"I broke the straps," he said. He smiled at Lundy. "She called me and I broke the straps."
He started to walk to the safe in the corner of the cabin. Lundy gagged and pulled himself up out of a cold black cloud and got his feet to moving.
Jackie Smith said quietly, "Hold it, Midget. She doesn't like it there in the safe. She's cold, and she wants to come out."
Lundy looked over his shoulder. Smith was hunched around in his seat, holding the needle-gun from Lundy's holster on the pilot's chair. His pale green eyes had a distant, dreamy glow, but Lundy knew better than to trust it.
He said, without inflection, "You've seen her."
"No. No, but—I've heard her." Smith's heavy lips twitched and parted. The breath sucked through between them, hoarse and slow.
Farrell went down on his knees beside the safe. He put his hands on its blank and gleaming face and turned to Lundy. He was crying.
"Open it. You've got to open it. She wants to come out. She's frightened."
Jackie Smith raised the gun, a fraction of an inch. "Open it, Midget," he whispered. "She's cold in there."