Burial grit had packed the four cell bolts level with the floor.
Palla dug the first one out with the point of Denna's ruined key. Heat had softened the key's teeth into a blunt curl, which made it useless in a lock and nearly perfect for scraping burial grit from a bolt head. Her right palm left a wet print beside the hinge whenever she changed her grip.
Behind her, Toman lowered the clinic lift by hand. Its chain knocked the shaft wall in uneven bursts. Denna walked beside the cage with one arm through the bars, squeezing the pump bag for the patient whose chest had stopped working alone.
"You have four people left on that lift, so keep your road clear until I bring them down."
"The road will close behind three travelers, and you will still have a lift when it does."
Denna looked at the blood under Palla's hand. "You cannot promise both with that hinge remembering you."
