23

THE FIRST STEP in disabling our execution chamber was to remove the screws that held the dirty vent cover in place. Once the cover was off, we’d be able to rip into the ducting that had been set up to feed carbon monoxide into the room. Most of the gas would then disperse into the ceiling cavity. To maximise our chances of survival, we’d also have to seal the vent cover somehow before we screwed it back into place. Once that was done, we’d wait for the European to turn on the gas, and then somehow convince him we were dead. And if that all went well, we might get a chance to fight our way out of this place.

Neither Jean nor Rolfe had anything to add when I told them my plan, so I got down to making a screwdriver. Rolfe’s shoe buckles were clearly too chunky for the job. I considered honing them down on the concrete I’d exposed in harvesting the skirting, but decided against it. The noise and vibration might have brought Joe running.

The only other possible screwdriver was my pen. I figured that if I could flatten the writing end of it, it should be tough enough to turn the screws without shearing. I removed the ink cartridge and reassembled the empty barrel. Then I put the pointy tip of the barrel between the two shoe buckles and pounded the metal sandwich with the heel of a shoe.

When the flattened tip looked a fit for the screws, I gave it to Jean and repeated my warning not to touch the ceiling. Rolfe and I got her onto our shoulders, and twenty seconds later she let out a triumphant ‘Yes!’ Not only did the pen fit the screws, she said, but the rubberised coating made the barrel very easy to grip.

I felt like cheering when the first screw hit the floor at our feet. The second one came down a minute after that, but then Rolfe said something about his back, and began moving unsteadily from foot to foot. I tried to steady him, but he was like a drunk trying to mark time. Jean moved her weight onto my shoulders, I helped her down to the floor, and Rolfe dropped to the carpet, jerking in shallow breaths, his eyes closed tight. It was his lower back, he said, and, no, there was nothing we could do. He needed to rest it. We helped him to the mattresses and laid him on his back. He closed his eyes and brought his knees up to his chest. Jean squatted next to him and stroked his forehead. Then she looked up at me.

‘We’ll have to do this without him,’ I said. ‘Once you get the rest of the screws out, you can tackle the vent cover. The trick is to get your fingers up inside it so you can ease it out. One side, then the other. But remember, don’t mark anything up there.’

Jean stood under the vent. I bent down behind her so she could straddle my shoulders, and I hoisted her up to the ceiling. She was light enough, so, given Rolfe’s bad back, I probably should have lifted her alone from the start.

She rocked on my shoulders as she worked away. The third screw soon hit the carpet. Then the fourth. The vent cover took a little longer, but she eventually handed it down to me and I lowered her to the floor. I put the cover face-up on the mattresses. Then I examined the square hole in the plasterboard, and the silver ducting that arced away into the ceiling cavity.

‘What now?’ said Jean, buoyed by her success.

‘Next, you use the pen to shred the ducting,’ I said. ‘But you have to hold the ducting steady with one hand, and shred with the other, okay? We don’t know how Joe’s got it rigged up at the other end. If you put pressure on the ducting, or give it a big tug, who knows what it’ll do back there. We don’t want to alert him in any way to what we’re doing. And once you’ve shredded the ducting, I want you to see how far you can reach up into the ceiling cavity. So, you right to go?’

‘Ready when you are,’ she said.

Jean felt a bit heavier this time, probably because my energy levels were down. Bits of silver paper fluttered past my eyes as she wriggled and chopped. By the time she stopped to assess her work, my right shoulder had had enough of her.

‘I’ve hacked right around the ducting,’ she said. ‘I’ve separated it from this metal plate it was attached to, and I’ve put big holes in it as far back as I could. Now let’s see what’s up inside here. I can feel some sort of wiring. And now some long wooden beams, but I can’t see them. And that’s as far up as I can reach — about thirty centimetres into the ceiling.’

‘And you can’t feel anything else?’ I said.

‘Nope. Just fresh air.’

‘That’s great,’ I said, and lowered her down.

Rolfe was still lying on his back, holding his knees to his chest, but he’d stopped groaning. I flexed my shoulders for a while, and then Jean and I picked up the bits of silver paper and shoved them under the mattresses. Next I asked them to give me their socks and undies, and any other small bits of clothing they had. We’d need it all if we were going to block the vent.

Rolfe and I faced the back wall while Jean removed her smalls. Then she and I turned away while Rolfe removed his. After I’d added mine to the pile, I shoved all the smalls into a leg of Jean’s pantyhose and compressed the lot into a small, flat bundle. Then I carefully forced the bundle into the back of the vent cover, and used one of the shoe buckles to shape it into a tight, thick seal that I finished off with some wads of toilet paper.

Jean felt heavier than ever when I lifted her to the ceiling for the final time. I handed her the cover, and she wriggled as she manoeuvred it back into the hole and screwed it into place. My shoulders were really aching when I lowered her to the floor. I flexed them for a bit, and then checked the ceiling and the cover. They looked untouched, which meant that Jean had done a great job, and I told her so.

‘But what if Joe has other plans for us?’ she said, scrunching her face. ‘And what if those plans don’t include pumping gas at us from up there?’

I gave her a pained smile, but said nothing. I’d already considered that possibility, but all we could do was nullify obvious threats and stay ready for the unexpected. I pulled the top mattress over to the bucket and wrapped the flopping thing around myself while I took a badly needed piss.

‘So what now, Mr Fixit?’ said Jean when I returned the mattress to the pile.

‘Now we convert our skirting into a weapon,’ I said.

‘And what did you have in mind?’

‘I was thinking of something like a morning star — one of those medieval clubs with all the spikes sticking out of them. Only ours will have three spikes, not forty-three. But if it’s well put together, it’ll be effective enough.’

‘So, a homemade club, which you’re still to make, against their guns,’ said Rolfe. ‘Mmm. Sounds like a fair fight to me.’

‘Sorry, but that’s not quite right,’ I said. ‘It’s their guns against our club, plus our natural advantage.’

‘And that is?’ said Rolfe. ‘The fact that we outnumber them?’

‘No. What we’ve got going for us is the element of surprise. Eventually, they’re going to come in here thinking we’re dead. And when we suddenly get up and take them on, they won’t be expecting it. That’s when we’ll give them some of their own back.’