As he shook the pain away, he said, “You’ll have to do a lot better than that, jerk-offs.”

That got him another slam, but he’d braced himself against the door so the damage was negligible. Knox smiled at this small victory even as his headache grew worse.

The two guards didn’t bother to search them this time, and they weren’t shackled. And it was George, the crotch-grabber. Manson was apparently still in the infirmary.

Or with any luck, dead, thought Stone.

“Where are your uniforms?” Stone asked George.

“Changing occupations?” Knox added. “I’m not sure that’s the drug dealer look you want.”

“Shut up!” roared the man.

They were hustled downstairs and through more corridors and then down a sloping, winding passageway until Stone could smell the pungent odor of wet dirt and slimy rock.

Up ahead they saw a light. When they approached the man came into view. Howard Tyree was dressed all in black and didn’t look nearly so smug as usual.

Stone looked down at him. “I see the visit today triggered some things.”

“How did you—” Tyree began, but Knox cut him off.

“Macklin Hayes has been under internal investigation for a year for basically being a deranged asshole. They were following him. He led them right to us. And you. You moron.”

“Shit!” blurted out Tyree.

Stone said, “So you might just want to surrender, Warden. It’s over.”

Tyree smiled, a dangerous look on his face. “They might be the feds but they’re not from around here. Don’t know our ways or our land.” He gave Stone a hard shove in the back. “Now move!”

They walked, the ground sloping down more with each step. Mold clung to the walls, and the heavy smell of damp gripped just as fiercely to their lungs. They finally came to a heavy steel door. George unlocked it. They all stepped through, navigated another short passage and came to yet another massive door. This was unlocked and they stepped into what had to be a mineshaft. Stone and Knox were told to wait as the other man headed off down a side corridor.

Stone looked around at the long tunnel and brace posts in the dirt floor and beams and thick wire across the ceiling holding back the rock. It reminded him of the place with the snakes. And there were rattlers with him tonight too, just of the human variety. Low ceiling, dirt and rock, massive beams holding back the mountain along with the tonnage of the prison. It was claustrophobic, all of it. Stone didn’t know which was worse, the cell or the mine.

Maybe, in a way, they are the same.

His philosophizing stopped when he saw the guard coming back and leading another person with him.