A shot rang out close behind him as he slid under the car, crawling forward along the final row pausing momentarily before he darted across a large green area between the car park and the road. Hating the exposure he rushed on, weaving to avoid a couple of bullets, hearing dogs' barking closing on him. Desperately he searched the arrow straight highway, certain they would catch him. A large green open space lay beyond it on the other side, unmarked by a single tree. His ribs ached as he ran onwards, hearing a roaring in his ears. A large semi trailer screeched to a halt as he darted across a couple of feet in front of it.

Guards raced round the truck, spilling onto the opposite green area. Tony swallowed, creeping under the stationary vehicle and pulling himself up onto one of the axels, pressing his body as far into the darkness as he could manage.

'Get the hell out of that truck,' yelled the warden's voice, and he heard the cab door open and a man jump down. 'Why the hell aren't you looking where you're going, you knocked down a guard dog!'

'Why the frigging hell was that beast on the road?' yelled a furious red neck. 'I bloody braked so hard half the shit I'm taking will be broken, and it ain't coming out of my pay!'

'The truck's open sir,' a guard reported, noting the back of a trailer now banged in the wind.

'Alright, I'm going to need to search it. The prisoner is here somewhere, he didn't cross the road.'

'Now look here,' began the outraged driver, beginning to sound thoroughly irritated. 'I've got a schedule! There's no way in hell you're unloading my truck. If you can't keep a better eye on your cons that's your bad luck, but I'm due in Seattle tomorrow morning, and I'll BE there tomorrow morning.'

'I hear another word from you, I'll detain you under the homeland security act,' snapped the warden, in as threatening a voice as Tony had ever heard him use. 'Now unload that thing on the double. What the hell's this shit?' he demanded, as the guards began struggling with crates.

'Tomato ketchup,' snapped the driver, as annoyed as ever. 'And there's California oranges in the back trailer. And I ain't worried about no homeland security stuff, either. I'm telling you now, if you break any of those boxes, you better have a hell of an insurance! Shit,' he screamed, as a container fell on the ground. They all heard the sound of smashing glass. 'What the hell did you say your name was?' demanded the driver, pulling out a notebook.

Tony covered his mouth, attempting not to laugh. Easy, Almeida. This truck is massive; you've got quite a bit of cover, especially if they unload the whole thing. Hang in there.

'Use the ramp, idiots' snapped the warden, and presently Tony noticed crates wheeled down the back of the container. They formed a pile all round the truck, identical cardboard boxes full of glass bottles. He hung onto the axel, his arms threatening to dislodge from his body. Easy Almeida. Sure your arms ache a bit, but don't give up. Wait a little longer, till they start unpacking the boxes, then you can take a chance and creep inside one of them.

A trolley was wheeled past directly above him, clanging in his ear. A box was lifted by a couple of guards and dumped onto it. He heard the clinking of several bottles. The driver waited outside, kicking his foot against the wheel. 'How much are you unloading?' he demanded in a surly tone. 'You're gonna have to put it all back you know – that ain't my job. I just drive, see! And if you stack them wrong, they'll fall and shatter. My employer, the Ortega Bros, won't be real impressed with you at all. Standing blocking my highway!'

Tony peered through a crack in the side, watching the warden returning to the cab, a thunderous expression on his face. 'I've had enough of the bullshit,' he yelled. 'Open your mouth again; I'll stick you inside for uncooperative behavior!'

'Gee, I'm terrified,' snapped the driver, to Tony's intense delight. 'You do that, the Ortega Bros' lawyer will sue the arse off you, you'll have to move this thing outa the state.' He waved his hands at the prison.

The warden stalked away, and Tony allowed himself to move a little, both arms screaming in agony at the unnatural position. Darkness fell by the time the group of guards moved towards the boxes, and he allowed himself down and slipped onto the top of a wheel, praying the vehicle wouldn't move. It was warmer under the side of the truck, out of the biting wind. Tony was forced to lay his head on his knees as there was little space, waiting impatiently for the first of the containers to be unpacked.

'Alright, we've moved every box, sir, he's not there,' stated a guard.

'Search underneath the truck,' ordered the warden. 'Climb up every tire. I want that prisoner found, and you're all staying out here till we do, without extra pay!'

'Boy, I'd sure love to hand in my application to work in this place,' remarked the driver, obviously resigned to spending a large part of the night on the highway. 'Are there any openings?' He refused to step back as the warden waved a finger in his face. 'You threatening me again, mister? I'm just reminding you now; you've got to reload the entire truck after you find your con, that's if you find him, or if you don't. I think he's gone hours ago! Hell, he'll get to Seattle ahead of me, at this rate!'

The warden let out a strangled sound. 'Into the cab,' he ordered, waving a gun at the startled driver. Tony chewed his lip, forcing himself to remain silent. He heard guards approaching, climbing under the wheels. Watching until they all faced the other way, he climbed silently down and poked at the wheel, his back to them.

'No one there at all, sir,' reported a guard, as he climbed silently back on top of his wheel. 'We searched every tire.'

Thank God for stupid people.

'Damn that traitor to hell,' swore the warden. 'Convict Almeida, I know you can hear me,' he yelled suddenly. 'I know you're somewhere on this truck. I'll give you exactly one minute to come out with your hands up, and you'll get away with a month in the SHU. If you don't come out, and we have to unload every box, I'll transfer you so far away you won't know which country you're in – that's after you get the crap beaten out of you! One, two, three…'

I'm not going back, ever. Seems like you're just gonna have to unpack all those boxes, warden! He lay curled up, noting his elevated heart beat, telling himself to stay calm. Warden Brownlow would NEVER give you a chance to come out if he had a clue where you were, Almeida! Hang in there, you're doing great. He's never been this pissed off before!

'Fifty nine, sixty,' finished the warden, his voice promising retribution. 'Alright Convict Almeida, have it your way. I'll see you get tried for this, and you were not so far from the death penalty last time either. You'll fry! I want every box unpacked,' he snapped at the guards.

'So what's he done?' questioned the truck driver, climbing back out of the cab with a cigarette and glancing at Tony's picture on the open laptop. 'Murder?'

'It's none of your business,' snarled the warden, turning to watch the first boxes unloaded.

'It's my truck that's held up, remember,' remarked the driver. 'Gee, you got half the police in the state here,' he cried, as a dozen police cars drove up.

'Warden Brownlow, I'm Captain Volkov, California Highway Patrol,' a decorated police officer said, shaking hands with the warden. 'This highway is closed for a hundred miles both directions. No one answering Almeida's description has been found.'

'Make sure of that,' snapped the warden. 'He's extremely dangerous. You remember that weird virus that killed all those people? His friends brought it into the country. They got more too. If he gets away he'll kill hundreds more, maybe thousands.'

No I won't! You're a liar, warden, and you know it.

The captain hurried away, issuing orders in his radio. Tony watched them milling about through a patch of rust, sick with excitement. He noted the bright lights all around the truck, illuminating the darkness with the rays normally reserved for the daylight. There was no chance he could run for it, and his borrowed uniform was now filthy. It was all very well fooling the guards who checked the tires, they only assumed he'd really climbed up to look, but it would impossible to walk past that many guards and police and slip away. He had little alternative to remaining where he was at present.

'I know my truck better than your guys,' grumbled the driver. 'Why don't I take a look, so I can find the con and you can start reloading? My load of oranges will rot on the frigging highway.' He set off under the truck to Tony's alarm, poking his hand up behind the first tire. Tony pressed himself as far against the side as he could, knowing he was caught when he felt a hand on his leg. Silently he lowered his head and met the green eyes of an overweight bearded man in a tank top. He gazed at him pleadingly, shaking his head slightly and placing a finger over his lips. The man stared at him for a moment before moving on.

'He's not in there,' Tony heard him telling a few guards. Sick with relief, he took deep breaths, forcing his heartbeat to slow. 'I'm going for a piss behind the truck. Don't drive it away, will ya?' He heard his footsteps moving along the edge of the truck, over to the second trailer. 'What the hell do you cowboys imagine you're doing?' Tony heard him yell. 'Don't even think of opening those oranges, they're not packed in crates, they're for the wholesaler. It's one big pile.'

'You'll open anything we tell you to,' snapped Davis' voice. 'That lock looks pretty weak to me, Almeida could have picked it in a sec. He's probably in there now, laughing at us searching the first trailer. Where's the key, driver?'

The driver swore blue murder while he fetched the key and unlocked the trailer, standing aside. From where he lay with his head pressed against the rusty edge, Tony heard a dull roar, and the truck swayed slightly, depositing tens of thousands of unripe oranges a second later. A few rolled under his wheel. Bending carefully he picked two half ripe ones and peeled them, taking care to keep the skin in his pockets, pressing his nose against the fruit. When had he last seen an orange? Certainly not since his arrest. He managed to half it, chewing it carefully as it was too hard to separate into sections. Unripe as it was, no orange had ever tasted half as good to him before. He realized just how terribly hungry he was, and took a look around, lowering himself carefully to pick four more. Tony peeled them with his fingers, chewing them while he listened to the resultant swearing from the warden, Davis, the driver, and several police officers.

You really need to get moving the moment you get a chance, Almeida. These guys are gonna be here till morning picking that lot up. He peered out, sighing in frustration. The place was lit brilliantly, crawling with police. A group of them were positioned at a distance of forty feet from the truck, watching everything that moved. He finished the last orange and dropped silently to the ground behind the wheel, darting along the entire line, over to a half unpacked box that lay half under the trailer. He moved as many bottles as he could, climbing inside with difficulty, pulling the bottles above him.

A pity the boxes are a little small, it would've been a lot safer to have them round the sides as well. Oh well, it's a lot better than nothing! Please come back and load the ketchup, would you.

The police captain wandered over to the truck, shining his torch into the empty container. 'It's obviously empty inside there, Warden,' he said, sounding regretful. 'Best find a few guards to load those boxes; I can't keep the highway closed indefinitely.'

'What about checking them again?' wandered the warden. 'I know Almeida, he's got to be here somewhere, there was no way he could've gotten any further.' The captain shrugged and left. 'Ok, Smith and Douglas, bayonets. I want you to poke through the middle of every box before it gets loaded. Adams, Van Roos, Dickson and James, start loading the boxes the moment they're checked. Let's move it. Everyone else search through the oranges.'

Tony pressed his eyes shut, attempting to curl himself up as tight as he could. He watched the guards approach the pile of boxes through a crack, noting them push their bayonets through the middle of each crate. He took a deep breath, noting them approaching his box, flattening himself against the bottom.

Please don't poke through the bottom of this box! Not daring to breathe, he saw a sharp tip rip through his box, cutting it like knife cut into soft margarine. Dammit, they're too low. Shut your mouth now, Almeida! He pressed his hand over his mouth to avoid screaming out as the bayonet grazed his side, opening a deep gash. He rubbed his shirt over it rapidly as it was being pulled out. A moment later it was withdrawn through the hole and examined with great interest while he fought the desire to hiss in pain.

'There's a bit of red stuff.'

'So what? Half the bottles are broken!'

Their footsteps led away, after they loaded the box, further among the groups of scattered bottles. Tony lay curled inside his hiding place, fighting sharp pain. Wiping his fingers as best he could in the trousers he gently probed the wound, unable to resist a hiss of pain. It was quite deep, covering his hand with warm blood. He pulled his hand close to his face, examining the color of the blood through the hole the bayonet had pierced in the box, checking the texture. Relieved, he noted the bright red mess on his fingers. They had missed his liver, he decided, the blood would have been more purple then, and he would have a maximum of twenty minutes to live.

You're hurt bad, Almeida, but you'll make it. Just remember to clean out that wound the first chance you get, or it'll get infected. He heard more guards enter the trailer, dumping more boxes on top of each other. Once they left he tore a sleeve off the shirt he wore, making a rough bandage out of it, hoping to stop the bleeding. An eternity passed before the back of the trailer was slammed shut and a bolt put on, leaving him in total darkness. Tony remained where he was, unsure whether the warden would be satisfied with the search or insist on checking the inside of the trailer again. He removed the first bandage from his side and placed a second over it, noting the first was dripping blood. I can't pass close to anyone, they'll notice the torn clothes and the blood and report me right away. I need to find someplace to rest up for a couple of days…An image of his beach came to him, and he sighed heavily. He would have to rest there for several days, hidden. He had drinks there, and a packet of cookies, and plenty of fresh water, but he was bound to get extremely hungry. Why didn't I think to put some bandages and medicines there? I got slammed on the reef once and had to use a beach towel till I got to the nearest hospital, and I still didn't learn.

An hour later he heard a dull slam, followed shortly by several footsteps moving to the front of the truck. 'I'll be on my way then. Good luck with finding your con!' remarked the driver, irritated beyond words. 'And you'll be hearing from the Ortega Bros' lawyers, you better be expecting that!' He climbed up into the cab, turning on the engine.

'Mr. Wilson, just another moment,' said the police captain, pausing outside the rusty crack in full view of Tony. 'If you notice the con after all, further down the road, here's my number. You're to call me immediately. Failure to do so would open you to a charge of aiding and abetting, that'll get you locked up right inside there,' he waved a hand in the direction of the prison. 'Anything at all out of the ordinary, you call me.'

'Yes officer, I sure will,' replied the driver. 'Can I go now?'

'Yes,' said the captain, and Tony offered up a silent prayer of thanks. 'And remember the speed limit!'

The truck pulled away, the trailer swaying slightly as it gathered speed. Tony lay in the box, content with remaining concealed for the moment, feeling the wheels moving directly underneath him, attempting to guess how fast they were moving. For the first time since his escape, he allowed his eyes to close momentarily. His breathing slowed and he slept for a short while before forcing them open.

Time to leave the box, Almeida! You should hide near the door and get out as soon as this truck stops somewhere, before you get taken too far from your beach! Wincing, he pushed open the top of the box and lifted a few bottles over the edge before sitting up. The resulting pain made him groan aloud and he remained in the same position for a few minutes, steadying his breathing. Gritting his teeth he stood, stepping over the edge of the box onto one directly to the side, before lowering himself to the floor. Swear poured from his face while he pushed the piles of boxes aside to create a narrow passage to the back of the container.

An hour later the truck slowed and turned, and footsteps approached the back. The lock was opened and the driver flashed a torch at him, switching it off rapidly. 'Thought you were in there,' he sighed. 'Get moving con, those pigs will have a coupla road blocks further on, you can count on it. You hungry?'

'Aha,' Tony nodded, surprised to receive a couple of sandwiches. 'Thanks.'

The driver shrugged. 'I ain't got nothing more,' he said. 'Now that's my friend Billy's truck, I'm going to have a coupla drinks with him – drinks I need after all those pigs! Need a bloody long shower too,' he said, scratching his back. 'I didn't see no one around,' he told Tony.

'That's real decent of you,' Tony said, attempting to climb out. His arm was grabbed by steel hands and he was pulled out. 'I want you to know, if anything goes wrong, I didn't see you.'

'You better not have,' remarked the driver, locking the trailer again. 'I lost several bloody hours on the highway because of those assholes. They'll be hearing from the Ortega Brothers' lawyer, I'll tell ya that! Good luck, con.' He walked away across a large open space obviously used as a car park on the truckers' route, heading towards a well lit building. Tony watched him open a door and heard faint music float outside.

He turned purposefully away, crossing the dark highway and heading west, towards the coast. With luck he would be there by dawn if he walked all night.