The keys, thanks to Ceci, are gone.
Dany blinks at the unconscious guard then looks up at her aunt Norah.
“Go,” her aunt says. “Get out of here. Go home.”
“No,” Dany says. She grabs hold of the chain.
Her aunt sighs. “Go,” she says.
“We go together,” Dany tells her, and takes up the slack. The guard’s arm lifts into the air, and it’s almost like he wants to make a point.
Finally, her aunt Norah takes up the chain, and together, inch by inch, they drag the two-hundred-pound soldier down the truck ramp. Dany leans away, using her weight and gravity to leverage the body.
At the bottom of the ramp, Dany scans the prison grounds.
Fifty yards back are the tin cans. The ones that, each night, the prisoners call home. That’s where most of the noise and the commotion is. And that, of
