The night was a black void, broken only by the erratic flashes of lightning that cut jagged scars across the sky. Rain hammered down in relentless sheets, turning the narrow dirt road into a river of mud. Each step was a battle against the sucking ground beneath their feet, but Aaron Hughes and Matt Crane kept moving. They had to.
Behind them, the distant wail of sirens cut through the storm. Faint. But getting closer.
Matt sucked in a ragged breath, lungs burning from the sprint. His body, still weak from months inside, protested with every movement. "That was too damn close," he panted, glancing over his shoulder. "We should've waited. Planned it better."
Aaron didn't break stride. His jaw was set, eyes locked ahead. Focused. Determined. "No time," he muttered. "We wait, we die in that place."
The prison was miles behind them now, but the real danger lay ahead. The world beyond the fences wasn't safe—it was just another kind of battlefield.
Through the rain, a neon glow flickered in the distance. A gas station. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, it was their first and only chance to regroup.
Matt eyed it warily. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Aaron wiped the rain from his face. "We need transport. And cash."
They moved out of the treeline, trying to look casual despite the soaked prison uniforms clinging to their bodies. The cold bit deep, but adrenaline kept them moving.
Inside the station, a lone cashier leaned against the counter, eyes glazed as he watched a flickering TV. The monotony of his night shift shattered when the screen cut to breaking news.
"...escaped convicts Aaron Hughes and Matthew Crane are considered extremely dangerous. Authorities urge civilians to report any sightings immediately..."
The cashier's body went rigid. His gaze flicked to the two soaked men standing at the door. His hand inched toward the counter phone.
Matt tensed, ready for a fight.
Aaron stepped forward first. Calm. Controlled. He met the man's panicked eyes with a level stare. "Don't."
The cashier swallowed hard. "I—I gotta call it in, man. I don't want trouble—"
"Then don't bring it." Aaron's voice was firm, but not threatening. There was no need for threats. The truth was enough.
A long pause stretched between them. Rain dripped from Aaron's face onto the tile floor. The cashier hesitated, then slowly pulled his hand away from the phone.
"Take what you need," he muttered. "Then go."
Aaron gave him a small nod. No unnecessary violence. Not yet.
Matt exhaled and moved fast, grabbing a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and whatever loose cash was in the register. It wasn't much.
Minutes later, they were back outside, climbing into a rusted pickup parked by the pumps.
Matt hotwired it in under a minute. The old engine coughed to life.
As they pulled onto the highway, Aaron stared out at the rain-slicked road ahead.
"Where to?" Matt asked, still jittery from the close call.
Aaron didn't hesitate. "Chicago."
Matt shot him a look. "Chicago? That's where Crowe is."
Aaron nodded, jaw clenched. "Yeah. And if we want answers, that's where we start."
Matt let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "Hell of a way to get back to civilization."
Aaron's lips curled into a faint smirk, but his eyes stayed cold. "We were never really part of civilization to begin with."
The stolen truck rumbled on through the storm.
Chicago wasn't just a destination.
It was a battleground.