The Gender End (The Gender Game #7)

Her face was exceptionally pale, right down to her lips, but she didn’t miss a beat as she began pulling objects from her pocket.

I’m fine. It was a transparent lie, but I understood it. This is the nursery, and we’re right outside the safe room. She’s got Sierra in there.

And sixteen guards, I reminded her. You want to use the concussive grenade and go in shooting?

She hesitated. It could work… but we can’t risk Sierra getting hit by the blast.

I really don’t see any other way, I replied honestly. Do you?

Morgan hesitated a moment more, and then nodded grimly.

With my enhancement, I should be able to direct everything away from her. Desmond used to train us for scenarios like this. Just keep an eye out for her, too, please… I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her.

I thought of Tim, then of Morgan’s past, and knew what the young woman must be feeling.

Of course.

Then we have to move now. She’s got an escape plan, and if she and Sierra manage to get out of here…

She trailed off, but I could finish her sentence for her: If Elena got out of the palace before we could get to her, then she would win. If she escaped, she could pull back and muster her forces to crush us, using the boys as the final insult and injury all at once. We were running out of resources, and morale was low. There was no way Patrus could mount an offensive sufficient to stop her. This was it.

Let’s do it, I said, and Morgan nodded. We moved back over to the door, and I began to push it open.

Then a familiar roar bellowed down the hallway, and I froze before quickly ducking back. Heavy footsteps pounded toward us, and I closed my eyes, praying that the berserk boys from below didn’t have a way of tracking Morgan and me.

Suddenly the footsteps doubled, and then tripled, and I heard a lower roar sound out as the fast-moving footsteps raced by, a shadow cutting over the crack in the door so fast it looked like a bat hunting insects in front of a lamp, always too fast to clearly spot any discernable features.

A heartbeat later, gunfire erupted loudly from the next room, and one of the berserkers—if that was what they were—gave a throaty roar of rage. Screams and shouts echoed out amid the gunfire, and Morgan and I ducked as a bullets cut through the wall to the left of us. The bullet holes were several feet away from us, but it was still unnerving enough to make us stay down.

We stayed like that as the sounds of panic increased, Morgan’s grip on my arm tightening as the altercation gave no sound of stopping.

Sierra! she transmitted as I turned to look at her.

She stood suddenly, gun in her hand, and pulled open the door, stepping through and going invisible. I watched for a moment, and then shook away the surprise the boys’ entrance had caused, rising to follow Morgan.

The gunfire had all but stopped at this point, and as I swung around the corner, I could see why.

One of the boys was down, blood pooling around him as he twitched on the ground. Another was obviously wounded, but seemingly oblivious to it, as he continuously drove his fists into the pulped remains of a warden’s head. I shuddered and averted my gaze, following Morgan’s footsteps as she moved fast across the wide antechamber, heading for a large metal vault door that hung ajar, as though its hinges had been damaged somehow.

The still-standing boy almost plowed into me to get to a warden missing a leg and trying to drag herself away, but a different warden lying on the ground just behind him lashed out with a foot, catching him in the back of the knee. He fell, and she leapt off the ground onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing.

I didn’t want to leave her to face the boy alone or vice versa, but I couldn’t risk her stopping us, so I dodged it all and darted by.

I’m entering the vault, Morgan announced, and I waited a moment before slipping after her through the crack in the vault door.

My momentum carried me a few steps forward, into the vault before I had the thought to stop. Morgan was already as still as a statue, suddenly visible, tension radiating off of her like a furnace.

I could see why she had given up all efforts toward stealth: it wasn’t going to help her here. Elena’s face was impassive as she looked back at us from behind thermal goggles, one hand on a little blonde girl’s shoulder, the other hand pressing a gun to her head. The little girl’s eyes were round with terror, confusion, and pain as she looked around, fighting back tears.

“Elena, why are you—”

“Shut up,” Elena ordered, shaking the young girl by her arm. “And Violet—drop it.”

“Who are you—” Sierra said, her sentence cutting off as I let go of my control of the suit. Sierra took a cursory glance at me, and then her attention waned, her focus solely on Morgan. “Morgana?” she said uncertainly, staring at the girl next to me. “Why—who—”

“Sierra,” Morgan breathed. She’d turned her subvocalizer off, and I reached up and did the same. Morgan’s head snapped up to look at Elena. “What do you want?”

Elena arched an elegant eyebrow, but her expression didn’t change.

“You really have to ask?” she replied, before looking at me. “Egg.”

“We didn’t even bring it up from the labs,” Morgan began to lie, and in a fluid motion, Elena moved the gun and pointed, pulling the trigger. The shot went off, and I flinched slightly as something behind me dropped to the floor.

Looking over my shoulder, I felt sick to my stomach when I saw the still form of one of the berserker boys, his hand outstretched just a few inches from my foot. I turned in time to see Elena smoothly put the gun back to Sierra’s temple, her face never moving a muscle.

“The egg,” she repeated. “Or I let whatever comes in next tear you apart limb from limb.”

Morgan turned her gaze toward me, her face configured in a silent plea, but I was already opening my bag. I pulled the silver case out and held it up, and then placed it on a table that separated us from Elena. She watched me, her eyes gleaming with warning as she grabbed Sierra’s hand, jerking her forward. I took a slow, healthy step back, shooting a glance toward the still-open vault, checking for the other berserker.

Turning back, I realized Elena was staring at the egg. She did that for a long moment, and then blinked, her gaze suddenly returning to me.

“The key?”

I glared back at her, irritation at the smug look on her face warring with my concern for the terrified little girl. After a pause, I reached up and tore the chain off my neck. I held the key out, dangling from my fist, and then put it on top of the egg.

Elena’s lips curled up, and she met my gaze. “Thank you,” she said, her smile growing, and getting crueler, a fraction at a time.