by Rick Potter
She ranted, rambled and raved for forty-minutes, while he slumped in a dining room chair reaping her rage. Maddie had the memory of an elephant, reincarnating incidences that had long been buried. She interrupted her own questions with more accusations and complaints. She unleashed a primal scream, and he was the spoil. He had attempted to convince her it was the best thing for them, a way to improve what had already been broken. But it was as though she had found the final justification for their demise. At the conclusion of her denouement, the ultimatum came. "If this excuse for a plan fails, so do we. Do you understand?"
Sam felt like a child hearing his punishment from angry parents. There was nothing else to say, and his string of, "I'm sorries," had worn thin. "Yes, I understand," he answered.
Chapter Three
Trigger fingers rested firm, ready to fire as guards paced the yard on high alert. It was a textbook drill when convicts rejoined the general population of the prison after being released from Lock. The early morning mist made it difficult for guards to see from the tower, but Beatrice's robust redwood frame stood out amongst her circle of girls, as she waited for the opportunity to claim Dorothea as her next victim.
Earlier that morning after discovering Marta's friend failed to pinch a guard's uniform, Dorothea was forced to deviate from the plan. She approached a guard tucked behind trash dumpsters near the laundry room, sneaking a cigarette. "What are you doing here, fish?"
Dorothea glanced around making sure no one saw them. "Those things will kill you," she said, then covered the guards mouth and ran the shiv along her throat.
It took Dorothea only a minute to strip the guard's uniform from her dead body and don them under her prison khakis. She rushed to the entrance of the yard and strolled to where she had left the lawnmower days before. As drizzle turned into rain, guards blew their whistles and ordered everyone back inside the cellblock.
Marta was a favorite inmate amongst guards, and tolerated by the other convicts. Her presumed senility assured her exemption from attacks, allowing her to roam the yard without threat. "Everyone inside," a guard yelled.
Convicts lined up single file at the door, but Beatrice's troupe remained firm in their circle, waiting for Dorothea. Whispering and snickering to herself, Marta strolled through Beatrice's circle. "Hey, it's Voices," one of Beatrices' girls said, then shoved her into Beatrice.
"Leave her alone," Beatrice said.
Marta snickered and took a deep breath, anticipating it might be her last. She positioned the shiv concealed in her sleeve to her palm, then discharged several jabs into Beatrice. As Beatrice toppled, her girls jumped Marta, beating and kicking her. One of the women scooped the shiv from the ground and commenced sticking Marta's body like a pin cushion.
Guards broke through the circle of mayhem to break it up, while tower guards fired shots feet away from the crowd, striking innocent onlookers. By the time guards had gotten to Marta, she was already dead.
During the commotion, Dorothea loosened the fence wire from the first and second fence lines, and burrowed under. She had about thirty minutes to make it through the swamps to the main highway before the Line Guards took cell count and discovered her missing.
###
After her exhaustive dash across the open field outside the prison and through alligator swamps and snake infested mangroves, Dorothea emerged near the roadside. As she disrobed her prison khakis, leaving her wearing the dead guard's uniform, she thought about how much time she had left before being discovered missing. The only indication would be the sound of the siren, which hadn't gone off yet. She clasped her knees to catch her breath, when the sound of a sputtering late model pickup truck appeared through the fog. She jumped up to position herself in the truck's path and waved her arms.
As the truck slowed to a stop, an elderly man with a weather-wrinkled tanned face, reached across the torn plastic seat covers and opened the door. A strong odor of Old Spice slammed into her, making her noxious. Doused in water, she slid in beside a wrapped gift in birthday paper. "What in tarnation happened to you, young lady?" the old man asked, in a raspy smokers voice. "A purtty lil thing like you shouldn't be out in this kind of weather."
She hesitated, running her fingers through her hair. "Thanks for the lift, my car broke down."
"That's a shame, where ya headin'?"
"All the way south."
The man hovered his chin over the steering wheel. "That's a long way to go. I'm just headin' up the road to the edge of town."
"That's fine."
"You must be the first hitcher I've picked up in years. A person never knows what kinda people are out there these days. But, what could be safer than giving a guard a lift?"
"Yeah, right." She hoped the old man would shut up and drive faster.
"By the way my name's, Cleave. Rupert Cleveland. What's yours?"
Dorothea thought of her mother. "I'm Andrea."
"Well, nice to meet ya, Andrea. You can call me Cleave, all my friends do, or what few I have left anyway. Seems age got the best of 'em. Not me, though. I'm a decedent of, Moses Cleveland. Ya ever heard of Moses Cleveland? He lived to be in his eighty's."
Andrea couldn't care less. His constant babbling was getting on her nerves. "No," she answered.
"Well, I suppose you wouldn't have. Moses Cleveland was one of the first settlers in America back in the 1600s. Came straight over from Europe." He was proud of his founding father, and spoke of his heritage like he had royal blood. "To be honest, he wasn't actually one of the first people in America, but he did bring the name, Cleveland, here," he added.
The truck backfired and sputtered as he shifted his three-on-the-tree into third gear. Andrea cowered and wiped her brow to hide her face from the passing sirens and flashing lights. It was a high speed bumper-to-bumper procession toward the prison.
"Sounds like trouble stir'n at your work again. Looks like ya got out just in time."
Wishing Cleave would speed up, she mumbled, "You have no idea."
"I'm headin' to my granddaughters birthday. She's turnin' ten today."
The truck rambled through the fog at parade speed. She knew it would be just a matter of time before the news of her escape would be on every TV and newspaper in the State. Her thoughts were interrupted. "Ya got any children?"
"Excuse me?"
"Children... how many children ya got?"
She didn't see the purpose of polluting the world with more people. "No children."
"That's a shame. Children complete a person. You know that, don't ya? If the Cleveland's didn't have children, I wouldn't be here today, and neither would my little princess."
Cleave kept his eyes fixed on the road, then wavered his finger in front of her. "Open that thar glove box, I'll show ya a snap of her."
She reached in the glove box and grabbed a small leather wallet which lay in the midst of loose change, papers, and a pen. She grabbed the wallet and pen. Inside the wallet a photo showed a little girl with bows in her hair, wearing a pink ruffled dress perched on grandpa's lap. "She's my little princess. Ain't she a sweetheart?"
Andrea thought about her childhood and how opposite her and his granddaughter were. "Yeah, she's top dollar."
"That thar little princess is what keeps my engine purrin'."
She placed the wallet back in the glove box, then tapped the pen against her leg. Another caravan of State Troopers roared by with sirens blaring, as Cleave coasted past boarded up fruit stands surrounded by brush along the highway. "You might know this, but I provide much of the fruits and vegetables that are sold in those," he said, pointing at the stands.
'This is a fucking sight-seeing tour,' she thought.
"We got about ten minutes of drivin' left. If you have time, my granddaughter would love to meet a real life prison guard."
She couldn't take ten more minutes of his babbling and reminiscing. She pressed the point of the pen into her leg until she felt pain, then glanced through the side mirror and rear cab window. "Ya ok
ay young lady? If ya don't mind me sayin', ya seem a bit nervous."
. She thought about watching Beatrice plunge the shiv into the woman's neck in the canteen. "Yeah, I'm fine, but unfortunately you won't be seeing your little princess this trip."
Before he could respond, she plummeted the pen into his leather-lined neck. Blood gushed as the truck swerved lanes. Andrea grabbed the wheel to regain control, then pulled to the side of the road. With one shove, Cleave's body rolled into the bush, leaving behind a river of blood.
A few miles up the road, she spotted a phone booth on the roadside in front of a small rundown two-pump gas station and mini-mart. Parked in front of the pumps, she opened the glove box and rummaged through Cleave's wallet for cash. It only contained photos of the little 'princess', and a photo of him with a woman. She guessed it was his wife, 'Probably dead too,' she thought.
After pocketing the loose change, she headed toward the phone booth and dialed a number. "I'm on the way. Tell my brother I'll be with him soon."
###
Bells jingled above the door of the quaint market as Andrea strolled in. Containing only a few rows of snacks and personal hygiene products, it catered more to tourists who had forgotten something on the way home. Hanging from a pegged rack were Florida keychains and cheap jewelry, items often purchased as last minute souvenir gifts. Next to it, a clothing rack displayed assorted souvenir t-shirts.
Entering the market from a back room, a jovial middle-aged lady wearing a smock and name tag which read, Christina, greeted Andrea. "Hi there, anything I can help you with?"
Andrea noticed her examining her shirt. "I just dragged a dead deer off the road," Andrea volunteered. "Do you sell shirts here?"
Christina hadn't ever heard of deer being seen in that area, but she never doubted anyone. "Sure, right behind you. We got a whole rack full," then took a seat behind the register counter and flipped the small portable TV on.
Christina's phone awakened her earlier that morning. It was a workmate pleading with her to open the store and work a few hours for her. Christina had already worked an extra day that week so she could have this one special day off. It was her daughter's tenth birthday, and friends and family were coming from out of town to help celebrate.
Without inspecting sizes, Andrea grabbed a couple of shirts, a windbreaker and a baseball cap, then hurried to the counter. "Will that be all for you?" Christina asked.
"Yep." Then both their attention was drawn to a news reporter on the TV: "Police urge the public to notify local police authorities immediately if Dorothea Silva is seen. Do not approach her, she is considered armed and extremely dangerous."
Andrea remembered the dead guard's gun dropping into the water as she waded through one of the swamps. She had hesitated, thinking of retrieving it, but the approaching eyes of an alligator peeking from the surface of the water deterred that idea.
Just then, her booking photo appeared on the screen. Christina exchanged glances between the TV and Andrea, then dipped her shoulder as if to reach for something under the counter. Andrea leaped the counter and shoved her to the floor. Before Christina made it to her feet, Andrea ripped the TV from the wall and smashed it into Christina's head. Andrea reached under the counter grabbing the pistol and slipping it under her belt. She didn't know why, but she claimed a pair of scissors as well.
After changing into the t-shirt and windbreaker, bells jingled from the front door. Startled, Andrea spun around, slipping for a moment in the puddle of blood oozing from Christina's head, and saw an elderly couple standing in the doorway. "Good morning," the man said.
Andrea was flustered, not sure what she should do next. She smiled and said, "Good morning," then ripped the phone cord from the wall.
"Why'd you do that?" the woman asked.
She thought about putting a bullet in both of them, but then sirens sped by. Instead, she rushed around the counter, darting past them through the door, leaving footsteps of blood in her trail.
She slowed her pace to a nervous stroll toward the couple's car, expecting to find keys dangling from the ignition. When she found none, she headed toward the mini-mart doors again, but was stopped short from the sirens blaring by. She turned and hopped in the truck, then sped off, spitting mud from the rear tires.
Inside the mini-mart, the man asked, "I don't think anyone else is here. How do we pay for gas?"
"Something's not right, look at the red prints on the floor. We should call the police."
###
The sound of whupping helicopter blades awoke Andrea from behind the steering wheel. Parked off the highway under the protection of camouflaged mangroves, she squinted into the morning stream of sunlight piercing through the windshield. She pondered her next move, and thought about what Marta would do. She missed her friend, and wished she would have come with her.
She realized by now, the entire State would know of her escape and there'd be roadblocks and posters everywhere. A change in appearance was needed. It occurred to her why she took the scissors from the market. She repositioned the rear-view mirror and started cutting. By the time she was finished, Andrea looked like a teenage boy.
The old truck sputtered and spitted, until a backfire sparked the engine into life. She glanced through the wooded ambiance with the mistaken belief it was a shotgun being fired. After the helicopters faded into the distance, Andrea followed the muddy road back to the barren highway. 'I gotta ditch this truck,' she thought.
Several miles later, her heart pounded when she noticed a barricade of boards strewn across the road with two State Trooper cars parked alongside. There was no way around it. Her idea of barreling through it would only create a high speed chase with the use of helicopters. Her capture would be inevitable, so she discarded that plan. There was only one solution.
She slowed the truck as she neared the roadblock, and stuffed the pistol in her windbreaker pocket. Coming to a stop behind another car, she had thoughts of being captured There was no way she could go back to prison, her brother's life depended on her. Maybe they wouldn't recognize her with her hair cut and cap on, but perhaps they had found the old man laying dead on the roadside and had been searching for his truck. Ideas raced through her mind, each being discarded as quickly as she thought of them.
When the car in front of her was waived through, The State Trooper motioned her to pull forward. "Hello ma'am. Where you heading?"
Andrea wondered if they knew what her voice sounded like. "I'm just going to my brother's house, it's his birthday," she answered, in a deeper tone.
The Trooper scanned the cab and noticed the wrapped birthday gift. "What did you get him?" he asked.
She couldn't believe she hadn't opened the box. "It's a shaving kit."
She knew he was just creating smalltalk while the other Trooper called in the license plates to the truck. She had to do something before it was too late. "Can I see your license and registration, please?"
She reached across the cab, retrieving the old man's wallet from the glove compartment while he scrutinized her every move. She then noticed the expression on the Trooper standing outside his car with the mic to his mouth. It was the same frightened expression she had as a child when her father would enter her room late at night. The Trooper released the mic then unsnapped the safety strap to his gun holster. With his hand pressed firm against the gun, he started toward the truck. "Bill?" he said.
The Trooper standing outside her window stepped away from the truck door and drew his gun. "Step out of the truck, slowly."
It was time. Andrea opened the door and stepped away from the truck with her finger on the trigger. "Slowly," he said. "Let's see both hands."
Two rapid shots fired from Andrea's windbreaker. The Trooper fell, moaning. The approaching Trooper stopped in his tracks, but before he could draw his gun, she fired two more shots, one striking him in the forehead. Andrea stood over the Trooper whose bulletproof vest had prevented the bullets from killing him. She placed the barrel tip against hi
s forehead. Then fired.
###
Andrea had moved the Trooper cars to the side of the road, and dragged the bodies to where they wouldn't be noticed, then removed the roadblock. Time wasn't on her side. The gas indicator was in the red, and it wouldn't be long until the dead Troopers were discovered. She veered to the roadside and stopped, taking a moment to think, then opened the engine hood and loosened a carburetor plug.
Moments later, a dull brown car with a child seat strapped in the back pulled up in front of her. A man decked in a business suit exited the car. "Hi, what seems to be the problem?"
"I don't know, it just stopped."
"I'm not too familiar with engines, but I have a little time. Let me take a look."
"I'd appreciate that."
Careful not to oil his sleeves, he probed under the hood, hand twisting and tightening anything that moved.
"I don't see any problems, try it now."
Andrea climbed behind the wheel and turned the ignition. "Still won't start," she hollered.
He resumed his inspection with his head buried under the hood. "Hope you're not in a hurry," he said. "Where you going?"
Andrea had reached for a crowbar from the bed of the truck. "Just heading to a birthday party up the road."
Still slumped under the hood, he scratched the back of his head. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary. I'm more than happy to give you a lift, if you want?"
"Oh you're too kind," she answered, strolling up behind him. "But that won't be necessary," then she lowered the crowbar from above her head, bursting into the back of the man's head.
He turned toward her, dazed and numb from the blow. She raised the bar again, and cracked the side of his face. He spun and wheeled to the ground, groaning. "Why..." he started to say, just before the fatal blow to his skull.
Chapter Four
The mini-van was packed with duffle bags of clothes while Maddie and Emily slept in the backseat on the way to Key West. Sam and Jake whistling the tune, Pirates of the Caribbean was often interrupted by Sam who pointed out sights of interest. "There's Kennedy Space Center. That's where NASA is. See the launch pad?"
