The Gender End (The Gender Game #7)

“I’m fine,” he grumbled as I pulled the cuffs off. “Not the first time I’ve been punched in the gut.”

I smiled, and suddenly the bumpy ride smoothed out as Ms. Dale pulled onto the paved road. The change felt surreal, and I breathed out a sigh that was half relief and half greater worry. Parts one and two of our plan had been unmitigated successes. I could only hope the rest of it went as smoothly.





25





Viggo





The streets of Matrus slid by the window as I gazed through it. We were entering the city proper now, and even though autumn was progressing, it still seemed warm with light, calm and peaceful. It felt like so long since I had seen such peace—and here it was, right across the river. I experienced a moment, maybe more than a moment, of jealousy. A pang of anger and resentment burning deep in my belly.

They didn’t know, I firmly reminded myself, pushing aside all those petty emotions.

We were heading through the restaurant district. Our first goal, Alyssa Dawes’ house, lay somewhere beyond that, buried in the heart of a residential area. The lights here were even brighter—the large glass windowpanes we passed, set back into red brick buildings, were practically white. Inside each bright window was a restaurant, where people sat inside, eating.

As I watched, I began to realize that even though it didn’t look like a city at war here, there certainly wasn’t a great amount of peace. I picked it up at first when I saw a man walking, his steps hurried, his hands tucked in his pockets and his back rolling forward as he ducked his head—as if perpetually stepping under low-hanging ceilings.

Next I saw a group of women walking together, but instead of appearing relaxed and open, they were pressed together, speaking to each other from behind their hands. They eyed anyone approaching with a general wariness, a deep suspicion, a feeling that, from my observation, seemed shared by others on the street.

Nobody ambled. Nobody laughed. Nobody smiled. Even inside the restaurants themselves. Each one we passed seemed like a snapshot of a room where, just out of the frame, somebody had been murdered, and no one was sure who in the room had done it. It made me feel wary, checking behind us and down the streets we passed, searching for some phantom sign of pursuit.

“Viggo, could you…” Owen hesitated, and then looked away. “Never mind.”

“No, spit it out. Could I?”

He gave me an irritated look. “Could you stop twitching? You’re making me nervous.”

I frowned. Had I been that fidgety? For a second, I considered the possibility that I was being paranoid, that all of this fighting was finally getting to me, and then he added, “These people are already freaking me out.”

I exhaled sharply and smiled when I heard Violet do so as well. “Thank you,” she exclaimed, crossing her arms, just as I said, “I know exactly what you mean.”

Violet turned in her seat and we all shared a smile while Ms. Dale tsked. “Of course these people are feeling tense. Their neighbors across the river have clearly destabilized. The future is nebulous—everyone’s mind is running them through every ‘what if’ scenario humanly possible, or even impossible! It’s sad, really. We forget that Elena doesn’t really care about her people any more than she cares about ours. They are just a means to an end, and the poor fools don’t even know it.”

I blinked. Ms. Dale was right, of course. Elena didn’t care about anyone but Elena. She was a true sociopath, and a smart one. She knew that she had to pander to the people to keep their support, but she also knew how to lead them, what to tell them to make them believe in her as she made decisions on their behalf. The stories they must’ve been told about what was happening in Patrus, I was sure, were compelling, filled with alarming battles and noble soldiers.

After all of this, I was beginning to feel that the way people got news shouldn’t be in the hands of the government, but rather in its citizens’. The motivated few who could keep tabs on those in charge, and make sure they weren’t breaking the rules or abusing their power. Ensure they were doing their jobs, honestly and with integrity.

“There,” Violet said, pointing to a spot on the side of the road. Ms. Dale pulled to a stop, Amber stopping behind us, and Violet got out. I watched her go, curious, as she raced into an alley mouth. She disappeared from sight, then returned, holding her hand in a fist against her stomach, long, thin pieces of… something clutched between her fingers.

The street was more or less deserted, and she moved quickly, getting back in the car and closing the door.

“Keep heading straight for two blocks,” Thomas said. “Go right and then keep going straight.”

Ms. Dale pressed her foot on the gas, and we sped off. Violet took her gloves off with her teeth and then began smoothing out the strips of paper she’d collected, using the rolling light of the streetlamps to read them out loud. Tickers—she had found some news tickers.

“Patrians turn on Matrian kindness. Terrorist attacks at the water plant cost the lives of nearly… eighty Matrian wardens. Terrorist attacks are suspected within Matrus from Patrian insurgents. All Patrian males in country to check in regularly with neighborhood warden’s office. Failure to comply will result in arrests.”

“Dear God,” Owen said softly. “These poor people.”

“Elena always did have a way with words,” Ms. Dale muttered as she took another turn.

“The rest of these are just as bad,” Violet continued as she sifted through more ticker tape. She must’ve dug them out of the trash, so they were a few days old, but still, it was good to know what we were dealing with. “Instability in Patrus and the future of Matrus in question. Biological agents used on Matrian soldiers. Brutal male regime establishing control. War inevitable…”

She looked up from her reading and then crumpled up the strips. “How can we ever battle all this?”

“We can,” I said, trying to fill her with confidence. Come to think of it, I was confident. Nervous, yes. Worried, of course. But I was confident. “We can, Violet. If Morgan is right, Alyssa’s voice will mean a lot, especially because she’s established. We forget this, but Elena’s new to the people. They’re still getting to know her as queen. Their opinion will be easily swayed if there’s a more trusted voice telling them the truth.”

I finished my impromptu speech and leaned back. The cab of the car went quiet, and then Owen leaned forward to look at Thomas, sitting on the other side of me. “What are the odds for this mission, Thomas?”

Thomas looked up from his handheld and over at Owen, giving him a bewildered look. “The odds?”

“Yes, the odds. And don’t pretend you didn’t run them. You always do.”

“That’s true, I do.” He turned back to his handheld. “Turn left on the next street.”

The silence returned.

“So what are they?” Owen pressed.

“The odds?”