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, then 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!”
“I’ll be back for you.” Her fingers briefly touched Cindy’s.
Then Sara ran. She ran to the big steel door, turned the lock, and pushed.
Nothing happened.
She pushed harder, leaning into it, and the door squealed and inched open.
“Sara!” Cindy yelled.
Sara didn’t want to look, but she did. Martin and Lester were twenty yards away at most, both of them running. Sara only had a few seconds.
She strained against the heavy door, putting all of her weight into it, her injured leg trembling and feeling like it was about to burst.
The door opened to a foot wide, maybe an inch or two less. Sara crammed herself into the space, sandwiched between the door and the frame, fitting her head through sideways. But her body wouldn’t follow suit, her chest was too big.
I’m stuck.
Sara could hear Martin and Lester almost upon her. She strained, but the door was too heavy, squeezing her too tight.
Incredibly, her subconscious latched on to a solution, a logic problem she liked to tell her kids. A truck, fifteen feet tall, gets struck under an overpass that is only fourteen feet, ten inches high. What’s the easiest way to free the truck?
Let the air out of the tires.
Sara exhaled forcefully, blowing out her cheeks, emptying her lungs.
Someone grabbed her. But Sara had compressed her ribcage just enough, and she slipped through the door and pulled away and ran outside and into the woods and ran around trees and through shrubs and ran and ran and ran.
Eventually, her bad leg just stopped supporting her, and Sara had to lean against an elm and rub out the cramp that had formed around the fork wounds. Her jeans were soaked with blood, and she realized she was still holding on to the hammer.
While she tried to catch her breath, Sara listened to the woods, to see if she was being followed. She didn’t hear the sounds of pursuit, but she did hear another sound.
Sara glanced overhead, and watched a low-flying helicopter skirt the tree canopy, heading toward the prison.
Dr. Plincer tied off his last suture, then used his stethoscope to make sure Subject 33’s lungs were inflated. They both sounded fine. Plincer hooked up an IV filled with antibiotics, then peeled off his latex gloves. Subject 33 would be paralyzed for several more hours, so there was no need to get him locked up right away. Besides, the guests would be arriving in just a few minutes.
Plincer left the lab and strolled down the hallway, into his bedroom. He checked his facial putty in the mirror and judged the scar coverage to be adequate. There were some spatters of blood on his lab coat, but he didn’t see how that would do anything to hurt the negotiations.
In the top drawer of his dresser were a detailed account of his procedure, an ingredient list of his serum, and various notes, charts, and graphs supporting his findings. He also picked up a plastic bag filled with items Captain Prendick had acquired for him at some sex store.
Plincer’s returned to the lab, where he grabbed a sealed test tube sample of the serum used in the procedure. This was the latest version, the kind that was apparently successful with Georgia.
Then he went into the cell room, to prepare the volunteers. The three children looked suitably cowed. The white one also looked like someone had used him as the board in a game of darts.
The doctor reached into the sex bag and pulled out a ball gag. Red rubber, with a strap that wound around the head to hold it in the mouth.
“You, young man, if you’d be so kind I need you to put your back against the bars so I can put this on you.”
“Hells no. You can stick that thing up yo ass, old dude.”
“It’s just a simple ball gag. Surely you don’t want to annoy our special guests with your screaming.”
“Ain’ no way you gettin’ that thing in my mouth.”
Plincer nodded. “I do admire a man with convictions. But I must mention the alternative. If you won’t allow me to gag you, I’ll have to sew your lips together.”
The black boy put his back to the bars and opened his mouth. Plincer made sure the buckle was on tight, then put the next one on the girl in the same fashion. The white boy was difficult—his injuries seemed to limit his range of motion. Plincer managed to coerce him into rolling over to the bars, and put the gag on him as he was lying down.
Doctor Plincer had something else they each needed to wear, also from the sex store, but chose to wait for Lester and Martin to assist, because they’d no doubt balk at the sight of them.
As though God was reading Plincer’s thoughts, Martin suddenly burst in through the outside door. He was pinching his nose, his shirt tie-dyed with blood. Lester strolled in behind him. a large frown creasing his face.
“Sara got away,” Martin said by way of explanation.
“She has no place to run. You can find her after the company leaves.” Plincer glanced up at Lester. “And why, might I ask, are you sulking?”
“Martin told Lester that the Sara woman killed the Joe pet, not Subject 33. Lester wants to bite off the Sara woman’s fingers.”
“I’m sure you’ll have the chance later, Lester. Martin, you’d better go get cleaned up. Also make sure Georgia is presentable, and please find a tool belt for her with all the standard equipment, if you’d be so kind. Lester, please help me put these on the children. I believe they’re going to object.”
Plincer reached into the bag once again, withdrawing three black leather dog collars.
Kong waited for the engine to cut off before he removed the protective hearing muffs from his ears. All the tension he’d worked off with the whore was back, and then some. After a particularly miserable plane flight sitting next to a hairy fat man in first class, he had to endure the half hour car trip from Sawyer to the helicopter pad. One of the men assigned to meet him—Lau Yung-ching—deemed it necessary to make small talk during the ride, an unfortunate side-effect of being in the States too long.
The chopper ride itself was as loud and bumpy as Kong guessed it would be, and Lau, who turned out to be the pilot, had apparently felt he’d lost face when Kong told him to shut up. As a result, Lau had flown with many unnecessary turns and drops, trying to rattle Kong. If they’d been in China, Kong would have had him arrested and tossed in one of the jails he supervised.