As I spoke, I could see Janice’s half-thought-out escape plan die in her eyes. “Excellent points,” she said. “Fine. But I stay right here. I’m not going to get near one of… one of them.”
I held out my hand, and she shook it. “This wall,” she said, pointing at the wall opposite from the one that separated us from the outside, and moving toward it slowly, “is about twenty feet thick, and holds some of the bigger pipes that draw in and out from the collection pods outside. The king who designed this place was kind of a paranoid guy, so he made it really difficult to overcome the safeguards. But he also did something to help his workers move in and out of the central room in case of an emergency.”
As she spoke, she led us closer to the wall in question, thick gray pipes running across the surface of it, the bottom one ending a mere three feet off the ground. I looked at Janice, and watched as she slipped under the pipe and stood up behind it. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed her, and blinked when I saw the rungs sticking out of the wall, creating a ladder leading up. “We discovered it on the second day,” she said. “It made life a little bit easier.”
I could tell she was thinking about the sudden shift in her circumstances, and how different things could look in the span of twenty-four hours. I felt similarly.
“Thank you,” I said to her, and she frowned.
“I want to say don’t mention it, but honestly, I’m still a little too surprised that I’m even doing this.”
“You and me both,” I replied, eyeing the ladder leading up. “But probably for totally different reasons.”
34
Violet
Morgan hooked another left, and suddenly it was there—the water treatment plant. From our position on the street, I could see the entire top of the hill, illuminated by orange flames similar to the ones that dotted the rest of the city, but these were bigger, more sinister, filled with meaning. The surrounding city buildings ended suddenly, and then Morgan was speeding past the cars I knew Viggo had used for cover barely fifteen minutes ago, seeing the bullet holes, broken glass, and… fresh blood.
Then our vehicle crested the hill, and the road beneath us leveled off. I stared, unable to fully comprehend the carnage before me—a car wrapped around a pipe, bodies strewn across the ground, billowing fires breathing smoke that disappeared in thick black plumes into the inky, moonless night sky.
Or maybe the smoke was just blocking out the stars, I thought bitterly, remembering the moonlight I’d flown the drone in earlier. It was hard to tell.
I switched to the command channel. “Guys, we’ve arrived at the plant and are on the lookout for Desmond. Please let us know if you see any sign…” Ms. Dale and several others were acknowledging me when a movement on the left drew my eye, and I paused. The novelty of a car flying toward us, rolling on its side in midair, was a difficult thing for my mind to process.
That second cost us.
The next second, I managed to shout, “Morgan!” and point, and Morgan had time to cut the wheel—then we were spinning, the world rotating around me and then tumbling sideways in midair. Everything in the car seeming to float in the air as we rolled.
Then it all crashed down again. We rolled to a final, jerking stop, landing with the hood of Ashabee’s car upside down, the bulletproof glass still intact but webbed with cracks. My heart raced in my chest like a hummingbird trapped in a tiny cage, and I fought vertigo and a sense of disorientation from time and space as I dangled from my seatbelt harness.
“Violet?” Owen said, his voice urgent. “Are you still with us?”
I reached across my body and pressed the button, releasing the seatbelt. I landed awkwardly on my shoulder on the roof of the car. “Yeah,” I whispered, rolling myself upright, grabbing my bag from where it had landed on the ceiling. My body felt numb with shock and adrenaline—it would start to hurt soon, but I didn’t want to wait for it. “You?”
Something shifted out front, and I saw Morgan pressing her shoulder against her door, gently rocking it open. There was a metallic groan, and then she was out. Owen slid out of his seatbelt and followed Morgan’s lead. While he worked on the door, I leaned in between the seats to check on Lynne, who was fumbling with her straps.
“I’m stuck,” she whispered, the fear in her words strong enough to carry over the sound of Owen getting the door open. I was just pulling my bag over, grabbing the small knife from one of the side pockets, when I heard Morgan’s shout of alarm.
Looking through the cracked windshield, I saw a pair of uniformed legs making a direct line to us, and flipped open my knife, quickly cutting Lynne free. “Move,” I told her as I slid back into the backseat, making my way to the door and the pavement beyond.
Gunshots went off overhead, and I heard a feminine, yet inhuman roar that made me cringe, lighting a fire in my motions. I used my casted arm to sweep aside the glass as I moved—finally a use for the damn thing—and then exited the window feet first, crouching just outside the car. Owen was leaning over the belly of the car, shooting at something. I pulled out my gun and hunted for a target.
Oh God. There were so many of them. And they were bounding all over the place, faster than any human should have been able to move. Owen shouted wildly as he shot at another woman who darted toward us from out of the darkness, and she spun out and away. I fired two shots, catching a woman in her side, but she scampered into some of the deep shadows created by the pipes jutting out of the concrete concourse.
“Lynne, hurry up!” shouted Morgan over the sound of her own gun. One woman broke through the hail of her and Owen’s fire by leaping into the air to close the dozens of feet between us, swinging her fist toward me. I dodged, off balance on my knees, and then Morgan was there, catching the woman’s fist as it impacted on the car with a strength I hadn’t expected from her. The woman growled and swung Morgan around by her grip, trying to clutch her to her chest in a deadly hold.
Lynne was still inside, and she whimpered a little as the car groaned. “I’ll get out on my side!” she said nervously. As Morgan grappled with the woman in front of me, I tried to find a clear moment to shoot her assailant, but couldn’t risk shooting my friend in the process. Owen was keeping the rest of them at bay, picking them off with precise shots before they could get near us.
“Morgan, get her back toward me!” I called, spinning to my other side to shoot at two women closing in from that direction. One went down, and the other cut around the back of the car. I heard the heavy groan of Lynne’s door being opened forcefully and her grunting and muttering. Then it broke off, and I heard a scream instead.
Owen cursed, and I whipped around to see a woman pull a struggling Lynne up off her feet, one hand wrapped around Lynne’s throat. She was smaller than Lynne by far and shouldn’t have even been able to lift her, but Lynne couldn’t free herself. As Lynne struggled, going for her gun, the woman stared at her, lips curled in fury.
I brought my gun around to fire, but my aim went wide, my left hand jerking. Owen’s gun went off at the same time, and I heard Morgan shout “Lynne!” as she broke free of the woman she’d been fighting with the sound of a gunshot.
She was too late. As I pulled the trigger again, in one quick motion, the enhanced warden jerked Lynne’s head around with a sharp snapping sound.
My heart palpitated, and I kept firing, my hand shaking so hard that my shots went wide, pinging off the car. Heartbeats later, Owen and Morgan were there, their guns cutting the warden down. She and Lynne both fell. A part of me wanted to go check for a heartbeat—but I didn’t move toward our fallen friend, and neither did Owen or Morgan. We’d all heard the snap, seen her go limp and lifeless.
And we didn’t have time to reflect or mourn. I heard another inhuman roar come from our right, and I turned, everything inside me going colder as I saw several more olive-clad women closing in. I raised my gun, but Owen pulled me behind him, his gun already out, firing quickly and expertly.
“Go,” he shouted. “I’ll draw them
off.”
“But Desmond—”
“You start heading toward Desmond,” he said, pushing me away before darting off in the opposite direction back down the hill. “This is my job.”
The blond man fired as he ran, three of the wardens moving after him. I raised my arm to shoot, not wanting to leave Owen alone to face such desperate odds, but Morgan grabbed my arm.
“Don’t—it’ll draw attention to you,” she said, pulling me off to one side. “Owen’s giving us a window. We should use it.”
The taller girl kept dragging on my arm, and indecision tugged at my limbs as I looked over my shoulder at where Owen stood his ground, firing at the oncoming berserk women. One of them dropped down on the pavement, but the others were still advancing toward him as he danced back.
Morgan fired her gun and dragged me a few more feet, toward a collection of pipes emerging from the concrete, thrusting me in between two of the pipes, boxing me in. “Stay here and keep quiet,” she ordered, turning to go, and I tucked my gun under my armpit and reached out to stop her.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
Her head turned toward me, catching the light from one of the fires and giving it a blood-soaked impression. “More are coming. I’m going to draw them… Hey!”
She yelped as I pulled her into the small cranny with me, dragging her down until we were pressed together.
“Violet, they’re—”
Whatever she was about to say was cut off when the pipe behind me shuddered. I turned as much of my body as I could, and saw, through the gaps in the network of gray pipes, a warden’s hand pushing the pipes apart, making a hole to try to reach me. I felt a spray of water as the first pipe snapped, and I turned back to Morgan. “Behind me, right behind my head!”
She began to back up, and I felt the brush of fingernails on my neck, making my skin crawl as I slid forward, trying to avoid getting hooked on anything. The pipes shuddered, and the sound of more water splashing out on the concrete sent a chill racing up my spine. It all seemed so much deadlier now.
Morgan raised her pistol as soon as she got out of the hole, and I ducked down, covering my ears as she fired three shots into the small, confined space. The woman bellowed, and Morgan cursed. “I winged her,” she said. “But she’s coming around from the other side. We gotta run for it.”
I slid the rest of the way out of the pipes and began running, cutting across the concrete and heading to the next asymmetrical pipe cluster. My ribs creaked and ached, but I couldn’t stop for them—they would either be fine, or I would be dead anyway. Morgan ran beside me, and behind her, I could hear not one, but multiple sets of running feet. Tossing a quick glance over my shoulder, I saw three women in pursuit, and I forced my aching body faster, knowing we couldn’t outrun them for long.
We drew closer to another bit of exposed piping sitting closer to the building wall, and one of the women gave a triumphant, bloodcurdling howl, the other two joining in the chorus. I felt myself flinch even as I ran, certain that I was moments away from my death, when a masculine bellow drowned the noise out with sheer volume.
I pulled up short as Solomon landed a few feet away, flying down from some unknown perch, his breath coming in sharp pants. He looked even more battered than before, and I saw red abrasions running up and down his shoulders and chest, like he’d been dragged along the concrete. Morgan pulled up short beside me, and I could hear her little gasp of surprise as she looked at him, the thick ropes of muscle cutting deep lines into his physique, a grim, determined sort of anger tense on his features.
The three women chasing us switched focus, and I ducked as their shadows passed by overhead as they threw themselves at Solomon all at once. “No!” I cried, leveling the gun at one of them and squeezing the trigger, satisfied when she dropped.
The other two landed on Solomon, their fists flying as the large black man was driven back a few steps on impact. He took a blow to the face, and then, barely fazed, began fighting back, kicking one in the chest hard enough to throw her back toward us. I ducked down and moved left, this time pulling Morgan behind me, and we ran.
“You just want to leave him?” I asked.
“It looks like he’s got this!” she shouted back as she oriented us both using the main plant building, following the walls around. This area of the concourse had less gunfire and fewer people, but it didn’t stop my eyes from jumping from shadow to shadow, alert for any whiff of enemy.
I slowed to a stop at a certain point, my breath coming in pants and my head beginning to spin. Morgan didn’t notice at first, but then she jogged back as I tried to regulate my breathing. “Sorry,” I wheezed, my hand wrapping around my side, trying to stave off the stabbing pains that ripped through my side at every breath. Now that we were no longer being directly pursued, I couldn’t continue ignoring it. “Give me a minute.”
Morgan looked around, her lips thinning, obviously displeased. Her eyes darted around the area, and she nodded. “Just one minute,” she said, and I gave her a look.
“Wasn’t asking for your permission,” I informed her, pleased I had enough air in my lungs to do so. “Not to mention, what the hell was that—stuffing me in between some pipes and trying to run off like that?”
“I was doing it for you,” she whispered, incredulous.
“No, you were doing that for you,” I replied tartly, my breathing calming down some. “No offense, Morgan, but it was dumb! There’s no way I can get Desmond without some help. I already…” I couldn’t say lost. “…am missing Owen. I can’t do this all alone!” I held up my right arm, showing her the cast that still encased the lower half.
“Violet, you took down a bunch of Desmond’s guards by yourself,” Morgan tsked, annoyed. “And she handpicks them, believe me. You can handle—”
“I had time to think then! I set traps and made them come to me! This is different. We’re chasing Desmond. Lynne’s gone, and Owen’s…”
I trailed off as Morgan shut her eyes for a minute, realizing she didn’t need a reminder of what had just happened. She made a fist and then unclenched it, nodding tightly. “You’re right,” she said after a second. “Even if it wasn’t Desmond, I shouldn’t have thought to leave you alone. Not with all this insanity. Anything could happen. To… anyone.”
I sighed, suddenly feeling like a jerk. “Look, I know you meant well. It’s just… we’re a team. I’m not the golden girl who needs to be rescued or protected.”
“Then why’d you agree to let Owen become your bodyguard?” Morgan asked.
I studied her closely, and instead of finding animosity, I saw only curiosity in her eyes. “Let’s talk and walk.” Normally I wouldn’t have wanted to talk in a combat situation, but for just a moment, I needed to rest my heart and think about something small, and I sensed that Morgan wanted the distraction too.
We began moving forward again, both of us scanning the pipes for movement, and I contemplated her question, not entirely knowing the answer at first. “It’s hard to explain, but… when Viggo approached me with his idea, the only thing I could focus on was that he was not going to exile Owen. I didn’t care what his punishment was, just that he wasn’t forced to go for making a bad call.”
“That bad call could’ve cost you your life,” Morgan pointed out as she ducked under a fat pipe running from the building into the ground. “He gave Desmond information about us as well.”
“I trust Owen.” It was not grounded on any logical argument, but it was the truth. It had definitely taken a leap of faith, but I had done it without thinking.
“That egg thing is dangerous, Violet. Elena—the Matrians knowing that it’s still in play could be catastrophic.”
I resisted the bitter chuckle that built up in my throat, trading it for a sad nod. “Any worse than what’s going on in there?” I asked, and she paused mid-step before pressing ahead.
“Maybe,” she said. “Although, knowing the queen, she’s got a backup plan. Probably will try to breed with one
of the older boys from the experiments or something.”
I cringed. “That’s gross.”
“Yeah. But it’s just how she would think.”
Considering her words, I stepped out around a serpentine spiral of pipes and paused when I saw a car sitting abandoned in front of the tall metal fence that cut across the yard, separating the concrete from the field containing the collection ponds. I knew from the aerial photos that this area housed the collection vats, where the water was stored and pre-treated before entering the plant proper. There were several massive vats that sat at ground level, each containing several thousand gallons of water.
I could see one of the wide, circular ponds sitting a few feet away just past the fence, the water dark and still, but the reflective surface glowing red.
“She’s gotta be in there,” I said, pointing to the open gate. “It’s a pretty open space, so sneaking up on her isn’t going to be an option.”
Morgan stared at the fence, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. “I’ll go in and distract her,” she said. “You sneak around her and put a bullet in her head.”
I eyed her wearily, feeling the stitch in my side still pulsing with every breath. “I don’t think I’m limber enough to sneak up on Desmond. And while my shooting with my left hand has improved some, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You can use this,” she said, unzipping her jacket and revealing a flat black fabric that I recognized as the Liberator uniform. The material had the ability to camouflage the user for periods of time, rendering them practically invisible. “Distance won’t matter then.”
I stared at it, almost beyond shock, but then shook my head. “No, you keep it. You be the sniper. She’ll shoot you, but she’ll want to keep me alive. I’m sort of public enemy number one.”
The Gender Plan Page 30