8
Nakka cranked the askew spindle causing the handle to grate on the wall, setting Lilac’s teeth on edge, bringing to mind the screeching chalk on the teacher’s blackboard. Distantly she could hear the scrape of metal, a thud, and then a deeper crunching sound as she imagined the crossbar spinning followed by the gates opening. Nakka stood back from the handle as it rewound itself, and she could hear the gates close as they rasped on the friable concrete apron. A metallic scream and a thud, like the guillotine must have sounded in the French Revolution, and she felt like cheering with the crowd as the crossbar thudded satisfactorily home into its brackets; no heads lost.
Nakka walked to the door, cautiously lifted the dodgy cable, and opened the salvaged lump of wood that just about fitt
