“It won’t save us,” said Gunther. He crawled on his hands and knees, as I followed him, to the left front corner of the trailer. He pointed to a tiny seam in the metal. “Here. This little join. It was soldered to be airtight, but the solder must have been cheap—it came off. I put five layers of medical tape over it, on the outside.”

I probed the corner with the nail of my pinkie finger, which clicked against an edge of metal. “Do you have a knife?” I asked him. “A fountain pen? Anything small or sharp? I just want to make a breathing hole.”

I knew the answer was that he had nothing.

“Bring Gail over here,” I ordered. He didn’t move. I grabbed his throat. “Bring her over or you’ll go to Valhalla with your balls shot off.”

He crawled back toward Gail.

While he did, I held the barrel of the gun down against the corner of the truck. The seam in the corner was no bigger than a dime. All I could hope to do was pierce the medical tape that covered the tiny crevice on the outside of the truck. I took a breath and held the gun down hard, clamping my left hand on my right, vowing not to let the gun recoil.

I screamed my daughter’s name for willpower as I pulled the trigger. The gun exploded, and I felt a kind of pain I’d never known before. I couldn’t tell if I’d sprained, broken, or shattered my right wrist. But there was such pain.

I bent down to feel the scorched metal with my left pinkie finger. The shot had opened up the corner join just a little.

I would have to fire again. The question was, Should I use my left hand and thereby possibly break both wrists, or stay with my right, since the damage was already done? I decided to stay with my right. A little less pain was not as valuable as having the ability to do something with my left hand.

I fired the gun again. Pain to the third power. My eyes dispensed a flood of tears that were unconnected to emotion. I tried to remind myself that there was actually a time in my life when I hadn’t known such agony.

But the gunshots had made a slight difference. I’d seemingly shot off some of the tape. I was now able to force my left pinkie finger through the hole, though in withdrawing it, I cut myself badly. I tried to force the barrel of the gun through the aperture. It was the only tool I had.

Gunther had brought over Gail, who was dazed. “Gail,” I gasped. “Put your mouth down against the floor and see if you can breathe in some air.” I guided her head down, trying to position her mouth where the aperture might be. After half a minute, she pulled away. “Now you,” she gasped.