Convicted of murder, Bob Plunket had been locked up for fifteen long years, but today was the day of escape.  His plans and schemes would pay off today when the undertaker made good on his promise.

Bob worked in the kitchen, an opportunity to learn the comings and goings of not only the prisoners, but the personnel.  There was a pattern to prison life, and his escape depended on ingenuity and an ability to ingratiate himself to the people in power.  He watched.  He listened. He learned.  Years ago, he determined the undertaker took breakfast in the prison cafeteria on the day after the church bell chimed twice.

He set about getting to know Mac Brown, making sure to smile and speak as he served him.  Mac was seventy-five years old, and he'd been the prison undertaker since he was twenty-five.  He had no family and few friends outside of the Hollydale Correctional facility.  He performed his duties exactly as outlined in the prison manual.  Among his responsibilities was burying the unclaimed bodies of any prisoners who died.  

When a body arrived in the mortuary, Mac pulled the bell rope twice.  Then he prepared the body for burial and placed it in cold storage.  The next morning, he had breakfast in the prison cafeteria before accompanying the body to the small cemetery located just outside the prison gates.  A prayer was said and the pine box was left to be placed in the pre-dug grave and covered.

Mac also knew prisoners, but even his keen sense of self-protection did not save him from Bob's wiles.  Bob was a manipulator with a life sentence, so he didn't need to hurry in winning Mac's friendship.  Two years went by before Mac admitted to his routine, and four more passed before he agreed to help Bob escape.

The plan was a simple one, the best kind.  The next time Mac had a prisoner's body awaiting burial, the mortuary door would be left unlocked.  Two peals from the prison chapel steeple would alert Bob that the time had come.  Just before daylight, Bob would sneak into the mortuary and climb into the casket with the corpse.  The coffin would be taken beyond the prison gates to await burial.  Once alone in the cemetery, Mac, opening the coffin, would give Bob  a new lease on life and freedom.

The bell rang yesterday, and Bob's heart leaped. He followed the blueprint, but the time seemed interminable. What could have gone wrong?  He had climbed into the coffin before the moon left the night sky, and while it was still too early for prison life to awaken.  Like a stealthy cat, he disturbed not a soul, nor did he turn on a light, not even in the morgue.  Once inside the crate, he lay dead still.

The coffin was lifted into the hearse and the cold, stiff body next to him rubbed his as both were transported the hundred yards or so beyond the gates.  A thud announced the pine box's arrival at the open hole. 

"Now's the time, Mac.  Hurry." 

At first, the words were just thoughts, and they remained that way as he felt the coffin lowered into the grave.  Little bits of dirt made their way into the anything-but-airtight box. 

"Guess Mac ran into a little problem.  Just be calm.  Don't shout out."  Bob offered himself words of comfort and warning.

The gravediggers' voices grew fainter as they walked away from the shallow grave.

"Okay.  Mac, buddy, come on."  The beginning of fear crept into Bob's mind. 

"Mac, this isn't funny.  Get me outta here!" 

Bob was yelling now, but there was no one to hear.  He slid his hand into his pocket, found a match and struck it on the lid of his tomb.  He looked at the face next to his.

"Ma-a-a-a-a-c."  His screams were heard by none.