Season 03 - Episode 09

‘see beneath her’

“Fine,” says Syl, reaching up to remove her necklace. “Here.”

She holds it out towards the bars of Iz's cell, then pauses, briefly paralysed by regret. Finally, she hands the necklace over and Iz snatches it roughly from her fingers.

“I just wanted...” Syl begins hotly, unable to look at Iz now.

“You can piss off now, yeah?” says Iz, turning her back on Syl and going back to bed.

Syl grimaces with rage and almost stamps her foot before turning on her heel and storming out. After a few seconds the EnFo returns and takes up his post again.

“You really don't play well with others, do you?” he says, his chuckle fuzzing electronically through his helmet. “It's like you want everyone to hate you.”

Iz lies on her back, staring at the ceiling and showing no sign she has heard him.

The day stretches out like this, stillness, silence, agonising boredom. At one point the EnFo watching her trades places with another, identical sentry and occasionally Iz shifts on the bed to ease the pain in her back. Otherwise, nothing happens.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity and without a word, the EnFo stands, double checks the lock on the door to her cell, then leaves. A moment later, the room snaps into sudden, total darkness.

Iz rolls onto her side, putting her back to the bars. She lies perfectly still except for her right hand which crawls up under her pillow, independent and stealthy. From the secret hole in her mattress she retrieves the strip of frayed fabric, complete with a row of zip teeth and the bullet she has been saving.

In the pitch darkness she screws up her eyes to concentrate, using threads from the fabric to try and tie the bullet, the zip and the necklace together. It takes a long time and more than once she drops one of the elements and has to feel around with agonised care to find it and start again.

Finally, it is done and she takes a few seconds to breathe her relief. Then, she shuffles right to the edge of her bed, away from the bars. Again she screws up her eyes and works hard to visualise what she cannot see.

Beneath her bed is a drain, a square opening that leads into a tight tunnel. It serves to allow air to circulate into the cell and also to accept any fluids that might need to drain out of it. Not even GovCo are stupid enough to cover the drain with a simple grill however, something that could be prised off or bashed through.

Instead, a metal mesh cube sits inside the tunnel. It allows air and fluid to flow through it but blocks utterly both the drain and the tunnel itself to anything solid, like a body. The cube is fixed to the bottom of the tunnel with a heavy bolt, a bolt at which Iz has stared for countless hours.

She relies on that remembered staring now as she lowers her bundle through the gaps in the mesh, suspended by the long slender chain of Syl's necklace and weighted straight by the bullet.

The bullet hits the bottom of the vent with an almost imperceptible little thunk and Iz feels the chain go slack. Now she begins to drag it around in slow circles, trying to picture what's happening in her mind's eye.

Iz knows her execution is coming. If she drops the chain or snags it and then can't get it back, she's dead, literally dead. Her heart is pounding but she forces herself to go slowly, feeling every tiny impact and vibration.

For the longest time she can't find the right spot and the dread of failure grows in her chest, deep and cold and sick. Then, so suddenly that she almost drops it, the zip snags against the bolt, gripping around it.

She takes a moment to breathe and steady herself then starts to apply gentle pressure. The chain is not strong enough to simply pull the heavy old bolt aside and with every little pull she fears it will break. Instead, she finds that with the zip snagged around it, she can just about twist the bolt back and forth, edging it out a fraction at a time. It feels as if it will take forever, if it even works at all. The more she works at it, the more impossible it feels.

This is the only chance she has.

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