Karen peeked cautiously up at the man in the overhead gallery. His machine gun was still cradled in his arms, but the barrel was pointing skyward as if he were certain he wouldn't have to use it. The smoldering butt of a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He hadn't even bothered to put it out.
This is all in a day's work for them, Karen realized. They'd known from the beginning that she and Consuela and the other women didn't have a prayer of overpowering the guards in this nightmarish asylum.
"Let this be a lesson to you," the stern voice continued from above. "There's no way out of here until we decide to let you go. Try something stupid like that again, girlies, and there won't be enough coffins around here to handle all of you."
Dumb bastard, Karen brooded. She'd "girlie" him. One day.
She put her hand to her face. Her front teeth ached but were not broken. Kains, a few feet away, brushed off his clothes and readjusted his peaked cap at a rakish angle.
"Lying bitch," he muttered. He glared down at Karen, spun around, and stomped out of the room. She couldn't help smiling when she noticed that his gait was a little lopsided.
Consuela knelt beside her. "Are you hurt?" she asked gently.
"Nothing's broken."
"You were lucky. This time. Don't try such a crazy thing again, Karen."
"I've got to get out of here," the blonde said stubbornly.
"We all want to leave."
"Maybe so. But I'm going to."
Consuela sighed. "Then at least use your head. One woman cannot punch and kick her way out of this place. You need more than courage."
Karen smiled bitterly. "What else have I got?"
"You need a plan."
"Such as what?" She gestured toward the vaulted ceiling and high, slitlike windows. "There's no way out of here except through the door."
"Is that so?" Consuela said abstractedly, looking from the high windows to Karen. "You seem to be quick and agile. Are you an athlete?"
Karen grinned. "State gymnastics champion," she said. "But that was back in high school. I haven't competed in two years."
"Can you fit through that window?"
Karen tried to judge the width of the opening. "I think so," she said. "But how would I get up there? We haven't got any rope."
"Our gowns," Consuela said, beaming. "Each of us will tear four inches off the bottom. If we all do it, the guards won't notice. We'll knot the pieces into a rope."
Karen touched Consuela's arm. "Thanks for trying to help. But tying these rags together isn't going to do anything. I'd need something to hook onto the window. A spike, a broom handle— something solid. We haven't got anything like that."
"What about this?" Looking around briefly, she reached under her shift and pulled out a wooden billy club.
"Consuela! How'd you—"
"It's Kains's. He's on lunch break. He won't miss it for a while."
"But how—"
The Mexican woman laughed. "I took it while they were all busy with you," she said. "But we must act quickly. Kains will come back for it soon."
"What'll he do to you when he finds out?"
"Probably nothing," Consuela said casually. "He likes me. I can tell. Don't worry about me. Just get some help and come back as fast as you can with the police, okay?" She tore the hem of her dress. "Hurry."
Karen tore her own gown and knotted the pieces together as Consuela gathered pieces of material from the other women.
In a few minutes, the makeshift rope was ready. Karen tied it to the billy club and flung it toward the window high overhead. The club fell short, clattering to the floor. Instinctively the women turned toward the big oak door that separated them from the guards. It did not open.
Karen tried again, and a third time. On the fourth try, the club sailed through the open slit in the wall. There was an audible sigh from everyone in the area.
"Quick! Someone's coming!"
Clenching her jaw, trying to remain calm, Karen patiently climbed the rope. Her palms were sweating and her shoulders ached, but she kept moving, hand over hand, her feet braced against the wall.
"Hurry!" Consuela hissed.
With a huge effort, Karen threw one leg through the window. Then, straddling the opening, she reversed the guard's nightstick to the interior wall and pulled the makeshift rope out.
When Kains and another guard arrived, the only trace of Karen Lockwood was the nightstick jammed horizontally against the slitted window.
"What's going on here?" Kains demanded, fixing the women with his beast's stare.
Consuela stepped forward. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she forced herself to smile. "We are pleased you have come, señor," she said. As if by accident, the sleeve of her gown slipped off her left shoulder, revealing a rounded portion of her ample breasts. Kains gaped at her. She could see his breathing coming heavily.
The moment was broken by the sound of the nightstick clattering to the floor. Behind it flew the stream of rags used to make a rope. Karen had escaped.
"Hey, what's that?" the guard with Kains asked.
Kains picked it up, then felt the empty leather loop on his belt. "It's my club," he said, puzzled. "I didn't know it was gone."
"These bitches did it," the other guard muttered. "He pointed at the crowd of prisoners as he counted. "One short," he said, and pressed a button near the big oak door. A loud, whopping alarm sounded, followed by the stamping of feet as the prison guards systematically searched the area for escapees. "The snotty little blonde got out," the guard said. He grabbed Consuela by the arm. "Where'd she go?"
Kains pushed him away. "What're you picking on her for?"
"They're thick as thieves, those two. The Mex bitch knows where the other one went." He turned to Consuela. "Don't you, bitch?" he slapped her hard across the face. "I asked you a question." He slapped her again. A trickle of blood appeared at the comer of her lips.
Kains raised his nightstick over the other guard. "Cut it out!" he shouted. His eyes were wild.
"Hey, what's the matter? You got the hots for the broad or what?"
Kains was about to strike him when the big oak door opened and a double line of uniformed men strode in. Between them marched a man in his forties wearing a crisp black uniform with a major's insignia borrowed from the U.S. Army. He was tough looking and mean, with the kind of clean, humorless face that seemed to be reserved for religious fanatics and professional military officers.
Kains dropped the club to salute the superior officer.
"How'd it happen?" the major snapped.
"Looks like she went through the window, sir," Kains answered. "Made a rope out of scraps of cloth, sir."
The major took in the information, his face bitter as he surveyed the hint of triumph on the expressions of the prisoners. He jerked his head toward Consuela Madera. "Why is her face bloody?" he demanded.
The guard with Kains spoke. "She's a friend of the prisoner who escaped, sir. Thought we'd get her to talk."
"About what?" the major sneered. "They don't even know where they are. Fool. You've bruised her face for nothing."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"What's your name, soldier?"
"Dexter, sir. Corporal Robert T."
"You're not here to damage the goods, Dexter."
"No, sir."
"No matter what kind of trouble they cause, you don't go around hitting a woman in the mouth, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"You hit them in the body, like this," the major said, demonstrating with a powerful right hook to Consuela's abdomen. The woman moaned, her head snapping back as she folded forward with the pain.
Major Deke Bauer brushed his hands together. "That way, they still look good. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," Dexter said.
"By the way, were you two on duty during the escape?"
"Sort of, sir. We were on our lunch break—"