He stood up, adrenalin coursing through his veins and making him feel vital and alive and ready for anything. Footsteps meant the guard was coming, but the gray light streaming in through the window told Horner that it was barely dawn and there would be no reason for a guard to come so purposefully in this direction unless Forbish had squealed. So, if the guard came now, which seemed likely, the guard would come seeking their tunnel. * * * * * Lonnie's and Jake's--not Horner's. Horner had had nothing to do with it. No. Certainly not. But Horner was going to serve Lonnie Overman's life-term in prison--for murder. And Horner would be punished for the attempted escape. Punishment? He was already serving a life-term. Solitary-confinement, probably. He was innocent. He had done nothing, except wish for youth. It wasn't fair, he told himself. It was terribly, tragically unfair. He wanted his freedom. "Hey you, Overman," the guard said. He stood outside the cell, holding the bars. "I can't see so good in there. Where's Halrohan?" Halrohan was Jake. "Sleeping," Horner said. The guard scowled and squinted. "Bunk looks like it's empty," he said. "The top bunk," said Horner. "Can't see the top bunk," said the guard. He searched for his keys, inserting the right one, turning the big tumblers. Horner tensed. He had committed no murder. He had done nothing. He was no criminal. He wanted his freedom but could not tell them, by the way, I'm not who you think I am, I'm a fellow named Hugh Horner and I never committed anything worse than a traffic violation in my life, so please get me the hell out of here and give me back my old body, it's all right, I don't mind being forty-seven years old. He could tell them nothing like that. He could only do what Lonnie Overman was trying to do, and try to do something later about this unexpected place-changing with a convicted lifer. He could only try to escape. The heavy bars swung in, all but soundless on oiled hinges. The guard swaggered into the cell, expecting nothing. He walked to the bunks, peered at the upper one. He reached for the whistle, lanyard-dangling from his neck. He got it in his mouth and blew on it. It was the loudest sound Horner had ever heard. A second later, Horner grabbed the guard's shoulder and swung him around and hit him. Horner felt the numbness and pain of it to his elbow, but it had been a good blow. Lonnie knew how to use his fists. The guard went down and stayed down and Horner wondered how much time they would have until the whistle brought help. He scurried to the toilet and got down on hands and knees behind it, crawling into their tunnel. * * * * *