Chapter 41
41 My first problem in escaping a subterranean prison in one of the deadliest parts of the world is getting the manacles off my feet. I’ve already rubbed my ankles raw. Blood mingles with the rust. Rob’s right, the last thing I need is sepsis. But sepsis will kill me tomorrow. Staying here might kill me today. In my beautiful new oversized, muddy, secondhand T-shirt, I plop my bare butt on a patch of smooth cold dirt right at the back of the room. They say you have to warm up before you stretch. That’s right. I feel so stiff, it’s like rigor mortis has already kicked in. But losing half of my flexibility leaves me about three times as limber as most people. I seize my foot and drag it up for close inspection. The manacles themselves are steel bands, perhaps an inch wide. Each has a lar
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