by Greg Dragon
“I’m Drake,” he said, wiping his sweaty hands on a towel. Unlike his underlings, he seemed devoid of bravado. “You are?”
“Python. This here’s Reaper. We have some information for you, and a proposition.”
Drake nodded, looking closely at them both. “Come in.”
Python smiled. “No thanks. How about we sit down at that table over there, where your boys and ours can all see us.”
Drake stared coldly at them for a moment, then turned to speak back through the doorway. “Get Fish.” A moment later a broad man with scarred knuckles stepped out, and the two convicts walked over to the nearby table.
Jill and Python went to the other side, and they sat down together. Drake stared at Python expectantly, until he made a motion with his eyes at Jill. “Ah, so you’re the boss,” the felons’ leader said to her. “His type I know. He’s been inside. But you…you puzzle me.”
“The same to you, Drake. I’ll enlighten you. I’m a military cop. The only thing I did wrong was get my legs blown off in the desert and then get infected with the Plague. You know what?” She lifted a trouser leg to show the two-tone skin of her calf. “I’m damn glad I did, because now I got new feet. Your turn.”
Drake’s eyes narrowed, and he took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one. He didn’t offer them to anyone else, not even his lieutenant. “I ran a little smuggling operation down south. I still have some connections, even here. I can get things no one else can.”
“And to the hard cases, you’re the devil they know.” Jill reached over to pluck the cigarette from his fingers with two of hers. Although she didn’t really smoke anymore, she had in her youth, and so managed not to cough as she drew a lungful before starting to hand it back.
“Keep it,” he said. “I’ll put off getting the Plague a while longer.” He took out another and then lit it. The whole time his eyes never left hers. “You got balls, I’ll give you that, lady. What you want?”
Jill handed the smoke over to Python, who took it eagerly. “I want what everyone else wants. Out of this hellhole.”
“Hellhole?” Drake laughed. “This place ain’t so bad. Frickin’ country club compared to a supermax.”
“It’s not bad yet, but with two meals a day, food’s going to get tight. Can you keep all of your guys happy?”
“Probably. For quite a while.”
“With your connections, right,” Jill deliberately mocked. “But then there’s the attrition problem.”
Drake’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Jill continued, “Attrition means –”
“I know what it means, Miss Reaper. I’m a well-read man. You mean that every now and again, one of my guys gets the Plague, and I lose him. But eventually they’ll ship some more hard cases in, and I’ll have reinforcements. And I prefer this arrangement over a supermax pen, even with the crackdown. So again,” Drake pounded his index finger on the table in time to his words, “what – do – you – want?”
“I have a plan to get out. You need to get out. Nobody but you is likely to want out. Me and Python, we’re different, but most of these people are sheep. By the time they get their courage up, it will be too late. They’ll be weak from lack of food. Eden metabolism is too fast. We can’t store fat the way the uninfected can. On the other hand, we can regrow limbs, so…” Jill shrugged.
“Get out how?”
Jill shook her head. “Not yet. Need to build some trust first. Bring four or five guys who can keep their mouths shut to the back corner of chow hall nineteen, tomorrow at two p.m. We’ll show you from there.”
“So you can jump us?”
Jill snorted. “In broad daylight? And where am I gonna get ten guys willing to attack you? My boys here do all right as long as they’re defending someone, but a well-read man such as you should know that Edens aren’t very good at making unprovoked assaults. Unlike yourselves.”
Drake took a drag. “Two it is, then.” Then he handed her the half-full pack of cigarettes.
She accepted it with a nod of thanks, knowing the gesture represented a step forward. Drake and Fish got up and strolled back into their block, and Jill and Python rejoined their own men, returning to their barracks.
They spent the evening preparing.
***
At two they met as planned, Jill, Python, Drake and five of his men. The convict leader’s bodyguards were just a formality to make him feel safe; she wasn’t planning to test them.
Nor did she believe they would do anything to her or Python. The risks to them – Plague contamination, being spotted by watching guards – were too high, especially in broad daylight.
“Follow us,” Jill said, and led the men casually into one of the communal male showers, one with an “Out Of Order” sign on it, guarded by four of her people to make sure everyone stayed away.
Inside, the hard cases looked around warily as Jill walked over to the small central drain grate, and lifted it.
“What, you gonna fit through there?” one of the cons scoffed, and the rest laughed. Except Drake. His eyes narrowed, and he watched.
Jill took out her multi-tool and used it to pry up an adjacent floor panel, about a foot across. Beneath it they could see two feet of space, and then a subfloor. “If we need to, we can pry some more of these up, cut our way through, and then have a reclosable hatch to access the ground under this building.”
“Another tunnel? They’ll be looking for that. Besides, we’re damn near in the center of the camp.” Drake had stated his doubts, but was still listening.
“Ah, but let me ask you. Where does the waste water go?” Jill tapped the shower drain.
“Sewers? There’s some kind of treatment plant off to the east about a mile.”
Jill nodded. “Yes. That’s one reason they constructed this place here, I believe. To take advantage of the new waste plant that serves Osceola. And like any lowest bidders, the building contractors cut as many corners as they could. I’m sure they were under tremendous time pressure, and digging costs money.”
“So?”
“So they didn’t dig.”
Drake growled, “Get to the point, Reaper.”
Jill held up a forestalling hand. “Okay, short version. Old three-foot concrete irrigation pipes run right under this camp. One of them goes almost straight to the plant. Instead of digging a mile-long trench, I’m pretty sure the contractors cracked the pipe and started shoving ten-inch PVC through it, then did the same at the other end to connect to the facility. Or, perhaps, just ran the raw sewage into the irrigation system, but if that were so, I think we’d smell it more than we do.”
Drake smiled. “So if we can get into the pipe, we can scuttle almost all the way to the plant, and dig out there.” He laughed. “Ready-made tunnels. How did you know?”
Jill made an over-there gesture. “I saw the standpipes out in the fields. Those ten-foot-high things sitting in the middle of nowhere? But if you look close, you can see they line up, following the irrigation pipes. They relieve pressure on the system, otherwise it would burst from time to time. All I had to do was figure out where they crossed.”
“Beneath us.”
“Within ten feet of here. We just have to dig, then break through, and after that, bust out the other end. For that I needed muscle; people like you guys who can work hard on short rations.”
Drake nodded slowly. “It could work. Okay, I’ll go along with you for now. We dig, we bust into this irrigation pipe, then we see what’s what. After that, we’ll decide.”
“Fair enough. My guys will secure this place and set lookouts, since it’s near our block. We’ll smuggle in improvised tools for you. We’ll figure out where to get rid of the soil. You just have to rotate your guys in to dig. They’ll undress and work in their underwear, then shower and put their clothes back on to make it all look normal. You can come by any time to check. We’ll put everything back together at night. Deal?”
“Deal.” Drake stuck out his hand. “Kinda wis
h you weren’t infected.” He held onto hers a moment when she clasped it. “You’d make a hell of a business partner.”
Jill squeezed his in return. “You never know,” she answered, “but let’s stick to the business at hand.”
***
The breakthrough came quickly, on the third day. Lack of hard heavy steel slowed them down, but eventually the four inches of high-grade concrete yielded to the chipping by dismantled bunk poles, free weights, and a smuggled ball-peen hammer. Once they’d made the first hole, widening it took only another shift.
Jill and Python took their turns working hard. Both lost more than five pounds a day, and began to seem severely underfed, if not yet malnourished. Drake didn’t comment on it, but it was clear he’d noticed, and even took a turn himself, probably to show his men he wasn’t to be outdone.
Murphy never sleeps. Occasionally, though, he focuses his attention on the enemy.
Just before noon, one of the lookouts told Jill he’d heard something was happening at the SS complex out front, so she told the crew to keep digging while she and Python meandered over to have a look, along with half of the internees. For once the guards did not yell and threaten the people back, so they lined the cyclone-and-barbed-wire inner barrier, watching. Any break in the routine made for a relief from boredom.
Instead of pushing to the front, Python boosted Jill up on top of the chapel roof. She then gave him a hand up. They fended off a couple of like-minded joiners, afraid of attracting too much attention.
From their perch they could see military buses arriving, eight of them, along with a similar number of five-ton trucks. Troops of some sort disembarked and began to unload the cargo carriers, stacking duffel bags and plastic equipment cases neatly on the side of the parking lot.
Jill shaded her eyes with her hand. “They’re not Marines, or Navy…I don’t think they’re Army. Air Force?”
“What would the Air Force be doing here?”
“They have Security Police. Some good ones, too, matter of fact. I’m guessing these aren’t regulars, though. Air National Guard? And notice, no weapons, no tactical vehicles.”
“Huh.” Python seemed just as puzzled as Jill.
After more than an hour of sluggish activity, Jill told Python to stay and watch, while she went back to the breakout team. She found Drake there, looking for her.
“Something’s up, they tell me,” he said as she arrived.
“Yes. Looks like about three hundred Air National Guardsmen arriving. No idea why. But it could be the perfect time to bust out, when something is happening and the SS is distracted.”
Drake looked skeptical. “More guards mean they can cover more ground.”
Jill explained, “More newbie personnel mean more confusion. I say we try to create an exit in the pipe today or tomorrow, and leave tomorrow night at sundown. And Drake,” she grabbed him by the arm, “don’t tell anyone we’re actually going until the very last minute, and then leave your ration cards with the ones you’re leaving behind.”
Drake’s face blanked as he shook off her hand. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
Jill stepped in close to hiss in his ear, “If you don’t, they’ll go running straight to the guards. Don’t do it because you’re such a sweet guy. It’s payoff to keep their mouths shut, and it will buy us all time, as the system sees your cards still being scanned.” She paused. “You were going to kill them, weren’t you? But there’s no need.”
Drake put his palm on her chest and shoved her away. “I said, I’ll think about it. Now back off.”
Jill shrugged and nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on what’s going on. Maybe I can find out something useful.” She headed back to the chapel and Python’s observation point.
When she rejoined him, Python said, “SS is loading up.” He pointed at lines of black-clad guards carrying gear to the trucks, and then boarding the buses.
“You got a good count?” Jill asked.
“Almost three hundred incoming, about the same outgoing.”
“Half the SS, then. For some reason they need them elsewhere.”
“Yeah,” Python said. “Setting up another camp?”
“That would make sense. Keep some experience here, backfill in with called-up Guard. This is good news, Python. Very good news. And they wouldn’t be boarding the buses if they weren’t leaving today. The guard force is going to be all screwed up, or at least thin, for the next while.” She turned to speak softly in his ear. “We’re going tonight, no matter what the convicts do.”
Python smiled.
***
Just before night fell, Jill and Python made their way to the tunnel building, each with a bagful of equipment. “We’ll sneak back later,” her sidekick told the crew of lookouts. She found it hard to lie to her faithful sheep, so she let him do it.
It was time to abandon this flock. Perhaps not forever, but for now.
As they opened up the floor, Python asked, “Do you think Drake will let them live?”
“The ones he’s keeping inside his block? I planted a bug in his ear. I hope he sees it my way.” From glimpses through the doorway, she’d realized the convicts kept haggard women, and possibly a few men, prisoner inside. Probably as sex slaves. Also, each one had a ration card they could exploit.
Jill and Python had gone around and around on the subject. They both wanted to rescue the captives, but had finally concluded the best way to do that was to have the convicts take themselves out of the way by escaping. Hopefully this would give the SS fits at the same time, and possibly divert resources from chasing him and her as well.
“I’m still not happy with leaving them behind,” Python grumbled.
“You want to wait one more night and try to go when they do?” It was the first time she’d really given him a chance to second-guess her, and it clearly made him uncomfortable.
“No, I guess not.” He resumed dismantling the floor.
“Think you’re skinny enough now?” Jill asked. Hard work and deliberate lack of food had reduced her five-foot-eight frame to under a hundred pounds. Python was two inches taller and perhaps only ten pounds heavier.
“I guess we’ll find out,” he replied.
Three minutes later they dropped through to the space beneath the building, and began to replace the concealing floor from below when they saw a flashlight shine from above.
“Well, well,” came Drake’s voice. “Glad I thought to check on things. You wouldn’t be thinking of selling me out, would you?”
Jill looked up at him but kept back out of the way. “No, Drake. We’re just leaving a bit early, and by a different route. Good luck, and goodbye.”
“Wait…just because I’m interested.” He squatted down at the hole, turning the light away so it wasn’t shining in their faces. “Tell me how. You can’t possibly break out of the pipe from the inside, not just you two skeletons.”
“Sorry, Drake. If you’re going to rat us out to the SS, we’re not going to make it easy on you.”
Drake stared. “I won’t, but I understand why you’d think that way.” For some odd reason he sounded disappointed. He seemed to care what Jill thought of him.
Perhaps that will be enough for him to spare his captives.
Drake covered up the hole with the modular tiles, and they heard him leave.
Once they had dropped down into the big irrigation conduit, they saw the PVC sewer pipe within, just as Jill had predicted. It led off to the east, toward the treatment plant, leaving the irrigation pipe relatively clean and dry. Because they had broken in near an intersection, they had a choice of three other cardinal directions as well.
First they donned improvised knee pads, gloves, and taped tiny battery-LED lamps to their foreheads. Then they turned south, directly toward the SS compound.
Jill had made careful estimates, and now they counted their steps – if that was what a unit of crawling on hands and knees could be termed. They passed a standpipe above at one hundred yards, and an
intersection at two, then another standpipe at three, and finally they came upon more PVC descending at nearly four hundred.
When they’d seen three more vertical pipes drilled through the concrete from above they knew they were under the SS compound. A score of yards farther they reached another intersection, where they rested. PVC sewer pipe ran off to the east from here as well.
“What do you think?” Python asked, apparently more to fill the time as anything.
“I think you’d have made a good tunnel rat,” Jill said cheerfully. She took out a water bottle and a sandwich from her satchel and ate ravenously. “Eat,” she ordered. “With this kind of caloric expenditure we’ll need it.”
“Right.” He gladly followed her orders. “Glad we saved up during our diet plan.”
“It better pay off, or we’re going to be two very unhappy moles.” Jill slapped the concrete pipe wall. “Like Drake said, no way we’re breaking through this.”
“Don’t worry, boss. Your plan will work.”
“Damn well hope so.”
After a few minutes they pushed on south. One hundred yards later they found their objective: a standpipe above their heads.
“I can see stars,” Python said, peering upward.
“Soon we’ll see them in the open.” Jill unwrapped the grappling hook she’d formed out of bunk parts, and tied it to the length of parachute cord she’d smuggled in so long ago.
The line was thin, but had a test strength of five hundred fifty pounds, plenty for her purposes. Whittled dowels tied every foot provided something to grip with hands and feet. The only question was: were their bodies thin enough?
The standpipes were eighteen inches inside diameter. They could certainly fit, but could they climb?
Without fanfare Jill made her first, experimental throw. The hook fell far short. Because the standpipes stood ten feet above ground level, she had to launch the thing more than twelve feet straight up and have it catch, with the ability to swing it only three feet to gain momentum.
“We should have brought that collapsible pole you thought of,” Jill said after several tries. “But it would have been awkward as hell.”
