Page 8 of Factory Thief

I chuckle. “In your dreams, maybe. Are you coming, or are you going to be an idiot?”

Jack struggles with himself for several moments before giving me a curt nod.

“Okay, I’m coming.”

I sigh in relief. “Thank heavens you decided to be reasonable. Follow me and stay low.”

I move along the roof like a cat, a living shadow. He clunks along behind me like a bull in a china shop. Fortunately, the construction has awakened many of the inmates, who are raising a great ruckus in protest of their lost sleep.

The cacophony of angry voices and concrete saws provide cover as we make our way to the roof-access ladder. We clamber down, Jack taking twice as long as I to reach the ground.

The guard Andrew provided for us stands anxiously, his face a mask of anger.

“You said it would only take twenty minutes.”

“Obviously, it took longer.”

“Don’t be flip. You’re not the one whose job is on the line. My shift ends in three minutes. Three!”

“Then we’d better get going.”

“Wait,” the guard calls. “Does this mean me and the Foundation are square?”

I shrug. “Beats the hell out of me. I’m like you, I do grunt work. To figure it out you need to talk to management.”

I drag Jack along behind me until he starts running. We rush toward the waiting fence. The towering, razor-wire-topped structure seems imposing, so much so Jack skids to a halt.

“We can’t climb that,” he gasps. “We’ll be cut to ribbons.”

“Just follow me, dumbass.” I go to a section of the fence and push through it. I clipped my way in earlier, leaving the fence intact enough to pass casual inspection. I was sure to ground the current coming through the cyclonic steel, as well.

Jack struggles to get through, being larger than I. His jumpsuit tears, as well as the underlying flesh. When he makes it to the other side, he’s covered in bloody scratches. Good enough. He’s alive and free—for now.

“Come on,” I say, trying to lead him to the beach. I say trying, because he turns around and takes off at a dead run.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say. “Get back here!”

I rush after him. There are guard towers all along, and patrolling bulls in the yard. Fortunately, it seems Andrew has provided another helping hand, or perhaps random chance is our savior. In either event, the spotlights and personnel are focused on another section of the prison entirely. A siren wails, signaling there’s a riot.

Jack’s no slouch in the athletic department, but I was right, his cardio is shit. I run him down and trip him up to tumble in the damp grass.

I point my 9mm pistol at him. “Knock it off and follow me. If you keep trying to run, all you’re going to get is dead.”

I wave him forward, toward the water. We splash ankle deep, then knee deep.

“Are you expecting me to swim all the way down the coast?”

“No, I’m not.”

I plunge my arms beneath the water and find the underwater Jet Ski tethered to a concrete pylon. I swiftly untangle the rope, and it bobs to the surface.

“Take this,” I say, handing him the mouthpiece to a scuba tank.

“We’re going underwater?”

“No choice. They watch the coast around here for inmates escaping by boat.”

“This is a tiny tank, how much air does it have?”

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