Liang Song stared intently at the fleeting gap in the circle of men surrounding him. His heart hammered against his ribs, as if it might shatter through his chest at any second. Sweat rolled continuously down his forehead, blurring his vision; he wiped it away with his arm and locked his gaze back onto a slightly swaying, empty oil drum not far away. In this critical moment, a new plan for breaking out took shape in his mind.
Seizing the opportunity, Liang Song took a deep breath, planted his feet firmly, and pushed off the ground. His muscles tensed instantly, and he lunged toward the oil drum like an arrow released from a bow. His stride was firm and rapid, each step striking the ground with a rhythmic, heavy thud that kicked up a cloud of dust. The wind whistled in his ears, and the angry shouts of the men and their chaotic, thundering footsteps echoed behind him, but he ignored them all. His eyes were fixed solely on the oil drum, the vessel of his hope for survival.
In the blink of an eye, he reached it. He wrapped his arms around the cold, metal body without hesitation; his knuckles turned white from the effort, and the veins in his hands stood out clearly. He could feel the rough, rusted surface of the drum, but he had no time to worry about that. He crouched slightly, lowered his center of gravity, and pushed with every ounce of his strength to tip it over.
Chapter 368