Martin reached the top of the stairs and immediately noticed a power drill and hammer next to Georgia’s door. He ran to them, saw the door was open, and saw a naked Georgia wrestling with…
Sara. How the hell did she get free?
He rushed into the room, blood boiling, yanking Georgia out of the way and cocking back a fist guaranteed to break his wife’s jaw.
Georgia was there one second, gone the next, replaced by Martin. Sara had been trying to control Georgia without seriously hurting her, but with Martin she had no such compunction. She kicked him with everything she had, right between the legs, and then threw a right cross that broke the bastard’s nose.
Martin went down.
Then Sara was running for the bed. She panicked when she didn’t see Jack—
Did I miss the mattress? Did he bounce off?
—then saw him behind a bunched-up blanket.
Sara scooped Jack up with one hand, pressing him to her chest, and took a quick look over her shoulder.
Martin was getting up, turning her way.
Georgia was on the floor, reaching for Sara’s ankle.
Sara vaulted over Georgia’s hand, toward the doorway. Then she was reaching for the ice pick and yanking it free, pulling the door shut behind her. After confirming the door was locked, she stuck the pick in her pocket and checked Jack over.
He smiled at her. This had to be the least-fussy, best-behaved child on the planet. She kissed his forehead and tucked him into his sling, then scooped up the hammer and drill, and limped down the stone stairs. They came to an end at the cell room, which was brighter with the lights on, but not by much. She gingerly touched her leg wounds and noted they were bleeding again.
Wouldn’t it be funny if I lived through this and then died of an infection?
She ignored the pain, scurrying over to the kids’ cells. They each had their hands cuffed behind their backs, and Tom was curled up in a ball.
“Sara!”
“Shh,” she told Cindy. “I’m going to try to get the doors open. You all need to watch the stairs and the door over there, make sure no one is coming. What happened to Tom?”
“Lester and Martin,” Tyrone said. “Beat him up pretty good. Why’d you marry that guy anyway?”
“The man I fell in love with was a good man,” Sara said, squinting at the lock on Cindy’s prison door. “He was turned into something else.”
Sara knew the key for Georgia’s room wouldn’t fit, but she tried it anyway. No suck luck. Then she stuck the ice pick in the keyhole. Sara had no idea how lock mechanisms worked, other than something needed to be turned. She poked around for a minute without getting anywhere.
“Tyrone, can you pick locks?”
“Why, ‘cause I’m black?”
“No, Tyrone. Because you’re a criminal.”
“Hells no. Only thing I ever needed to bust a lock was my foot, or a gat.”
Sara tucked the ice pick away and wielded the drill.
“That might work, too,” Tyrone said.
She placed the bit inside the keyhole and pushed while pressing the trigger. The bit was stronger than the old iron, and it immediately began to dig in.
Then the drill whined, and slowly petered to a stop. Sara pressed the trigger a few more times.
The battery was dead.
“Lester, did you hear that?” Dr. Plincer asked.
Lester hadn’t been paying attention. While Doctor was busy sewing Subject 33 up, Lester had been clandestinely squeezing the paralyzed man’s testicles. Lester got pleasure from the act, as he did whenever he was hurting someone, but was unhappy that Subject 33 couldn’t scream or cry. Pain without screams was like ice cream without chocolate sauce.
Lester would wait for the drug to wear off. Then he’d do much worse things.
“It sounds like a machine of some sort,” Doctor said. “In the cell room.”
Lester listened, hearing a faint buzzing noise that faded out.
“Go check it, please, Lester, if you would be so kind.”
Lester gave Subject 33 one more big squeeze and then headed for the door.
Martin sprinted at the metal security door for the third time, slamming his shoulder against it. His nose was bleeding over his mouth, down his neck, but he didn’t pay it any mind. His only goal was to get through this door and get that bitch he married.
“Don’t you have a key?” Georgia asked.
Martin sneered at her. “If I had a key, would I be trying to bust it down?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “You always were an asshole, Martin. How’s your nose? Looks painful.”
Georgia chewed on her lower lip and gave his nose a stiff poke.
Martin lashed out with a backhand, knocking the little brat across the room. “Don’t touch me ever again. And put on some goddamn clothes.”
He stared at his nemesis, the door, once more. Solid metal. Set in a stone wall. Calling for help was an option, but he didn’t think his voice would carry all the way to the lab. Kicking wouldn’t it be any more useful than ramming it, especially since the door opened inward.
Wait a sec. The hinges are on the inside.
Martin looked around on the floor, found the bloody metal shears. There were three hinges on the door, each with a pin holding the two parts of the shaft together. He knelt down and pried the bottom pin up, like pulling a nail. It took a bit of effort, but he was able to get it out.
The middle pin was more difficult, probably because the door’s weight was no longer evenly distributed. Martin took off his hiking boot, placed the tip of the scissors under the pin’s head, and beat on the end until it came free.
He used the same hammering technique on the last pin, which was the toughest of all. The sucker simply didn’t want to budge. But Martin was ferocious in his determination, and millimeter by millimeter the pin eased out of the shaft until it finally popped out the top and clanged onto the floor.
Now hingeless, Martin could pry the door open. It fell behind him with a crash that made Georgia jump. Martin put his boot back on, stuck the scissors in his back pocket, and wiped his bleeding nose on his sleeve.
Punch me? Let’s see how you punch when I cut your fingers off, Sara.
Sara didn’t bother to curse the universe. Even though it was probably warranted, she didn’t have the time. She tried unplugging the battery and plugging it back in, but it did nothing. The drill was useless.
That left the hammer and the ice pick. She stuck the pick back in the lock and gripped it tight, ready to give the base a whack.
“Sara!” Cindy’s voice had gone up an octave. “Lester’s coming!”
Sara didn’t bother to look. She continued to beat on the ice pick.
“Shit,” Tyrone sounded scared. “Martin just came down the stairs. You gotta run, Sara.”
Sara whacked the pick again. “I’m not leaving you here.”
Cindy said, “Lester’s coming this way.”
“So is Martin,” Tyrone said. “Sara, you gotta go.”
She shook her head, not daring to look up. “No. I’m getting you out.”
“Sara,” Cindy was leaning against the bars. “Go to the gridiron. I dropped a gun in the bushes right next to it. It’s bright out now. You can find it, then come back and save us.”
Sara hit the pick once more. The tip broke in half. She felt like crying.
“Sara, please. Go.”
Now Sara did look up. Her husband and Lester were heading toward her, and then Martin pointed.
“There you are!”
Sara stared hard at Cindy. “I’ll be back for you.” Their fingers touched.