The Gender Game 5: The Gender Fall(75)
Sick to my stomach, I closed my eyes, knowing I still had not said a word in response to this new, mind-numbingly cruel threat. When I opened them, I wasn’t any less angry. I spat the words through my teeth, vehement and raw:
“For the last damn time, Desmond, what do you want?!”
Desmond chuckled, low and husky. “I see I’ve struck a nerve. Good, because I want you to pay close attention to this next part. You asked me what I want, and it is this. The queen and I are willing to make a deal with you, Mr. Croft. You and your merry band of disillusioned rebels.”
“What sort of deal?”
“Simply this: King Maxen and Violet. If you deliver those two to us, we are prepared to hand over the boys, a small plot of farmable land, and a promise you and those who have joined you will be spared. You will be free to raise the boys as you see fit with no interference from us… Well, barring a few minor exceptions.”
It was hard to speak the next words over the snarl of rage fighting to escape my throat, but I knew I had to keep her talking. “What exceptions?”
“The boys will need to be used for breeding purposes, Mr. Croft. Their gifts need to be passed on to the populace in order to achieve Elena’s goal of creating an enhanced people. Now, unfortunately, I know you well enough to know you will never agree. Not with Violet’s life on the line. It’s too personal for you. But would Violet? Or your friends? Two lives in exchange for a thousand… Such a small price to pay. I’ll let you mull it over. In the meantime… Subject 984… Kill them all!”
The boy’s head snapped up. I snatched the earpiece out of my ear and tossed it aside, spreading my arms and dropping into a fighting stance. He moved right toward me—I was closest to him, after all. “Please tell me you have a sedative,” I shouted over my shoulder to somebody, anybody.
There was no time to listen for a response, as the boy blurred into motion. I barely had a chance to brace for impact when he collided into me. I fell on my back, only my reflexes sparing me from hitting my head hard. The breath escaped my lungs and my vision blipped black for a moment, but I managed to wrap my hand around his arm.
I remained calm, knowing that, while my body was panicking, sure it was dying from lack of oxygen, I would actually be fine. Still, it didn’t stop my lungs from contracting as I wheezed, trying to force air in and out. The boy pulled back a fist, moving faster than I could track, and struck me in the face.
My teeth clacked together, and my ears rang—but I had sustained worse punches in the fighting ring. I twisted my neck back toward him just in time to see the blur that meant he’d drawn his fist back again. Grunting, I rolled over, dragging him with me by the arm, partially pinning him with my body. He was fast, I realized deliriously, but he was still only as strong as a preteen boy.
“That sedative would be real nice right now!” I yelled, trying to pin the boy down as he struggled against me. I clutched one of his wrists, but the other was free, and the boy’s fist hit me in the chest multiple times as I tried to capture it. “Calm down,” I grunted.
He gave a weird wrenching gasp as my weight pinned his lower half. I felt his fist smacking my back, using the same technique of rapid low-power blows, my shirt getting worked over in the commotion. Suddenly he stilled, and I took a closer look at his masked face in alarm, worried that his heart was giving out. Then I felt him lean toward me, tugging at my pants. When he leaned back, he held my pistol in his hand, pointed over my back, toward where Ms. Dale and Dr. Arlan had been putting together the sedative.
I grabbed the pistol with my free hand, slamming the flesh of my thumb in between the hammer and the pin just as he pulled the trigger. I felt the bite of metal there, and knew it had drawn blood, but didn’t dare risk pulling it away. Instead, I closed my grip around the rest of the pistol, trying to jerk it out of his hands. He released it only to slam a knee into my gut, jerking forward at the same time, head-butting me.
My head snapped back from the impact, but I kept my weight on him. “HURRY UP!” I bellowed, tossing the gun over my shoulder.
The boy grunted again, his little legs beating against me, and I took a chance. Lifting my weight up slightly, I flipped him over and dropped back down. I wrapped my arm around his neck and began squeezing slowly, relentlessly cutting off the blood flow as I would an opponent in the ring. I heard footsteps rushing over as the boy gasped, then made a strangled squeak, his body jerking and twisting wildly—and then his struggles began to still beneath me.
“Here,” said Ms. Dale from behind me. I looked back in time to see her jamming the sedative into his thigh. I immediately released the boy and scrambled back, keeping my eyes on him, waiting to see whether we had saved him.