Synbat

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The luminous minute hand slid one digit as the second hand rounded the twelve. Two more minutes. As beads of sweat formed on his brow, Chico Lopez's eyes and mind were totally absorbed by the march of time on his wrist. For the hundredth time he shifted uncomfortably on the state-issue mattress, careful not to dislodge the three hacksaw blades carefully hidden inside the back of his belt.

A flash of lightning flickered through the tall barred windows that lined the outside walls of Cell Block C, illuminating the building's Gothic architecture. Chico's cell was on the first level of the six-tier stack of eight-by-eight cubicles. Eddyville State Prison had been built at the turn of the century, when attractive surroundings for inmates had been an incomprehensible concept. The prison looked its task both inside and out: high gray stone walls with block turrets at all corners, perched on a hill overlooking the northern end of Lake Barkley. With the darkness of the thunderstorm adding to the blackness of night, only the occasional flares of lightning displayed the entire edifice. The searchlights from the guard towers fought a losing battle against the sheets of rain that pounded the Kentucky grassland outside the walls and the red dirt inside.

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