Steve and Maxwell emerged from the shack, the moon obscured by ominous black clouds. They sprinted toward the barbed wire fence, fully aware of the daunting odds stacked against them. Yet, Steve felt an overwhelming urgency; he could not endure another moment in the reform camp.
Maxwell dug a hole in the dirt and crawled underneath the fence. The wire ripped open his t-shirt and punctured his skin, causing him minor bleeding. He winced as he rose. His heart pounded, and his fingers tingled. Steve followed behind him.
A guard yelled, "Fucking prisoners are trying to escape the grounds!"
Maxwell's face turned white. They bolted for the forest edge; They bolted for the forest edge, Steve just a stride behind. Then came the gunfire. Bullets tore into their backs, driving them to the ground. Blood seeped from the small circular wounds in their shoulders, soaking their shirts. Their eyes glazed over, vacant.
The guards approached without hesitation, hoisted the lifeless bodies, and tossed them into the ditches—discarded like refuse, swallowed by the earth.