The Gender Lie (The Gender Game #3) by Bella Forrest (ebook reader for laptop TXT) 📗

the airlock that stood open behind us. I was the last to be pushed in, making sure to keep steady eye contact with Desmond as I backed into the smaller room. Once I was inside the doorframe, one of the boys closed the doors, sealing us in.

I turned to the others. “All right,” I breathed. “It looks like we’re going to have to get to the river as fast as possible.”

The room began to fill with gas, and I felt my eardrums tighten and pop as the air pressure changed slightly. Violet gazed at me from behind her mask, her eyes reflecting her concern and apprehension.

“Viggo, many of the boys are faster than us—we won’t get that much of a head start on them.”

I nodded. “It’s true, but if we can make it to the river in time, we’ll escape,” I promised.

I looked into each set of eyes and nodded confidently at them. They seemed to accept my words, which was a relief in its own right. I certainly wasn’t confident, but I had hope that we would make it. At the very least, I knew I could buy them some time, if necessary.

Just then, the gas stopped filtering in, and the light on the door leading to the toxic forest beyond turned green.

I nodded to the others. “Go,” I ordered firmly, as I pushed the door open.

36

Violet

As soon as my boots hit the soft mossy earth, I started running, heading in the direction of the river. Desmond had given us nothing save the clothes on our backs and the masks on our faces, so I had to use the small amount of early morning sunlight filtering through the trees to best determine our direction.

We were lucky that the sun had begun to rise because we had a lot of ground to cover, and no light to illuminate our way when it got dark. We needed to put as much distance between ourselves and the boys as possible. I heard the others’ feet hitting the ground as we ran, and I slowed down, allowing Tim, who was guiding Samuel, and Ms. Dale to pass me so that I could run with Viggo at the rear. Once we were jogging side by side, I shot Viggo a look.

“Why the river?” I asked.

Viggo glanced at me. “I managed to call for backup,” he said with a subtle smile, and I felt a smile forming on my own lips. He was doing his whole ambiguous shtick, and to be honest, I enjoyed it. It was difficult to explain, but it nurtured a hope that we would live to see his next move. It was almost like an incentive on his behalf—living so I could see what he had in store.

“So… she’s already sent Owen into Matrus,” I remarked, curious about what Viggo was able to glean from the earlier conversation.

Viggo nodded once, keeping his eyes on the path in front of us. “Yes. Which means Owen is several hours ahead of us. He might even be taking an alternate route from the river to get there—it’s a straight shot down. Or he might have potentially jumped the border between The Green and Matrus and hiked in.”

I frowned—it was plausible, I supposed, but it would take time. We had a chance of bypassing him on the river. If Desmond had thought there was any likelihood that we would catch up, she would’ve kept that information private, which meant she had provided another way for him to get in.

“I think he might already be there,” I said, dodging to one side to avoid an overhanging branch. “She wouldn’t have told us if she thought there was a chance to stop him.”

He absorbed this information as we ran, the sound of our feet hitting the dirt intermingling with the sound of our breathing. “Possibly. You worked with them on an op before. What was the general set-up?”

I filled him in on everything that had happened after the boat—being smuggled in, meeting Thomas, getting information and gear, and then execution.

“I think we can safely assume that most of that is not going to happen,” Viggo said.

“Why?” I asked curiously.

“Because it’s a solo mission—that means… Look out!”

Shouting an expletive, Viggo reached out and grabbed my arm at the same moment I started to turn. Then I was tumbling to the forest ground, the world shifting on its axis until up was down and down was up. Viggo uttered another curse behind me, and I lifted myself off the ground to my hands and knees, whirling around so I could see what was happening.

A massive silver python was wrapped around his torso and legs, the heavy muscular coils already starting to constrict. He had thrown an arm around the snake’s neck and was squeezing hard, but with little effect. The snake thrashed back and forth, trying to dislodge Viggo from its neck, while he struggled to hold on.

I shot to my feet, looking around for something—anything—that I could use as a weapon. Viggo was shouting something, but I couldn’t make it out—his voice was strained from the compression of his lungs. His face was turning a hue of scarlet that made my heart leap into my throat and his name escape my lips.

Racing over to the closest tree, I leapt up and grabbed a branch with both hands. It sagged under my weight, but didn’t break. Grunting with effort, I shifted my weight, pulling myself up and then dropping hard. There was a sharp cracking sound, and then I fell to the ground, my legs not prepared to hold my weight. I clutched the bit of broken branch in my hands and scrambled toward where Viggo was still struggling with the snake.

I could see his strength fading. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I hefted the branch over my shoulder like a spear and raced toward the pair. The snake’s head was thrashing back and forth, but I was certain if I