Unexpected Repercussions - Chapter 3

“Mike?”

“Scofield. SCOFIELD!!”

 

“Hey, Fish! What’s wrong?”

Elbows propped on his knees and his clenched fists pressed hard against his forehead, he kept his eyes shut as images of Sara ran through his mind. He heard them calling him, but he just could not respond. All he could think of was Sara.

He should not have pressured her to help. He should have thought harder to find another way to get the door open. The look on her face when he had told her the truth said it all. Betrayed. She had looked at him with that hurt, betrayed way which made him feel so guilty. And she was in that hospital now because of him.

He needed to see her.

Someone shook his shoulders gently.

“Mike, come on. Snap out of it,” Lincoln said firmly, but with a note of undisguised anxiety.

In the background, Michael could hear Sucre saying, “I think it’s because of the lady doctor.”

“You can’t be serious,” Abruzzi exclaimed incredulously. “We got more important things to think about right now. Like how to stay out of sight. And how to get out of here.”

Their voices were distracting him. He could not think with all of them arguing around him. Soon. Soon he would think of someway to get to Sara. Abruzzi was right, he had to deal with their current situation before anything else.

Michael lifted his head from his hands up just in time to see C-Note sneering at Abruzzi. “And maybe find out what happened to that plane of yours. I thought you and Scofield got a deal going. What did you want in return for that plane, huh?”

“If I were you, I’d mind my own business,” Abruzzi retorted coldly.

“That plane became our business when we agreed to escape together,” C-Note pointed out tersely.

Abruzzi crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh? Do I have to remind you that you were not even part of the escape plan in the first place?”

Michael took a deep breath to recompose himself. Giving his worried brother a reassuring nod, he unfolded his aching limbs and stood up.

Abruzzi turned to him, raising a mocking brow. “He lives after all.”

Michael smirked. “So it seems.”

Lincoln gave him a worried look. “The doctor-”

Michael shook his head quickly. “Not now.”

Leaning against a cardboard box, C-Note asked, “So, what’s the plan now? We can’t stay here forever. We’ll starve, for a start.”

Picking up the almost empty bag, Michael tossed it to C-Note. “That should keep us going for a while.”

C-Note held up the few packets of biscuits he had removed from the bag. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Sucre walked over and snatched the packets. “It’s still food, right?” He tore one open and stuffed a handful of biscuits into his mouth.

“So, wanna tell us what happened to that plane, Abruzzi?” Sucre asked, swallowing.

Abruzzi began to pace. “You think I know?!”

C-Note snorted. “It’s YOUR plane. Who else would know?”

Abruzzi slammed his hand against the wall. “When I get my hands on those useless pieces of trash, I’ll show them!” he growled.

“This is not helping,” Michael said levelly, interrupting Abruzzi’s rant. “Plane or no plane?”

C-Note’s tone was derisive. “For all we know, his mob has already gone into hiding. Or maybe they’ve already sold us out,” he remarked, giving Abruzzi a suspicious look.

Abruzzi flew at C-Note, grabbing him by the neck. “You’ve got a problem with me, huh, soldier boy?”

“Back off, Abruzzi,” Lincoln warned, but Abruzzi had already slammed C-Note into the wall.

C-Note pushed Abruzzi back roughly. “Watch what you’re saying, old man,” the ex-military man snapped threateningly.

“Cut it out!” Michael ordered. “The last thing we need is to fight between ourselves.”

Shrugging Abruzzi’s touch off him, C-Note turned to Michael and said, “Look, Scofield. All I want is to get back to my family.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulders in Abruzzi’s direction. “If I got to work with him, then I will. I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

Sucre joined in. “So, when will we get out of this place?”

 

“As soon as we find some transport,” Michael replied. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Abruzzi hit the wall with his fist again. “Abruzzi. We need a plane, or even a chopper. Anything you can find.”

Leaving the wall, Abruzzi stalked towards them. “I need a phone.”

Lincoln frowned. “Can the calls be traced?”

Michael shook his head. “Not from this end. But maybe they’ve already tapped the people we know.”

Abruzzi held out his hands for the phone, looking bored. “My guys know better than that. Line’s safe.”

When Michael passed him the phone, Abruzzi leaned closer. “Fibonacci,” he hissed meaningfully.

Michael glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, but did not bother to reply. He still needed to work up a plan for the Fibonacci situation. Like how to stop Abruzzi from killing the guy. Sara’s condition was the last straw. He refused to sacrifice any more innocent people in this plan that he had set in motion.

They watched silently as Abruzzi placed the call, facing the wall. His voice was low as he spoke, making it hard for Michael and the rest to make out what he was saying. Michael frowned. What was the guy hiding from them?

Sucre came up and nudged Michael in the ribs. “You think Abruzzi’s okay?”

“Not sure,” he muttered under his breath. “But we need him here with us for now.”

“Man, he hacked off T-Bag’s hand!” Sucre exclaimed in a horrified whisper.

Michael resisted the urge to look down at the handcuffs still dangling from his wrist. He had to do something about it. And soon. There was no way he could blend in anywhere with that glaring beacon. And especially not if he wanted to see Sara.

“Sucre has a point, Mike. The man’s a loose canon,” Lincoln added worriedly.

“We’ll deal with it,” was all Michael said.

C-Note stepped up next to him. “You better know what you’re doing, Scofield. I meant what I said about his mob selling us out.”

“They won’t try anything. I still have something they want. And I know-” Michael said, but was interrupted by Abruzzi’s harsh exclamation of frustration.

“I can’t believe it!” Abruzzi yelled furiously as he walked back to them.

“What?” Lincoln asked warily.

Tilting his head back, Abruzzi exhaled loudly. “They left because of traffic control wanted them off the airstrip, that’s it. Now, they can’t do anything at all. Everything is blocked off. All the airstrips in the area are shut down. We’re not going anywhere.”

Expecting just as much, Michael replied calmly, “We’ll just have to wait it out then.” He looked down at his watch. “Sun’s coming up in a couple of hours. We need to catch some sleep while we can.”

“Someone needs to keep a lookout,” Lincoln said.

Nodding to his brother, Michael said, “You rest. I’ll stay up.”

“But-”

Michael interjected. “You can do it next, Linc.”

Obviously noticing how tired Lincoln looked, Sucre offered, “I’ll stay up with him. What are cellmates for, huh?”

Reluctantly, Lincoln went towards the cardboard boxes and flattened some of them to create a makeshift bed. Giving each other wary looks, Abruzzi and C-Note followed suit.

Michael watched as the three of them laid down. Fifteen minutes later, soft snoring sounds filtered through the basement. Beside him, Sucre fidgeted restlessly and then stood up to stretch his legs, leaving Michael alone in the room.

Two hour later, Sucre returned and sat back down wordlessly beside him, looking pensive. Michael guessed that he was thinking about Maricruz.

Sighing, Michael let his eyes wander over towards the sleeping men, wondering what they were going to do once they got away from the authorities. Linc would want to see LJ soon, and Michael had to think of a way to get him there. Maybe he should call Veronica, but he was sure that her cell phone would be tapped by now. He needed to find a way to get over that, to get in contact with her without alerting anyone.

As for Abruzzi, it was more than clear what the mob-boss wanted. Fibonacci. Michael was sure that he could not pull the same stunt as he had done in the past to get out of it. Abruzzi was not stupid, he would suspect something. How else could he make sure Fibonacci remained safe and at the same time, appease Abruzzi? What would Abruzzi do after Fibonacci? Go back to his old ways? Back to the mob? Blackmailing? Killing? Torturing innocent people?

Michael grimaced, not liking his contribution to the possible crimes Abruzzi might commit. It was not as if the consequences had not occurred to him before, but had been different back when he had cooked up his escape plan. Desperation was a powerful thing. It had been imperative that he got Lincoln out, whatever the cost. But the reality, the repercussions of his plan, was much worse than he had originally envisaged.

C-Note was another thing. There was something about him that Michael could not quite put his finger on. The guy just did not seem like the usual criminal. Michael wondered how C-Note got himself into Fox Rivers in the first place.

His mind inevitably went to Sara. His eyes fluttered shut. With a heavy sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back against the cold brick wall. He needed to see her. A plan was already taking shape in his mind, but it was dangerous, considering the manhunt out there. But it was the only plan he could come up with which fitted around the rest of his plans at such a short notice.

He glanced over when Sucre got to his feet again, this time to pace the length of the room. The guy was obviously restless with the wait.

“Man, I’d kill for a shower right now,” the Hispanic man muttered.

Michael said dryly. “You don’t have to kill. There’s running water in this place.” He sat up and nodded towards the end of the room. “Don’t remember if there’s a shower, but that’s the staff washroom.”

Sucre’s eyes widened. “Man, why didn’t you say so earlier?” he exclaimed, instantly jumping to his feet. Grabbing the clothes from the bag, he dashed towards the washroom.

Michael sighed and leaned back against the wall. His eyes felt gritty and his whole body ached. He desperately needed sleep, but his mind would not let him rest. There was too many things to think about, too many things to do.

First things first. The handcuffs.

Again, T-Bag’s lifeless hand flashed across his eyes. Resolutely, he pushed the image to the back of his mind and forced himself to focus.

Holding his wrist up in front of his eyes, he studied the design of the handcuffs, noting each connection, each strip of stainless steel interlocking together and the small keyhole. It worked on a pawl and ratchet principle, Michael noted with a frown of concentration. He tilted the handcuffs closer.

Brute force did not work. But something else might. Letting his eyes wander around the room, he wondered if there was anything he could use to remove them. Spotting the bag beside Lincoln, who was asleep on a pile of flattened cardboard boxes, an idea occurred to him.

Standing up, Michael headed for the bag. As he stooped down to get it, Lincoln sat up abruptly beside him, his eyes darting left and right cagily.

“It’s just me, Linc,” Michael said reassuringly as he rummaged through the bag.

Exhaling loudly, Lincoln slumped in relief against the wall and asked wearily, “What are you doing?”

Michael pulled out a small toolkit which he had packed in together with the rest of the stuff he had thought they might need. Opening the folded case, he kept his eyes pinned on the array of tools as he replied, “I’m going to work on the cuffs.”

Lincoln sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. “How?”

Michael removed a thin metal file from the kit. “Hold the cuffs for me,” he said to his brother. “Don’t let it move.”

When Lincoln had the handcuffs held securely, Michael studied the handcuffs again, noting how the pawl and the ratchet connected together, locking around his wrist. Focusing on the junction between the two, he slid the thin piece of metal past the narrow gap. Then, holding his breath he twisted the metal file.

A soft click sounded.

Relief washed over him. It worked. Michael carefully pried open the ratchet, exposing the toothed strip of metal. He glanced up to find Lincoln looking at him in astonishment.

“Where did you learn to do that?” his brother asked, his expression now turning incredulous.

Michael shrugged. “It’s just the way it was put together. Anything that was assembled could be taken apart.”

Sucre chose that moment to walk back into the room, now freshly cleansed and dressed in a pair of beige jumper under a white shirt and long black jeans which was hanging loosely around his hips. Tugging the jeans up, Sucre remarked sourly, “This is gonna fall off.”

“Find something to use as a belt,” Lincoln suggested.

“Where-” Sucre started to ask, but halted when he saw the Michael rubbing his bare wrists, the handcuffs now lying on the floor. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “How… when?” Then he burst out in an excited smile. “Fish, you got it off!”

Michael grinned at his animated cellmate. “Yeah.”

Sucre bend down, picking up the handcuffs, his amazement evident on his face. “Can you show me how you got it off?” he asked, his curious eyes shining.

“You’re planning on being in cuffs again?” Lincoln teased.

“No, man, ‘course not!” Sucre denied, horrified.

Michael smirked. “Then you don’t need to know, right?”

“Aww, man. Come on…” Sucre urged.

But Michael just shook his head at Sucre, much to the other man’s disappointment. He stood up into a stretch and then slid his freed hands into his pockets. Now that the handcuff issue was solved, he was free to carry out what he had planned, especially considering their lack of options at the moment when it came to transportation.

“I think it’s time to wake C-Note up,” Michael said, heading towards C-Note. Kneeling down, he shook C-Note lightly. When C-Note’s bleary eyes cracked open, he said, “Your turn now to do watch with Linc.”

At C-Note’s nod, Michael turned to Sucre. “We need to get some rest.”

Michael made his way towards Lincoln’s pile of flattened boxes and settled his weary body down. The minute his head touched the makeshift mat, he dozed off.

He woke up to the sounds of shuffling around him. Yawning, he sat up and stretched, blinking his eyes to clear the sleep away from them.

“Sleeping beauty’s awake at last,” a voice commented.

Michael turned his head towards Abruzzi, who was now dressed in black slacks and a grey sweater over a shirt. The rest of them also appeared to have made use of the staff washroom, he noted. He was the only one still clothed in the prison garb.

He stood up, grimacing as his tightly knotted muscles screamed in protest. Picking up the bag which contained his share of clean clothes, Michael headed to the staff washroom.

Once he stepped into the room, Michael paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then the shapes around him came into focus. There was a couple of toilet cubicles to his left and a couple of sinks opposite the cubicles, fixed against a tiled wall with cracked mirrors hanging on it. There was no shower, but Michael could see what the rest had been using instead. A hose.

Setting the bag down onto the sink, Michael was about to reach for his clothes when the phone caught his sight. He stood there, his hands propped against the sink as he stared at the phone, debating the sanity of what he was about to do.

Then, steeling himself, he picked up the phone and dialled. Mindful to keep the call short, he spoke quickly. He kept his voice low, careful not to be heard by the rest of them out there. When he got the information he wanted, he hung up.

Now that he had made the first step, he felt oddly relieved but impatient to put the plan into action. Quickly stripping, he picked up the end of the hose and braced himself as he twisted the tap. Cold water came rushing out, splashing onto his tattooed torso followed by his sharp intake of breath.

He shivered as the frigid water left a trail of goosebumps down his chest, but stood still until his body acclimatised to the temperature. When the shivers subsided, he lifted the hose up and let the stream of water cascade over his shaved head. He shut his eyes tight and leaned back to catch the water on his face. The rivulets of water streamed down past his neck to his torso, washing away the grime from his skin.

His muscles rippled as he brought his right hand to wash himself, scrubbing his skin briskly. Now wide-awake, his mind started to go over the plan that had seemed so disjointed only a few hours ago. They did not have many options.

He was sure that Linc, Sucre and C-Note were just as desperate as he was to get out there to see their loved ones. The only problem was Abruzzi. Abruzzi was not going anywhere until he got Fibonacci’s location.

He turned the tap off and shook the excess water off himself. Taking the clean clothes of out the bag, he pulled them on over his damp skin. Stubble was growing, he noticed as he rubbed his chin. Perhaps that would work as a disguise. He would definitely need it, especially considering the next step in his plan.

Tugging the white collar of his shirt over the neckline of his black jumper, he walked out of the washroom.

The four other escapees, sitting on the cardboard boxes, watched his approach.

Michael watched them thoughtfully as he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, wondering how they would take the news he was about to break to them. It was the only solution he could think of to get them moving, otherwise they would be stuck in there for who knew how long.

“Alright. Here’s the plan.”

The rest of them gave him an enquiring look.

“Abruzzi, you need to keep tabs on the plane situation. They can’t shut the runways that long, another day max. The second the runways are open, we get on that plane and head to Mexico. In the meantime, we’ll wait.”

“We can’t be waiting here for days without food, Scofield,” C-Note pointed out.

“I know we need supplies. And I have something else to deal with. That’s why I’m going out.”

“What?!” Lincoln exclaimed. “No, it’s too risky,” his brother protested with a frown.

Abruzzi just looked at him with an unreadable expression.

Sucre piped up. “What if you get caught?”

Prepared for that question, Michael replied, “If I get caught, then Linc will head the team. I’ll brief him.”

“You could just tell us everything. Then at least we’d be all clued up,” C-Note said with a frown.

Michael shook his head. “No. The less everyone knows the better. For now.”

“You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you,” Abruzzi declared.

“I need to do this by myself. And you need stay here to deal with the plane,” Michael said firmly.

“Look, Scofield. You can’t be serious about going out there alone. Without any backup,” C-Note said, still frowning.

“The backup is Linc. He’ll be here if I don’t return,” Michael replied calmly.

Abruzzi shook his head slowly. “Can’t let you do that, Fish. Remember our deal?”

“Yes. I remember. But we don’t have that plane yet and you’re not getting anything until that plane lands in Mexico safely.”

“Mike. This is suicide,” Lincoln said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Michael took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “If I’m not back in twenty-four hours, you leave without me.”

“Nice try, Fish. But-” Abruzzi started.

Michael interjected smoothly. “Linc will tell you what you need to know if I’m not there.”

Sucre shook his head disapprovingly. “This is a bad idea, Fish.”

“One of us could go with you. Look, Scofield, I’ll go,” C-Note volunteered.

“Too risky.”

“And you going alone is not?” C-Note challenged.

Michael frowned, wondering why C-Note was so adamant about it. Did the guy have an alternate agenda? He tried again, “I’m not just going for supplies, I’m also trying to sidetrack that manhunt out there. Two of us are easier to spot than just me.”

C-Note persisted. “You’ll need a hand with the supplies.”

“Man, why do you want to get out there so bad?” Sucre asked, voicing Michael’s unspoken question.

C-Note did not answer, confirming to Michael that there was something going on in the other man’s mind.

“If he wants out so bad, then just let him,” Abruzzi said disinterestedly.

Michael gave C-Note an assessing look. The other man’s presence might be useful, considering the detour he planned to take to see Sara. It might also be a good chance for him to find out what C-Note was up to.

Making up his mind, Michael finally said, “Fine. We’ll leave in an hour.”

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