The heating pipe knocked five times above Tyree's head. His right index finger struck the laundry-cart rail before the missing sixth beat could arrive.
Fire pressed beneath his fingernail. The cart's dented side carried three strips of Caelin's red tape, one laid crooked across the word EMPTY. Tyree kept looking at the trapped corner of the E while his finger pulled toward the steel cover bolted over the intake vent.
"Strap my right hand to the cart before it answers."
Waddell had been watching the pipe. His eyes dropped to Tyree's finger, then to the damp burn blanket across Tyree's shoulders.
"The cart tried crossing that wall yesterday, and I refuse to trust it with another volunteer."
Tyree looked around the cleared laundry wing. Two empty cots waited behind the second fire door. One had a bent steering arm and a canvas restraint folded beneath its mattress.
"Use the cot, and face the buckle away from the pipe."
