Writing for Fun
June 2016
Breakout - Pete Norman
The door slammed closed and the key turned in the lock, but this was not the click of a feeble domestic lock, this was the dull clunk of a heavy dead bolt slamming home – an impenetrable barrier.
He ripped off the blindfold and blinked; the flickering flame of the small candle pushed back at the darkness but the meagre light did little to illuminate the walls of the small hut – it imbued a sense of menace, casting glittering shadows to dance in the corners.
He put his ear to the door listening to the footsteps receding on the gravel. He ran his fingers over every inch of the unyielding wood but apart from the handle, which he had already heard was locked securely into position, he could find nothing unusual in its surface, nothing useful at all. He was drawn magnetically to the small window where there was a faint reflection of the candle in the glass, but although it was large enough for a man to crawl through, the solid mass of the external shutters removed any hope in that direction.
The walls were equally secure, the thick boards so tightly packed that he could not have pushed a matchstick between the cracks, nor did they give an inch when he eased his body weight against them and pushed hard.
He looked up and his heart quickened – had he not read somewhere that the roof was often the weakest point in a building? After all its sole function was to keep out the rain. He climbed onto the bed, the only piece of furniture he had been allowed, but even stretching to his fullest extent he could only just touch his fingertips to the rough surface.
Lateral thinking was what he desperately needed – thinking outside the box – and the box he needed to be outside was this hut. However, five minutes of deeply focussed thought produced nothing more than an ever increasing feeling of hopelessness, but there was no purpose in moping the only way was to check and recheck; he stood up and walked across to the door again.
The floorboard creaked.
He stopped in mid-step – had he heard that board creak as they had led him into the hut? Yes he had but he had been disorientated, his mind had been trying to take in so much that he had ignored the obvious. Shifting from side to side, testing the floor with his feet, he located the offending board which squeaked delightfully when he put his full weight on it in a certain place. His fingers explored the edges of the board in minute detail, settling in the large gap at the furthest edge. He dug his nails into the dusty wood and pulled. It gave just a fraction. He redoubled his efforts, straining his muscles and was rewarded by the creaking sound of the nail easing itself in its groove. This time when he stopped the board was a quarter of an inch proud at the end. Concentrating on one corner alone he threw his whole weight behind his fingers and the end of the board slowly creaked up sufficiently that he could now slide his fingers fully beneath it. Taking a comfortable grip further along he teased it an inch at a time until finally it lay beside him on the floor. Through the gap he could see the ground, dimly lit by moonlight, a couple of feet below him.
With a new heart he worked the boards on either side forcing two more boards away and then, finally, he dropped through onto the ground beneath and held his breath.
Nothing moved out there – or rather nothing appeared to move out there. He crawled to the edge of the hut and peered out. The fence was barely twenty feet away: it was ten feet high, chain link, with barbed wire strung in curled strands along the top. The gate looked solid, held together by a heavy chain and a massive padlock. He crawled on his belly around the extremities of his hut always staying well within the shadows and studied more and more of the fence until he saw something that truly lifted his spirits – a small ripple at the bottom of the otherwise pristine pattern of the wire – a weak point.
There was no sign of guards and he could hear nothing but the night breeze rustling through the trees and the faraway hoot of an owl; he crawled out, his eyes fixed on the encouraging irregularity in the wire, so tantalisingly close.
A door opened – the compound was flooded with light and he scuttled back under the hut as quietly as he could. Two men appeared and stood beside the open door lighting up their cigarettes. For ten long minutes they stayed there chatting aimlessly until, finally, he saw them both grind their stubs out on the ground. They closed the door behind them and the compound returned to ominous darkness once more.
On the assumption that if there had been any other smokers they would have joined this pair Nathan crawled out. He could see no security cameras but he had no choice, he had to take the risk. He quickly reached the fence; his fingers explored the wire and found that with a serious heave he could open up a gap of just about a foot. He pushed his head through and slithered the rest of his body after it. His jacket snagged on a loose end of wire and he had to fumble awkwardly with his hands behind him, working blind, all the time expecting to hear the sound of the door behind him opening, but finally the wire sprang back. He got to his feet and ran.
From the safety of the wood he surveyed the compound from the outside and saw that it was still quiet, but now that he was out he realised that he had no idea which direction to go. The blindfold had done its job only too well and he could only rely on what he had heard. All that he could remember that seemed to be useful was that they had turned off the smooth road surface onto an uneven, rutted lane only about twenty minutes before they had reached the compound gates. That road was his ultimate objective but the immediate problem was to get as far away from the compound as possible before they discovered he was gone. He could not risk the track so he blundered into the darkness of the trees trying not to leave an obvious trail behind him and was grateful when the sun began to rise and dawn filtered its dim light through the canopy of leaves.
He ploughed on for what he guessed was about an hour. He had taken the random decision to head downhill and apart from the occasional small rise it had seemed to work – he was certain he was still moving steadily away from the compound, away from pursuit.
He paused for breath and pressed up against the trunk of a large oak tree, scanning the forest ahead where the light seemed to be a little brighter. He crept forwards until he was standing on the edge of a coppiced clearing, some fifty or so feet across. In the centre was the most beautiful red deer he had ever seen – so elegant, so sleek, its delicate neck down to nibble the lush grass. Every few moments the deer would lift its head to chew, its antenna ears rotating, its sharp eyes examining the darkness within the trees for the slightest hint of danger.
He knew exactly how it felt. He stood watching the deer for some minutes fascinated to see such a lovely creature so close, but suddenly its head snapped up focussing on a point beyond his right shoulder and with three graceful leaps it disappeared within the cover of the trees as if it had been nothing more than a figment of his fertile imagination. Nathan was certain that the deer must have been spooked by his scent and he regretted disturbing the poor timid creature but when he stepped out into the clearing he heard a faint sound that chilled his bones, just as it had clearly alarmed the deer – the sound of barking. It was in the distance but in this terrain he had no idea just how far away it was and whether they were searching randomly or following his scent through the forest. He panicked and ran, there could be no luxury of silence now; if they were following his scent his only chance was to outrun them.
He blundered wildly through the thick undergrowth leaping over the smaller bushes and fallen trees. He was moving so recklessly that his feet found the stream before his eyes saw it and he slipped on the soft mud of the bank sprawling headfirst into the shallow water. As he brushed himself down it occurred to him that dogs could not follow his scent through water. He looked quickly up and down and then set off downstream. The water was quite deep in places so he kept close to the bank, wading where necessary through the deeper pools. It was slower progress than through the woods but with the dogs closing in he no longer had the choice.
The narrow stream wound through what would have been in different times quite pretty scenery – sometimes heavily wooded right up to the banks and sometimes with wide grassy reed lined verges – but he was too tired to appreciate its beauty, he was now shaking with the cold and his exhausted legs were threatening with every wild step to collapse and propel him once more into the water. He dared to stop for a brief moment, bent double, his hands on his trembling knees, his lungs wheezing painfully. He could still hear the baying of the hounds but he allowed himself to think that the sound was maybe a little further away now. Still, he could not afford to waste time, so he stood up and took a keen look behind him – at nothing but the tinkling stream and pristine, empty, forest. Turning back downstream he took a few steps forwards but as he rounded a slight bend in the stream the rough bricks of a small bridge were sliding into view.
Feeling naked and exposed he threw himself onto the near bank and crawled into the protection of the trees, edging forwards slowly and carefully until once more he could see the bridge from behind a bush. He realised that the bridge was more substantial that it had looked from further back, it might even be a road bridge – could he actually have made it? Edging forwards he reached the road and stared in wonderment at the welcoming dusty grey tarmac and there, parked a mere two hundred yards to his left was a blue Landrover Discovery. The road was otherwise deserted so he broke cover and ran out, jogging happily on a firm surface again. He had halved the distance to the Discovery when the shout from behind stopped him dead in his tracks. Turning, he saw to his horror two men in fatigues emerging from the woods barely twenty yards behind him, one was holding back two large and evil looking German Shepherds and the other was pointing his weapon directly at him. Nathan froze, helpless, his arms raised as the men closed in on him. The Discovery door opened and the man shouted, ‘Stop! He’s clear, he’s safe now.’
The approaching man raised his rifle. ‘He’s mine now. He’d do better to come quietly.’
Nathan looked from the man to the Landrover and made a desperate decision. He turned and sprinted up the road. The weapon barked harshly behind him and he felt the hard thumps in his back. He hit the tarmac heavily. He never thought it would hurt so much.
The man climbed out of the Landrover. ‘John, that wasn’t necessary. He was clear.’
He pulled Nathan to his feet, brushing him down gently but avoiding the sticky red paint which covered his back. ‘Despite what that idiot thinks you have made it. On behalf of Extreme Sports UK I would like to congratulate you on successfully escaping from Colditz. Now, if you can walk, I’ve got your certificate in the car.’