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She waited a few moments, but heard nothing besides the scattered, muffled noises from outside.
Her eyes darted around the room, wildly searching for any way out, as if her body was suddenly acting on its own.
She leapt to the back where the cell bars met the wall, lined with old wooden planks. If they were loose enough, maybe she could dislodge them and squeeze through the opening.
She tried to wedge her fingers within the small slits between the wooden planks, but she couldn’t get a good enough grasp.
Another gun shot rang out.
She flinched, taking a step back, as she eyed the cot.
It had been bolted down to the ground, but the bolts were rusted and not fully screwed in. Maybe if she could lift the cot and fit one of the thin metal edges between the wood, she could use the leverage to pull the planks off.
She bent over and grasped the edge of the cot, then yanked upward as hard as she could. It jerked a few inches.
She tugged again and felt one corner come loose as the rusted bolt flew out, clinking across the cement floor.
Her breathing went ragged, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the adrenaline or the effort it took to rip the cot from the floor.
She dropped to her knees, snatching the next bolt in her hand and pulling as she jiggled it out of the hole.
With a few more tugs, it came out easily, tumbling onto the ground beside her.
She sprang up, moving to the other side.
More gunshots rang out, this time louder—closer.
She bent down, grasping the side of the cot that was still bolted to the ground, and ripped upward.
The cot barely budged.
This side was less worn down and seemed to be solidly held to the floor.
More gunshots. Yelling. Glass breaking?
Maddie.
She needed to get out.Now.
Saff released the edge of the cot for a moment before ripping it upward again with every ounce of strength she had.
The metal groaned in protest, but she could feel its roots slowly loosen against the floor. She hardly waited a moment before yanking on it once more, and that time, the bolts ripped out with a screech.
She turned, moving the cot up against the wall, then paused.
Her eyes flicked down to the rusted locking mechanism on the front door of the cell.
The lock box looked to be fully rusted through, with parts having chipped away over time.
She shot forward, pulling the cot with her, the metal screeching against the cement floor. She wrapped her hands around the bars and wrenched them back and forth, watching as the two pieces of the lock knocked against each other.
It was definitely brittle and weak. But was it weak enough to crack?
Saff picked the full cot up off the floor, swinging it back, then forward as hard as she could against the door of the cell.
It crashed forward, and the bars shook around her as the blow rippled throughout the cell.
She pulled back, slamming it again, and again, and again until the half-healed wound in her side tore open, blood trickling out onto her skin.
