Syra freezes up when she sees the body of the warden, but only for a moment. This strange look passes across her face, of fear and understanding and resolution, and the next moment she's back with me, all business.
"Let me have the card," she says. I hand it over without question and she runs to the next cell down and swipes the door open. Inside a young dark-skinned boy of about eleven or twelve is sitting up on his bunk, staring at us with terrified eyes. Syra throws the card at him. "Get up," she shouts. "Start opening the cells." For a moment he doesn't move, and Syra yells at him, "Now!" And then he's on his feet, card in hand, a resolute look in his eyes.
Syra grabs my hand and we take off down the corridor. I'm holding the gun in front of me, ready to shoot, ready to kill if need be. When we reach the door at the end of the corridor we don't even pause. I enter the junction room with the gun up, heart thudding, arms braced, teeth gritted, Syra by my side. But the wardens on the platform are already dead, lying slumped on their sides.
"Come on." Syra steers me across the room towards the door at the opposite end. The door through which none of us has ever stepped, which leads not to the labs or the observation rooms or other cells but outside. As we run through into a long, blank corridor I feel a current of fresh air on my face. It is the most beautiful thing I've ever felt.
The door at the end of the corridor is close now. Each second I expect to feel the hot sting of a bullet in my back. I'm waiting for our escape to be cut short.
But it's not. And then we're at the big metal door and through it, and for the first time in what feels like years, we're outside. It's night. Above us the sky is a dark and knowing blue, scattered with stars. The air is cool and smells of forest. We're standing in a large concrete yard, hemmed in on three sides by low, bunker-like buildings. A dozen military-looking trucks are parked at the far end of the yard, alongside a chain-link fence. And there's a gate, flanked by watchtowers.
I see all this in a second, my heart close to overflowing with fear and panic and hope. And then I see that in the middle of the yard stands the blond boy. He's sheltering himself behind a stand of barrels and cylinders. He's shouting something and waving the gun. Not far off from him lie the bodies of three more wardens.
This scene only lasts a moment. Before me or Syra can move, there is the slam and whine of gunfire, and the blond boy crumples violently to the ground.
