The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)

He gave a weird wrenching gasp as my weight pinned his lower half. I felt his fist smacking my back, using the same technique of rapid low-power blows, my shirt getting worked over in the commotion. Suddenly he stilled, and I took a closer look at his masked face in alarm, worried that his heart was giving out. Then I felt him lean toward me, tugging at my pants. When he leaned back, he held my pistol in his hand, pointed over my back, toward where Ms. Dale and Dr. Arlan had been putting together the sedative.

I grabbed the pistol with my free hand, slamming the flesh of my thumb in between the hammer and the pin just as he pulled the trigger. I felt the bite of metal there, and knew it had drawn blood, but didn’t dare risk pulling it away. Instead, I closed my grip around the rest of the pistol, trying to jerk it out of his hands. He released it only to slam a knee into my gut, jerking forward at the same time, head-butting me.

My head snapped back from the impact, but I kept my weight on him. “HURRY UP!” I bellowed, tossing the gun over my shoulder.

The boy grunted again, his little legs beating against me, and I took a chance. Lifting my weight up slightly, I flipped him over and dropped back down. I wrapped my arm around his neck and began squeezing slowly, relentlessly cutting off the blood flow as I would an opponent in the ring. I heard footsteps rushing over as the boy gasped, then made a strangled squeak, his body jerking and twisting wildly—and then his struggles began to still beneath me.

“Here,” said Ms. Dale from behind me. I looked back in time to see her jamming the sedative into his thigh. I immediately released the boy and scrambled back, keeping my eyes on him, waiting to see whether we had saved him.





26





Violet





I checked my watch again for what felt like the millionth time. It had been thirty minutes since our last transmission, and I was edgy with anticipation. Even now, a million imaginary scenarios were flitting through my head, running from bad to worse to positively gruesome. And without word, some sign everyone was all right, I was powerless to stop those vicious thoughts.

I could, however, ignore them for brief moments, if I put my mind to it. Frowning at the dirty dishes one of the refugees had brought in, I quickly added a few of the large pots to the big metal tub in the kitchen, the hot water I had poured into it still steaming. The water was still too hot to plunge my single working hand into—which was probably for the best, as a lot of the pots had caked-over remains in the bottom. Sighing, I checked my watch again.

I gave up any pretense of doing a chore and clicked my headset back on. “Any update, Amber?”

“No, not since you asked me three minutes ago,” came her dry reply.

“Well, I was waiting for dirty dishes,” I replied almost defensively.

“I seriously cannot believe you are doing the dishes right now,” she retorted.

“Okay, first of all, if you’ve been avoiding this chore since we got here, then I’m so bringing it up at the next meeting. And secondly, I need something to keep me busy. I’m freaking out a little over here.”

Amber laughed, a loud, sharp bark, and I scowled at her—not that she could see. “I’m sorry, Vi,” she said. “I actually know how you feel. Remember when I was shot?”

I did remember, although it felt like a lifetime ago. “How did you cope with it?” I asked, picking up a rag and wiping down the kitchen table.

“Well, I think it is a different situation than what you’re going through,” she replied. “Frankly, we had way less stress during those days, and not every single mission felt like our lives were on the line.”

My hand froze mid-motion; I felt a physical jolt pass through my body at what she was saying. Not that she was wrong. Everything we had been through the last couple of weeks—months—had constantly felt like it was a matter of life or death. It was just something we never talked about. And now that I was on the outside, perfectly safe and sound, everything felt… off. It was like there was something held in suspense, waiting to fall, but I had no idea when or even where it would be.

“Violet?”

“I’m here,” I said, shaking my head to clear it. Now was not the time for an existential crisis. “Sorry. Just let me know when you’ve got something, okay?”

“Will do. Unless you radio back first.”

I rolled my eyes and resumed wiping down the table. Once it was done, I wandered back over to my bucket in the sink and checked the water. It was still too hot to actually wash anything, so I tossed the rag over one of the drying lines near the fireplace and grabbed the broom, needing to channel my nervous energy into something.

Despite how slowly I had to sweep to keep my ribs from twinging, my cleaning task was actually helping a bit, so when Amber’s voice filled my ear a few minutes later, I nearly dropped the broom, staggering back in surprise.

“Violet! They’re back. I—” She stopped talking so suddenly I tapped my earbud a few times, thinking the equipment had failed.

But then her voice came back, this time with a steely tone that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle in alarm. “Violet, we need to cut transmission. Turn off everything that sends a signal. Viggo’s orders.”

“Wait, what? Why?” I waited, clutching the broom handle tightly in my hand. “Amber? Viggo?” There was no answer, just the slight crackle of static in my headphones.

I tried again to contact them, but no one responded. The seconds ticked by, becoming minutes, but there was nothing in my ears, nothing except this rising feeling that I had to do something… I was in charge now.

I slipped the headset off my head. First, I had to decide whether Amber’s request for silence was a problem or not. On the one hand, I trusted my team—if they needed radio silence, then there was a good reason. On the other hand, I had to consider the possibility they were under duress. Maybe they had been ambushed?

If there weren’t any problems, then they’d be back in half an hour. But if there were…

Viggo, Owen, and Ms. Dale wouldn’t break easily under torture. I knew this with certainty. Thomas would resist for a while, but not as long. He wasn’t a loyalist, and if they figured out they could use Owen against him…