Milan clammed the wooden box close to his body. His shirt grew wet with sweat. Even at this distance, the screams of the inmates rose inside his ears. The riot was in full swing. And Milan was here, with his back against the cold wall, waiting to strike any moment. He didn’t want to, but he didn’t have a choice.

The wooden box almost fell out of Milan’s hands, when something on the opposite side of the door jingled. If it was John Hughes, Milan was screwed. A key turned around in the keyhole, and a guard with a flashlight in his hand came in.

“Why do I have to do this?” he mumbled. “It’s always me. There’s a damn riot going on, and I gotta do this.”

Milan breathed through his nose. He was in luck. The officer wasn’t John Hughes; he was a small fry. Milan could take him.

With those thoughts in mind, he thwacked the wooden box on the officer’s head, splinters of wood flying everywhere.

The guard stood motionless. He was still standing.

He gripped Milan’s wrist, digging his nails into his flesh. “You thought that would be enough to take me down?”

He thrust the flashlight into Milan’s stomach, knocking the air out of him. Milan wheezed. Before he could think, the guard struck the flashlight on his head. His body twisted around, dumping on the floor. A ringing screeched in his ears. What the hell? Why was this happening?

Milan propped himself up on his elbows. He couldn’t let it end this way. If he didn’t escape, he’d get a lifetime in prison. If he wasn’t already.

Milan panted, his head thumping to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Blood trickled across his eye. It dripped down on a spear-like chunk of wood resting in front of him. He clasped his hand around it. Milan could feel the guard’s figure hovering behind him.

Milan flew to his feet and rammed the guard into the breaker box panel. Smoke twisted to the ceiling.

The officer grasped hold of Milan’s neck, squeezing it tight.

“I’m gonna kill you,” he said. “I’ll send you straight to hell, where you belong.”

Milan opened his mouth, but he couldn’t breathe. His tongue felt like it had grown three times its size. The world darkened and a tingly feeling spread throughout his limps.

He was going to die.

Not now, he thought. Not like this.

He thrust the wooden spear into the guard’s hand with all the strength he could muster. Blood splattered everywhere. The guard screamed, yanking his hand to his body. Milan gasped for air. His throat grated for every breath he took.

Think. What now?

His eyes stumbled upon the rope of sheets and blankets. He snatched it and whirled it around the guard’s neck. He pulled as tight as his strength allowed him.

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The guard flailed his arms, pleading half-words and drool slipping out of his mouth.

Milan didn’t let go. He didn’t care. Getting out of this hellhole was his first priority. And he could only do that if this guard disappeared.

His grip tightened. Foam bubbled out in the corner of the guard’s mouth, and his lips turned purple. His arms went limp, and he stopped moving. But Milan didn’t let go. His knuckles turned white as he pulled harder.

Then, something clicked inside of him. He let his hands drop, hanging loose. The officer fell to his knees, then face down on the ground. Unconscious.

Or dead.

Milan didn’t know.

He took a step toward the door when his eyes fell on the keys by the officer’s body. He seized it and bolted toward the corridor leading to the exit. He’d need it later.

The chaos hit Milan’s ears from afar. The screams boomed throughout the area; he couldn’t even hear his own breathing. But when he reached the cafeteria, it was a hundred times worse than what he’d imagined. Hundreds of inmates swarmed around, jostling through the hallway like herded sheep. Some grabbed at others’ clothes to surge forward. Others dove into the crowd, knocking people to the ground.

Eli, what the hell? He told her to create a distraction, not whatever this was.

Milan groaned as he pushed himself into the crowd and through the corridor. He had a slender frame. Sneaking through this throng of people wouldn’t be impossible for him.

That was what he thought until he was shoved from behind. The wind was knocked out of him as he plunged to the ground. Shoes trampled all over him. The pain shot through his body, crushed under the weight of a hundred feet. He placed the palm of his hands against the floor, trying to push himself up. It was impossible. Heavy feet smashed against his back. He gasped for air, but it didn’t reach his lungs. He tried screaming for help, but his voice was too weak. It drowned in the chaos. He drowned in the chaos.

Milan didn’t know what to do. He lifted his head, reaching his hand out to no avail.

Was this the way he would die? He could think of better ways than being trampled to death or suffocating.

He saw his life flash before his eyes for the second time today before he felt the warmth of skin against his. He was dragged up with a sudden strength. Milan clutched at his chest, gasping.

“Get yourself together, MW!” Eli said. “Let’s go.”

She grabbed his wrist, yanking him through the crowd. As the shock of almost dying settled down, Milan bit his lips to keep himself from smiling. He didn’t like to admit it… no, he hated to admit it, but man was he glad Eli was still here. But why would she help him? She could’ve escaped by now. Had she waited for Milan to show up?

It wasn’t long until the door at the end of the corridor shot open, and a chilly breeze enveloped Milan. He inhaled. The gray clouds scudded across the sky, staring down on him, on everyone.

Milan and Eli reached the gate, the fence surrounding them from every side. People clambered up in masses.

Milan stroked a hand through his hair. The keys. They were gone. He had to have lost them when he fell.

“Let’s do it.” Eli grabbed onto the fence.

A gunshot resounded in the air. Milan turned.

“Come down immediately,” an officer said from near the entrance with a gun pointed at them. “I’m warning you.”

It was as if no one had heard the gunshot. Or the officer. They continued up the fence. Some were caught in the barbed wire on top, and others were already climbing down from the other side.

Another gunshot. Someone plummeted to the ground a few feet away from Milan. Blood oozed out of his head, circling around his body. His brains were scattered on the ground, and his arms and legs bent outward, crookedly.

It was Chet.