On his cot Tony heard the commotion, the singing. He heard Josh bark. He was unarmed. His thoughts were barely coherent. It would be easy to slip out, to ambush. He needed to continue the work on his bunker. He could go down the tunnel, bring out another bucket of chippings, load it into the tractor cart. It had been easy dumping the chippings each morning before anyone rose, turning some of it in with the high meadow, some in with the lower thirty-six, using some out along the drive to reinforce the sides where the danger of washout was greatest. And Wapinski didn’t care, didn’t notice. He was completely absorbed with his Vertsborg project. The only real problem was the tunnel had again set off Tony’s dreams, nightmares. Nightly, after finally falling asleep, exhausted from farm chores du
