"Yes, ma'am."
"MOVE!"
Grace bolted out of the cell and started running down the corridor. Denny watched her go, a slow smile of satisfaction spreading across her face.
She had no idea that Grace was running for her life.
CORA BUDDS HAD ALMOST FINISHED LOADING the crates.
The truck driver grumbled, "I thought there was gonna be two of yous? I'da brought another guy if I'd known."
Cora shrugged. "Life's a bitch, ain't it?" It was already dark in the cramped courtyard backing on to the children's center storeroom. The temperature was below zero, but the biting wind made it feel even colder. The boxes were small, about two feet square. Looking at them, Cora couldn't imagine how Grace had ever thought she was gonna squeeze herself inside one. They were also heavy. Their weight, combined with the finger-numbing cold, made the work slow going.
"Sorry I'm late."
Grace stood shivering in the lamplight. Still in her skirt and thin cotton blouse, she was ridiculously underdressed for the winter evening. The wind sliced into her skin like razor blades. Cora Budds's eyes widened in surprise but she said nothing.
The driver looked pissed. "Are you kidding me? This is your number two? She couldn't lift a cup of coffee, never mind a crate of clay."
"Sure she can," said Cora. "You can leave it to us now."
"Fine by me." The driver climbed back into the welcoming warmth of the cab. "One of you ladies give me the nod when you're done."
Back in the storeroom, Cora and Grace worked quickly. Sister Agnes or one of the guards could come back any minute. Cora pulled Grace's documents out of the pocket in her jumpsuit, stuffing them into Grace's bra. There were four fake IDs with matching credit cards, a slip of paper with an anonymous Hotmail address on it and a small wad of cash.
"Karen has a friend on the outside who'll wire you more money with Western Union when you need it. Just e-mail an amount, the zip code you're in and the initials of the fake ID you're using, and this person will do the rest. Take this, too." She handed Grace a silver stiletto. "You never know."
Grace stared at the blade in her palm for a second, hesitating, then slipped it into her shoe. Cora pried open the lid of one of the crates, emptying its contents at lightning speed. Somehow the box looked even smaller when it was empty.
Cora said, "I don' think it's possible, Grace. A cat couldn't fit in there."
Grace smiled. "It's possible. I was a gymnast when I was younger. Watch."
Cora watched in awe as Grace climbed into the box, ass first, folding her tiny limbs around herself like a double-jointed spider. "Girl, that looks painful." She winced. "You sure you're okay?"
"It's not exactly first-class travel, but I'll live. Try the lid. Am I in?"
Cora tried it. Easy. About an inch to spare. She levered it open again. "You're in. I'm gonna load the rest of 'em now. I'll put you three rows back, so you're hidden at the checkpoint, but leave the lid loose so you got some air."
"Thanks."
"Sit tight till you get through the checkpoint. Once you're outta here, soon as the truck stops, you jump."
"Got it. Thanks, Cora. For everything."
Good luck, Amazing Grace.
Cora Budds replaced the lid and carried Grace out into the darkness.
WARDEN MCINTOSH EYED LISA HALLIDAY SUSPICIOUSLY.
"This had better not be some sort of scam."
"It ain't."
"Grace Brookstein is in lockdown. She's been in her cell since lunchtime. Besides, A-Wing prisoners never work on deliveries. Sister Agnes knows the policy."
"Sister Agnes don't know her pussy from her paternoster."
"That's enough!" the warden snapped. "I won't have you disrespecting our voluntary staff."
"Look. You don't wanna check the truck? Fine. Don't check it. Jus' don' say I didn't warn you."
Warden McIntosh did not want to check the truck. It had been a long day. He wanted to finish up his paperwork and get home to his wife. But he knew he had no choice.
"All right, Lisa. Leave it with me."
THE DARKNESS WAS DISORIENTING. GRACE HEARD the rear doors of the truck slam shut. For a moment fear gripped her: I'm trapped! But then she relaxed, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths. It was uncomfortable, coiled inside the crate like a marionette, but she could bear the position. The cold, on the other hand, was debilitating. Limb by limb, Grace felt her body start to go numb. Her head ached violently, as if she'd just sunk her teeth into an ice cube.
The engine rumbled to life. We're moving. Soon, all Grace could hear was the beating of her own heart. She said a silent prayer:
Please God, don't let them check all the boxes.
THE THUD WAS SO LOUD, THE driver heard it through his blaring Bruce Springsteen CD. One of the crates must have come loose.
"What the fuck?" Slamming on the brakes, he climbed out of the cab. Dumb-ass fucking dykes. How hard is it to stack a bunch of boxes? All they had to do was put 'em one on top of another.
Grace heard the rear door open. Rays from a flashlight seeped through the crack above her head, where Cora had left the lid loose. She held her breath
"Goddamn it."
Crates scraped noisily across the metal floor of the truck. The next thing Grace knew, her own box was moving. Oh God, no! He'll see me. But the driver didn't see her. Instead, pulling Grace's crate forward, he noticed the loose lid and banged it shut with his fist. Then he lifted another box and piled it on top of Grace's. The rear door slammed. Grace felt the lurch of the truck as it pulled away.
Cold beads of sweat broke out all over Grace's body.