Zacharias opened the door to the silhouettes of his parents.

He could no longer sense his own heartbeat as he stared out at them. It was unmistakable, even with the only light coming from the hotel hall. He had been found. And there wouldn't be a chance of staying away from them if he was caught now.

Hyperventilating, he spun on his heel, leapt over the couch, and charged for the window.

"Zacharias!" His father's voice was lower and more threatening than usual.

Zacharias threw the window open and quickly located the crane. It was farther away than he had remembered, and the ground still waited a long distance below. Only a very brave man or a very foolish one would dare take the leap. Given the circumstances, he was clearly the latter.

With a shout, he sprung from the window pane, limbs flailing as he fell.

Clang! His hand connected with the neck of the crane, and he swung his other arm around to hook the metal with his elbow. Panting, he kicked until his ankles crossed on the other side of the crane, locking him in place.

Okay. He had made the jump. He was that much closer to freedom...!

With another clang, the crane gave a violent shake, and he had to cling tighter to keep from being bucked off. As the wobbling died down, he searched rapidly for the source of the chaos—had the muddy ground given out? Had the crane itself?—but found it above him.

"Zacharias!"

Behind him, at the very tip of the crane, stood his father, face distorted with rage as he came down step by step.

Zacharias gasped and hurried to shuffle himself down the neck—

"Zacharias!"

Below him stood his mother, wide eyes glaring up at him as she bared her teeth. She stepped towards the low end of crane's neck as his father continued to approach from above.

Which way? Which way? Down, and his mother would catch him. Up, and his father would catch him. It wasn't as if he could fly away, either.

Which way? Up? Down? What was he supposed to do?

What did it matter? It was over. He was caught. Nowhere left to run. Only his punishment, at the hands of his parents. After everything, after his own brother's death, nothing would come of it. Only more pain.

Before he realized it, he had let go of the crane. It took another second for his right ankle to slide off the top, but it was too late to stop now. For a moment, he floated, disconnected from it all. Then the cold wind came, yanking his clothes towards the sky as he plummeted. Even when he shouted, the air snatched the sound away from him, and he heard only the wind rushing past his ears until he struck the ground.

Mud. Cold mud. It squelched away from him as he hit it but quickly encroached again. Sucking his hands and feet down, creeping all round him as his mother and father approached from both sides.

"Zacharias!"

He awoke with a gasp, his heart hammering away at his ribs and sweat matting the hair at his temples. He would have leapt to his feet if he had the ability to move at all.

What happened? Where was he? His parents... His parents!

Finally he regained control over his limbs and pushed himself off the ground, just enough to take a good look around. Or, as good a look as he could get in the dim light. It would have been pitch-black if it weren't for the cloudy porthole window to his right.

He had left the hotel a while ago, of course. Now he sat in the corner of the storeroom of a restaurant that hadn't been properly locked up a few nights before. The room was perpetually cluttered; even a minor rearrangement of rarely used shelving was enough to conceal him without drawing any attention. Employees only ever came in for a moment to snatch some batter or fish before hurrying back out. It was rather cold, after all.

Certainly too cold for a boy in shorts without a coat. He had to leave soon. If and when someone came to restock this place, he couldn't depend on them to leave him be, even if it seemed likely. And besides, this was far more of a hiding place than a shelter. He hadn't eaten a thing—one, for fear of being caught, but also because he wasn't quite desperate enough to risk raw fish. He could slip out of his corner and get a bit of water from the pan under the leak in the roof, but it was freezing cold and never enough. He wouldn't risk setting his water bottle up there, either.

Above all else, he had to be careful. Even if his stomach was thoroughly hollowed out, even if his leg wound throbbed, even if he couldn't easily free his tongue from his palate.

Mustn't get caught mustn't get caught mustn't get caught...

Whatever he risked, it would not be his freedom. He had to preserve it at all costs. It was, after all, the only thing he had left.

But as much as he feared having to leave this place of relative safety, he couldn't stay. He would be caught if he remained in the same place for too long. It was a simple matter of statistics. He had to leave. Not just this building, but this town.

It couldn't be on foot, of course. Even if he could find a way to disguise himself, it would be a long trek past familiar places and people all too likely to notice him. He wasn't even sure if he had the energy to walk that far—and it wasn't as if he'd be safe once he crossed the city limits.

There were cars, but there were also cameras on the roads. Supposedly they only recorded people speeding, but he couldn't be certain—and who was to say he wouldn't accidentally speed? He didn't have so much as a motorbike license, let alone the certification and knowledge to drive a car. Even if he was lucky enough to find a prime automobile with heavily tinted windows, how was he going to take it? Hot-wire it, whatever that entailed? Sneak into the back and hope the driver wouldn't notice? Find the car idling and force the driver out? That wouldn't do much to keep law enforcement from finding him.

It was clear he couldn't leave by land. There was, however, another route.

He peered out the window. Details couldn't be made out through the dirty glass, and there wasn't an abundance of lampposts in the area, but he could still make out a few of the docks. Just a few private boats for fishing or leisure. Some were bigger than others, but most were a sort of standard five-passenger sort of model.

His father had taught him how to drive one, but that had been over a decade ago, when he hadn't even been able to reach the pedals. Still, he was certain he could piece the process together between observing others and eventually getting into the boat himself. It was still a risk, of course, but everything was these days. At least the shore was barely patrolled here; he'd have to worry a bit more about his destination, but he would find a way to handle it. He had to.

Mustn't be caught, mustn't be caught...

Realising his gaze had lost focus, he lowered himself back to the floor. It was still the middle of the night, and he needed sleep. Easy as it was to drift off—even in the cold, he was more than exhausted enough—it was impossible to sleep through the night. Often he woke from nightmares; other times he woke inexplicably, but not without a knot in his stomach and a sense of foreboding. He could fall asleep again if he tried, but was it really worth it?

If only he could really, honestly sleep—no, rest. If only he could really eat, or drink, or do anything but panic and hide. How had it come to this? Why had his life transformed into something as warped as this? It was still miserable before, granted, but he hadn't feared actual starvation. He'd had warm clothes and a place to lay his head, even if he was set aching first.

And he'd had a brother and no blood on his hands.

How on earth did it come to this?

Shivering, he curled up and shut his eyes.

One man always stowed his boat key between the driver's seat cushions. That alone would have been reason enough to select the boat, but Zacharias also managed to chance upon one of the redhead's conversations. Given his distance and the man's thick accent—something Scottish—he could only pick up bits and pieces, but it was enough to know he was headed away for a few days.

By the time he reported a missing boat, Zacharias would be long gone.

He waited till the restaurant was closed for the night. Swiping a fishing hat from the lost and found—not without pulling out the ridiculous, colourful lures that could help someone recognise it—he pulled it down over his ears and slipped to the entrance. Once he unlocked it, he would have to leave it that way. But a worker had neglected to lock up before; this wouldn't be terribly suspicious.

The docks weren't terribly popular after sundown, so he wound his way to the correct dock without interruption. Only when he stepped up to the targeted boat did someone notice.

"Oi!"

Zacharias froze before slowly turning his head. His face should have been well-obscured by the shadows, especially with the hat. Right?

"If you're looking to buy a boat, you'll want to try another five docks down."

The newcomer was alone but fairly well-built. Probably fifteen years older than him, she wore her dark hair in a long ponytail just beneath her short-brimmed hat, which hid her eyes a bit. He could still read the suspicion on her face.

He had precious little time to decide on the best course of action and so ended up bluffing it.

"Nay, I'm after Lewis's boat," he said in the thickest Scottish accent he could muster. "I'm certain this is it."

The woman frowned, a bit more in thought than suspicion. "What business do you have with it? Lewis hasn't said anything about someone else using his boat."

Zacharias widened his eyes in shock. "What? He didnae mention Jack?"

"Not a word." She paused, folding her arms. "You're not that nephew of his, are you?"

Hopefully that wasn't a trap. "Aye. What's he go on saying about me?"

She scoffed. "Mostly that you need to find yourself a lass. He give you a key?"

He shook his head. "But he did tell me where he keeps it."

The woman glanced at the driver's seat before shrugging. "Well, I don't know what the heck else a Scotsman would be doing here if he wasn't Lewis's. Just watch yourself. It gets dark out there quickly."

"I got a torch." Zacharias retrieved the item in question.

"Very well. May the fish flock to it." She began to turn around. "See you later, Jack."

He waved and carefully stepped onto the boat as she walked away.

Did that actually work? It could have gone south at any point. It was a terrible idea. He should have just chucked her into the water—but that would have also been a terrible idea.

Everything was a terrible idea. Let's just get out of here already.

He untied the boat from the dock, located the key, and started up the engine. Lights lit up the small dashboard and a bit of the floor space, but it wouldn't be much once he was beyond the lampposts. It was just as well. He could wait it out a bit if he needed more light. So long as he was gone before the dock populated itself again.

It was rather smooth sailing, although the journey over dark waters was more than eerie and he had to stop to rest before long. Even so, he had made it to unfamiliar shores by dawn.

He needed somewhere where he could lie low and survive, where people wouldn't easily recognise him. A dock for the boat might be nice—

No. No, no, no. That would leave far too much of a trail to follow. He could not dock the boat at his destination, or even near it.

Perhaps he could pay someone to drive the boat back to the dock? But he could hardly trust a stranger to do that. The boat had no sort of autopilot, so he couldn't send it out into the water by itself. Then the only way to erase his tracks... would be to sink it.

But how? He had no way to puncture the hull, nor enough boating knowledge to use another method. Would he have to outright crash it? But that was dangerous, and he'd have to be near shore. The pieces would be found too quickly.

After a while of frustration, he eased the boat to what he deemed a reasonable location and pulled an icebox from beside the passenger seats. This would probably take a bit of time, but the nearest boat was still quite far away, and the nearby shore had only one house, whose lights were out.

When filled with water, the icebox was difficult to wrangle back onto the boat, but it was easy enough to tip over. Water spilled across the deck, lapping past his shoes and swishing from side to side along with the waves. Another tubful, and his arms were burning. But he could not stop. This had to be done.

Mustn't be caught.

Another tubful, and his socks grew damp. His bookbag wouldn't keep them dry, so it was easier not to remove them at all. He was a decent swimmer, and if he was swimming for his life's sake, he would certainly be able to handle a little extra weight on his feet. Wouldn't have to worry about changing when he reached the shore, either.

After another sweep of the area—house lights still off, the other boat even farther away—he continued pouring water onto the deck. The seat cushions darkened. The top of one floated away from its perch, revealing the fishing supplies stowed beneath it. They began to float as well.

It became harder to keep his balance with the water level rising and a few waves going about their business, but he kept moving the water. He was certain the boat was beginning to sink. Just another tubful... Another...

He didn't realise how far the boat was tilted in his direction till a stronger wave hit. A bit of the water splashed over, spraying the side of his face, before the boat went more askew—suddenly the ground slipped from under his feet. Hitting his shoulder against the floor, he scrambled to get back up but found himself standing on the inner wall of the boat, cold water sloshing all around and going straight through his shirt.

Then the boat capsized.

Zacharias leapt away, but it wasn't far enough. Half-underwater, he could see naught but shifting shadows as something slammed into the back of his head.

His cry of pain came out in bubbles as the darkness grew greater. A burning sensation coursed through his lungs as the little bit of air there went sour, and he kicked as hard as he could towards the surface. The water was getting lighter, wasn't it? Surely... Surely he was going the right way...

A stab of pain went through his injured leg as it cramped up. Gritting his teeth, Zacharias struggled to force it back into action, but it wasn't cooperating. Besides the throbbing in his head, a terrible fuzziness had settled in, and it was all he could do to keep from breathing in.

This couldn't happen! He couldn't die here! He couldn't be caught! Not after...

No no no no nononononoNONONONONO

He thrashed towards the surface as hard as he could, pouring every ounce of precious energy he had into slicing through the water. But when his reflexes won and a surge of liquid went splintering through his lungs, he couldn't hold onto consciousness for all it was worth.