The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)

I breathed out silently. I was wasting time here imagining fanciful revenge stories and big triumphs. Really, I just needed the guards out of the picture, and that meant using something other than a straight-out fight, which I would never win in my condition.

I crept back to Jeff’s room, feeling secure about my safety for the next few minutes, grabbed my backpack, and dumped its contents onto the bed. I stared at the things I’d collected, my heart already racing at the thought of what I needed to do, focusing on the items, trying to piece them together… Almost before I had my plan fully mapped, I slipped what I needed back into the bag and stared at the bulletproof vest, wondering if it would slow me down too much to put it on now. I went out into the halls again without its unnatural weight on my ribs and prayed I had not made a grave mistake...

Then, once I felt I’d gotten sufficiently far enough away from the back wing of the house to avoid damaging more of the basement, I began setting up traps using the grenades.

It was tricky business, creating a tripwire with a live explosive. I knew a lot about it in theory, based on conversations I’d had with Viggo and Ms. Dale. I was always interested in listening to them talk about this kind of stuff, which wasn’t surprising, considering the course my life had taken.

I knew two good ways to rig a tripwire using the supplies I had, but given that I only had one good hand, my choice was whittled down to one option. I used duct tape to secure my precious supply of grenades to things in the house, swearing under my breath as I fought each time to rip off the long strands with my single useful hand and my teeth. The grenades looked more like silver cocoons than weapons by the time I was done, nesting on a wall under a chair here, a table leg there—I wanted to make sure the tape held them harder than the jerk it would take to pull the pin loose. With this method, I attached the trip wire directly to the pin, running it at an angle to something across a doorway or a hall and tying it off. Hopefully, the guard who passed through it would walk fast enough so the pin was ripped out. I tried my best to make that the only option while not thinking too hard about what would happen if one of traps didn’t go off. My backup plan was desperate but simple: shoot them before they shot me.

As I crept around upstairs, stepping lightly, barely daring to breathe, I felt as though every closed door held a guard behind it, and around every corner I expected to see a search party coming to find me. I kept reminding myself they had no reason to believe I could escape the basement—but this was Desmond I was dealing with. Wouldn’t Desmond think to search the house? My breath hitched at creaking floorboards, and I fought to keep my hand steady on the grenades even as I cursed my ever-present cast. My fingers slipped as I set up the traps, and I checked my watch constantly. Every minute passing told me I had been up here too long. Every time I looked down at my watch and saw that even more time had slipped away, I was painfully reminded that Tim and Owen were depending on me.

Once I had everything in place, or as best as I could get it at the moment, I wavered on running through the trap locations one more time. I had to remember exactly where the wires to the grenades were, or else my whole plan would backfire on me—but it had already been twenty minutes, and I didn’t think I could afford the time. Any moment, they might choose to stop digging and go search the rest of the house. I would just have to trust my memory and risk it.

I crept back to Jeff’s room and put the bulletproof vest on, then shrugged my shirt back on over it, its clumsy weight settling over my ribs as if to say that we were really getting serious now. I took the gun Owen had given me out of my waistband and wrapped it up in a shirt I’d pilfered from Jeff’s wardrobe.

Moving confidently down the hall, I slowed as I approached the landing to the servants’ stairs, creeping silently past it. I paused, listening to the sounds of grunting and straining that came from below. The guards were working on moving a big chunk of debris now, and from the sound of it, they weren’t making much progress. A part of me still wanted to try my luck with shooting them… but I’d already gone through that logic. I couldn’t risk taking them all at once.

At least they were distracted. I approached a window that looked out on the grounds behind the manor. It was a smaller window than the others found around the house—I guessed Ashabee had figured his servants didn’t need a view. Sucking in a deep breath, I drew back my gun, wrapped in Jeff’s shirt, and slammed it hard on the corner of the window.

It shattered noisily, and I froze, my ears and eyes focused on the landing. Seconds went by without a sound, so I began to knock at the glass still standing in the frame, sweeping it away.

“Someone’s up there,” a voice said loudly.

“Of course someone’s up there,” Desmond’s voice came snidely. “Get up there and find out who!”

I’d known they were going to hear me—that was the point of the maneuver—but even so, my heart jumped into my mouth at the sound of the order to come find me. I heard footsteps clattering up the hall and jumped into action as quickly as I could. Which wasn’t very fast.

I awkwardly shoved the muffled gun—safety on—into my waistband and moved down the hallway at a fast walk, heading deeper into the servants’ quarters, hearing cautious footsteps on the floor behind me. Despite all my preparations, I spotted my first trap only in the nick of time, managing to step over it and ignore thoughts of what would have happened if I hadn’t seen it there. When I moved around the corner, I paused, my heart beating fast, to peek out into the hallway I’d just left… just in time to meet the brown eyes of a Matrian warden stepping out of a door.

Her eyes widened, and then the shout went up: “Over there! She went down that hall!” I darted back, stumbling on my feet with a little jolt of panic at the footsteps behind me accelerating into a run. I didn’t have to get away, I reminded myself. I just had to avoid…

Three steps down the hall. Four. The footsteps grew louder and louder, and I held my breath, wondering whether to start running.

Then the explosion went off, debris flying down the hall and impacting against the wall behind me.

I let out the breath I’d been holding, risking a moment to hope. Peeking around the corner once more, I winced when I saw the still form of one guard, blood soaking into her uniform, making the heavy olive-green fabric appear almost black. The other two guards were also sprawled on the floor, but they were stirring, slowly sitting up.