiations are probably still underway on as we speak, but the last I heard, the earliest they could resolve this is in half a year’s time. That should be long enough for our trail to go cold,” Michael explained as he made his way to the front.

“Where are you going?” Sucre asked curiously, catching up with him.

“Basement,” Michael replied as he opened a door which led to a stairwell. He hoped that no one had discovered what he had left there the last time he came.

“What for?” C-Note asked, following Michael down the stairs.

Not bothering to answer, Michael pushed open the solid fire-door at the base of the stairs and stepped into the basement and was soon enveloped in darkness. But he knew that the contractors would have left at least one working light, even if the project had stalled a while ago. He took a few steps to the left, feeling in the dark until his hands touched the smooth surface of a standing lamp. A second later, he found the switch.

The tube of light bathed the basement in a soft white glow.

The place had been used as a storage area before the owners moved out. Old cardboard boxes lined up against a stained wall, precariously stacked one on top of another. Old, broken restaurant furniture was scattered here and there.

“We’re going to be hiding in here?” Lincoln asked, looking around.

Michael nodded silently, his eyes scanning the room. Then he went right towards the fireplace.

Lincoln frowned. “Mike?”

“What are you doing?” Sucre asked as Michael started to prod at a corner at high level in the fireplace.

Michael looked over his shoulders. “Getting us a change of clothes.” Soot showered down on him after a particularly vigorous poke, making him cough. A bundle wrapped in a large bin bag dropped next to his feet with a soft thud.

C-Note’s face twisted in distaste. “Whoa! From there?”

“Hey, you can always keep those on, you know,” Abruzzi said, tilting his head at C-Note’s grey sweater, now streaked with dirt and grime from their escape.

C-Note tossed Abruzzi a ‘get-lost’ look.

Abruzzi returned with a cocky smirk.

Holding the sooty bag under one arm, Michael stared at them thoughtfully. C-Note and Abruzzi’s antagonism towards each other was not unexpected, considering their circumstances prior to the escape. Even without that, their personalities clashed. He just hoped that they could keep it together a little while longer, at least until they get out of the spotlight.

He dropped the bag to the floor and wiped his hand clean on the sides of his pants. Going down on one knee, he ripped open the protective plastic cover and extracted some clothes.

Sucre knelt beside him. “You actually kept clothes for us here? I thought we were supposed to fly to Mexico.”

The corner of his lips lifting in a smile, Michael said, “Contingency plan. Need to be prepared, just in case I can’t get Abruzzi on board.” After passing Sucre and Lincoln a set of clean clothing each, Michael turned around and tossed a bundle to C-Note. “It’s probably the wrong size, but that’s all we have.”

Inspecting the blue jeans and thick red jumper in his hands, C-Note shrugged and said, “Anything’s better than the scrap they make us wear in Fox River.”

After handing out Abruzzi his, Michael pulled out a few other objects from the bag.

Sucre’s eyes widened. “Is… is that what I think it is?” he asked, his hand snaked out to pick up a cell phone.

Smirking, Michael said, “This one’s not soap.”

Sucre’s face brightened. “I can call Maricruz,” he said breathlessly.

Abruzzi rushed forwards, grabbing the cell phone from Sucre. “No! They’ll be watching all our contacts and families,” he warned.

“But-” Sucre protested, the expression on his face dimming.

Michael interjected quietly, “He’s right, Sucre. This is for emergencies only.” He hated to see the disappointed look on his cellmate’s face, but it was necessary.

Lincoln nodded towards the bag. “Is that a radio?”

“Yeah, we need to keep tabs on the progress,” Michael said as he inserted the batteries into the radio.

The radio crackled to life. Michael adjusted the dial until it picked up a good signal. All of them held their breath as the sound of a female news reporter speaking filtered into the room.

“… we’ll update you later with the status of the escaped convicts from Fox River State Penitentiary.

Now, in a related news, Dr. Sara Tancredi, who’s serving as the in-house doctor at the prison, was found unconscious at her home earlier this evening-”

Michael inhaled harshly, his eyes widening as he digested the words. Sara? No…The radio in his hands blurred as he stared at it unseeingly.

“… Dr Tancredi, the daughter of Governor Tancredi who’s in the running for vice-presidency, was rushed out by the emergency services to a local hospital. Drug overdose was suspected. However, we have no confirmation of her status as of yet from the hospital. Tune in in an hour to hear the latest update on this situation.

For those of you who haven’t bought the newest model of…”

Michael had stopped listening. He sat back with his elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands pressed against his forehead. All he could make out was the voice on the radio reverberating in his mind.

Unconscious…

Drug overdose suspected…

Drug overdose…

Sara…

His earlier thoughts on the repercussions of the plan he had set in motion came back to haunt him. He bit his lips, barely registering the coppery taste of his blood in his mouth.

What has he done to Sara?

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