"Are you ready?" Her voice was soft, yet I could sense her urgency and impatience.
"Almost," I say, ripping duct tape from the roll. I patted the tape that covered my breasts down and twisted around to look behind me. On a hard, springy twin-sized bed, I had laid out my clothing. A thick, red cotton plaid button-up shirt, and straight legged jeans. My pair of classic converse were at the feet of the jeans on the floor, old and worn.
I pulled my shirt on, rolling up the sleeves to that it didn't get caught on anything. The blonde haired woman in front of me began to button up my shirt while I pulled on my jeans until I shooed her away. "Please, we need to be patient. We need the halls to be completely empty to continue out with our plan. This is the most critical part, remember?" My Spanish accent rolled over the r's, inclining slighting with the i's.
"I'm sorry, but you are taking too long." She turned towards another woman, with shoulder length brown hair, who was looking at us from the shadows of the cell we shared. "Are you sure the guards are between shifts right now?"
"Yes. The mangers are in their offices, getting ready to leave. Right now," she breathed as I tightened the laces on my converse, "is when she has to begin. You have the card?" Her question was directed at me, one I didn't acknowledge until I slowly straightened up.
"Yes, I do." I flashed a small card in the moonlight that reached in through the small, barred window. It was a master card, identical the ones every guard carried. I pushed passed the blonde woman and pushed my arm through the cell door, made of cast iron. I flicked the card down the slot that opened the door, covering the red light with my hand.
Adrenaline began to take the place of blood, and I tried to hide the fact that my hand had begun to shake. I pushed the door open and slipped through the small crack. I closed the door and swiped the card through the slot again to lock the door, erasing the fact that it was ever open. I turned my back to the hall and looked at the blonde and brown haired women in the cell, looking at me with blank, readied expressions.
"Be careful, Chrissy."
"Mike. Phase one of the plan has already started, so my name is Mike now." I turned around, then turned back again. "And if there's one thing I'm the best at, it's knowing when to be careful."
"What does that mean? You know you have to keep your guard up at all times." The blonde woman crunched her hands into massive fists, the veins over the back of her hands popping out slightly. It was her way of telling me to be quiet and listen to her, to swallow my pride.
But another thing about me; I don't swallow my pride. I never have, and I never will.
"Being careful and keeping your guard up are two completely different things. One is necessary. The other is optional. Understood?" My accent added an extra hiss to my voice, and my words were cutting and solid. Our age difference made this blonde woman think that I needed protecting, or someone to tell me what to do. She thought that I needed some kind of mother when the only thing I needed was independence, to prove myself. And most importantly, freedom.
"Understood," she whispered as she backed into the shadows of the cell.
"Good. I've wasted too much time here, but nothing will go askew in the plan just yet. I'll contact you as soon as I possibly can." With that, I left, continuing the plan.
I wove my way around the halls, walking on the balls of my feet. I could still here them slap slightly against the floor, so I pulled my sneakers off. I continued walking, just the small thud of my feet now filling my ears. A guard crossed the hall, and I hid in a crevice in the wall, wrapping my body in the dark shadow. My heart hammered at the base of my throat, the deep, melancholy pulse that of an African drum. The click of his heels began to cease, and when I had to strain my ears to listen, I continued slinking in and out of shadows, dodging corners. Most of the guards were so sluggish; leaning against their guns to support their weight and their eyes half closed.
I was a long way to the back exit, and breaths were already quickening, the saliva in my mouth thickening. I had to ignore this, I had to keep going. There was no way I could get caught. I've been working too hard for too long, and all the pieces were already falling together, pieces of my puzzle. I had men's clothing smuggled under my cot. That was step one. Step two; cut my hair to the nape of my neck. Not too short; not too long. Styled the front so that it fell over my eyes in a layered fashion, hiding half my face.
Step 3; Tone my body as well. Match the thickness of a man's muscles.
Step four? Leave the Female Confinement and Reproductive Facility- without getting caught.
I reached a small, secluded area in the back of the facility, where there were no cameras or windows. I had to get down on all fours to feel along the bottom edge of the wall until my fingers ran over thin, metal ridges. With one hand pressed against a screw at the corner of the sheet metal, I reached into my front pocket and pulled out a screwdriver. One by one, I unscrewed the metal cover from the wall and dropped my shoes down the opening, hearing them drop down.
As I placed my screwdriver in my mouth and wiggled myself slowly into the hole, I could hear the systematic alarm, a mechanical men's voice repeating, "Breach in security, breach in security. Code 673, code 673." Panic arose in my throat like acidic bile, and sweat drenched my forehead, its bittersweet smell resembling venom. A sudden rush of panicked feet echoed down the hall and I tried to viciously drop my body down the narrow stretch. Metal rods protruded from the top of openings, closing them off. I landed on a slight angle, and pain shot up my ankle as I continued to wiggle down the narrow passage. I could still hear the alarm droning in the background, the shouts of previously dormant guards as they chased down each and every exit.
But I wouldn't be at any of them.
I could see thin lines of pale white moonlight as I edged closer and closer still to the slotted vent opening. I stifled a sneeze as I upturned the settled dust. Once I reached the covering, I stripped the threads of the screws and pushed them out, shoving my elbow into the corners of the metal plate. The covering popped off, and I threw it off into the thin grass. I had my shoulders and palms against the thin, rocky grasses when I felt the vibration of dozens of running feet. Almost letting out a surprised squeal, I grabbed the cover I had thrown aside and pushed myself back inside the vent. I held the cover against the opening, trying to muffle the clang of the metal.
A shadow passed over the opening, and the air inside me seemed to thicken, my lungs choking on it. I quietly breathed in and out slow, precise breaths when something completely unexpected happened; the cooling fans turned on. It was near the end of August, so the air cooling system was still vacuuming cool air in, and blowing hot air out. And now I was caught in a whirlwind of sultry, stinky air.
My grip on the cover slipped, and in a subconscious act I slammed it back against the opening in the wall. It rattled like the tail of a rattlesnake, yet the men didn't seem to hear my battle with the air vent over the droning buzz of the machines, or the "whoosh" of the air. I promised God to thank him for the luck as the men continued walking, grumbling on about getting the vents checked as soon as possible. When I was sure that they were a safe distance away, I rushed out of the vent in a rush, reminding myself of an excited puppy being let out of its cage. My knees wobbled as I rose to a small crouch, placing the vent cover back in place and fixing my clothing that had turned itself practically inside-out.
My heart that raced at a fast tempo began to slow as the realization of my success sunk in. I then rose to my feet and dusted myself off, smiling broadly into the illuminating night. I had done it. I was the first in over thirty nine years to escape a Female Confinement and Reproductive Facility since the outbreak of World War Three in 2142, and since the beginning of the Brand-New Era. The story of these facilities were for another time, and another, secure place.
And now, in the natural moonlight of the creeping dawn, I stood out of place even though I was hidden from sight. There was a barrier between myself and the people that walked those streets, drove those cars on the roads that were reserved strictly for them. It was barrier between sexuality and belief, who was right and who was wrong. You see, I am a woman, forbidden to ever see the actual light of day for myself, locked away in confinement until I was no longer useful. But, as of five minutes ago, I have broken through the seal of intelligence that forbade me from getting what I wanted; freedom. I turned into a refugee , an illegal, an escapee.
I smiled despite myself; liked the sound of that. Chrissy the Escapee. As I walked from brush to brush, tree to tree, it was time to commence phase two of my plan.
That was to live like the female race has only dreamt of living for the past four decades: free. And now that I have left the facility, there is no way I'm getting caught.
No damn way. You can count on that.