Louis L'Amour: Last of the Breed

He had taken no more than a dozen steps when a man fell in beside him, a slender man with a thin face and gray eyes. “Keep walking,” the other prisoner said. “I’m Pennington, a chemist, from England.”

As they reached the corner of a building Pennington said, “They listen. We have three steps now where they cannot hear, but only three steps.”

As they passed beyond the corner Pennington said, “Sleep well?”

“Well enough.”

“This time of year the days are long.”

He made no reply. Then the Englishman asked, “What do they call you?”

“Joe Mack. Officially, Major Joseph Makatozi, United States Army Air Force.”

“You’re dark for an American.”

“I’m an Indian. Sioux.”

“Well, I’ll be damned! A Red Indian? I never met one before.”

The man could be a stool pigeon, and this could be a trap. When they reached the blind corner, Pennington spoke swiftly. “If you’ve any idea of escaping, do it now! At once! The food is lacking in vitamins. Your strength will be depleted and your courage as well.”

As they came within range of the listening devices Pennington said, “If a man cooperates, they say, things get better. There’s more food, more freedom. It’s summer now, but not far from here is the coldest spot on the planet. Registered ninety-four degrees below zero.”

“The coldest I’ve seen it was fifty below.”

“Man! That’s cold! Where was it?”

“Montana.”

When they reached the corner again, Pennington said, “There are roads encircling the compound, and they are patrolled. One is two hundred yards out, the next is a mile, and then two miles.”

There were five buildings, with another beginning construction. The new building was to be of frame construction. The planks and timbers were laid out ready for work, along with slender pipes for water, kegs of nails, and what looked like sacks of cement.

“If I can help…?” Pennington suggested.

It was a crazy idea, yet what choice did he have? And crazy ideas had a way of succeeding, because they were unexpected.

He might be a fool, but he decided to trust the Englishman; yet he could not take him along. There was no way it could be done.

They were in the blind spot for the last time on that walk. “I could use help. I need a few minutes of darkness. Can you get out of your cell?”

Back on the cot again he turned it over in his mind. The situation that existed might never occur again. Somebody had not been thinking. Somebody had been careless. The connection for the new building might have no tie in with the compound lights, yet it was there, on the end of the nearest building.

After he was free he would need weapons, food, and clothing.

He slept, he ate the food, he waited. Distance first, then a place to hide, then more distance. Manchuria was a part of China and it was fairly close. He would start toward it.

When the exercise period came, he was ready. “No one knows of this place,” Pennington told him. “They do not know, but I understand some Russian. I have heard them speaking. If you make it, tell them where I am. Try to get me out.” He paused. “It will take strength and endurance I do not have.”

Zamatev, or whoever supervised the construction, depended too much on the camp’s isolation, the barbed wire, and the guards.

There were three other prisoners, but they kept to themselves. One was a West German, Pennington said. Or so the man told him. Pennington, suspicious, had avoided him after the man had asked too many questions. “I do not believe he is German,” Pennington said.

The others were a Swedish naval officer and a French diplomat, a very minor one apparently, who happened to have some information that was anything but minor.

“There was another,” Pennington said, and pointed. “They buried him over there.”

Joe Mack was not surprised. Whatever else Zamatev might be, he was efficient, and he was no time waster. He would get what he wanted or he would be rid of anyone who did not cooperate. The man was cool and tough, and he knew his business.

Pennington talked quite freely while they were being observed and listened to. His home had been in Weymouth before he was transferred to Scotland. He had a brother, two sisters, and a wife.

“No children?”

“One was on the way. Should be three months old by now.” He glanced around at Joe Mack. “I’ve been here nearly six months.”

“So long?”

“They are patient with me. You see, Yakutia is booming now. They need scientists in every field. I had been working in insecticides, and all of eastern Siberia is beset with vicious flies and mosquitoes. They’ve been trying, but there is much to be done.” He paused again. “They’ve even offered to bring over my wife and child.”

They walked in silence, and then Joe Mack said, “It may take time.”

Pennington nodded. “You’re my one chance.”

“Nobody likes those flies,” Joe Mack said. “I’ve had experience with their like while hunting.”

“It will be bitter cold. Think of that.”

“I have.”

“The nights here are short. In summer there is no night if you go above the Arctic Circle.”

When they were around the corner Joe Mack said, “Tonight, then?”

“Tonight.”

The time was settled, and they walked on into the clear and back to their cells. Tonight, and God help them both!

There were no preparations to make. There was simply nothing to be done.

The light flashed in his face as the guard checked his presence from the small window.

Less than two hours of darkness would remain. He tightened his shoelaces, went over in his mind the position of the pipe.

He could hear the footsteps of the guard, heard him pause at a cell door and then another. His would be next. He huddled under his blanket.

Light flashed into his cell. The guard passed. Joe Mack swung his feet to the floor.

The prison did not rely upon locks. Anyone seen in the compound would be shot. It was as simple as that. Only during the exercise periods or when being moved by the guards themselves was movement permitted.

In the Idaho mountains where he had grown up, and where he had returned many times, all repairs were made by the family. There was no telephone to call a repairman. You simply did it yourself. The locks were simple, and Joe Mack had known what to do the minute he saw them.

One minute after his feet touched the floor his cell door was open. He took six steps to the outer door on cat feet, then waited, listening.

Pennington was listening too and now he spoke softly. “Just let my wife know I did not run out on her. Tell her I miss her.”

“You can be sure.”

You haven’t a chance, he told himself. This thing is crazy! If there had only been time to plan! He was outside, and something moved behind him. It was Pennington.

Joe Mack flattened against the wall, listening, waiting, judging the time to the slender pipe he wanted. He already knew how many steps he must take and how many to the wire.

The lights went out. There were shouts from the guard towers, running feet, and he was moving. There was dampness on his face, and for the first time he realized there was fog.

Lightly he ran to the pile of building material, grasped the pipe, lifted it, and ran. Any time now the emergency lights would come on.

A guard tower loomed through the mist. There was a questioning shout. The end of the pipe touched the ground and his body lifted. He had often vaulted over sixteen feet, but that had been with a resilient pole, and when he was dressed lightly.

His body lifted, soared. High, higher… he released the pole as his body shot over and down.