Blackened tires, the charred remains of a car; big yellow galoshes squish around burnt wreckage as investigators work the scene. Mahone’s there too, with the medical examiner. “You risk your life, break out of prison, only to end up dead at the bottom of a ditch,” the ME laments. “Kinda sad really.” But Mahone remains focused on the wreckage. “So which one of them was it?”

Twelve Hours Earlier flashes across the bottom of the screen as we pan down the bulletin board at Mahone’s headquarters. The Fox River escapees’ pictures stare back at Mahone as Agent Lang approaches; “We’ve got a blanket on all the hospitals,” she tells him. “If they’ve got Band-Aids and Bactine we’ve got a body there.” She informs Mahone that if Linc and Michael come looking for medical attention they’ll be in a van on their way back to Fox River. Mahone in quires about the other six cons. Lang says they’ve got eyes and ears on the families, but so far nothing. Mahone wonders aloud, “What’s the hardest thing in the world for a con to do?” Lang doesn’t miss a beat, “Nothing,” she says. Mahone agrees, “Few things in life are certain; death, taxes, and the fact that a man on the run will make a mistake sometime in the first 72 hours. Needing distance, he’ll steal a car. Needing money, he’ll rob a store. Needing help, he’ll trust someone he shouldn’t. And when he does – he will leave behind the crumbs that will take us right to him.”

Several urgent raps on a front door, and Nika, Michael’s ‘wife,’ appears. Michael supports a weak and bleeding Lincoln, “I need your help.” Inside, Michael sends Nika on a scavenger hunt; “Cayenne pepper, rubbing alcohol, towels and pain killers.” “And some booze,” Lincoln finishes. Nika hesitates, Michael’s urgent. “Please!” Nika scours the house. Michael pulls Linc’s bloody pant leg up. Lincoln takes a big swig from the bottle of vodka Nika hands him and tells Michael, “Let’s keep moving.” Michael says if they keep moving, Lincoln’s leg will keep bleeding, and they’ll never get out of Illinois. He looks his brother dead in the eye, “This is gonna hurt,” then pours rubbing alcohol directly on the gun shot wound in Lincoln’s leg. Lincoln grimaces with pain and takes another swig of vodka. Michael takes the cayenne pepper, sprinkles it on Lincoln’s leg, “this will seal the capillaries,” he says. Lincoln reels from the pain. Nika tells Michael he shouldn’t have come, that the police have already been there looking for him. Michael tells her he’s sorry, but they had no choice. Nika’s very thankful for the help with the green card, but she doesn’t want to get involved. Michael’s stressed, he knows it wasn’t part of the deal, and he’s sorry – really sorry. Nika calms, “when I saw you on the news I was worried, I hoped you’d crossed the border by now.” Michael nods, “So did I.” He finishes wrapping Lincoln’s leg, hands Nika a prescription bottle of pain pills, “Keep giving him these – see if you can find him some clean clothes.” As Nika goes off in search of clothes, Michael tells Linc he has to go back and get the car. Lincoln’s starting to feel the vodka, “forget the car, we’ll grab another.” But Michael doesn’t need ‘a car’ he needs that car, inside it is everything he and Lincoln need to disappear.

Michael appears from the alley next to the hardware store, looks down the street – not a car in sight. There’s broken glass on the ground by the curb where his car should be. As Michael thinks through possible scenarios, he kneels down, picks up a piece of broken glass. His eyes wander to his wrist and the tattoo of a barcode there with the numbers 38 312 1037.