Chapter 23 WRECKER #2
A few times, we catch glimpses of Carrie.
She never stops to talk, never even meets our eyes.
She acts like we’re invisible. But we see her—always laughing at some joke with the warden, smiling for staff, passing out treats in the library, or walking with the volunteers who organize Thanksgiving bingo.
It stings, watching her “flirt” with the warden and charm her way through the day, but we remind ourselves that it’s all for cover.
Once a week, she leaves something hidden for us in the library.
Nico finds a scrap of map tucked inside a hollowed-out book, another time a list of new guard names inside the cover of a mystery novel.
As the days crawl closer to Thanksgiving, the tension builds.
The prison gets louder, tempers flare, and the guards grow sloppier with their routines.
We watch, we wait, and we trust Carrie’s plan.
On the night before D-day, we run through everything again—timing, locations, which tools are where, and who’s on which shift.
Nico checks the map one last time, Jace counts the seconds it takes to get from laundry to solitary, and I rehearse how to get from the kitchen to the service alley without raising suspicion.
And then, in the blink of an eye, Thanksgiving arrives.
I’ve never been so aware of every sound in my life. Even the clatter of forks at dinner makes me tense. The kitchen is a storm—bodies everywhere, trays banging, hot steam clouding the air, guards barking at each other and the inmates.
I keep my head down, cleaning a tray, clocking every movement in the kitchen.
The plan runs through my mind on a loop.
Nico is first. He’s supposed to start a distraction near admin, and I can feel time crawling as I wait for the signal.
My hands are sweating so bad I almost drop the screwdriver I’ve hidden in my sleeve.
Suddenly, an alarm blares. The room explodes into shouting, kitchen workers yelling, guards shouting for order. Someone throws a pot, and a guard is nearly knocked over. That’s Nico. I slip through the door when everyone’s looking the other way, heart slamming in my chest.
I run. My legs feel like concrete but I force myself down the service hall, gripping the screwdriver so tight my hand aches. In the shadows, near the old elevator, I wait, counting my own breath and the seconds ticking away.
Jace’s part is next. I hear him before I see him—a roar from laundry, a crash, guards cursing. He’ll be dragged to solitary now.
Jace doesn’t look back, and I don’t dare let myself react.
For hours, Nico and I go through the motions.
I scrub pans and peel potatoes on my shift, trying not to imagine what’s happening in solitary.
Nico is sent back and forth from the kitchen to the library, nerves eating him alive.
Every time I pass a guard, I look for some sign—anything to say Jace is still okay. Nothing.
After dinner, everything inside me feels frayed.
I find Nico mopping near the admin hall, his face tense. We don’t speak. We just wait, watching the clock, holding our breaths as Thanksgiving grows colder outside.
Finally, the next part of the plan: Nico knocks over a cleaning cart, setting off the small admin fire alarm.
Guards scramble, shouting, running for the control panel.
I slip out with the trash, as invisible as I can make myself, the screwdriver burning a hole in my pocket.
The service alley is dark, colder than before, and empty except for the distant wail of an ambulance somewhere in the city.
The blackout hits right on time. The whole block plunges into darkness. This is it. My hands shake so badly I almost drop the screwdriver as I find the panel on the service elevator. I work the switch, breath hissing between my teeth. The doors creak open.
I climb down the ladder, heart hammering, counting each rung.
Down in the shaft, it’s silent except for my ragged breathing.
I find the hatch, jam the screwdriver in, and force it open.
The passage beyond is pitch-black, damp, and so tight I can barely crawl.
I hear nothing from Jace, just my own heartbeat.
I squeeze through, scraping my elbows, thinking at any second a flashlight beam will stab down and catch me. The minutes stretch. I keep crawling.
At last, a whisper—Jace, on the other side of the vent.
He’s been waiting, maybe for hours, cramped and alone.
I work the screws as quietly as I can, sweat freezing on my skin.
The vent finally pops free, and Jace slides into the tunnel, pale and exhausted but alive.
We crawl out, but even being out in the yard brings little respite. We might get caught any second.
Jace and I crouch in the freezing dark behind the maintenance sheds, breaths fogging in the night air, hearts jackhammering in our chests. The air stings my lungs. Sweat chills instantly on my skin. My knees are mud-soaked, and every sound makes me flinch.
Jace keeps glancing over his shoulder, eyes wild, whispering, “He should be here by now, Levi.” His voice is tight, urgent. “We have to go. If we stay, we’re screwed.”
But I shake my head, jaw locked. “We’re not leaving without him.”
I press myself against the back wall of the shed, scanning the shadows and the fence, counting the seconds as if I can slow time itself.
Jace paces a few steps, rubbing his arms for warmth, his boots squelching in the mud. “Levi, come on. They’ll discover that we’re gone any minute. We’re so close, man. We can’t blow it now.”
I can’t look at him. I keep my eyes fixed on the path from admin, praying, bargaining with every god I never believed in, just let him make it, just let him appear. The silence grows heavier, wrapping around us, squeezing every thought from my mind except one: I am not leaving my brother.
The minutes stretch. The yard seems to hold its breath.
Every little noise—the creak of the fence, the scuff of a rat in the trash—makes my heart stutter.
Still no sign of Nico. My hope starts to fray.
I picture him caught by guards, locked in a cell, or worse, hurt and bleeding in some dark hallway.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.
“I’m not leaving without him,” I say. My voice sounds hoarse. Nico’s my twin. Half of me. I’d rather get caught than leave him in there.
Jace curses under his breath, crawling to the other side of the shed, checking the path.
It’s so quiet for so long that I almost give up hope.
Then, just as I start to move—just as Jace grabs my arm to pull me away—the sirens start.
Not just any alarm, but the blaring, gut-deep one that means an escape.
Searchlights sweep out over the yard, guards start shouting.
The entire prison is alive, frantic, hunting.
Jace pulls at me. “Levi, now, we have to—”
But I rip my arm free. “Not without Nico!”
That’s when I see him—my brother, my mirror, sprinting out of the dark between two dumpsters.
He’s running flat out, hair wild, blood on his sleeve.
He looks at me and I see the terror and relief in his face, the same mix I feel.
The lights catch him, and for a split second the whole yard is lit up—guards yelling, a gunshot echoing out over the wall.
Nico dives behind the shed, chest heaving. “Go, go, go!” he gasps.
We don’t wait. All three of us scramble along the fence line, ducking low, hearts in our throats. My legs are jelly, fear chasing me as hard as the guards do. Every step feels like it will be my last.
Floodlights sweep over us. For a moment, we freeze—caught in a cone of white.
I grip Nico’s wrist so tight I’ll bruise him, but I don’t care. We’re so close. So close. A few feet away, the fence looms over us.
Wait, this isn’t the way we had planned to come out. There’s no opening here. I want to scream, I want to turn to the others, but stopping isn’t the alternative here.
Behind us, shouts ring out. They’re closing in on us. “Stop! Don’t move!” My blood goes ice-cold. It’s over, it’s over, I think, just as—
Headlights slice through the dark. A van, engine revving, comes barreling toward us from the side service road. It’s Carrie at the wheel, her face pale, eyes wild and fierce.
“Get in!” she yells. The van barely stops as Jace throws open the side door. I shove Nico in, clamber after, and Jace leaps in last, slamming the door behind us. I barely register Carrie’s voice, breathless and determined: “Hold on!”
She guns the engine, spinning the tires, mud spraying the guard shack. The van jolts forward, bouncing over potholes, headlights swinging wildly. A guard throws himself at the window, baton raised, but Carrie swerves, the van scraping past the edge of the gate, nearly taking off the side mirror.
A shot rings out, glass spiderwebbing at the back window. “Down!” Nico yells, pulling me to the floor. My head smacks the wheel well, but I don’t care. All I can hear is my own blood roaring, the slap of boots and the blare of alarms behind us.
Carrie’s hands are locked on the wheel, jaw clenched, driving like her life depends on it—because it does, and so do ours.
The van careens through the outer gate, crunching over the curb and fishtailing into the street.
I can see guards spilling onto the road in the rearview, waving flashlights, radios squawking, but the van is already accelerating, every bump rattling my bones.
Jace is panting, half laughing, half sobbing, gripping the seat so hard his knuckles are white. Nico is still on the floor, bleeding from his arm, staring up at the ceiling like he can’t believe he’s alive. I reach over and grip his shoulder, not sure who’s shaking more—me or him.
Carrie doesn’t look back. She throws the van into third, running a red light, horns blaring as we blow through the first intersection. For a moment, we’re flying—untouchable, nothing but the sound of the wind and the engine and our ragged, terrified breaths.
Then, finally, Carrie glances over her shoulder, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror, wide and shining with tears and adrenaline. “Everyone here?”
Jace coughs, voice shaky. “We’re here. We’re good.”
Carrie’s lips tremble. “We did it.”
The alarms fade behind us as we rocket into the night.