248 seconds.

That was how long Andy lay, his eyes closed as he waited for his wounds to heal. He could feel flesh begin to creep back over the exposed bones, what a strange feeling it was! To know his bones themselves were as capable as delicate touch as his fingertips was something Andy had never wanted to learn, and he wished he could un-know it. He felt a violent shiver make its way to his stomach, and he held back the urge to retch. 
By the time that 248th second was over, he reluctantly opened his eyes, holding a shaky hand up to his face. The skin had healed over without even a hint of scarring. No cuts, gashes, or sores remained. His hand  was still coated with a thick, filmy layer of partially congealed blood, and he wiped them off on his pants in disgust.

Regaining his strength, he forced himself to sit up, leaning against the wall. He flexed his newly healed hands, before slinging his boots off from his shoulders and taking his socks out of his pockets. He put them both on, lacing up his boots and vowing to never take them off again. Never would he ever willingly subject himself to that kind of torture for the rest of his life. But... He looked up at the little girl, reaching out and patting her head with approval. She hadn't even cried like he thought she might. Simon, were he here, probably would have called her a rock-tuff muffin. Just like the kind they ate at the orphanages. Muffins that wouldn't break even when you flung them at the asphalt.

He glanced over at the other young man, the one who had reached the end first and helped him over. He smiled, digging his pen and pad out of his pocket, starting to write down an introduction. He was interrupted, however, by the sounds of coals scattering. Looking down that hall, he saw the girl from before, the one that the young girl had called Abby, he believed? She was making her way through the hot coals and wire, and Andy stood up, putting away his pen and paper to grasp the barbed wire curtain and help yank it out of the way, to make it easier for her to escape when she neared them. 
He was getting used to the way the caltrops stabbed and slashed his hands, it still hurt, but now he knew what to expect. Glancing warily at the door they were now likely supposed to go through, Andy only hoped that the torture, mental, physical, and emotional, had ended.