Adrian McKinty - Dead I Well May Be

We were utterly exhausted, and we both could hardly believe that we’d made it.

Scotchy was saying something, but he was so excited it was incoherent.

Get our breath, I was saying, and Scotchy nodded. We hung there for a long time on the bottom of the fence. We were breathing hard, and our arms and legs ached.

Can we go under it? I asked.

Scotchy dived down to see if we could get underneath the fence, but according to him it went a good bit down.

It can’t go all the way down, do you think they had fucking divers? I said.

Listen, Bruce, the swamp is probably seasonal, rainy season and all that. I’m telling you it goes all the way down to the mud.

Aye, well, I’m checking, I said.

I tried pulling myself down to the very bottom of the wire, and after about four or five feet I did find the bottom. You could maybe squeeze underneath it, under the wire; it was tight, but you could maybe do it.

I came up gasping for air and told Scotchy what I’d found.

Look, we’re not going to fucking drown under that thing. We’ll never make it, we’re going over.

I saw his point. We probably would get stuck under there and die a horrible suffocating death. I nodded. I didn’t want to go over, but under was too hard. When we were rested, there was nothing else for it but to climb.

We started out, and climbing was a lot easier than the swamp. The fence had big holes that feet could fit into and it was fairly rigid so it didn’t wobble everywhere. We climbed steadily, not wanting to slip or make any noises. Scotchy was to my right. We’d decided to go up together, though it probably would have made more sense to go one at a time.

When we were near the top of the fence, we took a breather. We were now at the razor wire, and we were both beat.

What now? Scotchy asked, as we hung there panting.

We just got to go over it, Scotchy, that’s all. We just got to.

I grabbed a piece of wire and hauled myself up. There was a sharp, stabbing, terrible pain in my palm; I’d cut myself already, a gash right under my thumb.

Fuck, I whispered. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

I pulled myself up halfway onto the first roll of wire. Most of the straw had fallen out of my T-shirt and I was scraped and cut all over my chest and arms. I pulled myself up farther, my right hand and my legs getting a slashing. I knew it would be worse for Scotchy, because at least I had jeans to protect my legs a little and he had only his shorts.

I tugged, and the razor wire dug into my chest.

Christ.

I was in a complete panic now. The pain was awful and the thought of going on was worse. I was in the middle of the front roll of wire and here the coil wasn’t tight or thick, so I was leaning way out backwards over the swamp.

My bare feet shivered on the edge of the fence and I knew it would be a new horror when I pulled them up onto the first coil of wire. I had to find a spot on the coil at the top of the fence where there were no razors. I stood there for a long while, raised my foot, and placed it on the coil. I took a breath and pulled myself up, placing all my weight on the wire. I’d missed the razors but the whole coil of wire trembled and leaned back, and for a second I thought I was going to fall off backwards into the swamp.

Shit.

It was moving like a great writhing serpent. It was impossible to get a steady grip.

What’s going on? Scotchy whispered.

I couldn’t reply. I took another breath. Whatever happened, I couldn’t stay in this position, I’d fall in a second or two. I was leaning way back, my hands digging into the wire just to hold on.

Scotchy was whispering something again, but I couldn’t hear him. I froze for a second, unsure of what exactly I was going to do. I rocked back a little and then pushed forward with all my strength. The coils of wire returned to the vertical.

I took my foot off the razor wire and put it back on the top of the fence.

I pushed the razor wire hard and the big curl of wire moved forward to a position where it seemed more rigid.

Scotchy was still there on the fence. He hadn’t gone near the wire yet. I was glad, for if both of us had been on it when it went backwards we would have gone off for sure. But even so, he couldn’t linger there all night.

Scotchy, for fucksake, come on, I said.

Ok, I’m coming, just getting my breath, wanker, he said. It was the last thing I ever heard him say.

I lifted my leg and planted my foot on the first roll of wire again. I was trying to be delicate, and I did get lucky, my toes finding a safe area. I heaved my body up and leaned forward on the first roll. I put the other foot on and pushed. My hands were cut to shite, but I was nearly halfway over the first roll. If the wire had been put on better, tighter, it would have been easier, but it was so loose it was practically hugging you, slicing at you. Pain and the fear of the pain between breaths.

I scrambled up another inch. The wire embraced me again, tearing me, ripping me. I convulsed and threw up.

The wire vibrated horribly, and I could feel Scotchy on it to my right.

Everything happened at once now.

The searchlight, which had been scanning to our left in the swamp, suddenly raised itself and went along the wire. There was nothing we could do, we couldn’t drop off now, we just had to hope that it lowered itself at the last moment.

It didn’t.

The beam swept straight past us and then came back and stayed there.

Voices began yelling in Spanish. I scrambled up the second roll, falling up it. The razors cut horribly into my feet and fingers and I hooked one along my face. I heard a shotgun pop and misfire and then another one spray a barrel of shot into the fence to our left. The prison was a big old guard dog, shaking itself and coming to life. I heard more yelling and then a high-powered automatic rifle, an M16 without a doubt, and I saw Scotchy get hit in the back.

Scotchy, I yelled, but his body went limp and tumbled downwards almost all the way through the first coil of razor wire. The razors nearly decapitated him, slicing into his neck and hanging him there. His arms shook and, as blood poured grotesquely from his mouth, his jaw moved up and down, as if he was trying to speak.

Jesus Christ.

I stared and cried out and then desperately climbed on and reached the top of the second coil through a threshold of screaming nerve endings. The wire swayed and wrapped itself about and in me. It went effortlessly into my flesh and I used the purchase to pull myself on.

At the top of the second coil, I balanced on my stomach and all the while there were shotguns firing and the whirr of a couple of Armalites. I forward-rolled over the crest of the second coil of wire, my hair and shoulders getting caught and pulled and torn, and then I fell thirty feet into the swamp on the other side. I stayed under the water and swam and briefly surfaced for air and swam again. I did this for two minutes, and I realized I’d gone way to the left but hardly any farther from the fence.

The whole prison was awake. They were ringing a bell and shining the two big searchlights at the swamp where I’d originally fallen in. Everyone taking potshots at the water. I ducked out of the spotlight beam and moved with my backstroke towards the trees. The shooting was deafening and continuous, but they didn’t shift the spotlight beam at all. Perhaps they think I’ve broken my neck and drowned, I was saying, comforting myself.

I waded to the trees. The forest was waterlogged and thick with vines that tripped me every few yards. It gave way to solid ground and I ran, my feet shrieking with the hurt, my eyes full of blood. My hands were burning, my thighs, my feet. I’d sliced off two or three toes, gashed a hole under my eye.