Face had to swallow down the urge to cheer as the thin piece of metal finally snapped away from the frame of the cot. At last! He wasted no time getting to work on the manacles.

First, he got it off his wrist. After that, he picked the lock of the ring secured to the pipe, so he could take the manacles along. They were the only weapon he had. The metal rings could knock out teeth. The chain between them could throttle a man.

Once free, he lay totally still and silent for several minutes. He didn't know who was on watch outside right now, but he felt very sure they were asleep. The silent and still moments passed and no sign of movement came from outside the door.

Face had already made his plans. He wouldn't even try going out of the door. That was bolted on the outside, so his lock picking skills were no use. Even if he did get out, what then? He'd take out whoever guarded the door, and that would give him a gun, but he knew he was at the bottom of a flight of stairs, and if the others arrived at the top... Well he didn't need Hannibal's knowledge of military tactics to tell him such a position was unlikely to lead to victory.

Theoretically, once he got the gun, he could hold its former owner hostage. But good luck getting him up the stairs and out of the house, through the rest of the family. Too many people, that's what it came down to. The three men, Ma and Bonnie, and for all he knew there could be others up there.

So he'd decided some hours ago that the door wasn't the way out. Instead he turned his attention to the window.

He sat up slowly and silently, and took his shoes off, worrying about the noise they'd make on the uncarpeted floor. He tied the ends of the laces together and carried them around his neck. The manacles, he put in his pocket, though worried about them clinking. Soundless on his stocking feet, he glided across to the window and examined it.

A set of shutters with a bar across them, but no lock. They opened, folding back against the wall, to reveal the window itself. That had a small lock on it, and Face quickly defeated that.

The window swung outwards, on a side hinge and Face opened it carefully, wary of creaking, and breathed in the fresh air. How had he not noticed how stuffy his cell had become? After a few deep breaths, he started to make his assessment. The sky was dark grey, the merest ghost of dawn light touching it. This gave Face just enough light to see the terrain. What he saw made him gasp.

He'd hoped to find solid ground just a few feet below. Instead the ground fell away, on a near vertical slope. And he now he understood why he was downstairs and yet not in a basement.

The house was built on the side of a steep hill. If he climbed out of this window and lost his grip, he could roll hundreds of feet, before a rock or tree stopped him and smashed him up good into the bargain.

For a moment, he looked back at the door, reconsidering his plan not to go out that way. But the disadvantages with that remained the same. Okay, if he could get out of this window and climb down far enough to drop to the ground without getting hurt, then he could use that slope. He could move down it fast and put a lot of distance between him and the house. Even if the Watkins spotted his escape right away, he could cover the ground much faster than they could.

Face leaned as far out of the window as he dared and felt around the wall. Timber, and quite old, the planks knotted and distorted, from years of rain and sun. It had gaps here and there, big enough to put a hand in, or a foot.

Would he have enough hand and foot holds to take him down to the ground? How far to the ground anyway? Hard to guess in the dim light. He wasn't actually overhanging a cliff though. The ground sloped away precipitously, but there was enough there for him to land on.

Right, time to take the chance. Dawn continued its inexorable approach and Face should use the last of the darkness to get as far away as he could.

Face climbed out of the window, pausing, hanging over the sill, while his toes sought out a hold. They found it, at quite a stretch down and he shoved his left foot in as far as he could, to make it secure. Then the right, feeling around, while he clung to the window frame by his hands.

At last, both feet had their perches. Time to move, time to get right out of the window. Still hanging on tight to the window frame, he gingerly took his left foot out of its hold and let himself sink lower, until his arms were straight now and his right leg bent up almost double, while the left felt around for the next foothold. When he found that, his right foot followed and waved around for a while, until a small gap let him shove his toes in. He let go of the window frame one hand at a time, finding gaps for his fingers.

He expected to look up at any moment and see one of the Watkins looking down at him from the window, pointing a gun. If he did, he'd drop and take his chances. For now, he inched his way down the wall, sweat starting, despite the chill of the early morning.

Though moving painfully, horribly slowly he ran out of footholds far too quickly. No, he ran out of wall. His feet started trying to find purchase on thin air. Looking down he saw the ground only about six feet below his toes.

Aw hell, no option. He let go and dropped.

>o<

Hannibal shut off the alarm on his watch quickly. Even so BA stirred in the other bed and turned towards him. Hannibal got up and spoke softly to him.

"Go back to sleep, it's only five a.m. I'm heading out to join up with Murdock."

"Right." BA rubbed his eyes. "You taking the van?"

"Yeah, sorry." Murdock had already taken Tawnia's car and Hannibal didn't like leaving BA and Tawnia here without transport, but BA could always obtain a car in an emergency. "You two lie low and catch up on the sleep you missed. We'll be back this afternoon."

"Okay."

BA's eyes closed again. Too sleepy to even give Hannibal the usual warning to be careful driving the van. Hannibal grabbed his bag and slipped into the bathroom.

>o<

Face hit the ground and did a classic tuck and roll, as if he was back in parachute training. But then, as he felt himself start to roll down the slope, he spread-eagled his arms and legs, digging in his toes, and grabbing handfuls of grass. He stopped rolling, and didn't slide either. After a moment he let out a held breath.

He's made it. He was outside. He looked up at the looming, dark shape of the house. No lights came from it except the one shining from his former cell. That let him see a little of the exterior. The downstairs room he'd been in was supported on the hill by several thick support posts, sunk into the sloping ground.

Time to move. He saw no sign that anyone had been disturbed by his escape, so determined to take full advantage of the time that gave him. He still had his shoes, draped by their laces around his neck. One of them had kicked him in the head as he landed, but he'd hung onto them.

Sitting up, facing down the slope, he started to put his shoes on. He was tying the laces of the second one, when he heard the barking.

>o<

Hannibal emerged from the bathroom, washed and dressed. Trying not to make a sound, he put down his bag and moved towards the door, carrying his boots so as not to make a racket on the rather nice hardwood floors of the guesthouse.

A low rumbling voice stopped him when he had his hand on the doorknob.

"Take care of my van, man."

Hannibal grinned, and glanced back around. In the near darkness he caught the gleam of BA's open eyes.

"Don't I always?"

>o<

Face scrambled to his feet, and saw them coming. Around the corner of the house, two dark shapes, moving fast, and barking. A light came on somewhere above, but right now Face didn't care about that.

He started to run down the slope, but knew that wasn't going to work, because it was still too dark to move this fast, and there were plenty of rocks and rabbit holes and tree roots to send him sprawling. And he hadn't finished tying the second shoelace, so a second later, the shoe flew off, lost in the darkness.

Yelling came from the house now. Would they start shooting? Not if they risked hitting their dogs, surely?

The dogs were close, their barks loud, and then Face yelled as one of them made a grab at his leg. Its teeth only grazed his skin, but clamped tight on the leg of his pants. He stumbled and kicked back, into its mouth, heard it yelp. Free again, but for only for a second, because his stumble let the other one catch up.

It didn't mess around biting his pants leg, like some terrier harassing a mailman. It launched itself, using the slope and landed right on Face's back.

Face crashed to the ground, yelling, the weight of the beast scaring the crap out of him. It grabbed his collar in its teeth as he sprawled, the animal still on his back. The dog shook its head violently, as if it had a rabbit, not a grown man.

Face rolled, shoving himself hard to one side, and the dog fell off him, its legs trapped under him for a moment, but still hanging onto his collar.

The other dog had recovered from the kick in the face, and it came looking for payback. Face saw the flash of white teeth in the middle of a mass of black fur.

On instinct he punched the dog hard in the snout, knocking it back for a second, but it sprang forward again, and he could only protect his throat by shoving his forearm into the snarling, stinking mouth. This time his yell was near a scream as the teeth tore into his skin, his jacket and shirt giving him little protection.

I'm going to die, he thought. One of these bastards is going to rip my throat out. I could have fought off one of them, but not both. I'm going to die.

"There! They're over there!" A man's voice, Harold.

"Call the dogs off! They're killing him!" That was Ma's voice. He almost liked her for a second. But she sounded angry, not horrified. Of course she only wanted him alive for their scheme; she didn't care about his good health.

"Killer! Prince!" Deke yelled "Drop it! Drop it!"

Face thought the dogs were too far gone in bloodlust, but a second later the one still trying to break his neck let go of his collar and ran away back towards the house.

"Killer!" Deke yelled again. Why did jerks always name their weapon-dog Killer? Face would love to know that. Or maybe he didn't want to know at all.

Killer let Face's arm go and Face collapsed onto his back, holding the arm, panting. He didn't get long to lie there. A second later, CW and Deke grabbed him. He yelled a protest about his injured arm, but they didn't care.

He didn't try to fight them, no point. They were armed and the dogs were still there. Harold and Bonnie both held onto the collars of the animals, Dobermans, Face saw now. But neither of them would have a chance of holding the dogs if they tried to break away again.

So Face could only let Deke and CW drag him around the side of the house, up a flight of wooden steps and back to the front door.

"Back to the cell!" Ma shouted from behind, bringing up the rear as they all piled back into the house. The dogs stayed outside, and Harold slammed the front door and shot bolts across.

Deke and CW hauled Face back to the steps down to his cell, and Face knew what was coming, knew the kind of thing these bastards would find funny.

They pushed him down the stairs. He grabbed at the banister, to slow his fall a little, but rolled down the stairs, to crash onto the floor at the bottom.

It didn't stop there. The brothers followed him down, laughing at his fall. Before he could rise, they dragged him into the room he'd so recently escaped and threw him to the floor. Face curled up at once, knowing kicks would be coming his way. They did, all three brothers landing several, before Ma's voice snapped out an order.

"That's enough."

Face lay, dizzy and sick, grateful, actually grateful for the old bitch's control of her sons. Without her orders, they might well have beaten him to death, lost in bloodlust like their dogs.

"Search him," Ma ordered. "Harold, lock the window and the shutters. When it gets light, get the long ladder and board that up from the outside."

Deke knelt down by Face and searched his pockets, turning him over roughly to check his back, looking for anything concealed under his jacket tail.

He stood up with the lock pick and the manacle. Face rolled back and watched Ma work it out, looking at the piece of metal, then at the cot. A movement near the door caught Face's eye, and he saw Bonnie standing there, staring, with horror in her eyes.

"Take out the cot," Ma said. She scowled down at Face. "He can stay on the floor."

"Yeah, with the rats." CW sniggered when Face couldn't suppress a shudder. Harold ran over to fold up the cot and CW and Deke dragged Face over to chain him to the pipe again. This time they passed the chain around the back of the pipe and manacled both Face's wrists, leaving him no choice but to sit or lie facing the wall.

"Wait," Face called, "what about my arm?" Blood soaked the sleeve of his jacket and shirt where the dog had bitten him. He hated asking the Watkins for anything, but the dog bite would get infected for sure. "Give me some antiseptic at least, for God's sake."

"Shut up," Ma told him. "You get nothing. Try that again and we won't call the dogs off so soon." She looked around the empty room. Harold was already carrying the cot up the stairs. Bumping and cursing marked his progress.

"Hey, you! Come help me with this!" Harold shouted and Face saw Bonnie vanish from the doorway.

"Deke," Ma said. "You take next watch. CW, we're going to have a talk about staying awake."

CW looked nervously at his brother, but Deke just smirked at him. He made an "after you", gesture to see his mother out of the door, and CW followed, scowling. The Watkins left and slammed the door shut. This time the sound of bolts made Face slump in despair against the wall of his bare cell.

So much for Plan A.