Page 5 of The Hero
Even as the situation sank in, Marlowe noticed the women all around her rushing for the hole—toward escape, toward freedom—were eerily quiet. No one was screaming for joy, no one was hollering in fear. No one was trampling anyone else either. They were quickly and efficiently climbing over and around the truck still partially blocking the hole.
It was an orderly prison break ... if there was such a thing.
Suddenly, Kendric’s words from earlier came back.
I’m getting you out of here. You have to be ready. For anything. When the time comes, I’ll be there. Understand? You just have to be brave enough to move.
Could this have beenhisdoing?
Marlowe shook her head. It didn’t seem possible. No lawyer would risk his license by orchestrating something like this. But she couldn’t shake that one word he’d mouthed at her.
Run.
He’d told her to be like Forrest Gump. The old movie played in her head as she stood indecisively in the prison yard, frozen, staring at the other prisoners flowing through the hole in the wall. She heard the little girl from the movie yellingRun, Forrest, run!
Adrenaline shot through Marlowe’s veins. She was terrified. If there was a chance Tony could grease some wheels and get her out of here through negotiations and lawyers, it would be smarter to stay put. To not give the Thai authorities any other reason to keep her locked up.
But what if she was well and truly stuck here? What if she had to spend the rest of her life in prison because her brother failed?
She wouldn’t make it long. Marlowe knew that as well as she knew her name.
Her legs were moving before her brain had made the decision.
The only sounds in the night were the trustees and guards shouting. Marlowe assumed they were trying to corral the hundreds of prisoners still streaming out of various sleeping quarters. But no one was listening, countless women still silently but swiftly rushing toward the wall.
Freedom was at hand, and they were taking advantage.
Just as Marlowe reached the truck where it sat haphazardly in the wreckage of the brick wall, a shot rang out.
She ducked, as did the women around her, but no one stopped. They kept moving forward.
As soon as she was outside the prison walls, Marlowe wanted to stop and take a deep breath. For some reason, the air seemed cleaner out here, which was ridiculous, but seemingly true nonetheless. Another gunshot in the darkness kept her moving.
She tripped over something in the street and barely caught herself before she fell flat on her face. Looking down, Marlowe marveled at what she was seeing.
Hundreds of prison-issue shoes littered the street. As if the women who’d gone before her literally ran right out of them.
Which probably wasn’t far from the truth. They were all given what Marlowe would call shower shoes. Cheap slip-on sandals that didn’t have any kind of support. She considered kicking her own pair off her feet, knowing she could run faster without them, but at the last minute, she quickly slipped them off and held them tightly in her hand. Shecouldn’t escape without shoes, even if they were crappy prison shower sandals.
Then she took a deep breath—and ran.
Marlowe had no idea where she was going, but the second she’d set foot outside that smashed prison wall, she knew there was no going back. She was a fugitive, and if the authorities caught her, she was in deep shit.
For a block or two, she ran in the same direction many of the other women were going, before her brain kicked in and she abruptly turned down an alley, away from the crowd. It only made sense that the authorities would follow the largest group of women, hoping to catch as many as possible at one time.
It was smarter to go it alone. Hide. Not that it would be easy. She was an American in a foreign land. Her feet slapped on the pavement as she ran blindly, doing her best to put as much distance between herself and the prison.
She was breathing hard already and trying not to panic. Marlowe had no plan. No idea where she was, where she was going, or how the hell she could get out of the country. Not only that, but she was tiring fast. She’d done her best to keep in shape while incarcerated, but that was tough to do when she was forced to sit in front of a damn sewing machine for ten hours a day.
Her steps slowed as Marlowe attempted to control her breathing. She could still hear the occasional gunshot echoing through the city streets, and each time she heard one, she flinched, expecting to feel a bullet tear through her flesh at any moment.
She’d just turned a corner to head down another alley when a hand reached out and grabbed her upper arm.
Instinctively, Marlowe used some of the self-defense techniques Tony had taught her years ago.
Instead of pulling away, she threw herself back into the person who’d grabbed her, pitching them both off balance. She brought herknee up as hard as she could and was rewarded with a grunt from her captor when she made contact.
She twisted her body, hoping to dislodge the man’s grip, but he moved faster, pulling her close, her back against his chest. He threw his arm around her, anchoring her to his body.
