Chương 93

Louis waited near the left wall until people began filing toward the rear staging area. Then he looked at Gladice and Willa. They met his gaze through the eyeholes of their hoods. He tipped his head toward the corner. The three of them crossed to it at the same pace as the people around them.

"We need a plan," Willa said under the hood.

"He's at the station," Gladice said.

"But where in the station?"

"Probably the holding cells in the basement," Willa said.

"That's standard for county stations."

"Can we get there?" Gladice asked.

"I don't know." Louis shifted his weight.

"Causing a distraction?"

"Yes," Willa said.

"But we need a good one. And we need to be fast. They'll be gathering for the execution soon. We don't have much time."

"I am thinking of making some smoke. Using the lantern oil," Gladice said.

"Good idea," Louis agreed.

"But we also need the key and a way to reach the cells without being caught."

"I can try to turn off the power if I find the switch," Willa said.

"It might buy us some time."

"I like that." Gladice smiled.

"I don't think you understand the risks here," Willa said.

"If we fail, we're dead."

"If we fail here, I will shoot my way through," Gladice said.

"That's the spirit," Louis said.

"Alright." Willa looked around.

"Let's start moving." They separated at once. Louis tucked the stack of handbills under one arm, took his cane in the other hand, and walked down the service hall. Volunteers crossed in front of him carrying candles, lantern oil, and folding chairs. He turned into the booking corridor. Interview rooms lined one side. The booking desk stood opposite them, with a ring of keys hanging on the wall behind it. A deputy sat at the desk with a paper cup in one hand and his hat pushed back.

The fluorescent lights buzzed and went out. Someone shouted from the garage. The deputy swore, set down the cup, and stepped into the corridor.

"Damn grid's going out again." Louis waited until the deputy had passed, then stepped behind the desk. He set down the handbills, took the ring tagged LOWER HOLDING, and slipped it into his robe sleeve. The emergency lights came on overhead as he picked up the cane. Louis left the desk without hurrying. A steel door near the end of the corridor stood open on a rubber wedge, with stairs leading down behind it. He went through and started down. No alarm had sounded.

Louis went down carefully, using the rail with one hand and the cane with the other. Pain started in his knee after the first few steps and worsened as he descended. By the time he reached the landing, sweat ran down his back beneath the robe. The basement corridor was dim and smelled of bleach and urine. A single red emergency light lit the center of the hall. A second grated gate blocked the cells, secured with a large old padlock. No guard was in sight.

Louis leaned the cane against the wall and freed the key ring from his sleeve. His hands were slick. The first key did not turn. Neither did the second. The third resisted, then opened the padlock. He went through, picked up the cane, and moved toward the last cell. A black man sat on the bunk with his back against the block wall and his forearms on his knees. He looked up at the sound of the key. One eye was swollen. His lower lip was split, with fresh blood over the dried cut.

A dark bruise showed below his collarbone through the open shirt. When he saw the white hood, he pushed himself to his feet and backed into the wall.

"No," he pleaded, his voice breaking.

"Not like this. Not like this."

"Are you Darnell Barlow?" Barlow stared into the eyeholes of Louis's hood.

"Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Louis Collins. I'm with Marcus Ellington," Louis whispered.

"I'm here to get you out." Barlow blinked but stayed against the wall.

"Ain't never heard that name."

"The textile plant. Mae Pearl's." Louis kept his voice low.

"Marcus sent me. You were supposed to help us cross the border." Barlow looked toward the corridor outside the cell, then back at Louis.

"Mae Pearl's?" he whispered.

"Yes." Barlow nodded and stepped closer to the bars.

"They caught me. I ain't tell 'em nothing."

"I know." Louis leaned his cane against the bars, unlocked the cell, and opened the door.

"Can you walk?"

"I can try." The fire alarm began ringing upstairs. Barlow closed his eyes, then opened them and stepped toward the door. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Put these on." Louis pulled off the hood, then the robe, and held them out. Barlow looked at the cloth, then at Louis.

"You serious?"

"Do you want to get shot? Put it on. Quickly." He stepped back and let the man take the robe. Voices rose upstairs. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and someone shouted that the women's lavatory was full of smoke. Louis glanced toward the corridor, then back.

"Move." Barlow missed the right sleeve and caught his arm in the fabric. Louis swore under his breath, straightened the robe, and pulled the hood down over the man's face. The robe covered his clothes, but his hands hung outside the sleeves and he held his shoulders rigid.

"Hands in the sleeves," Louis said. Barlow did it.

"Keep your head down." Barlow nodded beneath the hood. Louis picked up his cane and took Barlow by the elbow with his other hand. Heat came through Barlow's sleeve. They were halfway to the grated gate when Louis smelled smoke. Louis pulled the gate closed behind them and started up the stairs. People were running through the station above. The alarm rang over shouts from the garage. Doors slammed, women called for their children, and a deputy ordered the witness line toward the exits.

Pain worsened in Louis's knee as he climbed. He used the rail with one hand and the cane with the other, but kept moving. Barlow stumbled and caught himself against the wall. The sleeve of his robe slipped back, exposing his wrist. Louis pulled it down again.

"Keep your hands in."

"Trying," Barlow muttered. They stepped into the booking corridor. Smoke hung beneath the red emergency lights, and robed volunteers crowded the hall. Two women hurried past carrying cardboard boxes. A deputy ran the other way with a fire extinguisher. Someone shouted that the sheriff wanted the assembly bay cleared. Another voice ordered more deputies to the prisoner detail. Louis led Barlow into the side hall instead of following the crowd. Barlow limped beside him and kept one arm close to his body.

His injuries helped support Louis's story. A deputy stepped out of the rear records room carrying a flashlight in one hand and a ring of smaller keys in the other. He stopped when he saw them.

"Who you with?" he asked.

"My friend is hurt, we need to get to the hospital," Louis said, pressing the robe tight to Barlow's side.

"Man, everybody's hurt. Go out the back and call a damn car." The deputy looked them over once more, then moved past them toward the smoke. Louis kept going. They were close to the rear exit when he saw Officer Miller beside the supply room. She wore a white robe with the hood down and a ribbon pinned at the shoulder. Lanterns and hymn sheets covered the table beside her as she directed volunteers toward the exits. She turned and looked straight at Louis.

"Hey," she said.

"I know you." Louis's stomach tightened.

"Mrs. Miller," he said.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

"Likewise." She looked from Louis to Barlow.

"Who's that with you?"

"Mr. Smith. He broke his arm during the blackout," Louis said.

"I'm taking him to the hospital." Miller's gaze dropped to Barlow's wrist. The sleeve had ridden up again, exposing his dark skin beneath the red emergency light. She stopped.

"What—" Gladice came through the smoke behind Miller, her hood still in place and a bundle of witness packets under one arm. She reached Louis and caught him under the arm.

"For Christ's sake," she said.

"There you are." Still holding Louis, she turned to Miller with a scowl.

"Have some decency, sister. This man's arm is broken. The sheriff wants everyone cleared out. This is the last exit. Are you going to help or stand there gawking?" Miller stared.

"I—" She looked from Louis to Gladice. She hesitated but did not step aside. Willa came up behind Gladice, her hood still covering her face. She moved to Barlow's other side and took him under the arm.

"And mine's half sick from the smoke," Willa said in the Southern drawl, loud enough for the nearby volunteers to hear.

"He was down in the lower hall when the lights went out. You want him passing out in the middle of the witness line?" Barlow swayed. Louis could not tell whether he meant to. His face remained hidden, but one hand slipped from the cuff again. Willa caught his wrist, pushed the hand back into the sleeve, and gave his arm an impatient tug.

"Come on, Jack. Don't mind her. Bless her heart, she just don't know any better." Miller stared at them for a second, then stepped aside. They passed her without stopping. Miller watched them go, then turned back to the volunteers at her table. Louis kept his pace steady until the rear door closed behind them. Smoke came from a side vent into the service lot. White-robed volunteers moved toward the outer lawn, while a deputy argued with firefighters near the side entrance.

No one stopped Louis and the others as they headed toward the back fence. The van waited beside the laundry dumpster with the engine running. The side door opened from inside. Louis helped Barlow up to it, and Angelique caught him under the arms and pulled him farther into the van. Louis went around to the front passenger seat. Donya sat in the far corner with both hands over her mouth, her lips moving behind them. Savannah kept checking the mirrors from the driver's seat. Gladice climbed in after Barlow.

Willa came last, slammed the door, and said, "Go." Savannah pulled out of the service lane and took the first turn hard. Louis was thrown against the door, and his cane slid under the seat. Through the rear window, he saw white robes running across the lot. The alarm was still ringing. After Savannah made two turns and reached a wider road, Barlow tore off the hood. Sweat covered his face. One eye was nearly shut, and his lower lip had begun bleeding again. He took several deep breaths.

"Son of a bitch," he said, then closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. Savannah kept driving. Gladice took the hood and stuffed it under her boot. Willa leaned back against the panel and closed her eyes briefly. Louis reached under the passenger seat, found his cane, and pulled it free. He sat back, still breathing hard. Then he turned in his seat. Donya watched him with wide eyes.

"Are you alright?" She nodded without speaking. Angelique put a hand on her shoulder. Barlow opened his eyes and looked toward him.

"How y'all find me?"

"We followed the trail your lunch left behind," Louis said. He wiped his face with one hand.

"We heard they were going to hang you tonight." Barlow closed his eyes again and rested his head against the wall.

"Figured they would. Didn't know it'd be tonight."

"Do you know why they took you?"

"They was making an example outta me." Barlow's voice was rough.

"Somebody done ratted me out. Said I had some white girls in the back of my truck last week." He managed a short laugh.

"Now it look like I do."

"We're better than the usual ones." Gladice smirked.

"I'll bet." Barlow opened his one good eye.

"How about Secretary Hargrove?" Angelique asked.

"Is he involved in your capture?"

"Hargrove?" Barlow looked at her.

"These county boys don't need no help from up top. They just do what they want."

"Doesn't mean he's not behind it," Willa said. Barlow shook his head.

"All I know is I got caught 'cause somebody decided to sell me out. Now the whole county think I'm worth a public hanging." Louis said, "What now?" Barlow let out a harsh laugh.

"Now I reckon I owe y'all a favor. Marcus sent you. That mean I get y'all out, whatever it cost."

"Good." Louis looked at him.

"Because we need to cross the border tonight. We are already late." Barlow blinked, then looked toward the front.

"Alright. Let's head back to the plant. My truck's still there. I got a route in mind." Savannah nodded without looking back.

"We on it." She turned onto the road back to the plant and picked up speed.