The Gender Game 5 (The Gender Fall)(81)

Owen shot me a vicious look, his face growing mottled with rage, as if someone had flipped a switch inside his brain. “Ask your boyfriend,” he hissed, his voice coming out like the angry leaking of a tire. I jerked back without thinking, as though he would launch himself at me.

A pregnant silence stretched between us, and after several long seconds, Owen leaned back and angrily wiped his eyes. “You should go.”

I agreed. Wordlessly, I stood up and moved over to the door. As my hand touched the doorknob, I stopped, the urge to apologize thick and hot on my tongue. It was the part I had hated the most after my mother had died—all the apologies. I could never understand them. Now, I couldn’t help but feel the same desire. It was a bandage of sorts. A way of making myself feel better for not being able to help him. I had always misunderstood them; I had thought all those people were saying they were sorry my mother had died. Now I realized they had been sorry they couldn’t help me and Tim more.

I wasn’t going to let Owen go through this alone, though. He wouldn’t get a “sorry” from me, because I would be there to help him. I left.

I found Amber in the living room, sifting through the boxes I had slung together. She turned as I came out, studying me. “I’m sorry about the transmission,” she offered softly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Viggo said they might have hacked the frequency. We needed to kill the link in case somebody was tracing it, trying to find you.”

“It’s okay,” I replied, my voice still thick. “I think Owen could do with your company. Can you go to him?”

She nodded and moved past me, heading toward the back room. I scanned the room. Still no Viggo. I moved down the hall and outside. The mood in the house was somber; as people moved around, unpacking from the evacuation drill, I could almost feel the news of the tragedy moving through our ranks, making the conversations softer and the darkness outside feel wearier and more dangerous.

Ms. Dale stood on the porch, talking in a low voice with Dr. Arlan and Lynne.

“Yes, of course,” she was saying to the young woman, “we removed the tracker from Ian’s body. As for the other boy”—she turned to the doctor—“we could keep him in the barn loft or the basement, but that’s not the best area.”

“I would hope to give him at least a little light… a place that feels safe,” Dr. Arlan said. “He’s just a child. He’ll probably be so confused when he wakes up. Is there someone here he trusts?” I realized, listening in, that they must have been talking about the other boy who had survived the raid.

“That depends,” Ms. Dale said, “on many things. The only person here who really knows him is Viggo, but I have reason to believe he’s probably been conditioned to think of Viggo as a traitor. It might be best if we have someone impartial first attempt to speak to him… and a doctor there to find out how he’s responding to being off the Benuxupane. If that’s what is actually in him. We have a good opportunity here; we should probably do a blood sample before he wakes up again, just to find out what chemicals they’re pumping into them.”

Dr. Arlan’s voice grew wary. “I can do that, yes. But our ‘opportunity’ is also a child. We can’t forget that.”

Ms. Dale nodded. “You’re very right. That’s why it’s a difficult decision.” She tossed a glance back at me, and I realized she knew I’d been standing there listening. “Violet, can you think of anything to do with Cody?”

Cody. The name was familiar. Through my worry, a memory surfaced of a surly kid who had once challenged Viggo’s authority as a teacher when we’d brought the boys out of their cages in The Green. Shock passed through me as I realized this made two children we knew, at least somewhat. It was all too real right now.

I looked at Ms. Dale, trying to figure out something to say beyond the buzzing in my mind. “I…”

“I know you’re looking for Viggo,” Ms. Dale said, nodding her head toward the barn. “He’s in there. He’s hurting. You should probably go to him. Dr. Arlan and I will take care of Cody for now, although we’d like everyone’s input later on.”

Her suggestion was completely unnecessary, as I was already moving quickly across the dew-slicked grass. I had to force myself to slow down when my head started to throb and feel woozy. I had already pushed myself too far—skipping my nap earlier had been a mistake—but I couldn’t wait to comfort Viggo until I felt better. Gritting my teeth, I pushed through the feeling and continued my journey to the barn.