The Gender War Read online

  -V

  P.S. The staff said they will change the sheets today. Apparently, they found the fact that we went to bed filthy ‘disturbing’.

  I smiled as I read his last sentence, carefully folding the note back up. Reaching out, I stroked my fingers over the weathered bag, feeling the hard cases inside. These bizarre, giant silver eggs were what had gotten me into this entire mess. Without them… Well, without them, I probably would have been executed for murder in the Matrian prison system. If I’d never been introduced to the eggs, would Desmond and Elena’s plans have changed at all?

  Without these, I realized, I never would have met Viggo. The man I was going to marry, if we got out of this alive.

  Just thinking about his proposal made my heart rate speed up. Amidst all the chaos, all our alone time had been spent escaping something, dealing with one another’s injuries, or feeling deliriously tired. Well, and there was that one time in the shed, but then I hadn’t wanted to remove my lips from Viggo’s long enough to speak…

  When I next felt that the moment was right, I would tell him my answer. That he shouldn’t have even really needed to ask. That I was his forever… or until death did us part.

  Energized, I got dressed quickly, re-bandaged my wound with the supplies Quinn had insisted I take, and went downstairs, heading for the security room. I had to stay focused.

  As I walked through the dining room, I was surprised to see Ashabee and Maxen there, marking places on maps with little red circles and, when I listened in, arguing about which areas should be raided first. I nodded at them as I walked past, not inclined to speak to them when they were so diligently at work. I didn’t feel like another game of ‘threaten the king’ right now anyway. They didn’t even notice as I went by, which was fine by me.

  Entering the security room, I was surprised to see Thomas sitting behind the desk looking at the computer, Quinn and Amber standing right behind him, peering over his shoulder.

  “Good morning,” I greeted, and they looked at me in surprise.

  “Morning, Violet!” Quinn chirped. “How’s your hand?”

  I responded by holding it up, and within moments, Quinn was carefully removing the bandage I’d just put on and peppering me with questions. I answered them honestly, showing him how each of my fingers moved one by one. He told me that there wasn’t any sign of infection, and seemed optimistic that, with time, mobility would fully return.

  “Thank you, Quinn,” I said once he had finished.

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned.

  I turned to where Amber and Thomas were, to see them fixated on the computer again. “What is it?” I asked, moving closer to the desk.

  Amber looked at me out of the corner of her eye and straightened up. “Tom-Tom is helping Quinn and me find a route out of here,” she replied coolly, but I saw a sparkle of challenge in her gaze when it collided with my own.

  I sighed. I’d been hoping to have this conversation somewhere more private, just between the two of us, but now was probably as good a time as any.

  “There’s no way I’m going to convince you to change your mind, is there?” I asked, trying to keep my voice gentle. “Owen told me you want to go back to the Liberators, but I’m worried about Desmond… and about the boys. We really need your help in this war, Amber. You and Quinn have so many skills. Think about it—we could stop the war. We could keep Desmond from using young men…”

  Amber’s eyes clouded over, and her posture stiffened. “I never wanted to stop the war,” she said sharply. “I don’t think anything is going to change unless our nations get taken down and start over from scratch. If people get hurt in the process, they’re no different from the people who are getting hurt and suffering silently in these broken societies right now.”

  “Historically speaking,” Thomas chimed in, “Amber is right. Violent government takeover is one of the primary ways that past societies have changed.”

  “But that’s the thing!” I said, now unable to keep my passion out of my voice. “Can’t we be better than that? Amber, think of the boys. Desmond is keeping them all hopped up on Benuxupane… They didn’t even get a chance to decide for themselves. We have to give them a future. They’re going to spend their lives being used for somebody else’s cause… like property. Isn’t that what you wanted to fight against, Amber?”

  Amber’s face was troubled, but her resolve didn’t weaken. “Leave my life out of this,” she said stonily. “Can’t you just let me make my own decision? I’m not turning you guys in to Desmond. I helped you with the king. Isn’t that enough?”

  I bit my lip. “Quinn?” I asked, turning to him. “Are you okay with this?”

  Quinn looked down, the excitement that had been on his face when he’d looked at my wound nowhere to be found. “I’m going with Amber,” he said. “The Liberators taught me everything I know. Without them I’d probably be dead by now. And who knows, maybe we can find a way to convince them to do things differently. We could even try to talk to the other guys… maybe…?”

  Quinn’s hopeful innocence was almost worse than Amber’s reticence. I felt my shoulders drooping. “You won’t change your minds, then,” I said, my heart heavy.

  “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Amber said.

  “All right. You know that I had to try, right? Well… I hope you can find a safe route, then. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can get out of this mess. Make sure you pack some extra food and ammo—I’m sure we have some to spare. And… don’t leave without saying goodbye, okay? I’ve gotta go find Viggo, but I’ll talk to you later.”

  Some of the rigidity seemed to leave Amber’s shoulders the moment I stopped arguing. “Okay…” she said, then trailed off. Maybe my sadness that she was really leaving had surprised her.

  “Viggo is out front by the gate,” Thomas informed me.

  “Thank you,” I replied, and headed out of the room before things got more awkward.

  Outside, I found Owen first. He was staring at the container that housed Solomon, studying it and making careful notes on a pad of paper. He looked up and smiled at me in greeting. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

  I shrugged. “Not bad, just down about Amber and Quinn,” I said, coming to a stop behind him. “You trying to figure out how to feed Solomon?”

  Owen glanced back to the truck and nodded, grimacing. “Yeah—there’s only one entrance or exit to the thing. I thought… well… if we could cut a hole in the top… But…”

  “He could use it to try to escape,” I finished for him, frowning. “That… is not good.”

  Owen nodded absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the truck as he continued to consider it. I could sense he was still thinking of how to fix the problem, concentrating so hard that I was pretty sure he had forgotten I was there.

  Which was fine with me—I had come out here to find Viggo. Not just because we were slotted to do recon today, but also because… I wanted to thank him for letting me sleep in, when I knew as well as he did that he needed the rest every bit as much as me.

  Viggo was standing by the gate, but my view of it was partially blocked by the truck, which he had moved from in front of the side of the gate that still didn’t work. I could hear him giving orders, presumably to whoever was helping him. I walked around the truck and was met with a small surprise to find that it was Tim and Jay.

  I watched as Jay grabbed the broken side of the massive black gate in his hands and then slowly pulled it upright, clearly straining, but just as clearly holding his own. The gate was massive—nearly fifteen feet at the top—and heavy. It had taken three of us to lift it the night before, and even then it had been difficult.

  I moved closer to stand next to Viggo.

  “Good job, Jay,” he said. “All right, Tim—you’re up!”

  Tim picked up a piece of wood from a stack next to him, examined it, then placed it flat across the gate, parallel to the ground, using a gap between stones in the wall to hold the board in place. He then proce
eded to pound on the end of the board with a hammer, his eyes narrowed in concentration. His face winced slightly as he supported the board with one hand, forcing it deeper into the gap and wedging it in place.

  “Wow,” I said. “Whose idea was this?”

  Viggo looked at me, his green eyes bright. “Actually, it was Tim’s idea,” he said with a grin. “Of course, he wanted to build a brick wall to hold it up, but I remembered seeing some lumber and I thought it would work better… and be easier to carry. Eventually, we’ll have a grid of boards across the whole gate, and then we’ll be able to brace it up with some larger posts set at a diagonal. Jay’s digging the holes for those next. It still won’t be able to open, but it should hold up against a decent amount of pressure.”

  I nodded, not sure I understood the technical explanation but trusting that they knew what they were doing. Jay was indeed starting to dig holes several feet behind where Tim was working.

  I didn’t want Viggo to notice when they all were so eager, but I felt conflicted. On the one hand, I was happy to see my brother so enthusiastic about fixing things. On the other, I was worried that he was too enthusiastic about participating in what was turning into a full-blown war. With this kind of thing it was fine, but in other situations, that kind of enthusiasm could actually get him killed.

  Still, it was worth it to see him bringing ideas to the table, working on something with his hands. He and Jay made a good team, and for now they were busy and happy.

  “Good job, Tim!” I called. Tim paused his hammering long enough to flash me a brilliant smile.

  “You ready to go?” Viggo asked.

  I looked at him, and then back at my brother. “You sure? Don’t you want to be here to supervise this?”

  “Nah,” Viggo said, waving his arm dismissively. “They’ve got this. Let’s ride.” He turned to Jay, who was still holding the gate in place. “We gotta leave—is it going to be a problem for you?”

  “No,” Jay shouted back. “We’re good!”

  I waved at Jay, then turned to follow Viggo. Within minutes we were mounted, helmeted, and riding Viggo’s motorcycle, heading down the open road toward the nearest homestead in the surrounding farmland. This was an information-gathering mission—to observe and talk to anyone we saw—but as we drove, it was hard not to appreciate the sun on my face. For a moment, it was easy to forget what was going on.

  Our temporary peace was cut short when Viggo noticed people on the road ahead of us. He pulled over and killed the engine, taking off his helmet and dismounting the bike. A group of people were walking—no, trudging—down the road, their eyes tired and worried, their clothes torn and dirtied. Some of them carried bags or backpacks; one even clutched what seemed to be a soot-streaked painting, maybe some keepsake or family heirloom. Some of them had nothing.

  “Hello,” Viggo greeted a few of them when they got closer. “Did your car break down?”

  One of the men, whose short-cropped brown hair was singed at the edges, slowed to a stop in front of Viggo, and I left the bike leaning on the kickstand in order to move in closer, curious to hear what he had to say. He looked like hell—his face grim and covered with soot.

  “No,” one of the men said, giving me a strange look. “We couldn’t even get to our cars. The fires… they were too bad. We were barely able to get out with our lives.” He paused, his voice getting tight. “My wife disappeared in the confusion. She and our daughter. I—I’m not sure where they are.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Viggo said, his eyes wide. “Can you tell me more about the fires? Last I heard, emergency services were putting them out.”

  The man bristled for a moment, took a deep breath, and wiped at his face, smearing the soot and ash around. “There were no emergency service people on the street. I know, because we walked for miles. As for the fires… Last I saw, nearly half the warehouse district was burning. It—uh—it was harvest season.”

  Viggo nodded as if he understood what the man was saying. It took me a minute to figure it out. When I did, it was hard not to gasp. The warehouses would have been loaded with food—enough to last until the next harvest. That meant that a significant amount of the Patrians’ reserves had been taken out.

  Which meant that people were going to starve this winter.

  It didn’t end there, though. Another man, heavier-set than the first one, chimed in as well. “In my area they were getting volunteers together to go fight the fires—they were going door-to-door, picking people from their houses. We never saw anybody fighting fires, though. Later it got bad, and we had to leave, too. Some of those guys didn’t come home.”

  “‘They’?” Viggo asked. “Who’s asking for volunteers from the community? The government must really have been hit hard.”

  “The Matrian wardens,” the heavyset man replied. “They said they were here to help. I don’t know what good a bunch of women are going to be in putting out fires… Maybe that’s why they were trying to get guys to leave their families and help. I wouldn’t have, if they’d asked me.” He indicated a haggard-looking woman and a teenage boy holding back a few paces across the road. “We had to stick together. All we have now is each other.”

  I turned away from the man, my stomach tightening up until it felt like a rock the size of my fist. I couldn’t listen to these stories anymore, so I moved away, back toward Viggo’s bike. He exchanged a few more words with the weary man, and then followed me.

  “It’s getting bad, isn’t it?” I asked.

  Viggo’s face was grim as he put on his helmet. “It’s getting worse,” he corrected.

  I didn’t respond—there was no need, because he was right. I climbed back on the bike and wrapped my arms around his waist, probably a bit more tightly than was necessary. But I needed to feel his warm body against me as we rode off, carefully navigating through the few people walking away from the city, their eyes lit up in anger or downcast in hopelessness.

  We interviewed dozens more people, all with similar stories about the fires, the bombings, fleeing for their lives. By the time we had turned the motorcycle toward home base, the sun was starting to set in the sky. We hadn’t learned much—it was clear from the refugees’ stories that most of them were still confused about what had happened as well. There were also rumors. Rumors that ranged from an attempted coup to some sort of apocalyptic cataclysm. One man even claimed it was aliens.

  Strangely enough, nobody mentioned a Matrian element to the conflict at all. I wondered how that could be—did nobody suspect that the Matrians, not a terrorist cell, were behind the bombings?—until I realized that the Matrians’ own reputation was working for them. No one in Patrus suspected Matrus of anything—and I believed the reason for this was deeper than just male arrogance.

  I remembered an adage I’d once read in an old Matrian history book during my orphanage days, spoken by some wise person from the distant past: “Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?” Matrus was supposed to be founded on peace. Otherwise, why had its founders moved to the other, much less conducive, side of the river in the first place? The pursuit of peace at all costs was the root of the nation’s very existence. And yet here Matrus was now, aping the very traits its founders had despised. In spite of all I’d learned and witnessed of Matrus’ violence in the past few days, I still found it hard to believe that it had come to this.

  I was tired by the time we reached the gates of the mansion, and I knew Viggo was even more exhausted. It had been an emotionally draining day. Which made what happened next even harder.

  Amber and Quinn were waiting for us on the front lawn when we pulled up, several bags sitting on the ground in front of them. Viggo pulled to a stop just in front of the bags, nudged the kickstand down, and got off. I followed suit.

  “We said our goodbyes to everyone else,” Amber said, her voice soft. “We were just waiting for you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I hadn’t quite known, when I had asked her to wait, if she was going to do it. I
met their gazes, and what I saw in them hurt. For all I knew, this could be the last time I ever saw them. “I… I’m really going to miss you,” I said, after a pause.

  Amber sniffled and scrubbed her nose. Beside her, Quinn’s face was the forecast of a storm to come. “We’re going to miss you too,” he said sincerely, and it almost broke my heart.

  “Come here,” I said, pulling him in for a hug. He hugged me back, and we held each other for a long moment. “Please be careful out there.”

  “I will,” he promised, and I let him go. Viggo was already waiting to shake his hand. I turned to Amber and sighed. “I… uh… hope we’re still friends,” I said, lamely, and Amber met my gaze, her lips turned up into a sad smile.

  “Of course we are, Violet. At least I can tell everyone that you weren’t spies—you never were. Nope… you guys are just something else.”

  I smiled, but the feeling was bittersweet. “Thanks for that,” I said. “Just… please be careful? Please? I know you are still conflicted, but if you see Desmond… will you run? Please?”

  Amber thought about it for a second. “If you had asked me to kill her, I would’ve said no. But run… Yeah… I think I can do that.”

  I pulled her in for a hug. “Thank you,” I said. I wasn’t sure whether I was thanking her for telling the truth or for lying—or just for trying to ease my conscience—but I was grateful to her. For a thousand small reasons, too small and insignificant for anyone but me to appreciate. Well, me and Viggo.

  Amber hesitated. “Actually, since we’re asking favors, could you…”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell my dad I’m leaving. And that he can still rot in hell.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I’ll at least tell him the first part. The second, well…”

  Amber chuckled darkly. “He knows.”

  I stepped back a little and made room for Viggo to say his goodbyes. He was twirling the motorcycle keys around his finger, looking at her. She stared back, uncertainty etched lightly on her face. I heard the keys jingle one more time, and then Viggo tossed them at her, smiling when she snatched them out of the air.