Dawn found Tony stumbling along the rough ground above some cliffs, heading south towards his hidden beach. Every instinct heightened, he searched the area repeatedly for any sign of other humans, but found none. His only companions were a couple of thousand seabirds, squawking all round him as they rose from their nests in the cliffs. He rubbed his eyes, resting them on the roaring ocean below him, able to catch a faint glimpse of blue.
'You got ten minutes to rest, Almeida' he told himself relentlessly. 'I know you're tired and hurt, but you'll be there real soon now, and then you can sleep. It's just not safe here.' He forced himself to his feet, examining the wound. It had stopped bleeding a while back. Chewing his lip he continued, refusing to allow himself to pause before his eyes spotted the larger waves a mile out to sea, breaking over some reefs. Tears of relief filled his eyes as he found the path he had discovered years ago that led downwards, below the cliffs, to a tiny cove, unnoticeable from the top.
Tony paused, temporarily uncertain. Someone had been there recently, he noted a shoeprint a little further to the edge of the 'path' than he normally used. His ears were unable to detect any sound so he crept further, praying he would find his cave empty. The pain in his side was getting to be more than he could handle, a few more minutes and he would give up and sink down and weep.
The beach was deserted when he arrived at the bottom of the path, and though he listened as hard as he could he heard nothing. Someone had been there a couple of hours ago and had gone, most likely a determined fisherman, he concluded, moving slowly to his cave. He rounded a few boulders and slipped through the crack, unnoticeable from the cove, pausing immediately. Someone had been inside his cave. Two sleeping bags lay rolled out on the floor on top of each other, a pillow on the top one. A pile of his clothes lay beside it, t-shits, shorts, a pair of jeans and a jacket. A cool box lined one of the 'walls', and a gas cooker with a couple of canisters rested on top of one. A plastic bag lay beyond that, containing two saucepans of various sizes, beside bag of apricots. Tony shook his head to clear it, opening the cool box. It contained dozens of plastic lunch boxes. Trembling fingers reached for a letter inside the first one.
Sweetheart, we found your 'beach' after a while, a real LONG while! We brought you a little food and something to sleep on. The food is already prepared; you'll just have to warm it up. There's also lots of cans at the back of the cave, and an opener. Tony, in case you're hurt, I left you a first aid kit near the cans, with painkillers and some antibiotics. This type is useful for cuts or bruises, to prevent the onset of infection, it's fairly strong. Take one tablet three times a day. Everything is sterile inside, ready to use. Honey, we hope you'll make it out safely and find use for these items. Take what you need. We expect to be followed around pretty closely if you do make it out, so we won't be able to see you, but know that our thoughts are with you day and night. There's some pesos buried under this box, it's not much but it's the best we could do at such short notice.
Mom and Papa
'Oh God,' Tony muttered, sinking onto the pile of sleeping bags, noting their softness. 'Why did they bring so much stuff? If anyone ever finds me here, they'll be charged with aiding and abetting a known traitor and no one can argue they were under duress! They'll get twenty years each, for sure.' He allowed himself a few minutes respite before he picked up an ancient beach towel, dipped it in the sea and spent the following hour wiping every surface thoroughly. Hopefully they didn't touch any rocks!
In considerable pain, he felt his way to the back of the cave, emerging into the sunlight moments later with a large first aid kit. Eagerly he opened it, noting rolls of bandages, the pack of antibiotics, several packs of painkillers, a syringe, a bottle of morphine and a needle and thread. He chewed his lip momentarily before picking up the tiny mirror at the bottom of the case and examining his wound. It appeared to be swelling, moisture seeping through the jagged edges. Sickened, he shut his eyes, giving himself a minute to process the image and steel himself for action. Tony rinsed his hands and washed off the blood with rain water that collected in a large depression, before running a sterile cloth over the area. He hissed aloud, pulling out the morphine and reading the recommended dosage. He removed the syringe and filled it, squeezing to allow a little air out before he injected himself at the edge of the wound, groaning aloud. Don't go to sleep, Almeida, you got a little sewing to do!
Tony lay as comfortably as he could against a warm black rock, placing the cushion behind his back, before threading the needle. Alright, you're gonna face your greatest fear, Almeida, the doctor, only now there isn't one, so you're gonna have to treat yourself. Focus! Chewing his lip he placed the mirror opposite the wound, enabling him to see what he was doing, noting the depth of the cut. Recalling the first aid lessons he had paid only partial attention to decades ago, he resolved to begin at the deepest point, working through several layers till he reached the surface. He pressed the needle gently against his skin, unable to feel any sensation. 'Ok, the morphine's working,' he muttered, glancing at Michelle's photo that lay beside him. Tony forced his hands to steady as he inserted the needle at the deepest point, sewing the flesh together with neat even stitches. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as he worked, due to nerves he was unable to shake. It took him almost an entire hour before he reached the top, sewing the outside of his skin together.
Alright Almeida, you done great! Go get a drink now, you're hot. He moved inside, opening a lemonade and sipping it slowly, blissfully free of pain. The pile of sleeping bags beckoned him and he moved over to it slowly, pulling the top one over himself as he fell asleep.
Loud squawking woke him just before sunset. Tony opened his eyes, struggling with the sight that met them. Where in the world was he? Not in his cell, not in A- Seg, not in the infirmary…A grin spread across his face as he remembered the previous day. You done it, Almeida, you're free. You're at the beach!
Two seagulls squabbled over a fish, pulling it from each other's beaks. Tony sat on the sand, his feet in the water, watching the quarrel spellbound. Presently the birds ripped the fish apart and flew away, leaving him with the sound of the ocean. Feeling extremely hungry he went back inside, and removed the first plastic lunchbox. Tony emptied its contents into a saucepan, added a little water and warmed it, sighing in contentment. It was great to eat something familiar after such a long time, he thought, finding a plastic bowl he emptied it into. He carried it outside and ate in the fresh air, watching the sun sink into the ocean and the stars appear. A deep peace crept over him. No matter what else life had in store for him, he had been able to spend a day at 'his' beach, and no one could take that from him.
He wandered where his parents and Michelle were at the moment, hoping desperately they were all safe at home. He could only imagine how they would have been grilled by the police once the warden gave up on locating him. His parents would have been taken to separate interrogation rooms, almost certainly questioned before a lawyer would arrive, and pressed for any clues as to his intentions. It was doubtful they would learn anything useful from either of them; indeed he hoped they would doubt the value of the questioning in the first place, knowing he wouldn't put them in danger. Gazing at the stars he could almost hear his father's voice.
"I have no idea where Antonio is, but I wish him success. He did not deserve to be imprisoned." They would get nothing further from him, he thought, allowing a grin to creep across his face, no matter how long they kept him there. His mother would get angrier. "NO, I told you a hundred times before, I have no idea where my son is. Listen carefully! If I did know, I would be with him, making sure he was ok, not sitting here answering pointless questions!" "So you admit you would help him, should he contact you?" "You better believe it! And if you don't quit hassling me and let me home at once, I will call every newspaper in the country and tell them my son was clearly injured last time I saw him, in prison, a place where you were supposed to keep him safe. You sure you want to go there? All kinds of things might come out!" They would throw her out first, he reflected, smiling at the picture, but they would watch the house carefully.
Tony spent the entire night outside, wrapped in a sleeping bag, unable to grow tired of the stars and the ocean. There was no way he would allow himself to be captured alive, he decided, watching the moon sailing past some clouds. In a few days he would be strong enough to continue his journey to Mexico. He thanked God for his success up to that point and prayed for further assistance.
The following four days passed in the same peaceful way. Tony didn't dare get his wound wet, so he only permitted himself to lie in ankle deep water on his opposite side, reveling in the feeling of gentle waves washing round him. He ate five times a day, unable to feel full despite the large meals, feeling himself heal. His wound no longer throbbed, allowing him to cope with ordinary painkillers. When he summoned enough courage to remove the bandage it appeared clean, without any pus. You missed your vocation, Almeida. You could have been a surgeon!
Taking the pen left at the bottom of the box he wrote a short note to Michelle, knowing his parents would give it to her when they next deemed it safe to return to his beach. Chewing his lip he began writing, watching her picture beside him.
Sweetheart, I love you more than life itself. Something tells me you're aware of that, but I wanted the chance to let you know again. I lie awake dreaming about you beside me, feeling your hair brush my face, but you're no longer there when I awake.
Honey, I can't describe the nightmare prison life is, there just isn't enough paper for that, but whilst some people can 'switch off' and take it a day at a time, I just can't. I find it impossible to watch sick people denied treatment without comment. I can't stand the ten or so hours locked inside my cell with nothing to do except read, on the days I manage to avoid a disciplinary note, which is not all that often anyway. When they slam the door behind me I feel as though I'll suffocate – I have to sit down and concentrate on my breathing for a while to settle down. There's a couple of men inside who recognize me as taking them down and won't quit baiting me, you can guess what that means. The guards don't seem all that keen on traitors…
Sweetheart, I hope you'll understand one day why I had to leave. You should forget about me now, find someone who can care for you the way I did, who'll be there for you when you get home. Know that I wish you happiness, though I'll always hate the guy you'll choose.
Your best friend and husband, Tony
He rubbed his eyes as he placed the letter inside the cool box.
Tony warmed up his final meal five days after his escape, eating it outside during sunset. He would leave later that evening, he decided. A part of him felt deep reluctance to leave his cave, all too aware of the dangers that awaited him outside, but his food was beginning to run low. Idly he wandered how seriously they were taking the search for him. He hoped logic would prevail higher up, where it was known he was no danger to anyone. Won't happen that way Almeida! The treatment you received in prison indicates they've totally washed their hands off you and left you to sink. Chances are you'll be treated as any other escapee, with all authorities hunting for you. He swallowed involuntarily at the thought, glancing round his beach again.
Before he left he hid the cool box further inside the cave, washed every surface yet again, and dug up his box of money. All 10 000 dollars were there, together with 3000 pesos. Tony took them, together with a 1000 dollars, and scribbled a short note which he replaced in the box, thanking his parents for the money and instructing them to give the remainder to Michelle for the house. Once again he buried the box, slipping the money in his pocket. He picked up the large backpack they had thoughtfully provided him, placed some tins and an opener inside, packing a small saucepan, his gas cooker, a sleeping bag and a change of clothes.
The night proved surprisingly cool after the heat of the day. Tony pulled on his jacket, filled his water bottle, had a drink and whispered a final goodbye to his beach. He set off, climbing over some rocks to reach the dirt road that ran above the cliffs, heading south. Nothing moved in the moonlight except himself, and the dark ocean far below. I'm sorry, Michelle. I'm leaving the States like the traitor they branded me, silently like a fugitive, which is what they've turned me into. I hope we get to meet again someday…
A distant throbbing startled him out of his reverie around 4:00 a.m. He froze, straining his ears to identify the sound. It continued its approach, steadily louder. Tony left the exposed area in a flash, diving into the undergrowth on the opposite side of the road, pressing himself deep into a bush. A police helicopter flew by, lighting up the cliffs with a spotlight. Are they looking for you, Almeida, or is something about to go down here tonight? He remained where he was, rewarded twenty minutes later with the sight of the helicopter returning along the coast, flying closer to the road. His heart leapt to his throat as he watched, praying they wouldn't fly any closer to the brush-wood. Once it flew past he rose and crept further, his senses heightened. The coast was obviously unsafe, he would do better to stick to the brush-wood and move further inland at his first opportunity.
The peace of the night and his surroundings lost on him, he moved forward warily, avoiding any twigs that might snap under his feet and expose his location to anyone, if indeed there was anyone around. Tony had no idea whether his need for caution was justified or whether he should press on faster. He rubbed the side of his face, tired out. His side ached and he debated whether to continue another hour and put a little more distance between himself and the helicopter's flight path or simply find a secure spot and lie low, giving his still not fully healed body rest. The point was moot in any case, he decided, aware the coast consisted of steep cliffs with no hiding places, forcing him to stay in the brush-wood. He would need to dig himself a hole beside a tree to offer as much shade as he could get for the following day. The silence was shattered by further throbbing causing him to crouch low beside a tree, cursing under his breath. They're definitely looking for something specific, Almeida.
This time the helicopter flew over the undergrowth, lighting up a wide track in the immediate vicinity of the road. Heart beating wildly he crouched under the tree, barely allowing himself to breathe as the spot a few feet from him was lit up with the brilliance of day. The helicopter lingered for a moment before flying further south, following an even line. It would return in about twenty minutes, he guessed, flying further into the brush-wood. Once the sound of the engine died away he rose and crept further from the road, determined to avoid the searchlight. He would hide one final time, make certain the helicopter would search further from the road, before he would double back and hide closer to the road, in the area they already searched. 'I don't need this tonight' he muttered to himself as he crept forward. Once he reached a thick bush he crawled beneath it, removing his backpack and taking a painkiller with a mouthful of water from his bottle. The surrounding silence became oppressive, even the chirping of the night insects silenced.
The helicopter continued its sweep, flying steadily closer towards him. Tony allowed his head to peer between two branches, watching its return, calculating the distance it would pass from him. He had a dozen feet, he decided, and pressed his head back into the bush, lying motionless on the ground. It crept closer excruciatingly slowly, filling the night with its deafening roar. Tony's hands slowly covered his ears as it passed him, feeling the ground vibrate.
Once it flew further he uncovered his ears and sat up, unable to hear anything over the din of the engine. Cautiously he searched the area, crawling beneath the overhanging branches and standing up slowly. Head throbbing in the din, he set off back towards the coast, hoping the helicopter would not search the same area twice, aware he had few remaining options. The area he was in would end beside a highway soon enough, he had nowhere else to hide if he failed to return to the coast.
A sharp click of a bolt being drawn back caused him to swing around, pulling Davis' gun out in one single motion. 'Drop your weapon, Almeida,' a voice told him, and he raised his eyes to see a Marine aiming his own weapon directly at his head.
Tony shook his head silently, pressing the trigger and firing off a round before the Marine could shoot first. All five shots missed the man by a fraction, as he had intended, startling him momentarily while he made a run for it. 'Stop now, Almeida, or I'll shoot,' yelled the Marine, firing off his own rounds, all of which went wide. As he ran towards the coast, Tony was certain he heard movement from several locations, all converging on his position. A platoon was out to hunt him down, he assumed, practicing their tracking skills on a live target, called in to apprehend him as they had undergone the same rigorous training in avoiding detection as he had.
A shot fired directly opposite him missed him by an inch as he reached the road and rushed across it, unable to think which way to run. He was completely surrounded; he saw shadows moving from every angle, bar one. 'I'm real sorry' he muttered in a final prayer as he rushed towards the cliffs, hearing the savage roar of waves battering the cliffs.
'Halt, Almeida,' yelled another voice, and a bullet entered him, knocking him to the ground. Tony gasped with pain and shock, before instinct took over and he crawled determinedly the final few feet towards the edge. A hand on his foot halted his fall over the side, holding him relentlessly while he attempted to kick himself free. Another arm grabbed him, then several more, and he was pulled back to the road on his stomach, struggling all the way. 'You don't die without our permission, Almeida!' said the same Marine.
Rough hands pinned him down, forcing his face into the dirt as they locked his wrists in cuffs. The same hands held him down while his feet were shackled. Through it all he fought furiously, longing for a bullet in the brain. One of the Marines slapped him hard across the face instead once he was hauled to his feet. Tony was pushed along the road to the helicopter that had settled, pulled inside by merciless hands.
'Welcome, Convict Almeida,' greeted Davis, to his intense despair. 'It took us quite a while to find you. Without Agent Philips from CTU remembering you used to go to a beach about a hundred miles south of LA we'd never have found you. Lucky we got the Marines to help; you're a real crafty one. Alright, let's go, Warden Brownlow is keen to see this man.'
The helicopter rose as he was secured to his seat, his wound ignored. Warm blood poured from his side close to his bayonet wound, which throbbed beside the new injury. All too soon they landed, pulling him out on the green area outside the prison, beside the highway, now surrounded by an army of armed guards and dogs.
'On your knees. Hands on your head, don't you dare remove them.' The warden moved up to him, tightening his cuffs. 'You can kneel there facing the prison, convict, while I sort out a few things,' Brownlow told him, turning to go. 'Move a muscle, the guard will hit you with his night stick.'
'That bullet went in real deep,' Tony protested. 'It's bleeding.'
'That's your hard luck, Almeida! You won't die, not from that at any rate!' He left Tony, moving to speak to the Marine captain.
Tony breathed slowly, struggling to control the pain in his side where the bullet sat. Easy, Almeida. Slow shallow breaths, in and out. His heart ached as he was forced to stare at the prison. The courtyards and towers were illuminated brightly; the walls were lit up, throwing the entire area round it within its bright glow. He saw the locked gate, and the top of the administration building, and the blocks where the prisoners in general population were housed, and beyond them lay A-Seg, though he couldn't see it from his angle, and there were more buildings behind that. An icy wind blew through him, chilling him, and the heavens opened. Rain poured down, reducing visibility – turning the entire prison into a bright glow. His eyes narrowed to avoid the torrent, icy water merging with warm salty tears. Why the hell would Philips rat on me? I promoted him twice, and he was aware of the circumstances of my 'treason.' He knew I was no danger to anyone!
'Convict Almeida, on your feet! You're going back to prison! Move it.'
A dozen guards accompanied him as he stumbled back, his hands on his head. His ribs ached with every breath, each step reminding him of his failure. They crossed the car park, Tony remembering the bullet holes dotting a couple of cars, aware he would be held responsible for it. The gates loomed ever larger as they approached, throwing a shadow across the lawn. 'Prisoner halt,' ordered a guard and the gates creaked open. Tony was given a push from behind to get moving as he failed to respond to the order to do so, feeling the life crushed out of him.
'Take him to medical to get that stitched,' ordered the warden, 'and then be sure to return him to me. Convict Almeida and I have something to discuss.'
The doctor on duty was unfamiliar to Tony, and administered a painkiller, removing the bullet without bothering for it to take full effect. He gritted his teeth, aware this was only the beginning of what lay in store. A note was scribbled and handed to a guard, and he was ordered to put his blood soaked underwear on.
Warden Brownlow sat at his desk, glancing through a file when Tony arrived, accompanied by six guards, hands cuffed securely behind him. He stared at him, shaking his head, while Tony met his eyes, impassive.
I'm not gonna shrink from you, you bastard. You're gonna have me beaten whatever I'll do. Do your worst, I don't care anymore!
'Convict Almeida, I don't like your attitude. At this point prisoners would be begging for clemency, promising to become model inmates – whilst your expression still indicates blatant defiance. You've been given a sentence, and you WILL serve it all, every day of it. The community appointed me to make sure felons like you stay behind secure walls.
'Now let's see what we've got here. Vandalism of prison property, failure to respond to verbal orders from two corrections officers, failure to allow entry into your cell, taking a block supervisor hostage!' He paused and shook his head, 'disarming six corrections officers, impersonating one, leaving the place of your confinement without authorization, failure to halt when ordered to do so, causing six vehicles extensive damage, holding up a semi trailer for hours, necessitating a massive man hunt by this establishment and the Marines. What do you think you deserve for that?'
Tony shrugged. 'I'm sure you'll tell me,' he replied sarcastically.
The warden shrugged. 'You'll be tried for your attempted escape by the next court that sits in this penitentiary next month. I'm going to recommend capital punishment.' He paused to regard Tony, who gazed back at him unblinking. 'In the meantime, you're confined to the SHU.'
Tony followed the guards through the block and across the courtyards, heading beyond A-Seg to the deepest part of the compound, a prison within a prison. The doors were unlocked and he stepped inside yet another block, face impassive, heart beating rapidly.