13
That thought, the thought of blood being spilled and vengeance, wrapped up in the violence only a blood was capable of, sustained Toni as she carried on along the corridor. It gave way to a larger area, opening up to reveal another holding room.
Long and thin, it looked seconded from its original purpose. It looked like a waiting room. She turned a semicircle. Yeah, there was an old coffee table and chairs stacked up in the corner—plastic, metal and cheap fabric with the desolate air of abandonment lying thick over them. A magazine lay underneath, pages curled with age and surrounded by dust and dirt.
The cages had been crammed up in the other end of the room. Jostled in together and packed like sardines, they’d all had their doors ripped off. The scent of blood hit her when she vent
