The Gender Fall Page 20

  Meanwhile, Desmond’s predatory voice continued in the earbud, “I see Ms. Bates has encouraged your overinflated opinion of yourself. No matter. Even though you haven’t led me back to your camp, there is still a reason I have approached you today. There’s still a lesson you need to learn.”

  I took a few cautious steps away, not wanting Desmond to hear Thomas tinkering around. I also avoided Ms. Dale and Owen. We needed to be more spread out in case the boy flew into action. And I needed to keep her talking.

  It wasn’t hard, because I already had more questions than I could hold in. “A lesson? Was that what all this was about? The empty file cabinets? The rows of murdered corpses in tents? Did you just… put all this out here so you could teach us ‘a lesson’? Is that what all these deaths were for?”

  Desmond’s voice grew, if possible, even more gleeful. “Why, Viggo, of course not. The Matrians already had an accumulation of bodies that had very little to do with you, all things considered. And the camp was here before. Since the Matrians don’t care particularly how these men are disposed of, I just used the resources available to me. Then it was simply a matter of waiting for your merry band to sniff out injustice and come swooping in to save the day… I’m actually kind of glad that you ended up there, of all places. It’s by far the best of the surprises I’ve left for you.”

  “There are more places like this?” I felt my mouth actually hanging open. The sheer scale of Desmond’s plan was devastating. “There are more… traps?”

  “Telling you would spoil all the fun, wouldn’t it?”

  I took that as a yes to my question. Had Thomas figured out how to listen in on this yet? This conversation was growing more and more infuriating.

  “All right,” I said through my teeth. “Since it’s clear you’re not going to stop on this train of thought, what was that about a lesson?”

  “A lesson. One of endurance. You see, you and your little Violet have merely been a nuisance up until this point. A fly in the proverbial ointment—disgusting, buzzing pathetically around, but ultimately ignorable.”

  I shook my head—was that an echo?—only to realize I was hearing Desmond’s voice piping through something behind me. I shot a glance at Thomas, who grinned. He’d managed to hack the frequency, like I’d hoped he would. I noticed Ms. Dale and Owen moving closer, eager to hear the other half of the conversation they had been missing out on.

  “And then the palace happened,” I said, following Desmond’s train of thought. “Tell me, did Elena shed a tear over the loss of her little sister? How was her speech? I bet it was suitably heartfelt and filled with overused clichés.”

  The woman’s voice in my ear soured the slightest bit. “You’d better watch your tone, Mr. Croft. Otherwise this conversation will end before I have a chance to explain its purpose, and you will learn, in terrible and frightening ways, how much I can hurt you.”

  “What do you want, Desmond?” I asked, struggling to keep my tone neutral. I hated this feeling—the feeling I was a mouse with a cat crouching directly behind me, set to attack.

  She sighed, a heavy, disapproving sound coming through the speakers. “You really do have poor conversation skills.”

  “I’ll work on that.”

  “I very much doubt you’ll have time, Mr. Croft. Not that you don’t have a future, mind you. It’s just already filled with unimaginable torment. You haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of what the queen and I are capable of doing.”

  “Like with the boys?” My eyes were trained on the subject in question. He was still breathing heavily.

  “Clever man. And, yes, the boys. Did you know what amazing specimens they are? They really are impressive. Their strength and stamina are off the charts. Take the boy who followed you, for example: he ran forty-eight point six miles without stopping. I could order him to keep running, too, and he would do it. He would do it until he dropped dead, his tiny little heart unable to cope with the strain.”

  I had no immediate answer to that. I took in a sharp, biting breath, red flashing across my vision, realizing my fists had clenched so hard my nails dug into my palms. I ground my teeth together and risked a glance over to Owen and Ms. Dale. Ms. Dale was already moving toward Dr. Arlan—I could almost see her plan forming. I turned back to the boy standing before us, his eyes empty, his chest heaving, as Desmond continued.

  “I could make him fight you, you know. Have him take you all on. I’m not sure how he’d fare against you and Ms. Dale in his condition, but I’m betting it wouldn’t matter. The strain alone would probably end him. Should I do that, Viggo? The young man’s heart-rate is well above the norm, even after standing idly for a few minutes. Should I make him fight you until his heart explodes?”

  Sick to my stomach, I closed my eyes, knowing I still had not said a word in response to this new, mind-numbingly cruel threat. When I opened them, I wasn’t any less angry. I spat the words through my teeth, vehement and raw:

  “For the last damn time, Desmond, what do you want?!”

  Desmond chuckled, low and husky. “I see I’ve struck a nerve. Good, because I want you to pay close attention to this next part. You asked me what I want, and it is this. The queen and I are willing to make a deal with you, Mr. Croft. You and your merry band of disillusioned rebels.”

  “What sort of deal?”

  “Simply this: King Maxen and Violet. If you deliver those two to us, we are prepared to hand over the boys, a small plot of farmable land, and a promise you and those who have joined you will be spared. You will be free to raise the boys as you see fit with no interference from us… Well, barring a few minor exceptions.”

  It was hard to speak the next words over the snarl of rage fighting to escape my throat, but I knew I had to keep her talking. “What exceptions?”

  “The boys will need to be used for breeding purposes, Mr. Croft. Their gifts need to be passed on to the populace in order to achieve Elena’s goal of creating an enhanced people. Now, unfortunately, I know you well enough to know you will never agree. Not with Violet’s life on the line. It’s too personal for you. But would Violet? Or your friends? Two lives in exchange for a thousand… Such a small price to pay. I’ll let you mull it over. In the meantime… Subject 984… Kill them all!”

  The boy’s head snapped up. I snatched the earpiece out of my ear and tossed it aside, spreading my arms and dropping into a fighting stance. He moved right toward me—I was closest to him, after all. “Please tell me you have a sedative,” I shouted over my shoulder to somebody, anybody.

  There was no time to listen for a response, as the boy blurred into motion. I barely had a chance to brace for impact when he collided into me. I fell on my back, only my reflexes sparing me from hitting my head hard. The breath escaped my lungs and my vision blipped black for a moment, but I managed to wrap my hand around his arm.

  I remained calm, knowing that, while my body was panicking, sure it was dying from lack of oxygen, I would actually be fine. Still, it didn’t stop my lungs from contracting as I wheezed, trying to force air in and out. The boy pulled back a fist, moving faster than I could track, and struck me in the face.

  My teeth clacked together, and my ears rang—but I had sustained worse punches in the fighting ring. I twisted my neck back toward him just in time to see the blur that meant he’d drawn his fist back again. Grunting, I rolled over, dragging him with me by the arm, partially pinning him with my body. He was fast, I realized deliriously, but he was still only as strong as a preteen boy.

  “That sedative would be real nice right now!” I yelled, trying to pin the boy down as he struggled against me. I clutched one of his wrists, but the other was free, and the boy’s fist hit me in the chest multiple times as I tried to capture it. “Calm down,” I grunted.

  He gave a weird wrenching gasp as my weight pinned his lower half. I felt his fist smacking my back, using the same technique of rapid low-power blows, my shirt getting worked over in the commotion. Suddenly he stilled, and I too
k a closer look at his masked face in alarm, worried that his heart was giving out. Then I felt him lean toward me, tugging at my pants. When he leaned back, he held my pistol in his hand, pointed over my back, toward where Ms. Dale and Dr. Arlan had been putting together the sedative.

  I grabbed the pistol with my free hand, slamming the flesh of my thumb in between the hammer and the pin just as he pulled the trigger. I felt the bite of metal there, and knew it had drawn blood, but didn’t dare risk pulling it away. Instead, I closed my grip around the rest of the pistol, trying to jerk it out of his hands. He released it only to slam a knee into my gut, jerking forward at the same time, head-butting me.

  My head snapped back from the impact, but I kept my weight on him. “HURRY UP!” I bellowed, tossing the gun over my shoulder.

  The boy grunted again, his little legs beating against me, and I took a chance. Lifting my weight up slightly, I flipped him over and dropped back down. I wrapped my arm around his neck and began squeezing slowly, relentlessly cutting off the blood flow as I would an opponent in the ring. I heard footsteps rushing over as the boy gasped, then made a strangled squeak, his body jerking and twisting wildly—and then his struggles began to still beneath me.

  “Here,” said Ms. Dale from behind me. I looked back in time to see her jamming the sedative into his thigh. I immediately released the boy and scrambled back, keeping my eyes on him, waiting to see whether we had saved him.

  26

  Violet

  I checked my watch again for what felt like the millionth time. It had been thirty minutes since our last transmission, and I was edgy with anticipation. Even now, a million imaginary scenarios were flitting through my head, running from bad to worse to positively gruesome. And without word, some sign everyone was all right, I was powerless to stop those vicious thoughts.

  I could, however, ignore them for brief moments, if I put my mind to it. Frowning at the dirty dishes one of the refugees had brought in, I quickly added a few of the large pots to the big metal tub in the kitchen, the hot water I had poured into it still steaming. The water was still too hot to plunge my single working hand into—which was probably for the best, as a lot of the pots had caked-over remains in the bottom. Sighing, I checked my watch again.

  I gave up any pretense of doing a chore and clicked my headset back on. “Any update, Amber?”

  “No, not since you asked me three minutes ago,” came her dry reply.

  “Well, I was waiting for dirty dishes,” I replied almost defensively.

  “I seriously cannot believe you are doing the dishes right now,” she retorted.

  “Okay, first of all, if you’ve been avoiding this chore since we got here, then I’m so bringing it up at the next meeting. And secondly, I need something to keep me busy. I’m freaking out a little over here.”

  Amber laughed, a loud, sharp bark, and I scowled at her—not that she could see. “I’m sorry, Vi,” she said. “I actually know how you feel. Remember when I was shot?”

  I did remember, although it felt like a lifetime ago. “How did you cope with it?” I asked, picking up a rag and wiping down the kitchen table.

  “Well, I think it is a different situation than what you’re going through,” she replied. “Frankly, we had way less stress during those days, and not every single mission felt like our lives were on the line.”

  My hand froze mid-motion; I felt a physical jolt pass through my body at what she was saying. Not that she was wrong. Everything we had been through the last couple of weeks—months—had constantly felt like it was a matter of life or death. It was just something we never talked about. And now that I was on the outside, perfectly safe and sound, everything felt… off. It was like there was something held in suspense, waiting to fall, but I had no idea when or even where it would be.

  “Violet?”

  “I’m here,” I said, shaking my head to clear it. Now was not the time for an existential crisis. “Sorry. Just let me know when you’ve got something, okay?”

  “Will do. Unless you radio back first.”

  I rolled my eyes and resumed wiping down the table. Once it was done, I wandered back over to my bucket in the sink and checked the water. It was still too hot to actually wash anything, so I tossed the rag over one of the drying lines near the fireplace and grabbed the broom, needing to channel my nervous energy into something.

  Despite how slowly I had to sweep to keep my ribs from twinging, my cleaning task was actually helping a bit, so when Amber’s voice filled my ear a few minutes later, I nearly dropped the broom, staggering back in surprise.

  “Violet! They’re back. I—” She stopped talking so suddenly I tapped my earbud a few times, thinking the equipment had failed.

  But then her voice came back, this time with a steely tone that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle in alarm. “Violet, we need to cut transmission. Turn off everything that sends a signal. Viggo’s orders.”

  “Wait, what? Why?” I waited, clutching the broom handle tightly in my hand. “Amber? Viggo?” There was no answer, just the slight crackle of static in my headphones.

  I tried again to contact them, but no one responded. The seconds ticked by, becoming minutes, but there was nothing in my ears, nothing except this rising feeling that I had to do something… I was in charge now.

  I slipped the headset off my head. First, I had to decide whether Amber’s request for silence was a problem or not. On the one hand, I trusted my team—if they needed radio silence, then there was a good reason. On the other hand, I had to consider the possibility they were under duress. Maybe they had been ambushed?

  If there weren’t any problems, then they’d be back in half an hour. But if there were…

  Viggo, Owen, and Ms. Dale wouldn’t break easily under torture. I knew this with certainty. Thomas would resist for a while, but not as long. He wasn’t a loyalist, and if they figured out they could use Owen against him…

  Dr. Arlan was a wild card. I didn’t know him that well, and I couldn’t bank on him not giving up our location. There were dozens of people in the camp, including my cousin, his wife, and their children.

  Standing up, I made a snap decision and checked my watch. It had been about three minutes since Amber’s transmission. Twenty-seven minutes until they returned, if the heloship flight went smoothly. I set the timer on my watch, and then headed down the hall. I pushed open the closest door and stepped inside. The room reeked of the plastic, antiseptic, medical smell that seemed prevalent in all hospital rooms.

  The room was dimly lit, with only two battery-powered lanterns on the lowest setting illuminating the two twin beds on either side of the room. They were flanked by IV stands, which dangled clear plastic bags connected to the beds’ occupants by long plastic tubes. Henrik lay on the left, Quinn on the right. I moved slowly over to Henrik, taking in the older male’s sallow skin and the dark shadows under his eyes. Something stirred behind me, and I turned, seeing Dr. Tierney sit up from her makeshift pallet on the floor against the wall separating the hall from the room, her eyes squinting at me in confusion.

  “It’s all right, Dr. T,” came a voice from Quinn’s side of the room. “It’s Violet.”

  Turning, I noticed Jay sitting on a chair at the foot of Quinn’s bed, his legs drawn up on the seat with his arms wrapped around himself. Samuel sat underneath his perch, and the dog looked up at me with big brown eyes and thumped his tail against the floor a couple times, looking almost as careworn as Jay did.

  “Hey, Jay,” I said softly, and he smiled at me, but it was lined with tired edges. The young man didn’t look like he’d been sleeping much.

  “Violet?” Dr. Tierney’s voice was thick with sleep, her brown hair mussed and tangled. “What’s wrong? Did anyone get hurt?”

  She was already beginning to push herself up off the ground, and I hesitated, then moved closer and offered her my hand. She squinted at it for a moment, and then batted it aside with a grimace. “No helping anyone up,” she griped as s
he got her legs under her. “Let’s call that doctor’s order number seventeen.”

  I waited until she had stood and placed her spectacles on her face, then asked, “Dr. Tierney, what would you need to move Henrik and Quinn?”

  She turned abruptly, her brows drawing together. “Why?” she asked. Jay leaned forward, the chair squeaking slightly under his weight, attracting my eyes. Nervousness fluttered unexpectedly in my stomach at this first moment of having to explain my plan, and I realized I was worried they might think I was overreacting. I steeled myself, explaining my worst-case scenario to the doctor with Jay listening in.

  Surprisingly, she nodded. “That’s prudent thinking,” she said. She looked at Henrik, then at Quinn, her gaze thoughtful and considerate. “We’d need a vehicle large enough to transfer them and all this equipment. Theoretically, Henrik can be taken off most of these, but Quinn...”

  She shook her head, and I moved closer to the young man, my heart heavy as I took in Tabitha’s handiwork. It seemed like every bit of him was being held together by stitches—and I couldn’t see much under the bandages. There was no telling where the cuts stopped or started. His face alone was crisscrossed with them. A set of stitches started over his left eye, just under his hairline, slashing horizontally before cutting straight down the side of his nose, down his cheek, and through his lips, stopping just under his chin. Tabitha had spared that eye, it seemed, but his other eye was covered with a bandage, stitches running from his eyebrow down his other cheek. His right ear was missing the uppermost part, while bandages covered the spot where his left should have been—but they looked suspiciously flat.

  Quinn’s arms were lined with stitches, running up and down his arm with no real pattern, and I could see, on his right hand, the bandaged pinky finger that stopped an inch short of where it should have.

  “Can we move him?” I asked, my voice a whisper, my mouth dry.