The Gender End

by Bella Forrest

  Ms. Dale gave me a wan smile—her face pale and covered in blood—and I saw the detonator in her hand as she tipped Elena and herself over the edge.

  “Some people deserve to die,” she said, and then they were gone.

  I raced over to the edge, needing to stop it, but the force of the explosion that came a moment later drove me back several feet, my hand going up to shield me from the flames. I fell to my knees.

  Tim, Thomas, and Ms. Dale were all gone—I had no idea where Viggo was—and our plan with Alyssa was in tatters. Everything welled up in me like a tidal wave of anguish. I began to sob, uncontrolled, unable to see anything, my own gasping, choking breaths the only sound I could hear.

  Hands pressed against my back, surprising me, and I jerked back, turning to see… Tim. His hands were scraped up, his throat already ringed with bruises from Elena’s hand, but he was there… alive and whole.

  “Tim… how?” I breathed as he sank down beside me.

  “Easy. I grab wall. You okay?”

  There was a shout on the roof, and I turned to see a flood of wardens racing through the doors like bees swarming from a hive. I had no fight left in me. We had no exit plan. Slowly, wearily, I began raising my hands.

  “Ms. Dale…” I said softly.

  Then the guards were there, and apparently they weren’t taking any chances. The last thing I saw as they drew near was the butt of a rifle, aiming for my head. Then I saw nothing.

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  43

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  VIOLET

  I opened my eyes and then immediately closed them, the obnoxious bright white light causing my head to throb. Lifting my hands to block it out, I heard someone say, “She’s awake,” and slowly tried to sit up, in spite of everything.

  Letting my face flop into my hands, I winced and pulled my hand away from the tender area on the right side of my head.

  “What’s happening?” I asked, trying to peel back my mutinous eyelids.

  I finally succeeded, and was greeted by three walls comprised of bars, concrete ceiling, and floor. The awful white light filled the cell from overhead.

  “Violet, baby?” I turned toward Viggo’s voice like a thirsty person hearing the sound of running water. He was peering at me through a set of bars that separated us, his hands wrapped around them. The weight of his concern for me was pressed into the lines of his face, and without even thinking about it, I twisted on the cot I found myself on and reached for him.

  “What happened?” I asked, relieved as my fingers stroked over his.

  He reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling it through to his side of the bars and pressing it to his lips.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, moving closer to me. “But everyone’s here.”

  Everyone who’s left, I found myself thinking, and I swallowed and looked around. Sure enough, there was Owen, Amber, Logan, and Tim—all ensconced in cells like mine.

  Tim was the first team member my eyes sought after Viggo, and I immediately noticed the dark purple bruises on his face and neck, so purple they looked like they had been painted on. He waved at me as I noticed him, and I waved back, offering him a nebulous smile.

  Owen sat across the hall from Tim. His face was scratched, and there were bandages on his side and shoulder. He sat with the wall at his back, his expression unfocused, lost in thought. He blinked after a few moments and looked over at me, offering a tremulous smile of his own, but he looked downtrodden and raw. I could tell he was hurting over Thomas, and felt my own pain flaring up in my chest in response to his.

  Amber was pacing the tight confines of her cell looking extremely frustrated, and I noticed she was favoring one side, as if the other side of her body were bruised and tender. There was also a dark bruise forming around her left eye, causing it to squint almost shut.

  Logan was next to her, her cell sandwiched between his and Owen’s, and he sat on his own bed, watching Amber pace back and forth. He looked fairly well, besides a bruise on his face. I suspected when the wardens discovered the two of them, they had been less than gentle taking them in. Much like they’d been with Tim and me.

  Amber continued to pace, then suddenly kicked one foot out, rattling the cell door.

  “We saved you from Elena!” she bellowed angrily, clearly addressing some unseen guards or cameras, and I flinched at the loud noise. “The least you can do is give us a proper room!”

  Her voice reverberated down the halls, but other than that, there was no sound.

  “Amber?” I whispered hoarsely, pressing the heel of my hand to my eyebrow. “Can you give me… an hour or two before you do that again?”

  “There’s food on the floor, Violet,” Viggo said softly, pointing to a tray in front of the door. “It was hot, but now, uh, probably not. Also water. You need to eat.”

  I shook my head, a wave of nausea hitting me, and lay down instead, curling up toward him. His bed was directly on the other side of the bars, and he lay down next to me, his hand reaching out to take mine.

  “You need to eat,” he insisted.

  “In a little bit,” I replied, tears beginning to prick my eyes. “Viggo… Ms. Dale… She—”

  “I know,” he said, his face forlorn. His eyes were red-rimmed, and I could feel the pain radiating off of him. He clutched my hand a little tighter. “Violet… Thomas… He—”

  “I know,” I whispered back, and then suddenly I couldn’t stop the tide of tears as they tore through me. I felt the loss of Ms. Dale and Thomas like a knife through the heart. Something special had been taken away, and I felt its absence, my world diminished, two people smaller, and that was a lot.

  I cried for a long time. Viggo whispered to me and comforted me all the while, and I hated the bars that separated us. I needed to feel his arms around me, holding me when he said everything was going to be okay, even though none of us could be certain. We were in a prison, after all.

  Once the tears had passed, I looked around and sniffled.

  “Where’s Morgan?”

  “We don’t know,” Owen said, his back to the bars and to me, but his voice carrying his concern. “Tim said she was carried away and they were giving her medical treatment, but then they knocked him out, so…”

  I looked over at my little brother, still relieved to see him alive. He was sitting, his back pressed to a wall, on the other side of Viggo’s cell. I grimaced when I once again noticed the angry, deep purple, almost black bruises that seemed to cover his whole throat from when Elena had held him over the edge of the building. He scrubbed his eyes when I looked at him, fidgeting with obvious worry.

  “Morgan pale. Breathing not good. They say intubate. That’s tube—”

  “Down her throat,” Logan said irritably, and I felt a moment’s levity at the sight of Amber reaching through the bars to smack him on the head.

  “Don’t take this from Tim. Let him talk,” she chided, and Logan glared at her, rubbing the back of his head. A moment later her hands went back through the bars and pushed his aside, feeling his head for injuries. “I didn’t actually hurt you, did I?”

  “No,” Logan said, leaning into her touch with a sigh, his long hands coming back to wrap around hers and pull them to his shoulders. “And I deserved it. Sorry, Tim.”

  “Is okay,” Tim replied with a shrug. He met my gaze and sighed. “Last I saw. Sierra okay, but… other boys taken away too. Somewhere different. Don’t know more.”

  “None of us do,” Amber said sadly, pressing her face between the bars. “We don’t know anything that’s happening.”

  “How long have I been unconscious?” I asked.

  “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon,” Viggo informed me, and I turned my attention back to him. “You’ve been out for almost twelve hours. They checked us all out—” He rotated his shoulder with a wince, and I noticed the edge of a bandage under his shirt, my eyes flicking back up to his with questioning concern.

  “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I�
��m going to have a pretty cool scar though.” He held up a bandaged hand and looked chagrined. “And one here too,” he added.

  “That you got from jumping off a roof you were trying to blow up with crap gloves and not enough rope!” Owen barked, his voice rueful. I looked over at him, and he shook his head at me. “Your husband is insane.”

  The corner of Viggo’s mouth quirked up and then dropped, and I could understand. Our hearts were heavy—too heavy to enjoy our usual banter, even with Owen’s joking words or with the realization that we’d ended up together again after everything. Elena was dead, her plan thwarted, as far as we knew. Presumably Viggo had done something to stop the boys, but that didn’t mean anything. We had no idea what was going to happen now, who was going to be in charge… or who the population was going to believe.

  As it turned out… right now, nothing was going to happen. Or later. Or even later. We kept waiting for someone to come down and explain what was happening or tell us we were being convicted of regicide, but the only person we ever saw was a portly woman who delivered our food. She wasn’t a warden; or at least, she wasn’t wearing the uniform.

  She was a good deterrent against our escaping while she served us. She was older, her hair streaking white, and walked laboriously with the rolling food cart. There was no way we would attack an elderly woman to escape, which meant our options weren’t good. The beds were welded together, as were the hinges. Owen, Viggo, and Logan spent the first two days halfheartedly trying to figure out a way to break through the door, but never succeeded.

  In truth, maybe we just didn’t have the energy to break out. The women who had tormented us and hunted us were dead, but so were two of our closest allies and friends, with others back home in uncertain conditions. All of us were exhausted and heartsick and tired of fighting. Maybe, since we were together for once, able to keep tabs on our closest family, we all knew in our hearts that we would just have to wait and see what fate had in store for us.

  For three days we were confined to our cells, going stir crazy, just waiting. The woman never answered our questions. I was beginning to think she was hard of hearing, or even mute, because she never said a word. The only solace we had was in each other, so we talked. We talked about all sorts of things—speculating what was happening with our group of rebels, the boys, Morgan and Sierra, Matrus. Then we talked about all the things we had to do when we got back to Patrus. Then the cycle began again.

  At night, Viggo and I would lie next to each other with only the bars to separate us, and talk about what we would do if we got out of here. Nothing to do with the war or the rebuilding—we talked about where we could put our home, what we wanted it to look like, what kind of motorcycle Viggo had been hoping to buy, whether I could start a self-defense center for women in the hills of Patrus… There was even the slightest mention of children. Our children. The speculation, cut off from all politics and current events, helped, even if it was bittersweet. It was tantalizing to think about this whole thing in terms of being done and over with. To think about the life we might have, if none of this were burdening us anymore.

  On the morning of the fourth day, I woke up and saw the old woman standing on the other side of my cell door, looking at me intently.

  Rubbing my eyes, I sat up, then reached my hands through the bars to wake Viggo.

  “Yes?” I asked, my voice cracking with a yawn. “What is it?”

  The woman smiled kindly and waved her hand at me.

  “You and your friends are to accompany me.”

  She nodded and took a step back as two wardens appeared and unlocked our cells. They held open the doors, and I saw Amber and Logan peering at us through the bars of their own cells, looking groggy.

  Tim snored on, oblivious to the change in our status, while Owen watched warily from his own cell. I exchanged a look with Viggo and then stood, stepping out into the hallway. Viggo did as well, and after a long pause, I moved over to him and took his hand.

  “Who are you?” I asked the older woman, and she clasped her hands behind her back.

  “Edith Carmichael,” she replied. “Warden High Commander, retired now, of course. Edi for short. You and your people will be escorted to some better rooms, where food and fresh clothes await you. Would you like a moment to prepare before you meet the queen?” As she spoke, the two wardens began unlocking the others’ cells, releasing them.

  “It depends,” Viggo said cautiously. “Who’s the queen now?”

  Edi just smiled and slowly turned away, lapsing back into her staunch silence and moving down the hall at a sedate pace. The wardens opened the other cell doors, letting everyone emerge as Viggo and I moved hand in hand down the hallway.

  The older woman led us through the control room for the prisons and up a flight of stairs, and I could hear hammering and sounds of construction coming from the doors.

  “The palace has suffered quite a bit of damage,” Edi said dryly. “But most of it was superficial.”

  I thought of Ms. Dale going over the side of the building and the explosion that had followed, and leaned into Viggo. We continued to follow Edi, and she continued to lead us up, until she stopped at a landing and opened the door.

  “Your rooms are here. Everyone has their own except for Mrs. Bates and Mr. Croft. I understand that they are married.”

  “We are,” Viggo said, and she nodded and pushed open a door.

  “This will be your room. Mr. Bates,” she said, addressing Tim. “You are across the hall, and everyone else can pick their own room. I’ll give you an hour to shower and change, but the queen will only be speaking with Mrs. Bates and Mr. Croft.”

  “Why?” Amber demanded. “You’ve locked us in here for three days. We deserve answers.”

  “And you’ll have them,” Edi replied acerbically. “Now, go rest in some nice rooms with much better food than what you were getting in the prison, and be patient for just a little bit longer. We don’t want to stress the queen with too many visitors at once. Mrs. Bates and Mr. Croft will fill you in.”

  Owen was the first to accept her decision—he simply lumbered silently by, heading to a room down the hall and stepping into it. He shut it with a click, leaving us all standing in the hall.

  “Let it go, Amber,” I said softly. “Let’s just see what happens.”

  “I can stay with you,” Logan added, a slow smile tugging on his lips. “Make sure you’re safe.”

  Amber looked up at him, her answer evident in the fact that she said nothing at all, and then moved down the hall, past Owen’s door and into the next room, shutting the door as well. Logan watched her go, bemused, and then went to the room across the hall.

  “Good luck,” he called as he stepped into it, leaving the four of us alone.

  “More sleep,” Tim yawned as he opened the door, wincing a little as his neck stretched. He shut the door with a click, and I looked at Viggo, who shrugged.

  “See you in an hour,” I informed Edi, and she gave me a wry grin.

  One hasty lovemaking session in the shower and a hurried breakfast coupled with frantically getting dressed later, we were five minutes late getting out the door, and I was completely okay with that. Viggo had made love to me like the world were caving in around us, as if I were his only safe place. And in those minutes, he was mine. We took shelter in each other’s arms and solace in each other’s touch, and for a brief moment, I felt a spark of hope that maybe things were going to get better—and clung to it, for the both of us.

  Still, I could tell Edi was perturbed at our tardiness as she led us down the hall, grumbling under her breath. I didn’t care. They had locked a pair of newlyweds apart for several days. It was really their own fault.

  The door she led us to was nondescript, and she pushed it open and stepped inside. I went in first and immediately saw Morgan lying in a hospital bed, Sierra sitting next to her. She looked at me curiously when I stepped in, and then reached over to gently touch Morgan’s shoulder.

  “They�
�re here,” she whispered, and Morgan’s eyes opened. Her face was horribly bruised, her left eye almost swollen shut, and I could tell when she tried to sit upright that more than a few of her ribs were broken.

  “Hey, guys,” she whispered harshly, her voice coming out raw, and Sierra grabbed a small plastic cup from the table next to the bed and handed it to her. Morgan took a sip and then handed it back, groaning.

  “Morgan!” I said, taking a step toward her, relieved to see her alive, when Edi loudly rapped her knuckles across the door.

  “You will address her as ‘Queen Morgana,’” she said primly. “Of Matrus, of course.”

  “Edi, you old windbag, lay off them.” Morgan coughed and then shuddered, her hands going to her sides. “I’m really tired, Edi, and I just want to let them know what’s going on. So back off—they aren’t enemies or subjects. They’re friends.”

  Edi sighed and nodded.

  “A queen should have friends… I just wish they weren’t the same people who killed the last queen.” She shut herself on the other side of the door as she spoke, ensuring her words were the final ones in the conversation, and I smiled.

  “She’s interesting,” I said, and Morgan gave a half-hearted chuckle.

  “Don’t make me laugh,” she wheezed in pain. “I broke six ribs. One of them punctured a lung and I had to have surgery. It’s why you guys were in prison for so long.”

  “Morgan was sleeping for a long time,” Sierra added, her voice high and whisper-soft —the first time I’d heard her speak since she’d been in the safe room with Elena’s gun at her temple. “I was very scared for her. I told the tribunal about your brother and his… friends helping me. But it wasn’t enough to let you all go.”

  “Sierra, you should let me fill in the blanks,” Morgan chided, but there was a fond look in her eyes when she looked at her little sister. “Suffice it to say, a lot has happened. I technically couldn’t pardon you because, while I am the heir apparent, you can’t legally crown someone while they are unconscious, and you certainly can’t act on orders from them, so… it was a bit of a legal snafu.”