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It was not until Tracy reached her cell block that she realized what the women were chanting: "Fresh meat."
There were sixty women in Cell Block C, four to a cell. Faces peered out from behind bars as Tracy was marched down the long,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], smelly corridor,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and the expressions varied from indifference to lust to hatred. She was walking underwater in some strange,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], unknown land,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], an alien in a slowly unfolding dream. Her throat was raw from the screaming inside her trapped body. The summons to the warden's office had been her last faint hope. Now there was nothing. Nothing except the mind-numbing prospect of being caged in this purgatory for the next fifteen years.
The matron opened a cell door. "Inside!"
Tracy blinked and looked around. In the cell were three women,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], silently watching her.
"Move," the matron ordered.
Tracy hesitated, then stepped into the cell. She heard the door slam behind her.
She was home.
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Her cell mates were staring at her. The Puerto Rican woman broke the silence. "Looks like we got ourselves a new cellie." Her voice was deep and throaty. She would have been beautiful if it had not been for a livid knife scar that ran from her temple to her throat. She appeared to be no older than fourteen, until you looked into her eyes.