40
“Beaks,” Bradley says.
I’m on my feet, handcuffed hands pressed against the bumpy cave wall for balance. The thiopental puts this little spin on the world, but water clears the worst of it from my thoughts. The exposed light bulb out in the hall casts spears of painful light through my eyes.
I’m together enough to feel not only cold, but chilled. I’m simultaneously embarrassed at my nakedness, glad nobody can see me, and wishing Bradley and Rob were chained up with me, rather than just out of sight.
At least they’d be warm.
The clammy, still air seems like it’s been in here at least since the 1950s. The lime smell is strongest, but beneath that there’s waste and old blood and darker, ranker scents. I can only think that it’s what decades of human suffering smells like.
“Beaks!” Br
