The Gender Game 2 by Bella Forrest (positive books to read txt) 📗

but it didn’t help the breathlessness that was coming from the lack of air. I became aware of the wheezing sounds I was making, and realized I needed the mask in the seat of the motorbike. I risked a glimpse of the ground, scanning it for wreckage, but it wasn’t there.

Then I heard something creak above me, and tucked my chin to my chest, looking upward. The motorbike was only a few feet above where I was snagged on one side, cradled by branches. My ankle was caught in the handlebars. I dropped my head and looked around. There were several branches to my left that I could try to grab hold of if I swung myself in that direction.

As I moved, I cursed myself for being an idiot and getting distracted in the first place. Now my one means of transportation was wasted, and I was stuck in The Green. A tremor of fear went through me at the realization. I had some basic working knowledge of the place, but I wasn’t sure if I was equipped to handle it.

A wave of darkness crossed my vision. I knew I was running out of time. Without thinking, I started to swing. I could hear the branch above me groan, and I shuddered, but kept rocking, my hands reaching for the branch.

I touched it, just a brush of fingers, and then fell back, pushing my body into an arc. The branch above me groaned again, but I kept my focus as I swung back toward the branch, my hands outstretched. I dug my nails into the moss and bark, arresting my swing. Above me came a disconcerting crack.

Slowly, I pulled myself closer, until I could reach the branch with my other hand. Using it to stabilize myself, I readjusted my grip. The muscles in my arms and legs were screaming in protest at the physical exertion and lack of oxygen. Shakily, I wrapped my arms around the branch, and then tried to lift my hips to extract my foot from where it was lodged. It didn’t budge. Gritting my teeth, I pulled my leg as hard as I could.

The motorbike shifted a little with a small whine, and then an even louder crack sounded as the branch holding the motorbike broke. I held on to the branch I was clinging to with all my might. I felt the handlebars drag against my ankle and then slip away as it began to fall. There were more sounds of tree branches breaking below it, and I felt the tree shudder from impact.

After the noise had stopped, I dared to open my eyes. Branches had again stopped the motorbike, about thirty feet below me. It looked more secure, as it was being held by three branches, not two.

I took another breath, and then gagged, the lack of oxygen causing the reflex. I was already dizzy, and now my ankle hurt from where the motorbike had clipped it.

I started moving, as waves of vertigo ripped through me. Closing my eyes helped, but not much—not to mention climbing down blind was a really bad idea.

Scrambling down the branch was not easy, but by some mercy, I managed it. Once I made it to the trunk, I gradually lowered my legs down to the branch below, keeping my weight off my damaged ankle.

The moss was spongy beneath my hands and feet. It was also slick. I should have moved more slowly, but time was running out for me. Each breath I took made me more and more light-headed. I had to get to the motorbike, and I had to get there now.

I climbed more swiftly downward. Luckily, the branches on this tree were thick, and there were many of them. I finally reached the branch that suspended the motorcycle, and gingerly put my weight onto it.

Sweat was trickling down my forehead, and I felt the sharp pains in my joints and rib cage. The skin on my hands was shredded. I struggled to breathe; the sounds coming from my lungs were weaker and wheezier. I was at the end of my strength. Disregarding caution, I scrambled along the branch to the motorbike.

It was on its side, but the tree held it tight. With shaking fingers, I stretched my body out, reaching for the trigger to the seat on the floorboard. I could feel my balance shifting radically, and I jerked back, catching myself before I fell. I took a deep breath of the toxic air, fixed my gaze on what I needed to hit, and then reached out and slapped the button.

To my relief, the seat popped open. I scrambled closer to it, reaching in and grabbing the bag. My breathing shallower than ever, my vision blacked out. I felt with my hands instead, and, after what seemed like an eternity, I jerked the mask out of the bag, and sealed it to my face.

Greedily, I sucked lungful after lungful of filtered air. I heaved my exhausted body back to the tree trunk and braced my back against it, allowing myself to relax and breathe for a few minutes, giving my oxygen-deprived body a chance to recuperate.

After five minutes, I opened my eyes. I was no longer blind and felt more alert, though my entire body felt like a bruise. All I could do was keep moving. I checked the contents of the backpack to make sure I hadn’t dropped anything, and then, after making sure the egg was securely inside, I closed the zipper and slung it over my shoulder. The left side of my body screamed in protest; I was sure that I had broken a rib.

Exhaling into the mask, I began to slowly work my way down. It was much easier now that I wasn’t starved of oxygen, but my dress still made me go slower than I would have liked. To make matters worse, the small amount of moonlight being filtered in from the canopy was disappearing. It had all but vanished by