Here is my effort in response to the prompt set by Thain in Vain for Week 17: An escaped prisoner hides from police with a group of homeless men.
I’d thought freedom would smell better than this.
Big Sally throwing a fit in the back of the meat wagon had ended up working in my favour. Although the fight was bloody – not to mention fatal for the detention officers involved – it had provided us with a means of escape from the jailhouse.
The four of us sticking together would’ve increased our chances of getting caught and having our asses hauled straight back to the clink. With a shake of hands, we’d all agreed to go in separate directions. They couldn’t track all of us down if we were miles away from each other. Divide and conquer had been the theory behind our actions.
I’d run as fast as I could. It didn’t help that I’d banged my leg up pretty badly when the van crashed. Wiping the blood from my prison-issued jumpsuit, I’d continued my limping jog across several fields until my body couldn’t take any more.
Pull yourself together! My subconscious shouted at me.
Mind over matter. I wouldn’t think of the pain in my leg.
It was starting to get dark. Temperatures dropped quickly and I knew that I’d needed to find a place to hole up for the night. I saw what looked like an abandoned building up ahead and limped toward it, the manacles attached to my feet and wrists not exactly helping me keep a good pace.
Still, I hadn’t heard any sirens or the barking of dogs on my tail yet and took it as a positive sign that the meat-heads still didn’t have any idea where I might be. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that I’d be able to evade them forever, but I’d take my chances tonight.
As I’d made my way nearer, an orange glow illuminated the cracks in the wooden building and I heard the sound of men talking. I’d hardly looked like I’d dressed for a night at the proms, but I’d been confident that I could handle myself should the situation turn nasty.
As I’d opened the door, a group of tramps turned to look at me, their mouths falling open as they took in my appearance.
“Room for a little one?” I’d asked in the friendliest tone I could muster.
They’d all looked too shocked to answer and so I’d taken their silence as a sign that they’d let me join them. I’d closed the door behind me, smiling at the men. For every step forward I took, they took another two back, until they had nowhere else to go.
I unleashed the beast inside, screaming in pleasure. The blood of one of the men spurting across a discarded piece of newspaper:
‘Female serial killer with taste for tramps gets life sentence for death of seven homeless men. No chance of parole.’
Better make that twelve…