7
I slid back the door of the elevator, peered into the passage. Mitchell, wide-eyed, hopping with excitement, was standing at the far end. He waved to me.
Up on A floor the old woman continued to scream.
I ducked back into the elevator, scooped up Miss Wonderly’s limp form in my arms and stepped into the passage. As I did so, Mitchell waved me back, then turned and bolted up the stairs.
Warned, I laid Miss Wonderly on the floor, reached for my gun.
A prison guard, automatic rifle wedged into his hip, came running around the corner. I didn’t give him a chance. My .38 cracked once. The guard stumbled, curled up on the floor. His automatic rifle fell out of his hands, exploded. The slug brought plaster down from the ceiling on my head.
I turned, snatched up Miss Wonderly, tossed her over my shoulder. She moved feebly, but I gripped her tight. I ran.
Somewhere in the building an alarm bell began to ring. Its jangling note mingled with the cries of the prisoners, a great rattling of steel doors, and the old woman’s screams upstairs.
Half-way down the passage a door flew open, two guards spilled out. I shot one of them in the leg, the other ducked back into the room, kicked the door shut. I sent a slug through the door, heard the guard yell.
I kept on, moving more slowly, turning to look back at every step. I was fighting mad, not