It was not a quiet night: a sudden storm blew across the farmlands, bringing thunder and lightning. An old man and his wife looked out at the storm as it turned to hail. They discussed going to the cellar, deciding to do so only if the weather became more extreme.
They did not listen to the radio, so they didn’t hear the news. They didn’t try to call anyone, so they didn’t know their phone lines had been cut. They did not know there had been a jailbreak. They did not know a guard had been taken hostage by four convicts, convicts who had then seized a van on the highway.
Maybe the wife briefly saw a face at the window and dismissed it as a trick of the light and her own fancy. Maybe the husband squinted his aged eyes into the storm. But their dog was quiet, their house was secure from the storm and neither really suspected.
They had no clue until they felt a cold draft from the direction of the back door, until they turned and saw a large man pointing a pistol at them. He was soaking wet, dressed in orange coveralls with “Surrey State Penitentiary” stenciled on the front and back. His eyes were wide but his voice was calm as he said “Do what we say and no one dies.” Then he looked over his shoulder and said “Icepick, bring in the others.”