Author's Note: This is my first attempt at a fanfic of any kind. This chapter's kind of...short, but they get longer. Don't worry.
Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own any of these characters. Prison Break and all related elements, characters, and indicia are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television.
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Police sirens wailed behind them, drawing closer by the second, furthering the group's determination to escape. Michael gave the illusion that he was keeping his cool, but it was just a facade to try to keep everyone else calm. Inside, his mind was racing, knowing that if he didn't come up with a genius plan, they'd be arrested or shot within five short minutes.
Meanwhile, a good three yards away, Lincoln's heart pounded against his chest, his lungs burning, trying to inhale all the oxygen they could. All that time in the shu was hell, and he was damned if he was going to go back without enjoying some relatively fresh air.
Not too far behind were Abruzzi, Sucre and C-Note, all quivering in fear as they ran through the tall grass. For some reason, at that very moment, the thought of T-Bag's severed hand crept into Sucre's mind, sending shivers up and down his spine, driving him faster.
The sirens were blazing, closer than Michael had hoped, and he was forced to resort to the only tactic he could think of; stealth.
"Follow me," he commanded through gritted teeth, just loud enough for Lincoln to hear, knowing that the others could either take a hint and follow, or be left in the open for a bust.
They had just entered the patch of woods, which turned out to be smaller than the inmates assumed. They were clear of the helicopter's spotlight for the time being, but that was quickly about to end.
They came to a small cliff, and Michael dove off without hesitation, free falling the ten-foot drop and landing with a roll. Lincoln landed right behind him, but it was C-Note and Sucre that took a little longer, having paused at the edge of the cliff before plunging off. Abruzzi's leap cleared the two minorities; he was determined to stay out of Fox River.
Lincoln was ahead of everyone, and stopped abruptly at the lake that lay before them. Michael rushed passed him and darted into the water, casually taking the two-foot fall, as if it were something he did daily. The other four followed, a feeling of dread in their stomachs. A lake was no place to be when you had that many cops hot on your trail.
Michael's next move horrified them even more as he swam straight into the cement drainage pipe.
"Son of a bitch," Sucre said in a panicked whisper, nonetheless following along anyway.
Things became more reassuring as Michael, always seeming to be following an intricate plan, sloshed through the now knee-deep water to another concrete tube that intersected with their current one, slanting downwards. He dropped to a sitting position and slid down the tube like a slide, followed by the others.
Landing with a thud in an even darker, clammier place, Michael quickly scrambled to his feet and broke into another run, glancing back only once to make sure everyone was okay and following him, despite his "every man for himself" speech.
Running behind him was Lincoln, looking around, trying to recognize his surroundings. It soon clicked that they were running through a typical underground sewer system. He was grateful that the slide had left them on the metal catwalk instead of dropping them into the murky sludge that lay below, almost looking like a fluorescent green river.
Their footsteps echoed throughout the complex, and Michael knew he had only bought a sliver of time. He desperately needed to figure out what to do next; letting his brother get caught and executed wasn't an option anymore.
He did the only thing he could think of now, which was to keep running through the maze of tunnels. His legs were fine, but it was the cramp that pierced his side that caused him to slow to a quickened jog. Everyone else seemed rather thankful for the change of pace, although deep down, they all knew that it wasn't a good thing. The slower they moved, the faster the police could catch up to them.
Their adrenaline was running low, their fear skyrocketing. It was a combination that no one wanted, but one that nobody could seem to stop. Capture seemed inevitable to everyone except Michael, who still managed to look as calm as it was humanly possible, considering the situation they were faced with.
He looked back at everyone for a minute.
"You guys ready?" He asked with a smile and a wink, darting up a ladder just as the shouts of police officers echoed down the next corridor.
Lincoln followed Michael, with Sucre and Abruzzi on his heels, and C-Note bringing up the rear. Then the four of them heard what they dreaded the most; Captain Brad Bellick.
"Freeze, con!" He bellowed, following his shout with a deafening shotgun blast that rang throughout the sewer.
