son.
MacNally locked eyes with Morris, and then they headed toward each other to review the fine points of their plan one final time.
But as MacNally made his way toward the baseball diamond, he was shoved from behind as his ankle was hooked-and he went tumbling to the pavement. He quickly twisted his torso and saw a man he had seen around-Billy Duncan-a bitter, mean con who had a reputation for fighting. A baseball bat was dropped by MacNally’s right side as Duncan pulled out a shiv and stabbed it toward him.
MacNally grabbed the bat and swung from the ground, not going for the knife but for Duncan’s knees.
With a smack! across the bone, the big man crumpled, but not before lunging for MacNally and sticking the shiv into his thigh. MacNally cried out in pain and struggled to move-but the heavy Duncan had landed atop him and started beating him with his fist. On the second blow to MacNally’s face, his hearing became muffled with an intense ringing-and the heads and torsos of the surrounding inmates went blurry.
MacNally threw up his arms, blocking follow-on blows, but he was in no condition to hit back. His head slammed against fist and pavement until-
Whistles sounded, followed by
two gunshots
The nearby cons hit the ground as several officers ran toward MacNally and Duncan. When they arrived, MacNally’s jacket was soiled with spattered blood and his jeans were soaking in thick, oozing fluid from his thigh wound, where the sharpened-spoon-handle shiv was still protruding.
Duncan was pulled off MacNally and handcuffed by two guards. MacNally was lifted to his feet, searched for weapons, and then rushed to the hospital.
MACNALLY AWOKE VARIOUS TIMES, fading in and out before falling back asleep. At one point, he became aware of the fact that he was lying on a bed in a larger cell, a segregation unit in D-Block. He rotated his head to the right, saw the sun setting beyond the barred windows, then flittered off once again into a painkiller and concussion-induced slumber.
SHOUTING, OFF IN THE DISTANCE. His brain was slow to respond, and his eyes were shut. No-the people were not actually far away; as he regained consciousness, things became clearer. Voices were loud, urgent in their tone. Men were running-no, not men. Hacks.
Thumping overhead, coming closer…vibrating the penitentiary windows…then retreating. Helicopters.
MacNally lifted himself off the bed and a wave of dizziness struck him like a blow to the back of his head. He fell back toward the mattress, but threw out a hand to catch himself.
A sharp pain stabbed at his thigh-and his lips were swollen and cracked. And then he remembered. Billy Duncan. The fight. He was in Seg-he looked up at the windows and saw morning light.
The escape. No-please. No!
“They long gone,” a voice emanating from the adjacent cell said. “Left without you, asshole.”
He knew that voice.
“Duncannnn,” MacNally screamed, a guttural yell that carried the pain and sorrow of a man who had something of infinite value slip uncontrollably through his hands.
His chest was heaving, his body drenched in instant perspiration. He pulled himself erect, and he leaned forward into the wall of bars. He put his face up against the cold metal and forced his eyes to the extreme left, trying to see into Duncan’s cell.
The man was standing there. Laughing.
“Who did this to me?” MacNally asked. “You started that fight on purpose. To keep me from getting out of here. Was it Rucker? Rucker, you bastard. I’m gonna kill you!”
“I’ll kill you before you kill me, you son of a bitch,” Rucker’s voice answered back. “Much as I’d like to take credit, wasn’t me.”
“I’ll find out the truth, Duncan, and then I’m gonna carve you up. Fucking pull your heart out of your chest. I will! I will kill you.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Duncan said. “You’re all talk, MacNally. You ain’t got it in you.”
MacNally fell back onto his cot. The gash in his lip had reopened, and the stitches in his thigh were bleeding through his clothing. The pain, the swelling, the blood- He didn’t feel any of it. Instead, he put his hands to his face and wept, silently.
TWO HOURS LATER, THREE MEN appeared at his cell: Captain of the Guards William Anderson and two FBI agents. MacNally was led to the warden’s office, where he was placed in a chair and left in shackles.
“I’m extremely disappointed in you,” Associate-currently Acting- Warden Arthur Dollison said. He wore a bowtie and a charcoal wool suit, and sported a calm demeanor. “I thought you had made tremendous strides, a concerted effort to follow the institutional rules. You’ve been a good worker in Industries. But now I’m told you were one of the principal architects of the escape. And to think you were no doubt planning this when you sat before me in A-Block at your hearing…” He shook his head, sighed deeply, then took a seat behind his desk. “Deeply disappointed.”
“We know you were complicit in the escape,” one of the agents said. “We’re in the process of conducting a shakedown of the cellhouse and we just found the same kind of fake ventilation grille in your cell that we found in Morris’s and the Anglin brothers’ cells. We’re going to need the details. Everything you know. Whatever you tell us will be kept confidential, and you will not be identified as the source of information.”
“When did they leave?” MacNally asked, his gaze fixed on the warden’s desk.
Dollison glanced at the agents, then decided to answer. “Sometime during the night. In his interview this morning, inmate West told us the three men left their cells sometime around 8pm. But we’ve determined that they didn’t leave the cellhouse roof until 10:30.”
“West,” MacNally said. He leaned forward in his seat. “Didn’t he go with them?”
“He claimed that he couldn’t get out of his cell,” the agent said. “There was a hunk of cement he had a hard time removing. We checked the utility corridor, and confirmed a large chunk of concrete was lying just outside his cell. West stated he finally dislodged it around 1am, but by then Morris and the Anglins were gone.”
“So,” Dollison said, pinching the bridge of his narrow nose. “Now that we’ve answered your questions, it’s time you answered ours.”
MacNally looked at Dollison. “Warden. I’ll tell you everything I know. But in return, can you go easy on me on setting my time in the Treatment Unit?”
“You were fighting in the yard a couple days ago. You’re already likely to get a month just for that.”
“I was attacked,” MacNally said. “Just like last time.”
“That, sir, seems to happen to you a lot.”
“Mr. Dollison. I think one of the men who escaped got Billy Duncan to start that fight. Just so I wouldn’t be able to go with them.”
Dollison looked dubious, but nevertheless made a note on his pad. “We’ll look into that.”
