These are hard times. I walk along cracked road in a city of hell, torn a part by the great war. I scavenge these ruins just to find the basic necessities for me and the rest of the gang hoping to stumble over an unharmed fridge with some food and water.
Grr, the gang. How have I managed to live with them for so long? I guess it is more of an essential thing. Safety came in numbers and lone travelers never lasted too long. The competition is high. I had managed to get into the ‘Survivors’ one of the more ruthless groups around. They had high standards and I guess my previous years of experience in the military and my athletic ability was enough to me in. But now I want to get out.
I heard from other groups that there was an unharmed land to the west of this upside down city. That is were I am going. But it won’t be easy. The Survivors are a harsh group who don’t accept double-crossers or those who try to escape. I’ve seen it happen before. But this life isn’t for me.
THUMP! The rusty door crashed down to the ground from a single kick. I took a quick scan of the room. Its tipped over and torn furniture scattered everywhere and wholes in the rotting floorboards. Nobody in here. A refrigerator lay on the floor in the corner of the room. I moved over to it still being cautious incase of a surprise attack or if someone’s been following me. I peered into the fridge. Jackpot! Bottles still filled with water and salted meats. Everything I need for my escape! I put everything into the bag still not believing my luck. I’m leaving tonight!

It was late, 2pm in the morning and my body still didn’t want me to get out of the bed, even if it was just a mat and an itchy old blanket. But I have to. I got up and grabbed my bag with all the necessities for my runaway. I trudged out of the tent towards the west barricades right on the perimeter of the Survivor’s base in the pouring rain. 24/7 protection of the camp and its belongings to make sure no one launched an attack or came in in the middle of the night to nick anything. The things when in the past you considered nothing. Food and water is priceless and before the war we had wasted it, so spoiled we were. I rubbed my arms to keep warm on the freezing cold winter night in only a singlet, long, torn camouflage pants and a pair of boots. I breathed into my hands to keep them warm and stroked my wet, unshaved face. This isn’t what I imagined my life to be at 28 years old. I walked up to one of the survivors on guard and touched him on the shoulder. He jumped and spun around. The guy must have been in his early twenties and looked up it me with tired eyes on the small, wrecked stole he had been sitting on.
“I have come to relieve you for the night,” I told him, “Go back and get some rest.”
He didn’t question or argue, he stood up and went back to his tent barely keeping his eyes open. He was to tired I guess, I probably gave him just what he wanted, and he gave me what I was after, no problems. A while after the boy had gone back and I felt like it was safe to get out I creeped around the barricade. I heard the squish of the mud under my boot which put me on the edge and I froze to look around if anyone saw me. I started getting a bit quicker, but still on tips of my toes.
“Oi! What are you doin’ out ‘ere? No ones allowed outside at night!” yelled a guard from the next post. I’d been spotted. I bolted. No looking back no. The guard shouted to a couple of others and after his voice came the gunshots. I didn’t stop running. Sparks lit up the road in front of me as I sprinted in the rain drenched. The shooting stopped and I heard them running after me. I ran around a couple of corners then stopped under a broken traffic light post. I think I lost them. I puffed, my breath creating fog in the cold.
“There he is!” followed by a shot and a bullet hitting the post I was leaning on. 
I bolted again and didn’t stop until I got to the west edge of the city 8 kilometres from the camp. There was no sign of the guys following me who I thought stopped the chase it around 5 kilometres back. I caught my breath, hands on my knees. I coughed a couple of times then looked up to see the vast desert outside the city. And that’s when I saw him…

Marcus Dware had a month left to live. He was on death sentence for a murder he did not commit. He was being held in a top-security prison in a barren part of New York, known as Coxsackie Correctional Facility. There was virtually no escaping it. But that’s exactly what Dware was planning on doing.
He had spent months on planning his escape. You have lots of time for thoughts like that when you spend 23 hours a day in solitary confinement.
Dware was well aware of the guard that approached his cell as quietly as possible, as to not disturb him in his sleep at night. What the guard wasn’t aware of was the fact that Dware had never fallen asleep. No, he was still wide-awake, slumped up against the corner of a wall, his eyes closed while he listened carefully for the footfall of the approaching guard. He heard the keys quietly rattle as the cell door was opened to clean out the cell. It was fairly safe; Dware was supposed to be asleep, and his hands were cuffed behind his back. The guard slipped into the room, and turned around to shut the door. This was his chance.
Dware jumped to his feet and kicked the guard in the head. When he fell to his feet, Dware stomped on his head, knocking the guard out. He felt no remorse. All he cared about now was escaping.
Marcus grabbed the keys from the guard, and struggled to unlock his handcuffs behind his back. He dropped the keys more than a few times, but managed to slip out of his cuffs after ten minutes.
His hands free, he unlocked his cell door and stole the guard’s M9 handgun and taser as he pocketed the keys. He would need the weapons to escape.
He took quick peeks down the hallway to ensure no one had heard him and was coming. The coast was clear, so he went out into the hall. He realized that the other prisoners could see him perfectly and could call for a guard at any time. He had to hope they wouldn’t.
As he inched down the hallway, he reached the corner that would be the stairway. He had forgotten – he was on the 10th floor. This was bad. He looked around the corner and saw two guards coming up. 'This wasn’t part of the plan!' he thought. He cocked the gun back and waited. The guards came around the corner and his gun went off twice, leaving them stone dead on the ground. The shots had echoed loudly, and bounced off every wall.
Dware went into a light jog, and then a full-out sprint to the bottom floor. More guards were sure to be after him now, and if they caught him, he was a dead man. Not that he wasn’t already. Sweat beaded his brow, and his heart was throbbing in his chest. Dware was out of breath, but knew stopping meant going back into the prison-or worse.
Dware heard shouts behind him, and guns loading. He put his head down and sprinted for the exit.
Finally, he reached the steel doors, still operational by lock. They hadn’t gone into lockdown yet. He threw open the doors, and was standing in an open field, surrounded by a 10 foot brick wall with barbed wire, and guard towers armed with heavy machine guns overlooked him. Straight ahead, there was a gate that was manually operated.
He had caught a break – the guards in the watchtowers were still receiving orders and were not yet shooting. He had maybe 10 seconds to run over 100 yards. But driven completely by adrenaline, anything was possible.
He ran, harder than he ever had in his entire life. He could see the gate, his last obstacle before freedom. He ran, and shot the guard in the security booth by the gate. The machine guns started peppering bullets everywhere, hitting everything but him. He reached the gate, bullets flying by him as he shoved it open just enough for him to slip out of.
Unbelievable. Completely unbelievable. He had done the impossible and escaped. He looked around him. He was in a barren wasteland, wanted for actual murder, but he was free from that hellhole. He gathered himself and walked off. They would be after him soon – the police, the FBI, you name it. He replayed the escape over in his head, watching it again and again. It was the only place he’d ever seen it, and ever would see it.
Because, in reality, he was still in his cell at Coxsackie, miserable and living his fantasy of freedom in his mind. That was the only place it ever had existed, or ever would. In reality, he had no chance of escaping. And in just 3 months, he would be dead for a crime he didn’t even commit. And nobody cared.