Katsuko stared at the smoke rising from two cells down and realized, distantly, that she was going to die. The stench of burning meat filled her nose and she gagged, covering her mouth as more orderlies rushed by.

Asuma shook himself out of a daze and hammered at the bars of his cell, yelling, “You can’t do this! Those are people! You can’t burn people.”

A man screamed as he burned, a high, thin, animal sound. The flames were spreading to their part of the hall now, bright and ugly. Katsuko hunkered down on the floor, trying to breathe through the smoke. The same dried rushes she’d slept on for six months would serve as the kindling for the flames that would burn her alive. Maybe it was better this way; maybe she’d be able to rest at last.

Like hell. She wanted to live.

Asuma flinched and crouched down again, curling an arm over his head. Katsuko reached for him, taking his hand in hers. Part of the ceiling collapsed; vague shapes moved through the screen of smoke. Katsuko gasped for air, throat seared raw as black crept in the corners of her vision. Her fingers tightened around Asuma’s, once, in farewell.

Then she let go, and put her head down, and waited for the flames. The last thing she saw before closing her eyes was the basement door crashing open and a group of masked figures charging into the cells.