The Gender End (The Gender Game #7)

“We won’t,” I said, watching the light that indicated contamination levels. “We’ve got semtex.”

“Fun.” Owen studied the pages. “He really thought of everything,” he whispered, his resolve clearly threatening to break again.

I looked over at Thomas’ still form, felt the dam in my heart buckle and then hold, and nodded.

“He was good at that.” My voice came out harsh and wounded, but it didn’t change my resolve.

The light turned green, and I cranked the wheel, tearing the door open. I stepped in, Owen behind me, and quickly closed the door. The lab beyond was fairly small, yet identical to the last ones—workstations in the middle, screens around the outside edges, dark and deserted. I moved through it toward the only other airlock door in the room. I saw the outer door hanging wide open through the small window on the inner door—a clear sign that Maxen, useless as he was, had come through here. I looked at Owen, and he studied the airlock before we moved into it and he pushed a button.

The door started to swing closed, gears whirring to turn the wheel and secure it. We waited impatiently, seconds ticking by. Once it was shut, we opened the inner door and waited for several more seconds. As we waited, I realized we hadn’t even stopped to take our masks off—not that it ultimately mattered.

“We need to find a ladder up,” Owen said. “The upper labs are where we can find the master terminals, according to Tho—his notes.” He sniffed again, and let out a slow breath. The light went green, and I opened the next door, pushing through. Owen tucked Thomas’ notes and handheld away and stepped out behind me.

It was another contaminated study chamber. The mist was less thick in this room—whether it came from the expansive size of the room, or the fact that the stream here was a much smaller trickle than in the other rooms we’d seen, I didn’t know. What I did know was that this chamber’s ceiling was almost forty feet up, and there were several palm trees growing huge inside. Tall grass filled the chamber, taller than me, and I could see the grass moving, hear it rustling, all in the dimly lit chamber.

I took a few steps forward and saw the slightly bent grass where Maxen had pushed through just a short time ago, and nodded to Owen.

“Be on your guard,” I told him, and he nodded, his gun already in his hand.

We pushed through the grass, following his trail. It was impossible to move silently—the grass was too thick and tall to prevent it from making noise as we passed—so I moved quickly instead, trying to keep an ear out for anything approaching.

There was a chittering sound, like someone coughing softly several times in rapid succession, and it was greeted with a gurgling yowl from the other side of us, somewhere ahead. We froze for a second, and then Owen said, “Run,” in a low, urgent voice.

I waited for a single heartbeat, and then ran, tearing through the grass.

“That’s the sound the Goliaths make,” Owen shouted from behind me. “They are lizards—well, like a cross between a serpent and a lizard—and they’re incredibly dangerous!”

Everything in here is. Before I could turn that thought into words, a dark shape crossed overhead, and without thinking I fired at it. It landed with a thump somewhere in the grass behind us, and I continued to run. I heard something thrashing through the grass, moving in tandem with us, angling toward us—and then, through the waving and shifting grass, I saw Maxen.

He spotted us, his arms pumping, hair plastered to his sweat-drenched forehead, and then veered ahead, sprinting like his life depended on it.

Behind him, something large and low to the ground raced by with a serpentine swish, legs barely touching the ground, the rustling of the grass marking its passage. There was a sudden break in the grass, and we returned to mossy terrain. The transition was so sudden that I almost slipped on the soft slope, barely catching my balance. I slowed in compensation, but Owen raced past. I steadied myself and looked up, seeing that he was aiming for a ladder at the top of the hill.

Something scrambled through the grass, long nails clicking on the rock just below the moss, and I looked over my shoulder to see a long neck rear up about four feet off the ground, squat legs practically springing up the slope, long tail whipping back and forth. Atop the long neck sat a triangular head, wide eye sockets containing red and yellow eyes with a slit running down the middle.

The creature’s jaw dropped open, and something oozed out, a thick, yellow, viscous fluid that seemed to come out of the gums surrounding tiny rows of small pointed teeth. It reared back, a hissing sound escaping it—and then Owen’s gun went off loudly, the bullet cutting through its open mouth, nearly separating the jaw from the rest of the body.

The goliath slumped over and rolled, its momentum still carrying it forward, and I picked up the pace, not wanting to get entangled.

“Don’t let them spit on you!” Owen had slowed to fire his gun, so we were running side by side again, the ladder looming closer.

Owen sprang up it first, scaling the rungs quickly. I was fast behind him, my hands grasping the metal, and I climbed without looking back, knowing it would only slow me down.

A quarter of the way up, I heard a shout of “Wait!”

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Maxen racing to us, and realized he had somehow gotten behind us—gotten attacked or turned around—and had just found the mossy patch. He emerged from the grass, and I saw three moving trails converging behind him. I wrapped an arm around the bar and pulled my gun.

“Don’t,” Owen said harshly, and I looked up to see him turning away from Maxen, continuing up the ladder. I hesitated, and then thought of Thomas, lying all alone in that airlock by himself. He would never talk about percentages again. Never again have an awkward social faux pas in one of those uniquely Thomas moments that, despite everything, I had come to enjoy about him. The king of Patrus hadn’t thought about him as a person at all, even though he’d had plenty of time to get to know him. He’d shot him when he was defenseless, his only crime trying to keep the door open for me and Owen.

I’d ignored Maxen’s cowardice before, time and time again, protected him in spite of it. This time, I turned away as Maxen slipped and fell, hitting the mossy ground with a whump. The clicking of talons on rock sounded, and Maxen groaned—and then began screaming. I steeled myself and didn’t look back as the Goliaths began chittering again, Maxen’s screams still audible over the sound until we reached the top.