The Gender End (The Gender Game #7)

Did you just call my wife ridiculous? I teased as I unscrewed the tube. Because I’m sure she’d love to know you said that.

Isn’t that the point of love—to be ridiculous with, to, and for each other? he shot back, and I paused in my careful application of the black, tar-like goo I was pressing against the point where the fence wires overlapped. The goo itself didn’t transmit electricity—that was one of its selling points—but I had to be careful that neither the tube nor my fingers touched the metal.

I should’ve gotten you to write my wedding vows, I said after a thoughtful moment, resuming my work. I gotta cut a hole in this thing, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s electrified.

I have, just hurry up. It’s making me nervous how quiet everything is up here.

I agree, I informed him as I slowly drew the tube down, applying the substance liberally. Overhead, wisps of smoke were appearing, and molten metal began to drip down as the chemicals did their job. And I’m not even the one using the suit.

I gave you that option, he coolly replied. And don’t worry, I’m watching the doors.

That will only last as long as it takes me to get this fence down. I moved my hands up to start dragging the tube across the top and back down the other side, creating a four-foot-long, three-foot-wide door where the section I’d separated would fall out. Once we’re in there, we aren’t going to have a good view.

I know. I wish I knew how to help Amber get the cameras back up.

Well, unfortunately for Amber, the redhead’s voice cut in, reminding us nothing we had said was private, Thomas’ manual didn’t cover electronic meltdown.

Any chance we can just pull back? I asked, taking a step back to admire my handiwork and wait for the solvent to finish melting the metal. I’d love to lounge in that control room. I tried to keep my tone light, but Owen seemed to have gone even stiller than before at the mention of Thomas’ name, and I was still worried about him.

They know something’s up, Logan said, his voice a tight whisper. I’m not sure how much time we have before someone’s back up here. The room had four people manning it, Viggo. Four. She’s just one.

I’m a very convincing liar, Amber replied, seeming unimpressed with Logan’s concern for her. Anyway, to answer your question—no. Sorry. You gotta take the antennas out. Then we can talk exit strategies.

I sighed—her answer wasn’t unexpected—and then kicked out with my boot, impacting the impromptu door I had created. My boots also shielded me from being electrocuted, if there was still a charge in the partially severed mesh, and the piece I had carved out went skidding across the rooftop and came to a rattling stop.

That wasn’t exactly stealthy, Owen said sourly, and I ducked through and moved around the base of the satellite dish. I sat my bag down beside the concrete block from which the dish jutted, pulling out the cubes of semtex and placing them on the ground.

The blonde man appeared next to me a second later, studying the dish and its mount.

We’ll need to really control the explosion, he said, kneeling and producing a knife. He cut through one of the semtex cubes, halving it and then quartering it again, as he spoke. We don’t want to bring the roof down on the upper levels, but at the same time, we have to damage the equipment enough to make sure they can’t repair it quickly.

What do you recommend? I asked, taking the quarters and rolling the clay-like material into a ball.

This size, maybe even smaller. I’ll climb up the dish and put it on there, but you’ll have to climb the antennas.

I hesitated, wiping my hand on my thigh, and shook my head.

Too exposed. If anyone comes out or looks in through one of those windows, we’ll get—

Viggo, I just saw a group of wardens heading your way, Amber cut in. In one of the adjacent halls. I can’t be sure they’re after you, per se, but—

Thanks. It was rude cutting her off, but I didn’t want to waste a second. What’s the messier way to do this?

Owen hesitated, then slapped a ball of explosive onto the concrete wall holding up the dish.

Let’s hope they didn’t skimp on the contractor they hired to build this, he muttered. Every three feet one of these goes down. I’ll move behind you and put in the detonators.

I picked up the balls we had made, cradling them in my hand, and returned to the front of the equipment tangle at a jog, sticking them to the side of the wall while Owen planted the detonators. We had three quarters of it set up when I heard something—a slight scraping sound—and froze.

A heartbeat later I moved behind the large radio tower, using the metal frame as cover, and looked out onto the still rooftop, searching for any sign of movement.

Viggo?

I didn’t reply to Amber’s voice. I didn’t have time—bullets pinged off of my cover, and I ducked under it as the gunshots sounded.

I counted four muzzle flashes! Owen, can you confirm?

Six… no, eight! What do you want to do?

I was already smashing the remaining six or so balls in my hands into one large one and planting it haphazardly at the base of one of the legs holding the radio tower up.

Toss me a detonator, I ordered, and Owen’s hands moved, something small arcing through the air toward me.

Reflexively, I caught it and pushed it in before moving over to the other side, keeping low. The gunfire had cut off unexpectedly, but I could hear whoever was out there scrambling around, searching for a better position.

Rope! I shouted.

Owen looked up at me from across the narrow divide that separated us, and then pulled the coil we’d dragged with us into his hands, tossing it to me. Someone fired at it as it flew through the air, interrupting its trajectory and pushing it back in midair, and it landed a few feet from either of us. I cursed, preparing to lunge for it, when Owen darted out, shimmering from view.

Owen! I shouted as the coil began to move. Gunfire exploded all around us, and Owen grunted, reappearing suddenly in the middle of tossing the rope over to me. He slid through the gravel after it, his hand going to his side and coming away wet with blood.

It’s just a graze, he said. But the suit’s damaged.

Growling, I went to my knees and fired a few shots toward our attackers. I was firing blind, but hopefully it would buy us a few seconds.

We’re pinned down, he said as he dropped, looking at me with a blind, desperate determination in his eyes. My suit is gone. Leave the detonator with me.

He held out his hand, and I gave him an incredulous look.

I’m not doing that, I informed him, ducking as sparks shot off overhead, probably a bullet ricochet, and then rising back to a knee and firing. I saw a shadow peel away from a cluster of shadows creeping around on our right side and realized the door I’d cut into the fence was on that side.