"Okay. We're moving."

"You get in the first one. You get in the fourth."

"But why…?"

"No reason. Just do what I tell you. I just want you separated. Move, for Christ sake."

And they did, and Slaughter told the medical examiner to bind and gag them, using belts and strips of cloth torn from the bunk sheets. Slaughter watched them, aiming the rifle. Then the medical examiner stepped out, and Lucas shut the doors and locked them.

"Bring the keys. The other rifles."

Dunlap was already halfway across to reach one door.

"No, we're going this way," Slaughter told him. "That way leads upstairs. This other one is where we're going."

Dunlap was puzzled.

"You'll see."

Slaughter went across and took the keys from Lucas. He unlocked the second door and swung it open. Then he flicked the light switch in there, and they saw the damp, slick, brick-lined tunnel.

"It leads toward the courthouse. There's no time."

They hurried through. Slaughter stared back at the two guards in their cells. He waved and stepped inside the tunnel where he shut the door and locked it. Then he turned, and they were running.

It was slippery in here. Condensation on the ceiling dripped down on them, and the tunnel echoed from the clatter of their footsteps. Slaughter saw the vapor from his breath and felt the damp brick chill and kept on running. He was forced to stoop as he ran underneath the lights that hung from the ceiling. Then the tunnel curved a little, and they reached a second door.

"It's locked. I have to use the key."

But when he fumbled with the key, it didn't work. The door stayed locked.

"What's going on here?"

Then he realized the door had not been locked at all. What he had done just now was actually to lock it. He worked the key and turned the handle. Slowly, wincing as the door creaked, he pushed at the door, and they faced darkness.

"There's a hall. Just follow it. You'll reach some stairs."

Now Slaughter flicked the lights off.

"But we-"

"I don't want to be a target. Feel along the hall."

They inched through the darkness. Here the floor was tiled. It echoed from their halting footsteps. Owens struck an object, cursing.

"Quiet," Slaughter told him.

"There's a table."

"Quiet. People might be in here. "

So they kept inching forward. Slaughter felt ahead. We should have reached the end by now, he told himself, and then his boot struck wood, and he gripped the staircase bannister.

"We made it," Owens said, and Slaughter didn't take the time to caution him. He just continued up the stairs, and everything was dark up there as well, except that from some windows moonlight spilled in, showing the front door and the big main hallway.

"Shush," he told them, and they stopped while, breath held, Slaughter listened. "We'll use the back. For all we know, there are guards in front."

He moved down the murky hallway, and the layout in here was the same as at the police station. He passed silent offices and reached the back door, staring out, then looking at the others, pulling the door open, stepping into the moonlight.

"My car is in the lot behind the station. If we're careful, we can take it."

He shifted from the sidewalk toward the grass, concentrating on the parking lot as a man stepped from the bushes beside the courthouse. Slaughter, thinking of the two kids in the grocery store who'd shot him, almost raised his rifle, firing. But he managed to subdue his fear and resist the impulse. There wasn't a reason to kill this guard. The most he could hope for was to overcome the man before he could shout to warn other guards. Slaughter shifted his grip on the rifle, about to club the man, as Rettig came up close to him.

The other men sighed.

"Christ Almighty," Owens said.

Rettig stopped in front of Slaughter. "It took you long enough. I almost gave up waiting. So you figured what that stuff was."

"How come you're so smart to think of that?" Slaughter asked, relieved.

"I didn't. Marge did. She remembered what you said about the cells downstairs, how you complained that they were weak." Then Rettig explained what had happened while Slaughter was in jail, and Slaughter wished he hadn't heard.

"I think Parsons is going to kill those hippies," Rettig said.

"What?"

"He's going to pick a fight and kill them. He'll arrange it so it looks justified, but he'll kill them just the same, and he'll have so much help that no one'll say it wasn't self-defense. It's nineteen seventy again."

"But those hippies," Owens said. "Everything they've done. Why should we care what he does to them?"

From the farthest sections of the town, muffled gunfire echoed. Slaughter looked down at the ground, then turned to Owens. "Because they're people, or have you forgotten that?"

The group was silent.

"Oh, I know the townsfolk used to call them animals. But you more than anyone ought to know the difference," Slaughter said.

Owens stared. "It isn't worth it, Slaughter. They aren't worth it."

"Maybe not to you. So go on. Look out for yourself and your family. But I've got my own obligations. Those damned hippies don't mean anything to me, but I'll stake everything to help them."

Owens stared a moment longer. "If I didn't have a wife and kids."

"There's no need to explain. Go on. We'll talk about it some time."

"Sure."

Except they both knew that they wouldn't.

Owens lingered.

"You stayed until sunset. You made good on what you promised."

"Sure."

Owens hesitated, then backed off and turned, walking along the courthouse, disappearing into the shadows.

Slaughter watched him.

"Here, Chief," Rettig said. "Take my gunbelt. I'll get another one from the station."

The weight of the gunbelt was satisfying. Slaughter strapped it on. "Your family?"

"My brother's with them. They left this afternoon."

"That's all that Owens wanted, too, I guess."

"But he intends to leave with them. We need him, but he doesn't plan to stay. That makes the difference."

Slaughter stared off toward the sound of the gunshots. "Well, we'd better get moving."

"Be careful when you reach the parking lot. Parsons has men inside the station."

"I don't plan to advertise." Slaughter turned to face the medical examiner. "You coming?"

"I have work to do."

"Yourself?" he said to Lucas.

"No. I have to see my father."

"Without help?"

"I've had a chance to do more thinking. If there's trouble, I know where my place is."

"Yes." Slaughter studied him. "I understand that, I suppose. I'll see you." He started toward the parking lot.

"Hey, wait. I'm going with you," Dunlap said.

"You'd better not. I don't know how I'm going to stop Parsons, but tomorrow will be rough."

"You need a witness."

"Is it me, or just your story?"

"I'm not certain any longer."

"Just so you know the risks. I'm going to need a friend up there, that's certain. Rettig, you stay here and watch the town. I've got to count on someone."

"But you don't have any men," Rettig said.

"How many would I need? Ten? A hundred? If I take the men we have, this town will be defenseless. Even then, we wouldn't be a match for Parsons and what I assume must be an army. No, if Dunlap and I can't do it, then it simply won't get done. The numbers are against us if I try to beat Parsons on his terms. I'll have to beat him on my own terms."

Rettig studied him. "Take care."

"I mean to. I'll see you in a couple days."

"Sure." But Rettig didn't sound convinced.

Somber, they shook hands. Then Slaughter moved toward the parking lot.

The group was disbanding. Lucas went one way, the medical examiner another. Rettig watched as Slaughter reached the parking lot, scanned the police station, and walked toward his car. Slaughter had the rifle and the handgun. Dunlap got in the cruiser. Slaughter slid behind the steering wheel. The engine started, and they drove from the parking lot. Rettig waited until they disappeared. He frowned as the rumble of gunfire rolled across town.