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Updated: May 8, 2025
They might shoot you before they found out you were a friend." Before Yetsko could object, he started up the ladder, Yetsko behind him and the others following. At the next conduit port, they could hear shooting very plainly, seeming to be in front of them. At the next one, the shooting seemed to be going on directly under them, in the tunnel.
"Through the freight conveyor, into the basement." "But I thought those goons had both ends of that plugged." "They did," Yetsko grinned. "But Ray Pelton took us in at the middle, and we crawled through a cable conduit to get around the gang at this end." Cardon looked around quickly, in search of Ray.
Then, to make sure, he called Pelton's store, talking for a while to the police sergeant Cardon had mentioned. By the time he was finished, the door opened and Yetsko ushered Ray Pelton in. "What's happened?" the boy asked. "Doug told me that the Senator ... my father ... had another heart attack." "Yes, Ray. I don't believe he's in any great danger. He's at the store, resting in his office."
In the last week, a dozen pupils had been seriously cut or blackjacked in hall and locker-room fights. "Nice citizens of the future; nice future to look forward to growing old in." "We won't," Yetsko comforted him. "We can't be lucky all the time; in about a year, they'll find both of us stuffed into a broom closet, when they start looking around to see what's making all the stink."
The dozen-odd boys whom Ray had recruited for the improvised relief-expedition were pulling weapons out of the gun locker, pawing through the boxes on the ammunition shelf, trying to explain to one another the working of machine carbines and burp guns. Yetsko shouldered through them and turned down the sound volume of the TV. "This is absolutely outrageous!" Literate Martha Collins stormed at him.
Yetsko, his length of rubber hose under his arm, ambled out of Prestonby's private office, stopping to stub out his cigarette. The action reminded Prestonby that he still had his pipe in his mouth; he knocked it out and pocketed it. Together, they went into the hall outside. "Where to, first, captain?" Yetsko wanted to know. "Cloak-and-Dagger Department, on the top floor.
The shops a good half of the school was trades-training were noisy and busy. Here Prestonby kept his hand on his gas-projector, and Yetsko had his rubber hose ready, either to strike or to discard in favor of his pistol. The instructors were similarly on the alert and ready for trouble he had seen penitentiaries where the guards took it easier. Carpentry and building trades. Machine shop. Welding.
Then we'll drop down to the shops, and then up through Domestic Science and Business and General Arts." "And back here. We hope," Yetsko finished. They took a service elevator to the top floor, emerging into a stockroom piled with boxes and crates and cases of sound records and cans of film and stacks of picture cards, and all the other impedimenta of Illiterate education.
That, Ray knew, was about as high praise as Doug Yetsko could give anybody. He'd have liked to ask Doug more about Captain Prestonby Doug could never seem to get used to the idea of his officer being a schoolteacher but there was no time. The 'copter truck was already settling onto the roof. The watchman proved amenable to reason.
Cardon stepped over the body of Joe West and went up to them. "Sorry to intrude on you two," he said, "but we've got to figure on how to get out of here. Could we get out the same way you got in?" he asked Yetsko. "And take Mr. Pelton with us?" Yetsko frowned. "Part of the way, we gotta crawl through this conduit; it's only about a yard square.
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