The Tower

It had been a mere ten days since his escape, though it seemed like years. No one would be on guard against Allander. They were only concerned with people trying to break out of prison; they would never think anyone would be so insane as to break in.

Earlier in the day, Allander had left a bag of supplies hidden at the base of the small guard tower on Maingate's grounds. He removed a dent puller and channel-lock pliers from the bag, and scaled the short ladder. The small window to the door was double-barred. Glancing out across Maingate and the ocean, he figured that the Tower was over a hundred yards away.

Inserting the screw end of the dent puller into the doorknob lock, Allander carefully tightened the screw. Then, with a single jerking motion, he pulled the metal slide toward the handle. It gave, and he removed the entire lock assembly from the knob.

He clenched the channel pliers on the dead bolt, twisting it with all his might until he felt the retaining bolts break. Then he removed a pick from his back pocket and, using a thick hairpin for a torsion bar, jiggled the dead bolt open. He whistled "Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho" as he worked.

The lock on the weapons cabinet was easy, and he soon had the Win Mag. 300 in his hands. It was a substantial weapon, laying heavy against his shoulder. He stepped out onto the deck, resting the gun on the railing. It was a bolt gun, holding four rounds in the mag but only one in the chamber.

He saw the black dot of the guard patrolling out on the Tower and raised the gun, leveling the scope's crosshairs on the back of his head. He squeezed the trigger slowly until he felt the gun jerk back against his shoulder. The bullet must have kicked wide because the guard never broke step. Allander ducked as the guard swept around the far edge of the circle and headed back, facing the mainland.

Allander watched him through the scope, pausing to manually recock the gun. The wind gusted strongly, whipping his cheeks, and he realized that he hadn't adjusted enough to take it into account. He peeked through the scope again, finding the back of the guard's head. Taking a deep breath and aiming a touch to the left to compensate for the wind, he fired.

The guard's arms flared and he was down and out of sight instantly. Allander smiled and lowered the gun to the deck. He continued whistling as he descended the ladder, looped the weighty bag over his shoulder, and headed out to the dock.

Jade ran off the path and sprinted through the rough terrain, cutting through the forest in the direction of Maingate. An incredible pounding started in his head as he ran along the top of a small ridge in the forest, carefully avoiding the forty-foot drop that sloped dangerously to a creek.

He felt as if he was going into the twelfth round of a boxing match. The tender burn across his face, the bruise on his cheek from Travers's blow, and the raised bump on his head took his attention in turns, each greater pain momentarily distracting him from the others.

But he recognized his headache and knew it could not be blamed on recent injuries. The systematic thudding through his temples welled from something not entirely physical. He gritted his teeth and kept running, trying to ignore the needles of pain that his footsteps sent up the back of his neck. And as he ran, the furious pumping of his legs brought him back again to the terrible day of his frenzied childhood run.

Moving swiftly through the foxtails and ignoring the blood streaming down his left cheek, the boy heard his name cried again: Jade. It was a doleful, wavering sound, and he ran more quickly, until his breath burned in his throat.

The four boys had surrounded his brother in the clearing by Mr. Hollow, and one had already knocked him down. They tore into him, kicking him about the face, the head, the arms.

Eenie meenie minie moe

There was no sign of Allander and Jade moved faster, his run edged with panic as his feet expertly gripped the uneven ground, propelling him forward. He finally caught sight of a broken sapling just on the brink of the ridge and he ran past it, barely glancing down.

Saliva drooled from his brother's chin as he struggled to his feet.

Catch a retard by the toe

One hand went to the straw by Mr. Hollow's cuff (a hand, I swear he thought it was a hand) and the other reached out toward the sun setting atop the rolling hills, showering the foxtails with orange. His mouth was awash with blood and spit and he opened it and screamed a word, one word, his last word: Jade-a sound that would echo in Jade's memory for years.

Make him holler blow by blow