With that in mind, I pulled myself over. My hips and stomach were completely over the hole now, and that roiling sensation in my stomach intensified. I wrapped my arm around the rung, hooking it with my elbow. I grabbed my wrist with my other hand, locking myself into place, before I let my legs come out and fall.
There was a brief moment of discomfort as my legs swung over the edge, but as soon as my body impacted the rungs, I planted my feet firmly on one with minimal scrambling. Afterward, I rested my head against the bar I was clinging on to, and took a deep breath.
After a few moments, I began to descend.
The darkness made climbing difficult. I had to go slowly, reaching with each foot and hand, making sure they were firmly settled before I trusted my weight to them.
It came as no surprise to me that I had started talking to myself. It was strange, but the sound of my own voice helped me focus.
“All right, just reach down with your foot until you hit the rung… good, good. Make sure you really wedge it on there—no toes here—the shoes aren’t that good. Great, good job Vi—just keep going and you’ll be down in no time.”
With my little pep talk, I made it down easily. The relief of solid floor beneath my feet poured through me, and I slid down the wall to sit down, wiping the sweat off my forehead.
I rested against the wall for several moments, breathing heavily. As I sat there, my mind once again returned to Viggo. He needed me right now, and I wasn’t moving fast enough. It was enough to spur myself back on my feet. I scooped up the flashlight and looked around. There was an archway to my left, and it led to a cat walk. I had found the maintenance area, which was great, but I needed to make sure I could get back to the other levels.
Stepping through the archway, I walked out on the catwalk, shining my flashlight around. The catwalk ran along the wall, while the other side widened into open space. I pressed my free hand against the wall, resolved to stay as far away from the space as possible.
I moved the flashlight up, and I could see dim lights coming from the area above, but I couldn’t make anything out.
Frowning, I moved slowly, ever cautious of the floor below. After several hundred feet, it ended at a door. Suddenly apprehensive, I pushed it open slowly.
The room was some sort of station, with buttons and panels lit up everywhere. I looked around for a few seconds, and found a water cooler in the back. Grabbing a mug from one of the desks, I filled it up and drank the first and second cups of water, pausing only long enough to fill the mug back up.
Once I had downed as much as I could handle, I went to the opposite door and opened it, finding a hallway with stairs heading up. My legs started to ache just from the sight of it.
Sighing, I gripped the shoulder of my bag tightly and began climbing up. At least I was out of the vent.
30
Violet
Sweat was dripping from me as I reached the top of the staircase. My shoulders ached from the strain of carrying the weight of the egg and the supplies in my bag, and my lower back was no better. I took a small break at the top, setting the bag down and stretching to help relieve the tension.
Truthfully, I was a little apprehensive about opening the door. This level was already different from the other ones, and I wasn’t sure what was waiting on the other side.
Yet Viggo was at the forefront of my mind. I had to be strong enough for him. I couldn’t let him down a second time.
After I had finished stretching, I pulled my gun out of the bag and slipped it in my pocket, taking care to ensure the safety was on, then checked to make sure my flashlight was in the other pocket.
Once I had all of my tools ready and accessible, I slipped the backpack on again, and slowly turned the hand wheel on the hatch.
It swung open after a few turns, and I paused at the threshold, waiting for any signs of life. Silence and a sickly yellow light poured through the opening. I stepped through slowly, my shoes scraping on the metal flooring.
I closed the door behind me, watching as the hand wheel turned itself. Then I turned to behold the room itself.
The space was massive, stretching out further than I could see. Great concrete boxes hung from the ceiling by massive cables. Catwalks formed pathways between each cube, with small sections jutting out toward each box. Handrails ran the lengths of the walkways, and as I approached one, I realized that everything was hanging over empty space.
Immediately, I was struck by vertigo, my vision blurring and contorting as I gazed down into the bottomless cavern beneath me. My stomach started doing backflips, and my breathing became ragged. I reached out blindly, gripping on to the handrails.
Looking up, I focused on the concrete cube that hung five feet away. I took deep even breaths and eventually the sensation passed. When I finally could focus again, I realized I was covered in a cold sweat.
Shuddering, I debated turning back. I clearly wasn’t dealing well with heights, and this room was having a very visceral effect on me.
I shut the thought down. I needed to keep moving, and get to Viggo before he was hurt. My heart trembled and I felt the cold press of determination—anyone who hurt Viggo would suffer.
It was that thought that helped me flip the switch between panic and calm. I had to keep going. Looking down was what caused the problem, so I decided to keep my eyes level.
I focused on the cubes. They were massive, probably ten feet by ten feet. Looking left, I could see rows and rows of them stretching out before me. The right was the same.
Biting my lip, I moved left to the first intersection, my feet clanging on the floor, filling the eerily silent space with noise. A few times, I paused at the sound of echoing footsteps, sending a spike of fear through me that I wasn’t alone. I listened intently as they faded back into the silence, and exhaled sharply.
I turned down the first row, shining my flashlight on the cubes. They were labeled with a combination of letters and numbers. The letters were the same, the numbers in order. Once in the catwalk cutting between them, I realized that there were windows on this side, similar to the windows in the observation rooms and surgical suites.
I walked over to one of the jutting platforms. There was a five-foot space between the end of the ramp and the concrete block. Studying the block, I could see clamps on the side, where the block would attach to the cube.
Examining the ramp, I realized that there was a keypad on the handrail. I took a tentative step closer, trying to ignore the empty space that was immediately in front of me, and focused on the remote. There were a series of buttons on it—two with two arrows pointing opposite directions, one massive red one, and one green one.
I ignored the red and green ones, and concentrated on the arrows. I picked it up. There was a slight whine as I stretched the wire out from a spool somewhere inside the post, and I almost dropped it. I took a step back and pointed the device at the cube.
The arrows went forward and backward from that angle. Biting my lip, I braced myself, and pressed the back button. I heard something clunk, and the catwalk shook almost imperceptibly under my feet.
Frowning, I pressed the forward button. There was a whirring sound, and suddenly the catwalk began to move slowly toward the cube. I remained still, much to my relief.
I held down the button and watched as it made contact with the cube. There was a loud grating sound, and the gears whirled to a stop.
The green button was flashing now, and after hesitating a second, I pressed it. The clamps closed down on the ramp with a bang.
I placed the remote back on the handrail, and studied the five feet of catwalk before me. I was intensely curious about the contents of the cube, but at the same time, readily aware that Viggo was in serious danger. I felt the press of time warring against my own curiosity.
Eventually, I reasoned that whatever was in there might be able to help us. There could be weapons or who knows what—maybe creatures from The Green. I knew how to survive them if it was, but it might be able to prov
ide a distraction. I had no ideas on how to rescue Viggo—maybe whatever was in those boxes could help.
Taking a deep breath, I crossed quickly, trying to ignore the fact that there weren’t any hand rails on the extension.
I kept my eyes on the window, and moved. I felt a moment of panic, but before I knew it, I was on the other side, my hands pressing against the concrete structure.
Between my hands were several other buttons, glowing softly. There were several more here than on the remote control on the platform, and there were no labels on them. Frowning, I moved my hands away from them, worried about what one accidental press would do.
Instead, I focused my attention on the window. The room was dark, and I couldn’t make much out. I squinted my eyes, trying to pick up on any sign of movement, when something banged so hard on the glass that it flexed, and I jumped back in alarm.
Luckily, I landed on the catwalk. The window banged again, and a third time.
Biting my lower lip, I pulled out my flashlight and approached the window cautiously. Another bang and I realized that whatever material it was, it wasn’t glass, but it was strong enough to withstand the blows of whatever was inside.
Clicking the flashlight on, I shined it through the window. The light cut through the darkness, revealing a room that was barren. There was no furniture, only four concrete walls, a corrugated floor, and a concrete ceiling.
As I examined the floor, I realized that whatever was in there could see the void beneath, and I felt the blood drain from my face. Being stuck in that room would be my worst nightmare come to life.
I panned the flashlight around, looking for whatever was in there. For a second, it seemed like the room was completely empty, when suddenly something leapt up from the floor, slamming against the window.
I jerked back and angled the flashlight down. Going on my tip toes, I saw a pale form crouched on the ground just under the window.
It stiffened, and straightened slowly, and my free hand came up to cover my mouth as I realized what it was.
It was a human boy. His brown hair matted and unclean. His skin was abnormally pale, and his brown eyes watched me warily. He was wearing some sort of gray overalls, but they were torn and ragged. Judging from his height and size, he appeared to be around eight years old.
“Hello?” I said, pressing my hand on the window.
The boy stared at my hand for a second, cocking his head to one side. He reached up with one hand, and I smiled encouragingly.
The boy froze, and then his face contorted. He lifted his lips in a snarl, and without warning, he launched himself at the window, his head slamming into it with such force that his eyebrow split open.
He staggered back, clutching his head, and I realized the box was soundproof. I watched him shake his head a few times, and then turn around to face me. He opened his mouth and seemed to be screaming in rage at me.
I watched as he reached up to touch the wound on his eyebrow, his fingers coming away wet with blood. With a sickening smile, he began smearing the blood around on his face, painting his face in such a way that it gave him a savage appearance.
He moved back over to the window, and placed his hand against it, leaving a bloody handprint.
Then he smiled—an eerily innocent smile that made my stomach churn and my heart beat faster—and began to spin around the room.
As he spun, I noticed a dark mark on his hand. It took a few seconds for me to realize that it was a black crescent moon tattooed on his flesh.
I felt the pit of my stomach drop out from under me and I staggered back a few steps from the cube.
My hands were shaking as I angled the flashlight to the rows of cubes stretching out next to me.
These were the lost boys of Matrus. The boys who failed the test.
My heart was palpitating as I moved back to the main catwalk. Licking my lips, I shone my flashlight from one cube to another. I had no idea what they were doing to the boys, but I did know my brother could be in one of those cubes.
I moved across the catwalk to the cube opposite, using the remote controls to extend the catwalk. It might not be likely that my brother was in this one, or the next one, but he was down here, in one of these cells.
“Tim!” I shouted before I could stop myself, my voice reverberating through the empty room. My voice lingered in the precipice, Tim’s name fading slowly in the void.
I knew what it was to be caged and imprisoned. But these boys were completely isolated—something I'd not had to endure. The thought of my brother enduring it for eight years made my vision cloud up with tears.
I was determined to find him, and I would not leave this facility until I did. Let anyone try to stop me.
So I moved from cube to cube, seeking the first person in the world whom I had ever failed, determined to make it up to him.
31
Viggo
The wet cracking sound that punctuated the explosion of pain was so loud, my eardrums throbbed. There was a dim moment of blackness, and when I came to again, I was bent over, my face toward the floor. I could taste the blood as it welled into my mouth from my re-split lip, and I spat it out on the floor.
Coughing, I sat back up and glared at my attacker. “Who taught you how to hit?” I said, baring my teeth at her.
She just grinned in that calm, eerie way and raised her hand for another blow.
I braced myself, but kept my eyes on hers, trying not to convey my fear as her hand came down.
She hit harder than anyone I had ever come up against, and that was with an open hand. There was something going on with her—she was insanely strong, but slim. Lithe even. There was nowhere for her to hide muscle, so then how was she hitting me so hard?
As I came to from her latest blow, I rocked my jaw back and forth, making sure it wasn’t broken. Whoever she was, she was good at controlling her blows.
She also liked to change up the location of her hits. My entire body throbbed from her attention, and I was pretty certain she had broken a few of my ribs. I spat more blood on the floor, and slowly sat up.
Instantly a wave of dizziness overcame me, and I doubled over as my stomach heaved. I definitely had a concussion.
I rotated my head and looked at the second twin, who was calmly sitting on the table, her legs crossed, her head angled up at the ceiling.
“Don’t you want a turn?” I asked, and her head swiveled, her blue eyes coming to rest on me. She gave me a small, tight smile.
“No,” she replied. “I don’t think that I would.”
The first twin grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and hauled me back up. I hissed with pain and glared at her.
“You’re mine, pretty Patrian boy,” she declared, running a finger down my cheek. I flinched away, shooting her a disgusted look.
“You can feel free to hit me all you want, but please don’t do that again,” I stated.
The twins exchanged a look, and the one hovering at me let out a choked laugh. “This one is feisty,” she declared.
I grimaced, and spat more blood on the floor. Just what I needed—a psychopathic fan with a mean left hook.
“Listen, ladies,” I coughed, drawing their attention back to me. “We haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Viggo Croft.”
“We know,” chimed in the one from the table, and I felt annoyance radiate off me.
“Yes. I know that you know,” I replied. “But I would very much like to know your names.”
The two exchanged looks and fell silent for a moment. I took the opportunity to breathe, trying to calm my stomach and keep from vomiting all over the twins of terror.
“Why should we tell you?” asked the one over me.
I shrugged. “Why not? I’m chained to a chair, completely at your mercy. Odds are, you’re going to get bored, or tired of me soon, and then I’ll be dead.”
There was another silent moment, another reprieve from the blows that kept coming, and it was a welcome one. I knew that trying to draw the
m into conversation was a risky move, but I didn’t have any other options available at that moment. Maybe if I kept them talking, an opportunity would present itself.
“That is illogical,” said the one perched on the table.
I squinted at her. “How do you mean?”
She gave a little shrug, her face neutral. “You have no need for our names because you’re right, we are going to kill you soon.”
I gave a little sigh. “Yet, what harm will it do?”
“You could escape.”
Her sister’s head whipped around to regard her. “Excuse me? You think this little Patrian male could escape us?”
The twin shrugged again. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility. It is likelier, however, that he will die here, but it is best to remain cautious.”
The first twin laughed outright. “Who’s going to stop us, sister mine? Ms. Dale is completely loyal, and if this Violet girl shows her face, I’ll crush it.”
The second twin tsked, and smoothed the front of her uniform. “We have no idea where Violet is or what tricks she has up her sleeves.”
“But you can’t seriously think that anything she has can contend with us.”
“We’re not exactly immune to bullets, sister.”
The first twin scoffed and turned on her heel to face me.
I offered her a bloody grin. “So you and your sister fight a lot?”
She paused, drawing her brows up in confusion at my change in topic. “We disagree from time to time.”
I nodded. “That happens with family.”
The second twin smiled. “You have no idea.”
The first twin lifted her hand for another blow.
“Hey, before you hit me, I was just wondering about something.”
The Gender Game 2: The Gender Secret Page 19
