The Slot was prison slang for the punishment unit. In those years, that unit, in that prison, was one of the most inhumane in the country It was a place of random, brutal beatings. A failed attempt to escape through the roof of the security-force building—their building, the head office for the punishment unit guards—would ensure that the beatings were less random and more brutal.
‘Well what the fuck are we gonna do?’ my friend demanded, shouting with everything but his voice. Sweat dripped from his face, and his hands were so wet with fear that he couldn’t hold the cigarette lighter.
‘I think there’s two possibilities,’ I declared.
‘What are they?’
‘First, we could use that ladder—the one that’s chained to the wall downstairs. We could go down again, break the chain off the ladder, tie the extension cord to the top of it, slam it up against the wall, climb up, and throw down the cord on the other side. Then we can slide down to the street.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s the first plan.’
‘But… they’ll see us,’ my friend protested.
‘Yeah.’
And they’ll start shooting at us.’
‘Yeah.’
‘They’ll shoot us.’
‘You said that.’
‘Well, fuck me,’ he hissed. ‘I think it bears repeating. It’s a fuckin’ salient point, don’t you think?’
‘I figure that one of us will get through, maybe, and one of us will get shot. It’s fifty-fifty.’
We considered the odds in silence for a while.
‘I hate that plan,’ my friend shuddered.
‘So do i:
‘What’s the second plan?’
‘Did you notice that buzz saw, on the ground floor, as we came up here?’
‘Yeah…’
‘If we bring it up here, we could use the buzz saw to cut through the wood. Then we can use the tin snips to cut through the tin. After that, it’s back to the original plan.’
‘But they’ll hear the thing,’ my friend whispered fiercely. ‘I can hear them talking on the fuckin’ telephone. We’re that close. If we drag the saw up here, and fire it up, it’ll sound like a fuckin’ helicopter.’
‘I know. But I think they’ll just figure it’s the workers, doing more work.’
‘But the workers aren’t here.’
‘No, but the shift at the gate is changing. There’s new guards coming on duty. It’s a big chance to take, but I think if we do it they’ll just hear the noise, as usual, and think it’s the workers. They’ve been listening to drills and hammers and buzz saws for weeks. And there’s no way they could imagine that it’s us doing it. They’d never figure that crims would be crazy enough to use a power saw, right next to the main gate. I think it’s our best shot.’
‘I hate to be Mister-fuckin’-Negative here,’ he objected, ‘but there’s no electricity in this building. They shut it off for the renovating. The only power point is outside. The extension cord is long enough to reach down there, I think, but the power is outside the building.’
‘I know, I know. One of us will have to go down, creep out the door we busted open, and plug the extension cord into the outside power outlet. It’s the only way’
‘Who goes down there?’
‘I’ll do it,’ I said. I tried to sound confident and strong, but there are some lies that the body just won’t believe, and the words came out as a squeak.
I scrambled over to the manhole. My legs were stiff with dread and tension-cramp. I slid down the extension cord and crept down the stairway to the ground floor, playing the cord out all the way. It reached to the door, with plenty to spare. The buzz saw was resting near the door. I tied the extension cord around the handle of the saw, and ran back up the stairs. My friend pulled the saw up into the manhole and then passed the cord back to me. Once more I crept down to the door. With my body pressed flat against a wall, I breathed hard, and tried to find the courage to open the door. At last, with a heart-wrenching rush of adrenaline, I pushed the door aside and stepped out into the open to plug the cord into the socket.
No comments yet.