Unexpected Repercussions - Chapter 6

Michael burst out of the stairwell, his entire body coiled as tightly as a spring. This could be the end for him. If the nurse sounded the alarm, he would be screwed.

He spotted the back entrance to his right at the end of a narrow hallway, the one used by the paramedics and the ambulances. That looked like a good exit. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to walk casually to avoid drawing attention to himself. If he was careful, he might still have a chance of escaping.

The narrow hallway seemed endless. His steps felt stiff as he made himself step forward, his eyes focussed only on the point beyond the door. The few paramedics who were using the route were too preoccupied to even glance at him when they brushed past, much to his relief.

Just as he neared the door, a commotion exploded outside. A couple of paramedics rushed in with an unconscious man on a stretcher. The male paramedics at the front shouted, “Make way! Incoming casualty. Someone page a doctor!”

Michael pressed himself against the wall to let them pass.

The other paramedic swung around to glance up at him, her long blonde hair whipping around her shoulders, sweeping past a little blue tag displaying the name, Brittany, on her shirt. “Doctor!” she exclaimed, the relief evident in her eyes when she saw him.

Michael tensed, realising that with the scrubs, it was easy for them to mistake him for a medical practitioner. His mind whirred, trying to find a way out of the situation.

She grabbed his arm urgently. “Doctor, he’s losing blood fast. We need some help here,” she explained anxiously.

Swallowing hard, he glanced down at the unconscious man on the stretcher. The man had been in an accident of some form from the looks of it. Much as he would like to help, it was impossible, seeing that he was not really a doctor.

In a tight voice, he replied, “I’m sorry. I’m off duty. You need to page someone else.”

The young woman frowned. “But you’re still in your scrubs. Why-”

The other paramedic up front yelled hurriedly, “Come on, Brit. We need to move.”

Sparing him another quick, confused glance, the blonde paramedic grabbed hold of the stretcher and pushed it forward quickly. Her actions bumped the stretcher lightly against the wall.

Michael felt something land on his feet.

When they had gone past, Michael looked down. A brown leather wallet, a set of keys, a flip-top cell phone and a small plastic tray were lying next to his feet. He bent down and picked up the objects, arranging them back in the tray and looked back in the direction the paramedics had gone. Those things were probably the personal belongings of the unconscious man.

Carefully, he set them on a small table by the door. His eyes were drawn back to the cell phone. He glanced around again. The hallway was quiet. Without another thought, he took the cell phone and slipped it into his pocket.

As he stepped out, he wondered how long he could keep on the surgical scrubs without drawing attention to himself. He needed it to cover himself but it would be pointless if it attracted more attention.

He had only taken a couple of steps with he heard the sound of boots hitting the floor rapidly in the distance behind him. Apprehensively, he glanced over his shoulders.

Two security officers were marching down the hallway towards him.

A fleeting thought that perhaps they were not after him crossed his mind. But he could not afford to take the risk. Not with its implications.

So he ran.

Instantly, he heard shouts behind him, ordering him to freeze.

Not a chance, he thought grimly as he lengthened his steps, dashing past bewildered looking passer-by’s. He ran across the busy road, the pounding of his heart sounding louder to him than the irate honks of the drivers.

Adrenaline pumped through him as he continued to sprint down the street, weaving between vehicles. The shouts behind him spurred him on even as his muscles protested at the abuse.

He skidded past the corner, his breath ragged. Spotting a fence to a garden beyond, he ran for it and clambered over the wall.

His feet landed on soft, well-trimmed grass. A quick scan told him that there was no one in the garden.

Spotting a trashcan by the side of the house, he headed towards it, pulling off the sweat-soaked surgical cap and mask. Lifting the metal lid, he threw the fabric in. The thin cotton top and pants followed soon after.

A small wooden storage-shed nearby caught his attention. Michael looked around another time before he went to the small structure and opened the door, stepping into the semi-darkness. As he shut the door behind him, he noticed that he was surrounded by all sorts of objects, from garden tools to cushions and some boxes with old clothes. Hiding in there would give him a moment of reprieve from the manhunt out there while he planned his next action.

He ran his hand over his head in a frustrated gesture. Everything was falling apart. The urge to just hide until everything calmed down was almost overwhelming, but Michael knew that it was one thing he could not afford to do.

Lincoln. He needed to know how they were doing.

Michael extracted the cell phone from his pocket and dialled the number of the cell phone he had left behind.

The phone barely rang once before Lincoln’s anxious voice came on. “Mike?”

Michael closed his eyes and exhaled a breath of relief. “Linc. You okay?”

Then Michael heard Abruzzi’s and Sucre’s exclamations in the background.

“Where is he?” Michael heard Sucre ask, while Abruzzi yelled, “What do you think you’re doing, Scofield?” Even though the phone, Michael could detect the agitation in the ex-mob boss’s voice.

“Shut up, Abruzzi!” Lincoln snapped back before he said to Michael, “Mike. I’m glad you called. Heard the news on the radio. Thought that you and C-Note would be running by now.”

“We split up, Linc before the chase started. I don’t know where he is now.”

Lincoln sounded perplexed. “Split up? But why? You two were supposed to just head out for supplies and then come back.”

Michael leaned his head back against the wooden wall with a sigh. “I know. Change of plans,” he said levelly.

“What happened out there, Mike?” Lincoln asked, his worry clear from his tone.

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. “C-Note called home. Must have tipped off someone. They know we’re in the area, Linc. You need to get out. Now.”

 

“Abruzzi arranged for a chopper right after we’ve heard the news. We’ll be leaving in about half an hour. Can you make it back?”

Michael shook his head even though his brother could not see it. “No. It’s too far and I got someone on my tail as well.”

The confusion was evident in his brother’s voice when he asked, “But I thought you said it was only C-Note.”

“Yeah, at first. But someone recognised me. Long story. Tell you when we meet. We need to be even more careful now that our faces are on the television.”

“Where are you?”

Not wanting to go into the details, Michael simply said, “Not important right now. I’ll meet you as planned.”

Lincoln sounded as if he wanted to say something else, but in the end, all he said was, “Make sure you get there, Mike.”

Michael sighed out loud. “I’ll have to. Just keep to the plan, okay?”

“The plan’s falling apart, Mike,” Lincoln said gravely.

Closing his eyes, Michael said tightly, “It’s all we have for now. Be careful, Linc.”

“You too,” his brother said before hanging up.

Returning the phone to his pocket, Michael looked around the storage-shed, trying to see if there was anything he could use to help him. His eyes landed on the cushions. An idea for a disguise suddenly occurred to him. It was a bizarre idea, he thought as he went towards the pile of small, rounded cushions, but it might work. Right then, he was willing to do anything so that he could move around freely.

He pulled his black jumper over his head and placed it on the back of an old chair. His white shirt followed next, exposing his tattoo-ed body to the chilly air. Michael shivered for a moment, goosebumps breaking out on his skin, before he picked up the cushion. He removed the covers and held the round, spongy object to his stomach. Spotting a roll of duct-tape on one of the shelves, he went to get it.

He peeled a strip of tape off, and then with one hand holding the cushion, he taped the cushion around his midsection. A few more strips of tape found their way around him, binding the cushion securely to his body.

Acknowledging that that was the best he could do with the limited resources, he picked up his shirt and shrugged into it. Unsurprisingly, the buttons refused to meet over his newly acquired bulge. He settled for just tucking the shirt into his slacks and then pulled the stretchy black jumper over everything. It was a tight fit, but it would have to do.

He rubbed his jaw, feeling the prickly bristle against his fingers. His now extended midsection did not help the problem with his face, he realised. Even with a hat, his features would be easily recognisable, as he had found from the encounter with the nurse earlier.

A small pile of old linen napkins caught his eye. Picking one piece of fabric up from the pile, he rolled it into a tight ball in his hands with a thoughtful look on his face. Then, carefully, he tore the napkin down the middle and rolled them into two small balls. Opening his mouth, he stuffed the balls between his teeth and cheeks.

He glanced at his reflection in an old, stained mirror as he pulled his bucket hat on. Michael moved his jaws side to side and made the necessary adjustments to ensure that the wads of napkins remained in place. The extra padding on his midsection and in his cheeks made him look fatter than before.

It made him unrecognisable as the convict who had escaped from Fox River Penitentiary.

Satisfied with his disguise, he took a deep breath and went to the door.

Carefully, he opened a small crack in the door and peered out surreptitiously. Judging by the silence, no one was about. Stealthily, he opened the door wider and stepped out into the sunlight. Walking was awkward, but it was better than being recognised.

He looked back at the fence where he had come from, dismissing it as a viable exit. Instead, he headed for the low fencing in front.

A quick leap and he was on the other side, standing on the pavement. The place was strangely deserted, which felt a little odd after the mad chase not too long ago. The security guys probably had already given up or were continuing their search somewhere else.

The next step in his plan was to see Westmoreland’s daughter. That was the least he could do considering what he owed the old man. But without any form of transportation, it was proving to be a problem.

Michael continued walking until he reached a busier area. Shops lined both sides of the street. Thinking that he needed some supplies, he went into a large, impersonal supermarket. He took a basket and walked down the aisles, dropping a canvas backpack into the basket, followed by a pair of heavy-rimmed spectacles. A few other items went into the basket before he reached the food section.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not had any food for some time. The wads of linen napkin in his cheeks would make eating difficult, if not impossible, but he knew that he should get something. He tossed a few packets of food and drinks into the basket.

Considering that no one spared him a second glance, the disguise was obviously working. The cashier who rang up his purchases even smiled at him as he packed everything into his new backpack.

The walk to the highway was a long one, but the route was quite apart from the few vehicles whizzing by. Michael managed to get some food down his throat on the way, and then carefully replaced his disguise.

When he thought that he had gone far enough, he stopped and looked back. A truck was approaching. Michael stuck him thumb out, but the truck just sped by without even slowing down.

Three more vehicles passed by in a similar fashion before a metallic blue Rover 600 pulled up by the side of the road.

A brown-haired teenage boy with a cap pulled low over his face and a blonde pre-teen stared out curiously at him from the car. Then a woman with curly black hair and bright blue eyes leaned out of the window. “Need a ride?” she asked. “Where are you heading to?”

Speaking through the wads in his cheeks was awkward, but Michael managed to force out, “Indianapolis.”

The woman beamed. “That’s where we’re headed.” She gestured to the back, where the blonde boy was sitting. “Hop in.”

Michael nodded, attempting a smile. “Thanks,” he said, and then opened the door and slid in.

As she pulled out onto the road again, the woman looked through the rear-view mirror at him and said, “I’m Anne, by the way.” She nudged at the teenage boy beside her. “This is my son, Thomas. And the one beside you is Timmy.”

“I’m Mike,” Michael introduced himself.

“You sound funny,” the young boy beside him said with a giggle, looking up curiously with big baby blue eyes.

“Timmy! Where are your manners?” his mother admonished sternly. Giving Michael an apologetic look through the rear-view mirror, she said, “Don’t mind him.”

Michael smiled. “Don’t worry. He’s adorable,” he said, looking at Timmy. Spotting a toy car beside the boy, Michael pointed at it and asked, “Is that yours?”

Timmy nodded enthusiastically, picking it up in his hands. “Yeah. Mom got it for me last week. It’s cool.”

As the boy went on describing his new toy, Michael listened intently, nodding encouragingly for him to continue. Anne glanced back at them occasionally, a small smile on her lips.

The entire situation made Michael wonder about his own future. Would he ever be free again, or would he be forever a hunted man. He needed to clear Lincoln’s name and once that was done, his brother could be free. But what about himself? Lincoln had been incarcerated in the prison because of a crime he did not commit. But what about himself? Michael knew that his own crime was real, he had held up a bank. So that meant that he had to return to prison, even when Lincoln’s name was clear.

Michael sighed. He had asked Sara to wait for him. But was he being fair to her? How long would she have to wait if he got himself thrown back into prison again?

“Mike? You okay back there?” Anne said softly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied with a genuine smile, and then noticed that Timmy had fallen asleep beside him. “Timmy’s asleep,” he told her quietly.

Anne turned to look briefly over her shoulders, her blue eyes twinkling. “Finally, some peace,” she said, rolling her eyes. She then turned her attention to her other son who was also asleep in the passenger seat, and ran a gentle hand over his head.

Michael smiled softly at the scene. “You’re lucky to have all this,” he said, gesturing to both her boys.

“Yes, I know. Do you have any children?” she asked politely.

Michael looked out of the window, watching the sign that said Route 65 fly by. “No. Maybe one day, but now’s not a good time.” He shut his eyes. That was an understatement, alright. Being on the run was not exactly the best time to have these sorts of commitment.

“Well, it’s not the same for men, is it?” she remarked with a laugh, and then leaned down to switch on the radio. “Let’s see if there’s any news on the traffic condition. We’ve got about another hour to go before we reach.”

The traffic report came on. The reporter droned on about the traffic condition in the area, but Michael was barely listening. He was thinking about Westmoreland’s daughter and how should he break the news to her.

Anne’s groan reached his ears. “Ugh, not this again!” she exclaimed.

“What?” he asked. And then he heard it.

“…It is reported that progress have been made on the manhunt for the fugitives from Fox Rivers. The-”

“How many times must they broadcast this?” Anne said in exasperation as she reached down to turn it off.

“Wait!” Michael interjected hurriedly. Then, in a calmer voice, he said, “I haven’t heard this.”

“…believed to be heading west. Earlier today, the search extended to Dayton, one of the towns which the authorities suspect to be one of the stops the fugitives had taken en-route to their destination. However, they were unable to locate any of the men. Local residents are warned to be vigilant as these men are considered dangerous. Now, on to our next breaking news…”

Michael closed his eyes briefly and exhaled a silent breath of relief. It sounded like C-Note had managed to escape them after all. He glanced down at his watch. It had been almost two hours since he last spoken to Lincoln. If everything had gone according to plan, Lincoln, Sucre and Abruzzi should be in Indianapolis by now.

Soft music filtered through the car. The soothing sound was too much for his weary body to resist. His eyes grew heavy, and then it all went dark.

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