Laura stroked his hair from his forehead.
"Yeah," she said hoarsely. "We were very close."
He pushed himself up until he was sitting, and leaned against the wall.
His eyes seemed to hold a remarkable power. If anything he seemed stronger than when she had found him in Rocky's lean-to.
"we've got to get out of here," he said.
"What?"
"That cop is either going to use drugs or he's going to do something to you in front of me. Whatever it is, we can't wait around to see."
"Scott, there are a bunch of men out there, and this place is like a fort. There's no chance."
He pushed himself to his feet, grimacing at the pain but refusing to cry out.
"There's always a chance," he said. He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a thick cough.
Laura stood in front of him. "Can you move enough to do anything?"
"I made it this far, didn't I?"
Laura heard the new forcefulness in his voice, and knew that he had summoned it for her. He was still so lost and in such pain; they had taken nearly everything from him. And yet he seemed able to reach within himself for more.
"Scott, you know what you did for a living now, don't you?" she said.
He forced a thin smile and touched the clotted blood on her cheek.
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe I do." He peered out the window at the workmen. "Tell me, those big doors we drove through, did they open upward or to the side?"
"To the side, I think. Yes-yes, I'm sure of it. They folded open in sections on a track."
Scott glanced out the small window and then knelt by the door and studied the keyhole. Laura had to help him up.
"Bring that over," he said, motioning to the bucket. She did as he asked. "Do you have a belt on?"
She pulled off her belt, which was fairly wide and fastened with a metal buckle that had some heft. Scott tried undoing his own, but his clumsy hand and torn fingers made the task impossible. Laura undid it for him.
"What are we going to do?" she asked.
"First we're going to get this door open."
"How?"
"I hope with that," he said, motioning to the metal bulb protector overhead. "There's a forklift out there.
We've got to get to it. If we do, I'll drive. Jut don't depend on me to Turn the key, okay?"
"O-okay. Scott, I don't know if I can do this."
He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged and said, "I think you can.
Here, hook these belts to each othet and then to the handle of the bucket. Then practice swinging it around in a way that will knock off that metal guard. The bulb'll probably shatter but that's okay. We'll have enough light. When that metal guard falls down, grab it." He peered out the window, following the progress of the forklift.
"Start practicing, and I'll tell you when. Spread these blankets out beneath you in case the bucket hits the floor."
Laura, set the blankets in place, dangled the bucket for a moment, and then began swinging it in front of her in increasing circles like a lariat. She found that if she held her arm at shoulder level, she could just reach the light without hitting the floor.
While she was practicing, Scott coughed and spat some bright-red blood onto the floor. Laura started to protest, but he waved her off.
"Please," he said, "we don't have much time before Wheeler gets back, and in this shape I don't think I can take him, even if he gives me the chance." He checked outside the window again. "Now. Do it now, and try to hit that thing hard. If the bulb breaks without that guard falling down, we may not have enough light to get at it."
Laura started with a few slow arcs. Then she began whirling the bucket around, increasing the speed and the length of the belts each time.
"That's it, that's it," Scott said. The bucket grazed the metal.
"Keep going. Keep going."
Laura's upper arms and shoulders began to cramp. Her smooth swings became weaker and more erratic.
"Don't stop," he urged. "Find the strength. Come on, you can do it."
She bit into her lower lip and grasped the belt tightly with both hands, increasing the speed of her swings. Her arms quickly grew numb and heavy. The cramps worsened. Then, at the moment when she felt she had to stop, the bucket slammed against the metal guard, popping it free, and sending it clattering against the wall. The bulb sheared off, spraying small shards of glass across the room. Laura let the bucket drop soundlessly onto the blankets, and then raced over and retrieved the protector.
"That was good," Scott said, pausing between words to breathe.
"That was real good." He studied the metal piece by the right of the window. "Stamp on this as hard as you can. I need a piece of it about this long.
Laura set the guard on the concrete floor and stamped it flat.
The welds holding the stiff wire broke apart, yielding several pieces of the length Scott had indicated. She snapped one off and passed it over.
He studied it briefly and then handed it back. With Scott directing her, she pinned the metal beneath the lip of the bucket and bent two right angles into it, and a loop handle at one end.
"Now put it in the keyhole with this end down and Turn it slowly until you feel it catch."
Laura knelt by the door as Scott kept watch.
"I don't feel anything," she said.
"Push it in farther. Use both hands to hold it, and use that little handle you built."
"I can't feel anything- Wait, wait a second."
The makeshift key turned half an inch.
"Keep going. Keep going. I think you've got it."
There was a muffled click from inside the door.
Laura released the wire and sank back on her hands, smiling up at her brother.
"Nice job," he said, opening the door a fraction of inch.
"There's a crowbar resting on some cases over there. I need it.
You're going to carry that bucket. You may have to hit someone hard with it. Can you do that?"
Laura glanced over at his hands.
"I can do it," she said.
She stood up and moved beside him. Carefully, he eased the door open.
The area around them was deserted.
"The lift is somewhere down there," he whispered, gesturing with his head. "We'll go straight across to where that crowbar is and work from there."
Laura's heart was pounding in her ears as they slipped out the door, closing it behind them, and stepped quickly across the narrow aisle.
Scott, who had looked fairly solid while leaning against the wall, stumbled and pitched heavily against the crates.
"You okay?" she asked.
He slipped the crowbar free and halted it gingerly in his one functioning hand.
"Better now," he said.
From somewhere to their right they could hear voices. Staying flat against the cases, they worked their way toward the sound. At one point they passed not ten yards from a pair of workmen without being seen.
Scott moved painfully, at times dragging his left leg. Even in the shadows Laura could see the pallor of his face and the flecks of drying blood that dotted his lips and chin.
The voices were close now-very close. Scott peered around the corner of a stack of crates and held up two fingers.
"I'm going for the forklift," he whispered. "Head straight for the man in the cap, and use that bucket."
He pointed to a spot just behind his ear. Then'he reached up with his crippled hand and gently touched her face. "Ready?"
She put her arm around him and, for a moment, held him close.
"Ready," she said.
They broke around the corner and headed straight for the two men.
One, a heavyset black man, was seated on the forklift. The other, wearing a woolen cap, was several feet closer. He turned at the sound of their approach and was fumbling beneath his jacket when Laura swung the galvanized metal bucket with all her strength, connecting solidly with the side of his face. He cried out and fell heavily, pawing feverishly at the gush of blood from just beneath his ear.