They were in the solitary-confinement corridor, slung over the stranger's shoulder like a hobo's bindle. Their combined weight was over three hundred pounds, yet the man moved with a confident glide through the deep shadows.

The place was eerily dark and silent. One wall was lined with closed metal doors. Beyond some of them, Ferngard could hear wet, muted snoring.

The concrete-walled corridor ended at a closed door. Beside it was a sheet of shatterproof Plexiglas. As they moved past the window, Ferngard saw a pair of guards beyond the thick pane. Both were sitting in chairs, heads back, mouths open. They weren't moving.

"You kill the guards?" the inmate asked, owl eyed. As he struggled to get a better look, Todd Grautski grunted.

"They're sleeping," Remo explained. "It's easier to break out that way." He held his finger to his lips for silence once more.

For the first time, Ferngard noticed how thick his wrists were. The man reached for the bolted door. "That'll set off the alarm," Kershaw warned.

"I hate alarms," Todd Grautski moaned. Quieter now, he seemed resigned to whatever fate this stranger had in store. "I should have said so in my Collablaster Declaration in the New York Times. They make a terrible electronic noise."

"Not if you treat them nicely," Remo said. Remo tapped a single finger around the locking mechanism for a tiny moment. Impossibly, the door popped obediently open. Just like that. The green light beside the panel didn't light up, nor did the loud buzzing noise that ordinarily accompanied the opening of the door echo through the hall. They were through the door and inside the narrow adjoining hallway in seconds.