by Joe Peacock
He snapped. "You're so smart, you do it!"
A muffled noise came from behind the rag tied around William's mouth. The squad looked over at the elderly maintenance man who was trying to communicate something. Marlowe nodded at Poet, who walked over to him and pulled the rag from his mouth.
"Mixture's too rich," the old man said.
"Huh?"
"They call it an oxy-acetylene torch for a reason, son. There's two tanks there. You can't just throw gas out and expect it to catch. You gotta bring the O2 up a bit."
Jacobs reached over and opened the green tank's valve. He struck the flint on the igniter. The torch began to roar as a bright yellow and red flame poured forth.
"There ya go," William said. "Now, tighten the valve on the nozzle until a tight blue flame...that's it!"
Jacobs grinned boyishly. He waved Marlowe over. As she shuffled toward him, William asked, "You don't intend to use that to cut them shackles off, do you?"
"Yeah, I am," Jacobs retorted. "Now why don't you shut up and let me work?"
"You didn't even know how to light the damn thing. I'm pretty sure you don't wanna be using it on a person like that."
"I'll be careful."
"Won't matter how careful you are, you're gonna hurt the lady."
"Enough," Jacobs said. "Poet, gag him again."
"Hold on," Marlowe said as Poet began to place the rag back in William's mouth. "What's the issue?"
"Whelp, them shackles are made of forged steel, looks like," he said. "Steel conducts heat. And they're wrapped around your arms, which are made of flesh. Flesh melts...after it burns."
The room was silent except for the sound of the torch burning, as the team considered the implications of William's comments. He decided their silence meant that they weren't quite grasping the situation, so he clarified. "You might get them bracelets off, but you'll probably take her hands and feet with 'em."
"Well, shit!" Jacobs shouted.
"Yeah, I'm not a fan of that idea," Marlowe said. "Is there anything else in this building we could use?"
"My saws are back at the job site," William said. "But if you give me an awl, a hammer, and about half a minute, I could sort you out."
"What good is banging on steel shackles with a hammer?" Jacobs asked.
"That's why I mentioned the awl, son," William said. "Wouldn't take but a few good whacks to bust out the pins holding the hinges between each set of them cuffs together."
"Huh...that could work," Marlowe said. "Jacobs?"
"On it," Jacobs said. He walked over to the workbench and considered the vast array of tools, scratching his head and biting his bottom lip.
"You don't know what an awl is, do you, boy?" William asked with a chuckle.
Jacobs whipped his head around, shouting, "Shut up, old man!"
"Have it your way..." William said with a shrug. "Good luck with your search."
Jacobs turned back to the bench and began picking up just about anything that looked to him like it could be an awl. He picked up several screwdrivers, one of which he brought to Marlowe to see if it was the same circumference as the pin that held the left shackle to the right. With a groan, he threw the overlarge tool to the ground and returned to his search.
"This is going to take forever," Marlowe said. She looked at Poet and nodded toward William. "Free him."
"I can find it!" Jacobs said from over his shoulder, tossing tools hither and yon.
"Let it go," Marlowe said as Poet cut away the tape holding William to the chair. "He's going to help us. Aren't you, William?"
"Well, it's that or sit with my own snot in my mouth," he replied. "Neither option tastes very good, but I reckon helping you is a damn sight better than having my workshop torn apart."
"We greatly appreciate it," Marlowe said as the last of William's binds were cut away. The old man stood and rubbed his chafed wrists, and made his way over to the workbench. He pulled open a drawer on the left and produced a long, thin, pointed piece of forged steel with a bulb-shaped handle at the end.
"Why didn't you just tell me it was in the drawer?" Jacobs asked with a snarl.
"You done did enough damage to my things," William said. "And I just reorganized that drawer."
"Alright, let's get this over with," Marlowe said. "Angel, cover him."
Angel lifted the barrel of her rifle and trained it on the man's head.
"I don't know why you gotta keep a gun on me," William remarked to Marlowe.
"We don't like taking chances," she answered.
"I mean, if it makes you feel better, go on ahead--"
"--It does," she interjected. "Are you going to help me or not?"
William shook his head, sighed, and waved her over to where he stood. "Put your hands right here on this vise," he ordered as she approached.
With a loud CLANG, she placed her bound wrists on top of the gigantic iron bench vise. William twirled the handle on the vise's tension screw until the jaws opened fully. The top and bottom edges of the massive cuffs just barely slid into the opening between the jaws.
"Tight fit," he said. "But I think it's gonna work. Now, lift up just a teeny bit...that's it. Don't want you to get pinched up in this here thing."
"How considerate," Marlowe said drily as William twisted the vise closed as tight as it would fit against the cuffs. He pushed Marlowe's shoulder and leaned her over as far as she could go. Reaching over her outstretched arms, he placed the tip of the awl against the small binding bolt holding the cuffs together.
"This ain't gonna give us much room to work," he said, "So don't be wigglin' around or nothing. I don't wanna hit you."
"Just get it done," she answered.
He grabbed a small sledgehammer from where it hung on the pegboard in front of the bench. He slowly traced the arc of where the hammer needed to swing, exhibiting the awkwardness of the angle. Suddenly, he reared back and swung wide, striking the base of the awl with a solid PING. And then another. And another.
PING after PING, the awl sunk deeper and deeper into the slot of the hinges as the bolt began to slide out, and then a loud KA-CHINK echoed through the workshop. The bolt bounced onto the workbench, and the chain holding the wrist cuffs to the ankle shackles clattered to the floor.
Marlowe heaved a heavy sigh of relief as William extracted the awl from the bolt hole. With a few twists of the vise, her wrists came free.
"THANK YOU!" Marlowe bellowed as she swung her arms around, gloriously stretching out her tight shoulders. The momentum of the heavy cuffs carried her arms forward, and then back, pulling the kinks from her muscles.
"Okay, now the hard part," William said. He wagged his finger back and forth between Poet and Jacobs. "You big, strong boys are gonna have to hold her up so I can get at them ankle cuffs."
"What," Angel said. "You don't think a girl can do it?"
"Not while holding that there gun at my head," William said without so much as a blink.
"Good point," she replied.
"Careful," Jacobs said to Poet. "She's a lot heavier than she looks."
"Well, yeah," Poet said, "Her entire muscular system is augmented. That's not light."
"See? He gets it," Marlowe said with a smirk.
"Shut up," Jacobs said, flinging Marlowe's right arm over his shoulder. Poet grabbed her left arm and positioned himself under her armpit. Together, the men hoisted Marlowe into the air. She lifted both of her legs as high as she could to reach the anvil. With a little assistance from William, her ankles landed with the same loud CLANG.
The veteran engineer followed the same procedure he had performed on her wrists, and in short order, the pin was jettisoned and the cuffs were separated. William freed Marlowe's ankles from the vise, and Jacobs and Poet lowered her back to the ground.
Marlowe bent over and stretched her back and legs, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. She was free, albeit still cuffed on each appendage by nearly ten pounds
each of banded steel. As she massaged her arms and legs, she reflected that out of everything she'd ever accomplished: Youngest NFL MVP, multiple “Next Top Soldier” wins, MilSec Hall Of Fame inductee...no other moment from her twenty-nine years of life could compare. This was undoubtedly the best feeling she'd ever experienced.
She stood straight, rolled her shoulders a few times, and sighed. She unzipped the prison jumpsuit and pulled each of her arms out of the sleeves; the cuffs on each wrist barely sliding through the baggy fabric. She tied the sleeves around her waist and straightened the tank top she was wearing. A welcome chill ran through her as the frigid winter air cooled her exposed arms.
"Okay," she said with authority. "If we're going to hold up here, we need eyes outside. MilSec is likely going to scour every inch of Atlanta and this place will be on their radar sooner rather than later, so we need to see them coming. There's a proximity sensor and rear-view camera on the vehicle we came in, correct?"
"Yeah," Poet said. "I think I get where you're going with this."
"Good," she replied. "Get busy scouring this place for anything we can use to rig up a makeshift surveillance system. Jacobs, you get that torch prepped, we're going to need it. Angel, secure William
