But only for a moment. Ms. Dale downshifted and began to slow as we neared the encampment. A paved road ended a few feet away, and as if by magic, I could see, down the hill, trees and the tops of houses just beyond the gravel mounds that framed the road.
She brought the car to a halt as motion erupted around the fire at the Matrian camp. I immediately rolled down my window, shouting, “Don’t shoot, we’re the heloship team that went down the day before yesterday!”
The women—there were seven of them—didn’t stop as they grabbed their guns and trained them on us, most of them going to one knee. Only one woman stood, a slender woman whose brown hair glinted red in the firelight.
“That’ll be their commander,” Ms. Dale said dryly, turning the engine off. “Wait for her to respond.”
It didn’t take long. “Throw your weapons out of the windows,” she shouted. “And come out slowly with your identification papers in your hands, high in the air.”
We’d known this would happen, and we were prepared. I tossed the gun out on my side, Ms. Dale taking a moment to roll down her own window and throw hers out as well.
“We have three Patrian prisoners,” I shouted as soon as we were done. “Do you want them to stay in, or get out?”
There was a pause. “Get them out—slowly, and their hands better be tied up.”
“They are. We’re leaving the vehicle now.”
I tossed open the door and stepped out, the gravel crunching under my brand-new boots—a wedding gift from Amber that I had discovered when Viggo and I had finally looked at the rest of the presents this afternoon in a mission preparation lull. I kept one hand up, showing my surrender, while I opened the back door for the men.
“Get out,” I said gruffly.
Thomas slid out first, Viggo and Owen moving slowly and awkwardly behind him. The sound of heavy and cautious footsteps—several sets of them—moved closer, but I resisted the urge to stop and turn nervously around.
“The second vehicle?” asked the same voice from earlier, only closer this time.
“They can’t hear you,” Ms. Dale said. “Can I go tell them what to do?”
“Yes, and be quick about it. You—bring the men up to the front of the vehicle.”
I looked expectantly at the men, and wanted to applaud when all three of them gave me villainous and murderous looks. After a sufficient pause, I arched an eyebrow.
“You heard her. MOVE!”
I reached over to push Thomas forward, and he jerked away, even going so far as to spit at me. Well… my feet, anyway, but hopefully it was antagonistic enough to be believable. I pushed him forward a bit harder, and then waved at Viggo and Owen.
“You two, move it.”
The men came around the car, and I moved past them. “Can I lower my arms please?” I asked the warden in charge as I came to a respectful stop a few feet away. “I’m beginning to feel like I’m the Patrian here.”
I saw a few of the women standing on the line smile, but their commander did not. She did, however, nod at me before reaching over to snatch the identification papers I was holding.
“Belinda Carver. Queen’s Guard.” Her eyes took in my uniform, and she frowned.
“My uniform was in terrible condition after our crash,” I lied. “I had to borrow another woman’s spare.”
“Mm-hm. Well, my name is Captain Amalie Harris, and you will need to answer my questions honestly and to the best of your abilities if you expect me to let you pass. Ms. Carver, how is it that you’re coming from the east? Not many airfields out there that I’m aware of.”
“We were asked to retrieve Desmond Bertrand from Patrus,” Ms. Dale announced as she pushed Solomon forward. Tim followed behind her, his eyes darting around, followed by Logan. “The insurgents were everywhere, but we wound up taking a few prisoners and rescuing a few of our people when we got there. Ms. Bertrand wanted the extra manpower, as we were a skeleton crew, but…” She paused, her eyes drifting down. “But she was killed when this… this monster got on board.”
“We were able to put him down,” added Amber—though if it hadn’t been for her voice, it would have been hard to tell it was her, with all the makeup she was wearing. Somehow Ms. Dale had managed to make her look like a porcelain doll. Her eyes seemed wider and even more luminous, while her mouth seemed smaller, like a dollop of strawberry jam in an ocean of cream. Next to her, Morgan, in her dull brown wig and with way too many freckles dusting her cheeks, looked mousy and shy, nothing like a glorious Matrian princess—a deliberate move on Ms. Dale’s part, since Morgan had been the one most worried about having to put on an act in front of strangers.
Amber continued her part of the tale. “But he damaged the ship, and knocked out Kathryn here. We flew for hours before we were able to get her up, and even then, it’s a miracle we survived at all.”
“The vehicles were on board?”
“No,” I replied, taking over the narrative. “Well, yes, but not when we departed Matrus. We picked them up when we went out to search for survivors from the initial attack. But…” I looked down, as if I were suddenly sad or uncomfortable. A quick peek up showed Captain Harris waiting expectantly, and I slowly counted to five before continuing. “The princess didn’t make it.”
The woman cursed and moved away, her hands going to her hips. She kept her back to us for a long time, and then nodded. When she turned, there was a deep anger in her eyes.
“These Patrians,” she spat, looking at our prisoners. “Why would you even keep them alive after what they’ve done to so many of us? After our queen tried to help them?! They should be dead.”
Her vehemence caught me off guard, but I corrected my reflexive need to set her to rights and rolled with it. “I know what you mean,” I said, pitching my voice lower. “These men killed the princess I was supposed to be protecting, and here I’ve been for the last two days, keeping them alive.” I flexed my gloved hands into fists, my jaw rigid, and then exhaled slowly, drawing from my memories of the real Belinda and her derision for me. “But I can only imagine that the queen wants them—needs them—either to exchange for prisoners or for information. And I don’t imagine they’ll give it up easily.”
The captain caught on to what I was saying, a slow, wolfish smile growing on her lips. “Good.”
I had expected her to be more skeptical. After all, our story, while it contained elements of truth, was a bald-faced lie. A bold one, but a lie nonetheless. I was pretty confident that no one here knew Kathryn and Belinda—they had worked in different circles and in different divisions—but there was no guarantee. Morgan and Amber’s identification papers were real, unlike mine and Ms. Dale’s, taken from Matrian prisoners who were only just similar enough in the face to pull it off.
“Can you let command know we have… Ms. Bertrand’s remains with us? We, uh, couldn’t leave her there, in the ship.”
“You brought her with you?”
“She’s in the back of our vehicle,” Morgan said softly, keeping her eyes downcast and fidgeting slightly—a good choice for her, I thought proudly. “It seemed wrong to leave her there like that. She gave so much to our people, and they’ll never even know.”
I was so glad she was the one saying that. If I had tried, I didn’t think I could’ve gotten the words out through my teeth. Maybe it was easier for Morgan because Desmond had kept Morgan alive, even if it was with the threat of Elena hanging over her head. Either way, the commander’s eyes grew wide.
“Keep your guns on these men,” she barked to her soldiers. “Don’t let them move.”
One of the women moved up to the six men standing by the front of the car, her eyes narrowed. “We’ll watch them, Captain,” she said with a smile. Then she drove the butt of her rifle into Viggo’s stomach, and he doubled over, immediately wheezing for air.
It took everything I had to remain perfectly still, to keep my face calm even as she reached down to grab his chin and yank him upright, pushing him hard against the hood of th
e car.
“Captain?” I said, giving her a look. “As much as I want to be in on that, I swore to myself I would see them brought to the queen, intact and whole.”
The captain stared at me—long enough for me to wonder if I had blown our cover by saying something—and then, finally, gave a slow nod. “She’s right. Stand down.”
The woman pouted, but didn’t object. She gave Viggo another shove, gentler than the last one, and then let him go, backing away before joining the five women in a line behind her. Their guns had lowered some, in the course of our conversation, and I was beginning to sense that they believed us.
Viggo watched her go, his breath coming in pants as he struggled to stand upright. I knew that wasn’t acting. I met his gaze, and he gave me an almost imperceptible shake of his head, warning me not to pay too much attention. He straightened up slowly, fighting through the pain to reassure me, and I loved him all the more in that moment.
Morgan waved the commander over to the second car, and pulled open the back to reveal the black body bag we’d tucked Desmond’s remains into. She stepped back as the commander reached over to unzip it. I turned away. Even acting, I couldn’t stomach seeing Desmond’s remains, as justified as her death had been.
I could hear the captain’s sharp intake of breath, and the zipper was quickly pulled closed. “She looks…”
“Those creatures have superhuman strength,” Ms. Dale said softly. “It… It wouldn’t stop hitting her.”
It was a believable lie, considering the remains, and as the captain stepped back, I saw her nodding. “It’s a miracle you all are alive,” she said. “We heard the reports about those things as well… Can you imagine? Just across the river.” She shuddered and fell silent.
“I’m just glad you believe us,” Ms. Dale said. “When we landed, we couldn’t believe it ourselves. I mean, we were in The Outlands.”
“Well, your report coincides with the sighting of a loose bird heading that direction, so you’re in luck there. Did you, uh, see any signs of life out there?”
Everyone shook their heads slowly. “Just rocks,” Amber said. “Lots of rocks.”
Captain Harris gave a smile then—just a ghost of one—and then nodded again. “All right. I’m going to call this in to Command to figure out what they want to do, as well as to verify you are who you say you are. You four come around to the front and wait for your orders. You’ll get your weapons back when your identities are confirmed.”
I licked my lips. If they sent her a picture of any of the wardens we were impersonating, then we were caught. Luckily, we all had weapons hidden on us, so on the off chance we were discovered, we could defend ourselves. However, that route would make our job infinitely more dangerous—if we had to fight this group, and they were able to get word to Elena that we weren’t who we claimed we were, things would get hairy very quickly.
I followed the captain around the vehicle, letting Morgan close the back door, sealing Desmond’s remains back inside. I came to a stop just past our “prisoners”—a quick scan showed me that Viggo’s breathing had normalized—and watched as the captain continued to move past the line of her women. I waited, watching in silence.
Seconds went by, and I changed position, idly moving over to Ms. Dale’s side. She leaned her head down to me as I moved up, and I whispered, “Think they’re buying it?”
“It’s a believable story,” she replied quietly. “But you never know. Elena’s cagey. Who knows what protocols she’s come up with?”
I sighed and turned back around, linking my hands behind my back. The waiting was the worst part of this. There was nothing to do but wonder if this was the part where we were gunned down, our dream of stopping Elena finished before it even really got started.
Seconds grew into minutes, and I could see the captain reading off our identification papers to somebody on her handheld. I drew in a breath and moved over to Amber and Morgan.
“You two holding up?”
“We are,” Amber murmured. “But if they start shooting, our boys are right on the front line.”
“I know,” I said, feeling the nervous tremor in my body start again and firmly pushing it aside. “This is going to work.”
As if on cue, the captain turned and began walking back. I held my breath, and then moved forward to meet her. “What are our orders?” I asked as she pushed silently through the line of women. I felt a small burst of hope unfurl—one that continued to blossom as the captain held out our identification papers to me.
“Report to the palace,” she said. “Go straight to the garage, and wait for Commander Duvall to greet you. The queen wants the prisoners secured and locked up immediately.”
I nodded as I took the papers. “Thank you.”
“People are scared, so try to take the quieter streets. The queen doesn’t want a lot of attention drawn to your convoy.”
“Because of the prisoners,” I commented, folding my papers and tucking them into the breast pocket, and she shook her head.
“Because you went to The Outlands and came back. With what’s going on in Patrus, she doesn’t want anyone knowing that people actually survived out there.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I scoffed. “We only survived because we had supplies on board. As it stands we’re almost out of food.”
“I agree, but people are scared. Stay off the main streets.”
“Will do,” I said. “Thank you, Captain Harris.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Carver. Please collect your guns and prisoners, and go.”
I smiled, and then began shouting orders to everyone. Just minutes later, we were driving again, moving steadily away from the anti-ship missile station, the captain raising her hand in farewell in our rearview mirror.
“Are you okay?” I asked as soon as the group was out of sight, whirling around and reaching for the cuffs around Viggo’s hands.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled as I pulled the cuffs off. “Not the first time I’ve been punched in the gut.”
I smiled, and suddenly the bumpy ride smoothed out as Ms. Dale pulled onto the paved road. The change felt surreal, and I breathed out a sigh that was half relief and half greater worry. Parts one and two of our plan had been unmitigated successes. I could only hope the rest of it went as smoothly.
OceanofPDF.com
25
OceanofPDF.com
VIGGO
The streets of Matrus slid by the window as I gazed through it. We were entering the city proper now, and even though autumn was progressing, it still seemed warm with light, calm and peaceful. It felt like so long since I had seen such peace—and here it was, right across the river. I experienced a moment, maybe more than a moment, of jealousy. A pang of anger and resentment burning deep in my belly.
They didn’t know, I firmly reminded myself, pushing aside all those petty emotions.
We were heading through the restaurant district. Our first goal, Alyssa Dawes’ house, lay somewhere beyond that, buried in the heart of a residential area. The lights here were even brighter—the large glass windowpanes we passed, set back into red brick buildings, were practically white. Inside each bright window was a restaurant, where people sat inside, eating.
As I watched, I began to realize that even though it didn’t look like a city at war here, there certainly wasn’t a great amount of peace. I picked it up at first when I saw a man walking, his steps hurried, his hands tucked in his pockets and his back rolling forward as he ducked his head—as if perpetually stepping under low-hanging ceilings.
Next I saw a group of women walking together, but instead of appearing relaxed and open, they were pressed together, speaking to each other from behind their hands. They eyed anyone approaching with a general wariness, a deep suspicion, a feeling that, from my observation, seemed shared by others on the street.
Nobody ambled. Nobody laughed. Nobody smiled. Even inside the restaurants themselves. Each one we passed seemed like a snapshot of a room where, just out of the fr
ame, somebody had been murdered, and no one was sure who in the room had done it. It made me feel wary, checking behind us and down the streets we passed, searching for some phantom sign of pursuit.
“Viggo, could you…” Owen hesitated, and then looked away. “Never mind.”
“No, spit it out. Could I?”
He gave me an irritated look. “Could you stop twitching? You’re making me nervous.”
I frowned. Had I been that fidgety? For a second, I considered the possibility that I was being paranoid, that all of this fighting was finally getting to me, and then he added, “These people are already freaking me out.”
I exhaled sharply and smiled when I heard Violet do so as well. “Thank you,” she exclaimed, crossing her arms, just as I said, “I know exactly what you mean.”
Violet turned in her seat and we all shared a smile while Ms. Dale tsked. “Of course these people are feeling tense. Their neighbors across the river have clearly destabilized. The future is nebulous—everyone’s mind is running them through every ‘what if’ scenario humanly possible, or even impossible! It’s sad, really. We forget that Elena doesn’t really care about her people any more than she cares about ours. They are just a means to an end, and the poor fools don’t even know it.”
I blinked. Ms. Dale was right, of course. Elena didn’t care about anyone but Elena. She was a true sociopath, and a smart one. She knew that she had to pander to the people to keep their support, but she also knew how to lead them, what to tell them to make them believe in her as she made decisions on their behalf. The stories they must’ve been told about what was happening in Patrus, I was sure, were compelling, filled with alarming battles and noble soldiers.
After all of this, I was beginning to feel that the way people got news shouldn’t be in the hands of the government, but rather in its citizens’. The motivated few who could keep tabs on those in charge, and make sure they weren’t breaking the rules or abusing their power. Ensure they were doing their jobs, honestly and with integrity.
The Gender End Page 24
