The Gender Fall

by Bella Forrest

  Her eyes met mine, and she gave me a soft look, full of understanding that only twisted my guts up further. I knew I didn’t deserve that mercy, and I came to a halt before I reached her and looked away, ashamed. I hated that she was giving me that look. I hated that she was so blinded by her love for me she couldn’t see my limitations. Yet I loved her all the same for finding a strength that seemed to have deserted me, for having faith in me despite all evidence to the contrary.

  That twisting hatred didn’t stop me from letting her cross over to me. Nor did I stop her as she slid her arms around my waist, stepping in close and resting her head against my chest. My arms came around her shoulders softly, needing to hold her, craving the comfort of her warmth and acceptance.

  “Owen will forgive you eventually,” she murmured softly. I didn’t say anything, but she knew I didn’t believe her. “He will,” she insisted, her arm tightening around me. “He’s mad right now, but it will pass. He’ll realize it wasn’t your fault—it was Desmond and Elena’s. They are the ones who deserve his anger for what happened, not you. And he’ll remember that soon enough.”

  I didn’t object, but I knew he wouldn’t. Losses like Owen’s were wounds that ran deep, cutting to the bone. They festered, and many never fully healed. He would carry the emotional scars for the rest of his life. Maybe he would get somewhat better, but the pain would linger. I knew, because the memory of Miriam still haunted me to this day, whispering that I had failed her.

  There was no way to know how long we stood there, but eventually the sound of approaching feet forced me to put my growing melancholy aside. Letting go of Violet, I took a step back and saw Ms. Dale approaching, her hair, loose for once, getting caught up in the slight breeze and blowing wildly around her face.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But I just came from the house, and Jeff is on the handheld from the city, with information he thinks we all need to hear. We’re to call him back in ten minutes. This will give us a chance to talk about Cody.”

  I nodded and ran a hand over my head, lamenting the fact that even in moments like this, when we desperately needed silence and time to process, the news never seemed to stop rolling in. Hopefully, however, these developments would mean we were growing closer to achieving something, possibly even striking a blow to Desmond and Elena. One that would make them bleed. It wouldn’t make up for Ian… but it might be a start on keeping other boys from the same fate.

  “Is everybody already in there?” I asked.

  Ms. Dale nodded, brushing some hair away from her face. “Yes. We’re waiting on you.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  I started to move, but Violet reached out her left hand and grabbed mine, the grip awkward, yet strong. Turning, I noted the concern in her eyes and the questioning tilt of her eyebrows.

  “I’m fine,” I tried to assure her, but the words were a lie. I could tell by her face she didn’t believe me, but she nodded and then moved forward, wrapping her arm around mine and leaning into me.

  Together, we headed back toward the house.

  29

  Violet

  The group of us had gathered in the den, the animal heads on the walls watching with glassy stares as Thomas jacked the handheld into one of the giant screens we had taken from Ashabee’s manor.

  I checked my watch, noting we had just under eight minutes to discuss what to do with the boy we had taken from Desmond.

  “How is he?” Viggo asked, breaking the still air.

  “Dr. Arlan says he’s still unconscious,” replied Ms. Dale, dropping a folder on the table we stood around. “A possible side effect to either the energy he expended last night, or withdrawal from the Benuxupane. The question is what to do with him when he wakes up.”

  “What do you mean, what to do with him?” demanded Owen, his tone biting.

  Ms. Dale blinked, her brows drawing down slightly as she regarded Owen, concern etched into the fine lines of her face. “What I mean, Mr. Barns, is do we keep him here, or move him to our other hideout, where we are holding Maxen?”

  Owen looked away, his jaw tightening slightly at her stiff rebuff.

  “He’s in the barn now?” I asked in the awkward silence, earning a small nod from Ms. Dale.

  “Indeed. We’ve managed to cobble together a bed and secured him in the loft. It’s mostly dry up there, but it won’t do for much longer, now that the weather is changing.”

  Scratching a spot on her neck, Amber frowned. “Well, obviously we should move him away from the camp. Who knows what effects the withdrawal might have? He may only have enhanced speed, but he is still capable of hurting people, especially when moving fast enough. We can’t risk the safety of the fifty or so people here.”

  I frowned. Logically, I agreed with her, but emotionally? I found the idea distasteful. Cody was already a victim of a despot who was indifferent to his very survival. He’d been cruelly treated, filled with drugs, and made to commit atrocities. He was just a child—what he needed right now was a little compassion.

  “I think he should stay,” I said abruptly, earning me the attention of everyone in the room. I met their gazes levelly, my head high. “He needs to know we are all on his side, rooting for him, believing in him. That we… we don’t want to give him drugs to control him; we don’t even want to control him. We just want him to be safe and healthy. We want to take care of him. We have the best people here who can help him. Dr. Tierney knows more about enhanced humans than anyone. She can monitor his progress, noting how the withdrawals are, if any, and just keeping an eye on his health.”

  “You mentioned more than one person,” Viggo said softly, next to me.

  Licking my lips, I nodded. “Jay,” I announced. “Think about it—he’s the best one to help him, and he can certainly handle his outbursts physically. But best of all, he and Cody share the same trauma. They both come from the same place. If Jay can just show Cody there is another way, maybe even a better one… then maybe it’ll go a long way in undoing what they have done to him.”

  The hush in the room seemed loud in my ears, and I suddenly realized how passionate I had gotten in my speech. I shot a furtive glance at Viggo, who was staring at me, one eyebrow raised. He looked impressed.

  Ms. Dale coughed politely, drawing my attention. “Well said, Violet,” she said. “I think with an argument like that, there’s no need for rebuttal.”

  The room was silent, nobody objecting, and Ms. Dale burst out in a smile. “Great! Now, it’s about time we were checking in with Jeff. Thomas?”

  “One second,” Thomas said, moving over to the handheld he had attached to one of the larger screens. He pressed a few buttons and then moved back.

  Jeff’s face filled the screen, looking down on our weary command group.

  “Ah, good!” he exclaimed. “Well, not good, considering the circumstances. Owen, please, I hope you’ll accept my deepest condolences regarding your loss. Words cannot even begin to express how much sorrow I feel on your behalf.”

  Owen was standing slightly behind the rest of the group, his eyes still red-rimmed and bloodshot. He looked up at Jeff and nodded robotically. “Thank you, Jeff,” he said hoarsely. “It means a lot to me.”

  “Sir, I’m sure it’s lost in the grand scope of your suffering and loss. To that end, I thank you for your politeness. If there is anything you should need, please feel free to reach out to me.”

  For some reason, Jeff’s graceful handling of the situation, and the acknowledgement that he knew Owen was merely being polite in accepting, seemed to make the corner of Owen’s mouth tip up slightly. Not much—only a fraction of an inch—but I couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope that our Owen was still in there, somewhere. He just needed time.

  Slipping my left hand into Viggo’s, I squeezed.

  “Jeff,” said Ms. Dale. “What do you have for us? You mentioned an idea for how to get Violet’s video out in the public eye?”

  Jeff nodded, his hand coming up to strok
e across his mustache, which he had grown out into a much bushier and less groomed version of its earlier cut. “Ah, yes, ma’am. Of course. Well, as you know, information has been broadcasted to the public at several stadiums across the city, but none are as popular as Starkrum Stadium. I believe Mr. Croft may even have fought there, at one time?”

  “Almost fought there once,” replied Viggo after a moment. “But I worked there as a warden on patrol many times.”

  Almost fought there. It was because of me that he hadn’t. Viggo had sacrificed his first-ever big league fight to chase after me, after the Porteque gang had swiped me from his changing room. That truly seemed like a lifetime ago now, even though it’d only been months.

  “Well, fighting and all sports events have been cancelled for the foreseeable future,” Jeff said. “Many of the fighters have disappeared, but there is one who has taken on a position of prominence at the arena. His name is Anello Cruz. Have you heard of him?”

  Of course we had. Cruz was one of the top fighters in Patrus—the very fighter Viggo had been matched up against on that fateful evening. I also recalled a night before that, when Viggo had taken me to the stadium to watch Cruz square off against another major competitor named Rosen. And had quickly taken him down.

  I could tell by the way Viggo was looking at me, his eyes still faraway but somewhere more familiar now, he too was remembering those early days of our relationship. I gave him a smile, and a ghost of one flew across his lips, then vanished. “I’ve heard of him,” he replied to Jeff’s question.

  “Wonderful! Because I have become, well, ‘friends’ may be too loose a word to describe it, but we have become… acquaintances. Regardless, I think he likes me well enough.”

  “That’s, uh, nice,” said Viggo, looking somewhat taken aback. “But what does that mean for us?”

  “Ah, right. My apologies—I ought to curb my rambling. I think Mr. Cruz and myself are on good enough terms that I might be able to impose upon him for a favor. Namely, I think we can use him to get to the control box in the stadium.”

  I frowned in confusion. Looking around, I noted similar expressions on the rest of the group’s faces. “I’m sorry, Jeff… the control box?” I asked. “I thought Elena was having people announce the news in the stadium on a microphone. Did that change?”

  Jeff tipped his head to one side, his eyes widening, and then his confused look changed to one of mild chagrin. “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. You’re right, of course. I forgot to mention Elena has gotten the massive screens working, and has now been sending out pre-recorded messages to all the public places they’ve been using to broadcast—mostly other stadiums.” The man’s mustached face grew almost animated, an expression I’d rarely seen from him. “Here’s the most important part. In an attempt, I think, to show me how important his position is, Cruz let slip to me that Matrians have turned Starkrum Stadium into their broadcast center for all of Patrus, since the palace has fallen. Most, if not all of the other broadcasts are streamed directly from this stadium. They send a guarded technician there once or twice a day to upload the video to their feed. According to Cruz, it’s all very specifically tailored to keep unauthorized access out—to broadcast, they need both the technician’s gear and the computer in the broadcasting room.”

  I absorbed this, looking around the room, the magnitude of that thought just beginning to build up in my mind. “And Cruz has access to this room?”

  “Well, not directly. But he can get into the staff area of the building, which means we can probably find a way to get him to take us close enough.”

  Ms. Dale jumped in over me. “What sort of man is Cruz? What would prompt him to aid us? Money, power? Or does he oppose the recent power shift?”

  Jeff’s eyes grew shrewd. “Well, to be honest, he is a man who misses his former glory. He’s managed to avoid recruitment into the labor camps by actively assisting the Matrians, but if you catch him late enough at night and lend a friendly ear, it is clear that he’s less than satisfied with the status quo.” Jeff looked around and leaned a little closer to the camera. “I believe he would respond well to some attention.”

  “What do we know about the stadium’s current security?” Viggo asked.

  “Not much, sir, but given some of the stories Mr. Cruz has told me over supper, security is tight, but not impregnable. He’s talked about several different checkpoints in the stadium, four thus far, but I get the impression there are more.” Jeff took a deep breath and frowned. “I’m sorry I don’t have better information for you. It seems the more I speak, the more hopeless the idea becomes. I just figured you would want to know.”

  “No, no. It’s definitely worth thinking about,” said Amber. “I mean, our biggest concern is getting into the city.” She looked around the room, her brows furrowed. “Those checkpoints are the biggest holdup, but if we can get in there and get a hold of that technician, I’m certain we can do something with this.”

  “That’s a lot of ‘ifs,’” Viggo muttered, crossing his arms. “We need to decide whether the payoff is worth the risk.”

  “Quite right, sir,” said Jeff. “I do not envy your decision at all. Do you have… any further questions for me?”

  I looked around the room as people shook their heads one by one. “No, it doesn’t seem like it, Jeff,” I informed him. “Thank you for this. It’s a good start. Please stay safe.”

  “I will do that, ma’am, as long as you and everyone there promise to do the same. I’ll call back in, um, twenty-eight hours. If you have need of me before then, send me a message signed by my cousin Tula.” He smiled, pleased at his imaginary cousin’s name, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

  “We will do that.”

  The screen went dark, indicating he had cut the connection, and Thomas moved back to the equipment, unplugging the wires. I turned to the group and exhaled, running my left hand over my stubbled head.

  “All right, so what are we thinking?”

  “It’s risky,” Ms. Dale replied. “And there are a lot of obstacles—like Amber said, getting in and out of the city is a pretty big hurdle in and of itself.”

  “That is mostly because we have no idea what kind of identification papers are being utilized,” said Thomas as he dropped into the chair behind the computer. “If I could get my hands on one, I might be able to duplicate it.”

  “Is there anyone we can send to the city who already has a plausible reason for being there?” I asked, looking at Ms. Dale.

  “Actually, any of the wives or Patrian women would be suitable. But it would be better if we sent one from a homestead out here. It would explain why she hadn’t reported in yet—make up some story about the harvest or a vehicle breaking down.”

  “Wouldn’t they ask about her husband?” asked Amber. She looked around the room, frowning, as if hearing something silly in her own question, but then she squared her shoulders and continued. “No, I mean, the wardens controlling the city are Matrian, but they aren’t stupid. They will doubt her story a bit if her husband isn’t with her to get his ID.”

  Ms. Dale pshawed, waving her hand away. “Please, give me a girl who can cry on command and I can give you a believable story.”

  I nodded, a smirk on my lips. “I’m sure you could,” I said. “Well, that just leaves the inside.”

  “Jeff seemed confident we could use this Cruz guy to get inside and bypass security,” said Amber.

  “Anello Cruz was an underdog,” said Viggo, almost absentmindedly. “No one thought he could take out Rosen, but he did. He was probably just settling into the fame and glory of his position when all this happened. I’m guessing that means he’s still craving fans, in a place where everyone’s biggest concern is for their personal safety.”

  “We can work with that,” said Ms. Dale. “We can appear as fans, or even use Mr. Croft in some way—connecting a former fighter to another former fighter. Possibly looking for work?”

  Viggo shook his head. “I think it might be ris
ky to use my real name. They’ve probably dragged it through the mud and back. If I go, I’ll have to wear a disguise of some kind.”

  Ms. Dale waved her hand again dismissively. “We can figure that out once we have a better way to proceed, but honestly, I do think this holds the seeds of something. If we could just get public opinion to turn against Elena…”

  “It could weaken, if not destroy, her hold on Patrus,” announced Owen. I turned, surprised to hear him speaking, and found him standing behind everyone, his arms crossed, his expression turned inward, contemplative and dark. “But is that really going to make a big difference for us? For the boys? All we do is take wild shots and chances, and all they do is recover and hit back—and when they do, they hit us where it hurts. How does this… plan… help us achieve any of our goals?”

  I frowned and took a step toward him. “Our goal is to help people,” I reminded him. “Patrians, Matrians—it doesn’t matter at the end of the day, as long as we try.”

  Owen lowered his arms and shook his head slowly, as though thinking out loud. “Wouldn’t it help more people, ultimately, if we went straight to the top? Maybe we should stop focusing on symptoms of the problem and go straight for the cause. Elena or Desmond, it doesn’t matter which one, but that’s who we should be going after. Finish things once and for all.”

  Behind me, I sensed Viggo straightening up, but it was Amber who spoke. “What are you proposing?” she asked.

  Owen met my gaze, and then looked away, shifting slightly. “What if we give Desmond what she asked for?” he said hoarsely. “We do like Violet did: tell her about the real egg, offer her Maxen… or maybe even Violet, as bait. We just need something to tell Desmond. Something to draw her in close enough to put a bullet in her head.” His eyes were suddenly glued to my face, as though pleading with me. “Then we could make sure she never hurts any of them again. Then we could… we could protect them.”

  I gaped at Owen, understanding the dark place in his mind this was coming from. Sometimes I had wanted just such an outcome so badly I could taste it. But we’d already chosen not to do things that brutally unless we were forced. Even if it was only one possible option, the thought of offering myself up again was almost nauseating. A wave of dizziness assaulted me as I thought about the last time I had done that, the twisted images of losing my fight with Tabitha—badly—coursing through me, taking me back to the worst moments.