“There’s one more to go,” Ken gasped.
“Wait a minute.” Sandy took a deep breath, bent his head, and hunched his shoulder muscles. He gave one powerful tug. The last rope snapped. His hands were free.
He stood motionless for a moment, panting. Then he began to knead his fingers to get the numbness out of them. As soon as he could pick up the knife—and without bothering to massage the painful welts on his wrists—he went to work on Ken.
A few quick strokes were enough to free Ken’s hands. And then his feet were free too.
“I’ll be tying Cal up while you get enough life back into your feet to be able to stand on them,” Sandy said quickly. “Rub your hands too. We’ve got work to do.”
Sandy turned Cal over on his face on the wet floor, ripped off the man’s belt and used it to tie his hands behind him, as the boys had been tied.
“Here,” Ken said. He had to use both his hands—his fingers were still nerveless—to take a limp dish towel from a nail on the wall and bring it to Sandy. “This will do for his feet.”
Sandy pulled off Cal’s heavy boots and bound his feet together, ripping the towel into strips first to give him the length he needed.
“Your hands O.K.?” he asked when he had finished.
“As good as yours, I guess. Do you know how to start a pump?”