The Gender Fall Page 21

  Doctor Tierney nodded. “As long as we can get a vehicle with a big enough open area in the back.”

  I nodded and checked my watch. Twenty-two minutes. “Jay, feel up to helping me?”

  The young man was off his chair and standing in front of me in moments, his face intensely serious. “What do you need?”

  “Well, I need you to find who’s on guard duty tonight and send them to me in the den. I also need you to find Lynne and Morgan, and bring them to me. Do you know who they are?”

  Jay nodded. “I know Lynne. She worked with us at the facility. Morgan I don’t know, but I can find him.”

  “Her,” I corrected. “She’s another one of the Liberators. Lynne will know where she is. Ask them to meet me in the dining room. You come back too—I’ll need your help.”

  Jay nodded and hurried off, and I turned to Dr. Tierney. “Do what you can to get these two prepped for transport. I am really hoping it won’t come to it.”

  “I’m on it,” she replied, already turning away from me, focusing completely on Quinn. I turned and left, leaving the door partially open. I moved back through the dining room and into the den with the creepy animal heads, grabbing a black plastic crate off the floor. I proceeded to shove all the loose papers and files we had somehow accumulated into it, not bothering with any sort of filing system. It could be sorted later.

  I was halfway through when a dark-haired, tanned man—his name was Gregory—knocked on the door. He had a rifle slung on his shoulder, and his eyes watched me, alert.

  “You’re in charge of the guards tonight?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “Yes. Jay said you needed to see me?”

  “I need you to pull everyone scheduled for the second shift to join you in the watch. Have them patrol the area, and send a scout out to the heloship landing area in one of the larger vehicles.”

  “Problem?”

  “I hope not,” I muttered. Gregory gave me a wary look. “I’m not sure yet,” I told him honestly. “But I’m taking precautions. Report back to me in…” I checked my watch and did a quick count. “Seven minutes. Make sure the scout takes a subvocalizer, and tell them to report back if the heloship doesn’t show up in nineteen.”

  He nodded and left, and I was glad of the fact that he hadn’t asked any questions. Time was a luxury at this point.

  Almost as soon as he moved out of it, Lynne and Morgan pushed through the door of the den, followed by Jay. “Hey, Violet, what’s up?” asked Lynne.

  “I need you both to start pulling the vehicles around to the front of the barn and loading them up. Food and weapons, guns and ammunition are the priority. If you find you need more people, then wake them, but do it quietly.”

  Lynne arched an eyebrow. “Expecting trouble?”

  “Like I just told Gregory, I hope not… but right now, until I know otherwise, I need to make sure we’re ready to go with all we can carry. I’ll know for sure if we need to start waking the rest of the camp soon. Jay, would you help them load?”

  “Absolutely,” he said with a nod.

  “Let me know if you have any problems, and try not to cause a panic. If anyone wakes up and asks what you’re doing, tell them to come see me, and I’ll explain.”

  Lynne frowned and exchanged dubious looks with Morgan, who was managing to look sleepy and skeptical at the same time, her short black hair sticking up in all directions. “To be fair, you haven’t really explained it to us,” Lynne said, her green eyes narrowing.

  I opened my mouth, realizing she was right. “Viggo and Owen went on a mission tonight, and it went sideways. They got bogged down, and we had to send Amber, Ms. Dale, Thomas, and one of our doctors to sort it out. No one’s hurt that I know of, but their last transmission didn’t have enough information, and, well… If they get back in—” I checked my watch again and blew out a breath. “Sixteen minutes, then we’ll call it an evacuation drill. If not… then it’ll be for real.”

  “You mean you’d leave them all to die?” gasped Morgan, her hand going to her mouth. I looked calmly at her and nodded, taking a deep breath.

  “My first priority has to be you and all the people here,” I said, my throat tight. “If Viggo and Owen have been captured, I will be the first one to mount the rescue mission, but I can’t neglect my responsibility to everyone else. It’s not what they would want.”

  “She’s right, Morgan,” said Lynne, giving me an approving nod. “Let’s go move those vehicles and stop wasting time.”

  As Morgan followed Lynne out, I finished sweeping papers into the box, then turned my attention to the computers, slightly less haphazardly pulling wires and setting the long boxes in a line on the table. They would need to be packed, but only if there was enough space to take them. If not, they were going to have to be burned.

  Eighteen minutes later, I was still packing, Gregory silently helping me, my eyes focused entirely on the task ahead. I’d passed my deadline, but I was giving them an extra five minutes until I woke everybody up—I just couldn’t bring myself to really give the order until I was dead certain something had gone horribly wrong.

  I had just looked down at my watch again when Gregory paused, his hand drifting up to his ear. I stilled, my heartbeat swelling like acid in the back of my throat. He mouthed something into the earbud, then reached up to turn his subvocalizer off.

  “The heloship just landed,” he announced. “There were no signs of hostile forces. The vehicles should be back shortly.”

  I somehow managed not to exhale loudly or choke in relief, and channeled it all into a nod. “Good,” I said. “But we’re not out of the woods yet. We still might have to proceed with the evacuation, depending on what they report. Have your men on standby—if the news is bad, I want first shift to head to the barn to help pack the vehicles, while second shift maintains the guard duties.”

  Gregory nodded and placed his hand to his throat, a switch clicking and his lips moving. I grabbed the box I had filled with wires and slid it to the end of the table, my ribs stinging at the effort. Picking up full boxes was still impossible for me, but I could at least push them if they weren’t too heavy.

  A few minutes later, Gregory gave me a look and then headed outside, and I dropped what I was doing, immediately heading for the door to the porch. I watched the lights of the guard’s car approach and then pull around to the front of the house. The night air was cool, causing my skin to pebble.

  The car’s engine shut off, and I heard the doors slamming as the returning patrol got out. I nearly went weak in the knees as Viggo came around the vehicle, and my first urge was to go to him and make sure he was all right. But as he stepped into the dim light of the lanterns, I froze. His handsome face was bruised down the side, and he was favoring one leg. Worst of all, though, I could see even from this distance that his eyes were flat and hard, but it wasn’t the hardness of anger. No, this was a look I knew all too well… from Ashabee’s manor.

  I looked around at the rest of the crew, watching as Amber, Ms. Dale, and Dr. Arlan came into view. Dr. Arlan was carrying a small boy, a red-stained bandage wrapped tightly around his thigh, in his arms. Thomas plodded into view, and my heartbeat quickened as I saw the same forlorn look all the others wore even on his face.

  “Where’s Owen?” I asked.

  Viggo’s brows drew together, and he opened his mouth, only to slam it shut so hard I swore I could hear his teeth clack together.

  I heard another door slam and took a step off the porch as Owen came into view. He was holding another boy, probably around nine or ten, with blond hair. His eyes were closed, his cheek pressed to Owen’s shoulder.

  In the gray, wan pre-dawn light, Owen’s eyes were swollen and red. He held the boy tightly in his arms, as if he would never let go. It would’ve been sweet if there weren’t an air of deep sorrow radiating off him like a winter storm.

  My eyes flicked again over the boy Owen was carrying, this time noting the similarities between the two. My heart plunged into my
stomach as I met Owen’s bloodshot gaze. Tears were swimming there.

  “Ian,” I gasped, and Owen swallowed, his face breaking as he sagged to the ground, clutching his little brother’s lifeless body tightly to his chest.

  27

  Violet

  I moved over to Owen, kneeling next to him. He was sobbing, each breath heaving as though torn from him, as though his heart had been ripped out and cut in two before his eyes. In a way, it had.

  I threw my arm around him, holding him close as his body shook under the force of his cries. Each one was like a knife to my own heart, and I tasted his pain—it was so close, too close, to my own. But this was… this was agony. It was cruel and unjust and wrong. I didn’t have any words to make it right, because there were none. Nothing would ever make this right.

  So I didn’t say anything. I let Owen cry for a few minutes, then gently coaxed him up. I didn’t ask him if he wanted someone to help him with his brother. I knew if it were me in his shoes… I stopped that train of thought before it could even reach its conclusion. Owen needed me right now, and I couldn’t, wouldn’t let my worry over Tim affect me. Later, when I was alone, I would cry for Owen, Ian, and Tim. But right now, I had to focus.

  “C’mon, Owen,” I said softly, urging him forward. “Let’s get him inside.”

  He took a shuddering breath as he plodded forward, and I stayed beside him, pressing him onward. Amber held open the front door for us, her eyes shimmering with tears, and I reached out and pressed my left hand into hers, squeezing it.

  As we passed Gregory, I nodded at him. “Tell Ms. Dale what we’ve been doing and why, and she’ll tell you how to proceed.” He nodded and disappeared through the front door.

  I coaxed Owen down the hall toward the room I had been sleeping in. I opened the door and let him in first, then closed it behind us. Owen moved over to the bed, his movements wooden and robotic as he laid Ian down on the blanket, resting his head on the pillow. Then he sank down to his knees and rested his arms on the mattress, taking Ian’s small hand into his own.

  Blinking away the tears already starting to drop from my eyes, I quietly moved around to Owen’s side of the bed and lowered myself to the floor, sitting next to him. Owen’s eyes gazed at me, but they were vacant, as if he didn’t even recognize me. Tears had cut tracks over his cheeks, and his nose was swollen and red. He sniffed a few times, his nose clearly stuffed.

  I reached into my pocket, searching for something that just might be in there… yes. Paper napkins. I passed them to Owen, and he reached out, taking them with the hand he wasn’t using to hold his brother’s hand. He stared blankly at them for a moment, and then dropped them to the bed, pushing the wadded edges apart with one hand until he had singled one out. He picked it up and dabbed it across his eyes, trying to sop up the tears.

  I waited. There weren’t words in the history of all languages to make him feel better. I knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Anything I attempted would only come off wrong. Owen didn’t need words, didn’t even want them. He wanted his brother back, and that was a void in his heart words would never touch.

  I remembered all the things everyone had said to me after my mother had died. All their words and attempts at kindness had only made me angrier. I didn’t want Owen to suffer through that. So I let him keep his own pace.

  The minutes dragged by, periodically punctuated by his sniffles and the few times he blew his nose. I sat through it all, certain this was where I needed to be. After a while, he met my gaze, his expression lost.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he admitted hoarsely.

  I nodded, tears pricking my eyes. “I know.”

  Owen leaned forward, brushing his fingers over Ian’s blond hair, adjusting a few of the locks against his forehead. In death, Ian’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed. He would have almost looked like he was sleeping, were it not for the fact that his chest remained perfectly still… and the tiniest amount of blood, or spittle, or a mixture, still trailing at the side of his mouth, even though it looked like Owen had tried to wipe it away.

  “Our parents just accepted it. When they took him. They just… let it happen. Said it was for the best. But I knew. I knew it wasn’t. I mean… how could they take him and leave me? I was the bad one. Somehow I passed their test, but I knew what I was. But Ian… he was so sweet, y’know? As beta as they came.”

  He met my gaze, more tears falling from his lashes onto his cheek. “He saved animals,” he whispered, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “He would bring them home in a box if they were small enough to fix. A turtle, a bird, a kitten. There was this dog he found once—he must have escaped when he was younger, or maybe his owners abandoned him. I don’t know. But he had grown up wearing this collar, and it was killing him. It was too tight, and it was…” He stopped, the words lodging in his throat as a racking sob shuddered through his body. I felt my own heart twist at his words’ visceral reactions, wishing there were some way to comfort him.

  He cleared his throat and scrubbed his eyes with his arm. “Anyway, he needed me to cut the collar off. He knew I had knives. Ian wouldn’t touch them, you know...” He met my gaze, a forlorn look in his eyes. “That’s when I knew the test was crap. When they took him… I knew. I kept knives, I used to secretly watch martial arts practice and try to replicate the moves, I used to break into houses to steal things… I was the bad son. The bad Matrian son. But they took him. And now he’s…”

  Shoulders shaking, he looked away, unable to say the words.

  I swallowed hard. “I know there’s nothing I can say to ever make this better,” I whispered. “Even right now, every word coming out of my mouth feels inadequate. But you’re my friend, Owen. You’re my friend and I love you. Please, whatever you need, whenever you need it. I’m here for you.”

  Owen looked up at me, raw and vulnerable. His chin trembled and he wiped away another tear, almost angrily. “I want to bury him.”

  I nodded. “Of course. I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Can I… Can I stay here with him? I don’t want him to be alone tonight.”

  Fighting back tears, I nodded again. “Of course. You didn’t even need to ask.”

  He shot me a grateful look, and then turned his gaze back to his brother. I sensed it was time to leave, but there was still one thing I wanted to know. It felt wrong to ask, somehow, but there was something more going on—I had seen it in Viggo’s face.

  “Owen, what happened tonight? I mean, how did this happen?”

  Owen shot me a vicious look, his face growing mottled with rage, as if someone had flipped a switch inside his brain. “Ask your boyfriend,” he hissed, his voice coming out like the angry leaking of a tire. I jerked back without thinking, as though he would launch himself at me.

  A pregnant silence stretched between us, and after several long seconds, Owen leaned back and angrily wiped his eyes. “You should go.”

  I agreed. Wordlessly, I stood up and moved over to the door. As my hand touched the doorknob, I stopped, the urge to apologize thick and hot on my tongue. It was the part I had hated the most after my mother had died—all the apologies. I could never understand them. Now, I couldn’t help but feel the same desire. It was a bandage of sorts. A way of making myself feel better for not being able to help him. I had always misunderstood them; I had thought all those people were saying they were sorry my mother had died. Now I realized they had been sorry they couldn’t help me and Tim more.

  I wasn’t going to let Owen go through this alone, though. He wouldn’t get a “sorry” from me, because I would be there to help him. I left.

  I found Amber in the living room, sifting through the boxes I had slung together. She turned as I came out, studying me. “I’m sorry about the transmission,” she offered softly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Viggo said they might have hacked the frequency. We needed to kill the link in case somebody was tracing it, trying to find you.”

  “It’s okay,” I replie
d, my voice still thick. “I think Owen could do with your company. Can you go to him?”

  She nodded and moved past me, heading toward the back room. I scanned the room. Still no Viggo. I moved down the hall and outside. The mood in the house was somber; as people moved around, unpacking from the evacuation drill, I could almost feel the news of the tragedy moving through our ranks, making the conversations softer and the darkness outside feel wearier and more dangerous.

  Ms. Dale stood on the porch, talking in a low voice with Dr. Arlan and Lynne.

  “Yes, of course,” she was saying to the young woman, “we removed the tracker from Ian’s body. As for the other boy”—she turned to the doctor—“we could keep him in the barn loft or the basement, but that’s not the best area.”

  “I would hope to give him at least a little light… a place that feels safe,” Dr. Arlan said. “He’s just a child. He’ll probably be so confused when he wakes up. Is there someone here he trusts?” I realized, listening in, that they must have been talking about the other boy who had survived the raid.

  “That depends,” Ms. Dale said, “on many things. The only person here who really knows him is Viggo, but I have reason to believe he’s probably been conditioned to think of Viggo as a traitor. It might be best if we have someone impartial first attempt to speak to him… and a doctor there to find out how he’s responding to being off the Benuxupane. If that’s what is actually in him. We have a good opportunity here; we should probably do a blood sample before he wakes up again, just to find out what chemicals they’re pumping into them.”

  Dr. Arlan’s voice grew wary. “I can do that, yes. But our ‘opportunity’ is also a child. We can’t forget that.”

  Ms. Dale nodded. “You’re very right. That’s why it’s a difficult decision.” She tossed a glance back at me, and I realized she knew I’d been standing there listening. “Violet, can you think of anything to do with Cody?”

  Cody. The name was familiar. Through my worry, a memory surfaced of a surly kid who had once challenged Viggo’s authority as a teacher when we’d brought the boys out of their cages in The Green. Shock passed through me as I realized this made two children we knew, at least somewhat. It was all too real right now.