Months of quiet plotting, a sharp eye for opportunity, and a shocking breakdown in prison security—these are the ingredients of the escape that has gripped Arkansas and beyond. The story of Grant Hardin, the convicted murderer and former police chief dubbed the "Devil in the Ozarks," reads more like a made-for-TV thriller than real life. But according to an internal review from the Arkansas Department of Corrections, released on August 15, 2025, every twist and turn of his May 25 escape from Calico Rock prison was all too real.
The Department's critical incident report, as detailed by The Independent, lays bare how Hardin spent six painstaking months orchestrating his getaway. Working in the facility’s kitchen, he exploited what he described as "very lax on security" staff, quietly amassing the materials he needed. His method was almost audacious in its simplicity: he used black Sharpie markers and discarded laundry to create a convincing law enforcement uniform, even fashioning a fake badge from a can lid. He hid these items in the bottom of a trash can—a spot he knew would never be checked. As the report puts it, “Hardin stated he would hide the clothes and other items he was going to need in the bottom of a trash can in the kitchen due to no one ever shaking it down.”
Hardin’s plan was meticulous. He even constructed a ladder from wooden pallets in case he needed to scale the prison fence. But, as fate would have it, he never needed it. When the day came, Hardin simply walked up to the back gate, donned in his homemade uniform, and told the officer to open it. The officer complied without checking his identity. “(Hardin) stated when he walked up to the gate, he just directed the officer to ‘open the gate,’ and he did,” the report notes.
Once outside, Hardin vanished into the rugged Ozark landscape. For nearly two weeks, he survived on a diet that would make most people shudder—berries, bird eggs, ants, and creek water, supplemented by distilled water from his CPAP machine and food he had smuggled out of the prison. His plan, he later told investigators, was to "hide in the woods for six months if need be and begin moving west out of the area." But on June 6, 2025, his run came to an end. He was apprehended just 1.5 miles northwest of the prison, near Moccasin Creek, by Arkansas law enforcement and U.S. Border Patrol officers.
Hardin’s escape sent shockwaves through the Arkansas corrections system. Two prison employees were promptly fired for procedural lapses: one for letting Hardin onto the back dock unsupervised, and another for unlocking the critical gate without verifying his identity. Several others were suspended, and one was demoted. The kitchen, it turned out, was a gaping hole in prison security. As Hardin himself told investigators, the staff’s complacency allowed him to gather everything he needed for his escape—without help from any staff or fellow inmates.
But the failures didn’t stop at the kitchen door. The report describes a scene of confusion and miscommunication in the immediate aftermath of the escape. “It is obvious there was a lot of confusion during the beginning stages of opening the command center and of notifications being made,” the review states. There was uncertainty among corrections officials about which law enforcement agencies had been notified, causing precious time to be lost in the early hours of the manhunt.
Perhaps most damning, the review revealed that Hardin had been misclassified and should never have been held at the medium-security Calico Rock facility in the first place. His custody status hadn’t been reviewed since October 2019—a lapse that allowed him to serve time in a prison ill-equipped to contain someone with his history and resourcefulness. After his capture, he was quickly moved to a maximum-security prison, where he now awaits trial on escape charges, having pleaded not guilty. That trial is set for November 2025.
The fallout from Hardin’s escape has extended far beyond the prison walls. The Arkansas State Police have launched their own investigation, and a legislative subcommittee has begun holding hearings to dig into the systemic issues that allowed the breakout to happen. Republican Rep. Howard Beaty, co-chair of the Legislative Council’s Charitable, Penal and Correctional Institutions Subcommittee, told lawmakers that the panel hopes to discuss both the Department of Corrections’ report and the State Police’s findings at a hearing next month. Meanwhile, Republican Sen. Ben Gilmore, who also sits on the panel, has criticized the Department’s review for not going far enough. “They have focused on the final failure instead of all of the things that led up to it,” Gilmore said, highlighting a broader concern that institutional weaknesses, not just individual mistakes, paved the way for Hardin’s escape.
In response to the debacle, corrections officials have already begun making changes. Electric locks have been removed from the prison gates, a move designed to prevent anyone from simply walking out without an officer present. Additional security cameras are being installed, particularly on the dock that provided Hardin’s exit route—an area previously identified as a blind spot. Shakedown searches for contraband are now mandated to include mechanical and side rooms, not just the obvious places.
For the small town of Gateway, Arkansas—where Hardin once served as police chief before his convictions for murder and rape—the escape and subsequent manhunt have reawakened old wounds. Hardin’s story, already the subject of the TV documentary "Devil in the Ozarks," has become a cautionary tale about the dangers of complacency in even the most routine corners of the criminal justice system.
As the investigations continue and reforms take hold, the escape of Grant Hardin remains a stark reminder: security is only as strong as its weakest link, and sometimes, the devil really is in the details.