Mike was a good planner. He said the first thing we had to do was sign up for exercise on the track inside the fence. The only running I'd ever done was running from the law. Mike could run ten miles and hardly break into a sweat. One mile and I was ready for intensive care the first time I tried it.
But each day it got a little easier. After two weeks I was able to keep up with Mike for at least one lap. That gave us the chance to talk without being overheard or without the guards suspecting we were planning a thing. At least Mike did the talking while I wheezed "Yes" or "No".
"See the space between the fences?" he asked. I grunted. "They call that the killing zone." He said.
"Great."
"Each of the watch towers has guards with high powered rifles. There is no place you can climb even the first fence without being seen and shot," he said.
"They'd fire a warning shot first," I said.
"Maybe," he said.
Each day we did that circuit, measured out the distances between the watch towers and looked for blind spots. My question about the warning shots was answered on the tenth day. We were jogging round the track clockwise while another two guys were going in the opposite direction. Guys from our block - Tobe and Wiseman.
They nodded at us and I reckoned they looked a little nervous. Then I heard a clattering behind me. I stopped and turned. They started to climb the fence, trainers scrabbling at the links and fingers twisted in the wire. There was no call from the guards. First I felt the bullet whisper as it passed my ear then hear the sound of the rifle an instant later.
The bullet caught Tobe in the leg and I heard the dull thud as he tumbled over the wire into the killing zone. Wiseman was hit in the shoulder but still they stumbled across the dirt to the outer fence. More bullets tore chunks from their arms and legs as they fell back into the dust and lay still.
It had happened so quickly I realised I hadn't taken a breath. The heat haze shimmered over the hot earth and nothing seemed to move except the slow trickle of blood from the prisoners. I breathed in to try to control my nausea. Then I turned slowly and looked up at the watch tower. It wasn't the barrel of the gun pointing between my eyes that scared me. It was the grin on the guard's face. He'd enjoyed the turkey shoot and he was hoping I'd make a wrong move and give him a little more target practice.
After a minute of silence there was the pounding of feet as the stretcher-bearers ran out into the killing zone and carried the men to the hospital.
I was still feeling sick hours after when they locked the cell door behind Mike and me. "I guess that answered our question about warning shots," I said quietly.