Joe poured more hot water over his head. The water dripped down his face, and chest, trickling into the tub.
The steam room was dead silent.
The only sounds were of water rustling and cups being filled.
Men were exhausted, beaten down by the long winter which refused to show them mercy. They’d been back at work today, allowed out into the woods again.
It seemed murder and mayhem were no match for Murphy’s greed.
But the guards’ new paranoia made it very difficult to fill in their quotas. Cooke had promised the guards more men to join their ranks, but so far, Joe hadn’t seen one new face at Linhart. Out in the woods, it was business as usual, except that now, the guards drew their pistol at the slightest unauthorized step, and he’d had to intervene in two near-deadly arguments today. J
