I dragged myself up the side of the cell, leaving meat from my fingers on the rough stone. I staggered over to the wall beside the door and waited.
Time went by—hours or minutes—and a sound of feet came down the tunnel leading to my cell.
I couldn't use my back muscles, but I tensed them now, feeling stitches give way.
Tumblers clicked, and the door was opened.
I kicked it shut and sprang, wrapping my hands around a dimly seen throat, a thin and soft neck.
"Ash!" Pat's voice was half-choked under my grip.
"Pat!" I opened my hands, and she stumbled free. But not for long, because an instant later she was pressed against me again, her mouth over mine.
We stood together in the darkness and in hunger. Finally, she moved her lips away.
"Ash, Ash, you can stand!" She was sobbing with relief.