Getting out of her cell is child’s play. Noria worries the lock with the steel fork she shouldn’t have, poking and twisting and turning until it makes a crackling sound. No handle on the door, but her palms provide enough friction to slide it into its recess. A moment later, she is in the corridor.
To her left, cell block B curves up and out of sight, a murky tube of concave steel panels and pale cell doors. Nothing for her there.
To her right, the first step to freedom.
Corridor B ends on a microwave force field. Beyond the faint blue haze of the field, the guard station at the junction of detainment wheel and transfer spoke lies deserted. The guards have gathered in Comms with Warden Kiori, eagerly awaiting their messages from home. Comms is forty-three seconds from this junction. It should be enough.
short SF story