Mind Prey

was worried.
    “Leave there in fifteen minutes.”
    “Lucas…”
    “I just got a call from Mail. He’s out, and he’s going home to kill them. So go see White and keep your head down. Better keep it down for an hour.”
    “You gonna get him?”
    “Yeah. I’m gonna get him.”

31
    “W E HAVE TO be very fast,” Andi said. “If we don’t kill him, if we don’t blind him, I’ll try to hold his legs while you run. Run out and hide in the cornfield. He won’t find you there. Just run out by the road and hide until you see cars. Wait until you see more than one, in case he’s in one, then run out.”
    Andi rambled along, hoping that she was making sense. Sometimes, now, she wasn’t sure. She’d see Grace looking at her oddly, and she’d say, “What?” and Grace would say, “You’re calling me Gen,” or “You were talking to Dad just now.”
    For a very long time, the sound of Andi scraping the nail had been the only noise in the cell, and then Grace sighed and said, “I think I could get the sole off my shoe. You know, with a piece of the bedspring.”
    Andi stopped scraping. “What for?”
    “We could put the nail through it. We could use it like a push-handle.”
    When they were trying to work with the mattress springs, they’d found that the small pieces of metal were impossible to grip. Mail had given Andi some Band-Aids to patch a cut on her forehead, and Andi tried wrapping the wire with a bit of rag and the sticky-tape parts of the Band-Aids, but without much success.
    Andi said, “Grace, that’s a great idea. Let’s see…”
    Grace slipped her shoe off and handed it to her mother. The heel was capped by a thin slice of hard plastic. “We could break the plastic in half and make a hole in one half and put the nail through, and then put the other half over the nail head and tape it all together,” Grace said. “When you stick him, you could have the nail coming out between your fingers with the heel in your hand.”
    Andi stared at her daughter: Grace had been thinking about this, how to kill him. Had visualized it, right down to the fatal punch. And it should work.
    “Do it,” she said. “I’ve got to keep scraping.”
    Another two hours, and they were done. The broken heel-cap and tape made a knob at the end of the nail, and held in her closed fist, with the nail protruding between her ring and middle finger, Andi could strike—and strike hard. The nail was five inches long. Nearly four were exposed beyond her fingers, and the last inch glittered with raw steel, like the tip of a new hypodermic needle.
    “Now,” Andi said, hefting the nail. “Let’s go over it. When he comes, you’re in the corner, playing with the computer. I’m lying on the mattress. I start to cry, but I don’t get up. He comes to get me, just like he did the last couple of times. When he pulls me up, I put my left arm around his neck and pull up close, and my right hand hits him right below the breastbone, pointing up toward his heart. I do it a whole bunch of times, and try to turn him toward the wall…”
    “And I come up from behind him and hit him in the eye with the spring,” Grace said. She held up one of the thin needles she’d used to free the nail.
    “So we should have room.”
    They danced it out, in the small cubicle: Grace was Mail, and bent over her mother, pulling her up. Andy struck at her midsection, pulled back, did it again.
    Then Andi was Mail, her back turned, standing on the Porta-Potti, and Grace came from behind, striking a roundhouse blow at the left eye with the wire. The wire wasn’t stiff enough to penetrate muscle, but it would blind him.
    When they’d gone through it a half-dozen times, they sat down, and Grace said, “He’s been gone a long time. What if something happened? What if he doesn’t come?”
    “He’ll come,” Andi said. She looked around the hole and touched her temples. “I can feel him out there, thinking about us.”

32
    D EL LOOKED LIKE he’d been stuffed in a gunny sack and beaten with a pool cue. A patch of his blue jacket was discolored and stiff with something—ketchup? beer? His face was cut with stress lines, his hair was spiked from a pillow.
    Franklin was not much better. He was a large black man, who wore a partial plate where his front teeth had been knocked out in a fight. He had the habit of dislodging the plate and rolling it with his tongue when he was thinking. Worse, a wandering eye gave him the appearance of a medieval