The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)(23)

We were getting close to the end of the video, and suddenly, the room felt incredibly small. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to watch it again. In fact, I knew I didn’t—I couldn’t watch as Tabitha smashed Violet’s face in, or as she propped her into a standing position so she could give her a so-called “honorable death”. Or listen as Violet laughed manically as she clicked the button, detonating the bomb on the fake egg. I looked from side to side; the two young women guarding me both stared, riveted, at the images on the screen. I nodded mildly at each of them and slipped toward the door.

I didn’t look back to see whether my guards were following me; the fact that there were no gunshots was enough. In the hall, I let out a shuddering breath, and then sucked air into my lungs. I moved over to the wall and pressed my hot forehead against the cool stone, trying to calm my boiling blood. Rage flowed thick and hot through my veins, but without a target, it was just burning me up.

I felt my hand curl into a fist again and closed my eyes, trying to resist the urge to use it on the wall. I knew it wouldn’t help. And with so many of us injured, it was not a good time to risk breaking my knuckles just because watching Violet being hurt like that made me want to kill something.

I fought for calm, trying to slow my breathing and practicing mental exercises to distract me from the feeling. I was halfway through one involving the alphabet when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jerked away abruptly, and saw Owen—and then became aware of the four women who stood in the corridor with us. Obviously both my guards and Owen’s had followed us. They were watching our every move. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it would make them see us for the tired, scared human beings we were.

“What’s up?” I asked Owen.

“Video’s done,” he reported. “Amber is giving her report about Tabitha and… and Quinn. She, uh… she took some pictures so they could see.” His face looked younger than usual as his horror at his friend’s treatment shone through. I wondered again if our guards thought us cowards—or friends.

I shuddered, thinking of the endless number of stitches Quinn had received in the past twenty-four hours. Tabitha had torn the poor young man apart in front of Amber’s eyes. Amber had a lot of grit taking those pictures as evidence, but I was glad she had. Pictures spoke louder than words, and the story these told was just another reason for the Liberators to accept our testimony as fact.

Just then, Amber stuck her head out the door and gave us a look. Her face was uncharacteristically grim, but she didn’t look defeated, just emotionally drained.

“They’re ready for you,” she told me.

I took another deep breath and steeled myself. As I entered the room, my guards following silently at my heels, I expected to still feel the burgeoning hostility that had characterized the room earlier. I expected there would be a lot of pushback.

I didn’t expect the mingled expressions of curiosity, grudging respect, and vulnerability on the faces of the people in the room. Whispers shuttled around between them, dozens of low-volume conferences with heads together and eyes darting to us, to the screen, and back again. The Liberators in the room had the grim look of people who had just realized the string of tragic events that had been occurring the past week was indirectly their fault, and that some of them had even been duped into aiding the Matrian takeover. I could also see a growing anger in them, one I guessed would smolder for a while before erupting in a white-hot rage.

I didn’t know how this was going to go down. This was far scarier than some more dangerous missions I’d been on, but as I stood at the end of the table, I allowed myself a brief moment of hope. With a group of people like this, looking at me with those naked emotions, I could accomplish something. In fact, they looked like they were actually ready to hear me.

I let out a breath and started to talk.

“Look, I understand this is all coming as a shock to you. I’m certain, like Amber and Owen, you were all recruited personally by Desmond. She’s been a source of hope, and empowerment, to you all. I’m guessing you don’t know what to make of this, or what you can even do about it. But here’s the thing… Just because Desmond has been lying to you, it doesn’t change the fact that there are some pretty major fundamental flaws in our nations. Both of them. Our governments have either been indifferent, or robbed us all of something precious. They have used their agents to filter out any of you who would protest, and then used you to work to their own goals.”

Several people nodded as I spoke, and I heard the murmured conversations growing more animated.

“You can’t change what has happened to you,” I went on, “but you can choose how to handle it now. We”—I used my hand to indicate Owen, Amber, and myself—“have chosen to fight. Not for ourselves, and not for our survival, but rather for the people who are caught in the middle. People like your families, your sons, your brothers.

“But I have to tell you, the odds are against us. They have been from the start. Elena and Desmond have spent years putting this in motion, consolidating resources and personnel. But you and the rest of the Liberators have things we need. You have people who have been training to fight for years, but most of all, the spirit to make a difference. We need that—our soldiers are refugees who have barely held a gun, let alone thought of using one, before now. But they share the same feelings you have. They’re also fed up with our governments. They also have taken it upon themselves to make a change in the world around them. You and they have a lot in common. There’s a lot you could teach them, if you wanted.”