21
Viggo
Owen eased the car to a stop as we slowly pulled up through the forest nearest the northeast corner of the camp, killing the engine. I got out, taking care to close the door quietly. I almost felt naked with no backpack on my shoulder, but the small bags at my belt contained everything I was likely to need, packed tight so nothing bounced around.
The night air was cold, and my breath crystallized as it encountered the frigid environment, but my black cargo pants and heavy wool sweater kept me warm enough. I also wore a black hat pulled down over my ears, and gloves covering my hands. There was no moon tonight, the night dark under a haze of obscuring clouds, but Owen had brought a small flashlight that shone dimly through a filter lens, radiating only enough light to make our way slowly through the forest.
We moved quickly to the tree line, stopping just short of the open grassy field that separated us from the fence surrounding the camp.
We’re in position, I announced through the subvocalizer.
“Hold on,” came Thomas’ reply. “You have an opening in forty-five seconds.”
I checked my watch. Waiting for your order, I replied.
My breathing felt abnormally loud in that moment, but I knew from experience it wasn’t. As the seconds ticked by, I ran through a mental checklist, making sure I had remembered everything we needed. The gear was split between Owen and me, but we had gone over it together as Violet and Thomas mapped the camp. We were ready for this.
“Go in five, four, three, two, one… Go.”
Owen and I leapt into motion, loping across the field, keeping ourselves low to the ground. Light generated by the high, bright spotlights within the camp helped us see, but it also meant a stray eye might spot us. Luckily, the ground was flat and mostly even, so we made short work of it.
At the fence, we crouched down low, hugging the earth, and moved a few feet down.
“There,” came Violet’s voice. “That’s the spot.”
Owen slipped a hand into one of his bags and pulled out a small white tube. I palmed my gun and kept an eye on the inside of the fence, watching for the guards, just in case something in the situation changed. There was a thirty-foot gap between the fence line and the first row of tents, and the tents obscured my vision of the other side. Still, I could make out dark forms standing at attention just on this side of the tents—two on either corner. If I could see their shadows, they might be able to notice us if we made a mistake.
There was the snap of the tube’s plastic cap being opened, and then Owen pressed its mouth to the chain link, squeezing small dollops of the cream on the insides of the joints. He moved quickly and with confidence, applying the cream from top to bottom in a long, even line, and was two-thirds of the way done when the first fence links he’d marked began to sizzle and smoke, the metal melting and dripping down with soft plops. Careful not to let the stuff touch his fingers, he screwed the cap back on and slipped it into his belt, and by the time his hands were free again, the last spot was beginning to hiss and sputter.
“Forty-five more seconds,” announced Thomas.
My stomach was a tight knot, but I ignored it as I grasped my half of the fence, sliding my finger through the holes. Owen mirrored my movement, and we lifted and pulled, taking painstaking care not to rattle the fence. The two halves split apart as easily as butter sliced with a knife, and I held mine open as Owen slipped through.
“Thirty seconds. You need to move now.” Ms. Dale’s voice was brusque, but I detected the hard edge of her concern as I worked my body through the hole, Owen holding it open for me. As soon as I was on the other side, we were running.
Sweat beaded on my forehead as I kept low to the ground, the threat of being discovered sending an icy chill through me. I kept a careful eye on Owen, not wanting to get separated as we raced ahead.
We made it to the tents, moving in three deep and one over, where Thomas had indicated it was safe, before taking a moment to catch our breath and await the next set of instructions. I looked up and noted the shadow of Violet’s drone overhead, suppressing a curse.
Violet, the drone needs to be higher—if it’s under the lamps, its shadow might be noticed, I commanded.
“Oh, shoot,” her voice came back. After a moment, she asked, “Is that better?”
Yes, I replied. Awaiting advice for the next move.
“Head straight down the row you entered, and then turn left after three tents,” came Thomas’ reply.
I looked at Owen, who nodded and took lead, walking quietly and keeping low. I was still out of shape after my surgery, I noticed, my thighs and back already burning slightly from holding my body so low. I was riding a wave of adrenaline on top of tension, which meant I could probably keep this up all night if I had to—but I kept moving, knowing if I stopped for too long, the overtaxed muscles would grow stiff and cumbersome.
The bright white lights gave off a kind of low-pitched buzz that seemed to drill itself into my ears; other than that, it was eerily silent in the camp, and our footsteps sounded too loud, as though they would wake the sleeping prisoners at any moment. Owen and I hooked left, and then took an immediate right at Thomas’ instructions, the two of us sliding through the tents in a pattern that seemed random, but I knew was based on our team’s careful observations. We quickly threaded our way through, stopping one row short of the end, with the group of trailers visible.
Eyeing the thirty feet between us and the door to the nearest one, I hesitated. Violet, can you do a quick sweep of the area around the trailers? I asked, prudence taking control.
“Roger that,” she replied. Owen and I waited in tense silence as she swept the drone around the area. “No guards outside,” she informed us after several minutes had gone by. “The trailer is still empty.”
I released a pent-up breath, trying to ease my body’s tension, and then nodded. Tapping Owen on the shoulder, I took point, heading for the door, leaping out into empty space and rushing headlong at the building. At any moment, I expected an alarm to go off, to hear a woman’s angry shout… but nothing came. Breathing heavily, I planted my back to the metal structure and watched as Owen twisted the knob with his hand.
He frowned and shook his head. Locked, his lips moved soundlessly, but I could hear his voice in my earbud. In response, I reached into a bag at my belt, pulling out our lock-picking device and handing it to him. He slid the thin rods into the lock and pressed the button on the side.
The machine made the slightest of whines as it turned on, followed by a click. I winced at how loud the noise sounded, looking around. There was nobody there to hear it, but the sooner we were inside, the better. Normally there would have been background noises to mask the little device’s operation, but in a place this quiet… Owen unhooked the machine, handing it back to me, and I slid it into my bag as he opened the door and stepped in. I was right behind him, pushing it closed behind us.
The narrow building was devoid of any internal structure save small windows at either end, which let in little slices of cold light from the camp’s lamps. I swung up the flashlight that hung from my jacket pocket, clicking it on to survey the room as Owen did the same. Filing cabinets were stacked along the walls, taking up every inch of space around the edges of the trailer. There was a desk sitting to the left, a computer atop it.
We’re inside, I transmitted. Good call on this trailer—we’ve got a computer and walls of file cabinets. Are we clear to proceed?
“Good to go,” replied Ms. Dale. “Our scope is clear of any guards, but be careful—you are only a few feet away from the other trailers.”
I turned to Owen. Computers or file cabinets?
He eyed me and then shrugged. Dealer’s choice, he replied with a smile.
Smirking, I moved toward the computer, leaving the cabinets to Owen. I took pains to move quietly on the off chance that my footsteps would thud on the aluminum floor. I was just sitting down at the chair when Owen slid open the first drawer, the rattlin
g, clunking sound grating loudly in my ears. Gritting my teeth, I ignored it, knowing he was making sure to do it as quietly as possible.
I focused on my task, sliding a small black plastic stick into one of the open ports on the computer before turning the whole thing on. Device in, I communicated over the line. Computer on. Do your thing, Thomas.
“Already on it,” came the man’s reply. I turned my attention to the desk, slowly sliding the top drawer open. I heard Owen slide open another drawer, this one squeaking slightly, and frowned as I stared at the clean, empty gray space inside.
I closed it and slid open another desk compartment, finding it empty as well.
Viggo, there are no files in these drawers, said Owen, his voice in my ears accompanied by a light, vacant-sounding scraping as he slid another one open. I felt a chill rush down my spine as I opened a third drawer and found the same result.
“Are you sure you hooked the uplink up correctly?” asked Thomas. “I’m not getting anything here.”
I looked down at the blinking device and then the computer screen and realized nothing had come up on it after I’d hit the power. The screen was black, the only sign of life a single blinking cursor flashing white on the bottom left corner. I was halfway to my feet, my mouth opening to announce my suspicions, when Violet’s voice cut through the silence, sharp with tension.
“Guys, I don’t know how, but this must be a trap—there are guards closing in on your position now.”
22
Viggo
Violet’s words were still ringing in my ears when I staggered back, a curse slipping from my lips. I looked over to where Owen stood frozen, and then past him, toward the window at the end of the trailer. A light was bobbing against the wall of the adjacent building.
How had they known we were here?
I snatched the transmitter from the computer, throwing it into the bag it had come from and whirling for the window just as Violet said in my ear, “Two guards are approaching from the west and two more are exiting the trailer directly in front of the door. You’ve got a moment to get out of there if you take the east window, but do it now.”
There was a crash beside me, and I jumped, whirling, only to see that Owen had pushed one of the stacks of empty filing cabinets over in front of the door, helping to block it, and was in the process of toppling another, a pained look on his face. It crashed to the floor with a noise that seemed about to bring the roof down. The whole camp will hear! I shouted at him, and he snapped back, They know we’re here already!
Just get over here! I darted toward the window on the east side of the trailer, Owen leaping over the overturned cabinets to keep pace with me. Through the transmitter, I could hear Violet speaking, giving us more information, her voice sharp and focused.
Go—I’ll cover you. I stepped aside and let Owen get to the window first, pulling my gun and training it on the door. Behind the scattered, piled-up filing cabinets, the doorknob rattled, and I clicked off the safety, sweat trickling down my forehead. I heard Owen grunt and threw him a look, alarmed when I saw him struggling with the window.
Shining my flashlight on it with my left hand, I exhaled another expletive as I saw that long metal spikes had been driven through the window frame, securing it closed. The doorknob rattled again, the door opening a crack, but getting stuck on the piles of cabinets, and the sound of low, urgent voices outside came to my ears.
Owen, I vocalized, throw another one of those cabinets.
Owen didn’t argue, just found the nearest stack and began to topple them, the sound exploding into my ears again. As soon as the first crash sounded, I drew my hand across my chest and slammed the butt of my gun into the glass, shattering it loudly—but not, I hoped, loudly enough to be heard over the racket Owen was making. I used the muzzle of my gun to sweep away the shards that jutted out of the remains of the frame, telling him, Enough!
Just then something heavy slammed into the door, and it scraped open another foot. I leveled my gun at the door and fired three shots at it, the silenced gun making little sound, but the guards outside yanked the door closed as the bullets struck the frame. Go, I ordered Owen, and he ran back to me, diving headfirst through the window. I kept my gun trained on the rattling door, but used my free hand to grab the top of the window frame, lifting my legs up and out of the window, then dropping down into the dirt outside.
My landing wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t graceful, either, and I dropped to a knee as I tumbled out. I could hear the sounds of muffled voices and movement just around the corner; Owen was at the edge of the building, his own gun drawn.
They’re still trying to get inside, he transmitted, his eyes wide as he looked back at me.
Good. If they hadn’t heard the window breaking, they would be expecting us to still be inside. That gave us a few precious seconds.
I stood up and fired two more shots through the window, hoping it would confuse them further and buy us some time. I kept careful count of my bullets—already I was running lower than I would have liked. Five down, six more to go in this clip, with another twelve in my backup.
Violet, which way?
“Go to your left, straight down that path—you’ve got fifteen seconds!”
I was already moving, patting Owen on the shoulder as I passed him and headed down the long path, flanked by two more trailers that ran perpendicular to the one we had just left. I kept low to the ground, stopping as soon as I reached shelter on the other side, covering the gap for Owen as he ran across it. All the time, my ears were trained for the sound of running feet; I thought I could hear shouting, but from where? Had they discovered yet that we weren’t in the trailer?
As soon as he was across, we ran again, making a straight line for the rows of tents just past the trailers. We were three rows deep when Ms. Dale’s voice was in our ears, shouting at us. “VIGGO, GET IN A TENT, NOW!”
Her order was delivered with such urgency that I grabbed Owen out of instinct, jerking him with me as I dove for a tent, yanking aside the dangling flaps that separated the interior from the outside air. We came to a stumbling stop just inside the tent, and I turned and grabbed the tent flap, trying to hold it still from our rapid entry. Just as my fingers touched the fabric, something dark whizzed past, moving at impossible speed.
I froze, glancing over at Owen, finding his face drawn and his eyes wide, as though trying to stare through the gap in between the tent flaps. Good—that meant I hadn’t been hallucinating. He had seen it too.
Taking a slow step back, I heaved in a deep breath of air as calmly and silently as I could, my stomach turning at a slight but deeply unpleasant stench in the air. My skin crawling, I subvocalized to our team, What the hell was that?
There was a pause before I got any response, and the wait felt longer than it was, the silence chafing on my raw nerves.
Finally, Violet announced, “Viggo, there are two enhanced humans there.” I could hear an angry bite in her voice, but I wasn’t sure whom her anger was directed at. “Their bodies are way hotter than the average human’s. We thought they were running a fever when they appeared on the infrared, but it seems we were wrong.”
I felt the air escape my lungs as I took in her words. That meant we were either dealing with two new princesses from Matrus… or we were dealing with the boys. As much as I hoped it was the princesses, I sincerely doubted Elena would risk any more of her sisters after losing three to us. Not that she was sentimental. To her, the boys were just more expendable.
Owen waved a hand, catching my attention. I frowned as he pointed to the ground, and then my eyes followed his fingers. I froze.
Visible in the dim light that filtered in through the tent material from the bright overhead lights, on the floor beneath us, men were stacked up like cordwood, one atop of the other. They had been stacked on either side of the tent, three on each side, all with bullet holes in their foreheads. Now that I knew they were there, I recognized something I had tasted in the air the moment I had step
ped into the tent: the smell of death. These bodies had clearly not decomposed enough yet to smell too bad, but it was there all the same.
I exchanged looks with Owen, who had gone pale as he took in the… the bodies.
Violet, he transmitted, turning away from the gruesome sight, his voice shaking even over the subvocalizer. You should know that these tents… well, they are filled with dead people.
“What?” replied Ms. Dale. “All of them?”
I’m not sure about all of them, I mouthed into the subvocalizer. But in this tent, there are six bodies. Did you run a thermal scan of the tents?
Another pause filled the line, and I pulled Owen down into a crouch on the floor as the sound of running feet drew close, loath to move my face closer to the dead men, but knowing they were still our best cover. I held my breath as the quick footsteps passed, expecting them to slow—but they didn’t.
I was in the process of exhaling, trying not to breathe in if humanly possible, when Violet came back on the line. “It was my fault,” she admitted. “I didn’t scan them. I figured any threat would come from the trailers. I’m sorry.”
“We can worry about that later,” interjected Ms. Dale’s hard voice. “We’re working on getting you a clear path out of there. Just hold for one second.”
Believe me, we’re holding, replied Owen.
Agonizing seconds ticked by while we sat in the tent surrounded by murdered Patrian males. My brain was submerged in mission mode; I couldn’t think about it, couldn’t feel it, or else it would be too much for me to go on. My blood was thrumming in my veins, but I knew my team would warn us if they thought we were in immediate danger. A group of guards came by, distinguishable from the enhanced humans by the low murmuring of their voices and their slower pace; we held our breaths, but they didn’t check the tent. Maybe they thought nobody would hide in such a grisly place.
After what felt like time enough for the entire camp’s guards to converge on us, Violet’s voice came over the line again, terse and harsh.
The Gender Fall Page 17
