Chapter Seven: The Bounty

Alderson snatched the reporter’s microphone, fixed his cold gaze on the camera, and spoke in a steely voice:

“Today, our prison experienced a serious incident. Violent inmates instigated a riot during a fight. Several guards were injured while quelling the chaos. The troublemakers have been shot dead, but the casualties remain severe. We are deeply grateful to all hospitals in Metropolis City for their emergency response.

However, during the turmoil, one dangerous inmate managed to escape. This individual is of Chinese descent, named Zoe Zhou, Chinese name Zhou Yi, formerly an attending physician in the emergency department at Johns Hopkins Hospital.

If you see this person, call the police immediately. We are offering rewards for valuable information, ranging from $500 to $10,000. Once again, let me remind all citizens: this individual is extremely dangerous and highly skilled at disguise. Please remember this face.”

As he finished, a series of Zhou Yi’s photos appeared on the giant screen—the standard front and profile shots taken at his admission, and a surveillance still of him boarding an ambulance during today’s escape.

Zhou Yi froze.

Raindrops began to fall, cold against his skin. He glanced at the security cameras at each intersection, lost and overwhelmed.

What should I do? How do I uncover the truth? Penniless and with nowhere to turn, now a wanted man—where can I go?

As he stood there dazed, a car passed by, splashing dirty water onto him.

The driver slowed, rolled down the passenger window, and seemed about to apologize.

Zhou Yi didn’t look over—he turned and hurried toward the art museum, clutching his baseball cap. The sky grew darker. The museum was closed; he couldn’t afford to linger on the street.

Without pausing, he changed direction and crossed toward the museum’s opposite side.

He needed to disappear, and contacting his old colleagues at Johns Hopkins Hospital was out of the question. But perhaps his defense attorney, Zeiss, could help.

Across from the museum, beneath the massive screen, people hurried by, few glancing up. Zhou Yi shrank into himself, minimizing his presence. This was downtown—if caught, escape would be impossible.

He crossed the busy shopping street and turned onto another road just as several police cruisers, lights flashing, thundered into view.

He stopped abruptly. Beside him, a milk delivery van was about to pull out. Moving quickly, he grabbed the rear rack and swung himself into the cargo hold.

Peering through the gaps between milk crates, he saw the police cars halt and officers jump out.

“Someone just called 911—they said a man resembling the wanted fugitive from the news left Metropolis City Medical College Hospital in their car, got out near the art museum. We’re going to search this block.”

The milk truck crawled along, barely moving. Zhou Yi listened intently—so it was that couple who’d called the police.

Of course, anyone who saw the news would be frightened. That was only human.

He shrank back, groping in the dim cargo space. It was full of milk, but his hand suddenly closed around a flat cardboard box. His stomach ached with hunger—he’d been on the run, nerves raw, blood sugar plummeting.

He unscrewed a bottle of milk and gulped down half of it, then, by the flickering streetlights, looked at the box in his arms.

Up close, the aroma confirmed it was pizza. He opened the box and devoured the food quickly.

Right now, with no money, he had to fill his belly with whatever he found. He finished the pizza, rinsed his mouth with milk, and peered outside through the milk crate slats.

The truck seemed to be heading out of the city. The delivery jingle had stopped; the driver was likely heading home. Judging by the route, they were already seven or eight kilometers from the city center.

Zhou Yi relaxed a little, leaning against the side, about to close his eyes—when sirens shrieked again.

He snapped awake and looked outside. No police cars in sight, but headlights flashed in the opposite lane.

Moments later, a convoy of police vehicles sped past.

Zhou Yi narrowed his eyes. Clearly, there was a citywide manhunt. Alderson must be furious; a prison break during a riot was a major blunder.

He reasoned that the police would soon start stopping vehicles. He couldn’t stay in one place for long.

He scanned the area. The tall buildings were gone. They’d entered a residential neighborhood, and the truck slowed.

Rolling to the door, Zhou Yi leapt out, tumbling across the roadside before finally coming to a stop.

He was dizzy from the fall. His right arm refused to move; pain shot through him as he pinched it. Glancing at his shoulder, he saw it was only dislocated.

He struggled to his feet. Nearby was a house with no lights on.

Bracing his right arm on the fence, he pushed upward. With a painful crack, his shoulder popped back into place, leaving his legs weak.

Then, sirens wailed again. Headlights approached—the police were doubling back.

Damn it, they’re relentless.

He looked up. The police cars were returning from the direction they’d come. Had they found his trail?

Panic rising, Zhou Yi clutched his barely functional arm and rushed toward the house, gripping the fence with his left hand and swinging himself over.

But as he landed, he realized there was no firm ground beneath his feet.

He’d fallen through an open wooden hatch—there was a passage below, but it was pitch black. It was too late to adjust his fall.

He hit the ground with a thud and lost consciousness.

...

18:48

The plaza in front of the art museum.

Alderson barked into his radio, “Daniel, send me the surveillance screenshots. Didn’t you say he got out by the art museum? Where did he go next?”

“Stop yelling at me. The footage shows he got out here, then headed to the pedestrian mall by the shopping center. There are too many people—too many suspects. We can’t just detain everyone who looks suspicious.”

“That’s not my problem. Send me the footage—I’ll decide.”

The line went silent.

Moments later, a video arrived on the laptop. Alderson had it played immediately. On screen, a man in a baseball cap and hoodie got out of a car—matching the couple’s description.

Alderson stared at the footage. The man crossed toward the shopping street and then vanished. The camera showed him apparently crossing the road, police cars flashing by on the other side.

“Pause. Zoom in on that frame,” Alderson ordered.

The image froze and zoomed in. A milk van was parked at the curb; a fleeting shadow beside it.

Alderson waved his hand, and the video continued. The suspect never reappeared; he had simply vanished.

Alderson pointed at the milk van. “Find the owner of that vehicle, now!”

Someone picked up the phone, recited the license plate, and soon received an email. It contained a name, address, and phone number.

Alderson took out his phone and dialed. On the third ring, someone answered.

“Hello, El Ranch Dairy Delivery Service. How can I help you?”

“This is Alderson of the Metropolis City Police. I assume you’ve seen the news. We’re apprehending a fugitive. Where are you right now?”

There was a clang, as if something had been dropped. The milkman’s voice stammered, “Sorry, you’re a police officer? Wait—I just got home, haven’t seen any news, and as for a fugitive—I have no idea. I’m just a delivery guy…”

Alderson cut him off.

“Shut up. Listen to me. Where are you right now?”