"Go to hell!" said Margot Drake.
The lithe red-head regarded him defiantly. She was standing beside her
cot, small fists clenched, her red hair like a halo about her imperious
features.
Matt's mouth thinned, not enjoying the prospect, but he went into the
cell. The girl struck at him. He dodged and grabbed her wrist. In a
trice they had her out of the cell.
Margot kicked, screamed and called down imprecations on their heads,
but to no avail. They hoisted her onto the table and tied her left leg
across the anvil.
The chief spit on his hands, a grin cracking his face. "Regular devil,
isn't she?"
When they released her, a heavy iron band encircled her left ankle.
Panting and exhausted, she flung herself on the cot in her cell.
Captain Bascom shut and locked the door.
"O.K.," said the chief. "Bring on the next one."
Captain Bascom opened the next cell in line.
The tang of ozone, engendered by the blue electric-arc furnace was
faint in Matt's nostrils, and the peculiar smell of burning iron. He
thought grimly of the morrow when the besieging Amazons would have to
be liquidated.
They could convoy the trucks through the Amazon's lines with a couple
of the tanks that were stored in the basement. But he dismissed the
plan as soon as it presented itself. That way, they would have to
divide their strength, using precious manpower to guard the workers
when they needed everyone to convert the fortress into a sealed bastion
against the alien life form.
The girl on the table yelled sharply. Matt glanced at her. She was a
statuesque blonde. The iron, he realized, must have been too hot and
burned her ankle.
The chief flicked the sweat out of his eyes.
"Fetch the next one," Matt heard him say.