Light streamed into the cell from a bulb mounted in the corridor. It was the type of power-saving bulb that glows dimly on low wattage, but enough for Hera to see the guard standing at the door, confident despite the fact that taking an inmate from her cell in this way was illegal. Hera could tell that he was calm, like he had done this a thousand times before, Which he had, Hera had no doubt. He probably pulled a woman from her cell every single night that he was on duty. It was just Hera's turn tonight.
She raised herself from her bunk. No reluctance. It was no use to risk being roughed up or hit with a baton. She would comply until the last possible moment. That way, she could conserve her energy, and hopefully take advantage of the element of surprise.
The whole cell block was still and silent now. Some people were asleep, but most people were just minding their own business. Nobody was paying attention to what was going on, except maybe Shani.
Almost everyone had been in this position before, more than once. It was just Hera's turn.
As Hera walked out of the cell, the guard poked her in the ribs with his baton.
"Move," he said. As if she wasn't moving already. As if the sight of a woman in a stiff, knee-long prison issued night gown had made him impatient.
She clenched her jaws and walked into the corridor. The guard closed the cell door and the lock clicked automatically behind them.
Hera caught a glimpse of Shani raising herself from the upper bunk, peeping out at her, the sheep being led out of the fold to the slaughter.
The guard poked her ribs again, and then walked ahead of her and she followed without delay. Most of the other inmates ignored her as she was led past their cells. By the time she got to the gate at the end of the corridor, the loud prayers down the cell block had resumed. Everyone was minding their own business. It was just her turn.
---
Hera walked down the corridor, a step behind the guard. Not fast, not slow. Her hands felt cold, and she could feel her heartbeat in her gums. Her eyes strained in the dimly lit corridor.
She looked at the guard. He was tall, about six feet, raising him a full foot above her head. But otherwise, he was unremarkable: a little chubby around the waist, prematurely balding at the crown of his head, and with one shoulder leaning a little lower than the other. A challenge, but Hera could take him if she had to. And she had to.
They were approaching the end of the corridor, a heavy steel door, all solid except for a small window at eye level.
Behind the steel door was another short corridor that led into the guard's station room. She didn't know how many men there might be on the other side. Was this guard alone? Was there one more guard waiting? Two? She didn't want to find out.
She reached into her stiff dress, feeling for the elastic strap of her bra. Her hands found the narrow wooden shank that she had clamped between the bra strap and her chest, and she pulled it out, suddenly terrified that the guard would turn his head and see her with her hand up inside her dress, and stop her before she could attack. She returned her hand to her side quickly and tried to resume a natural walk.
She felt panic rising up in her throat, her heart beating uncontrolled in her chest and she clamped down on it, swallowed hard. She forced herself to take a deep breath in and out. Two steps closer. Another deep breath in and out.
A fingerprint scanner was mounted next to the door, and the guard held his thumb against it. "You stay quiet," He said. As if she had made a sound. A lock mechanism clicked inside, and the guard opened the door.
And then with all the strength she could muster, like cutting the joint of a stubborn piece of beef roasting on a fire, Hera jammed the sharp end into the tall man's throat.