The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(86)

32





Viggo





Miles of flat, bland farmland stretched around me as I clutched the wheel of the little car. Owen and I had taken it out up the long underground tunnel that led to the fields from Ashabee’s private armory. Neither of us spoke much. In truth, I hadn’t really intended to invite Owen, of all people, on my scouting mission, but when I’d mentioned that I’d wanted to test-drive one of those cars, he’d looked so eager that I’d reluctantly agreed to let him tag along. I’d developed a grudging respect for the young man since he’d helped us escape from the Matrian palace. But I hated small talk, and I wasn’t about to start any deep discussions with this one either.

We’d chosen a small car from Ashabee’s collection, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Although, with how modern, sleek, and clean this vehicle was—and how many weapons we’d packed into the backseat, just in case—I doubted we would fool anybody. But out here, there was nobody to fool. Nobody who wanted to approach us, anyway. We’d gone out hoping to see evidence of more refugees, meet more people, and find news, or at least some place we could hide out in case Ms. Dale’s group turned up nothing.

So far, about an hour and a half in, we hadn’t found anything. The small farms had mostly been occupied, vehicles in their driveways. Some of them had tents pitched in front of them and in fallow fields, and people who were clearly refugees wandered desolately about, cooking over fires. Some of the farm buildings looked like something more sinister had happened—windows were shot out, a car overturned on its side. We avoided the little trail of smoke that billowed far away down one back road. I wondered if the Matrians had gotten to these places, or if groups of refugees who were less honest, or more desperate, than the one we’d encountered had just tried to take those holdings by force. For all we knew, they could have succeeded.

We’d been thinking about turning back soon, but I had wanted to press just a little bit farther. Honestly, it was just good to press my foot to the gas and eat the miles up, letting my mind fade into the handling of the car—which was superb—and getting out of the atmosphere of tragedy that still hung around the mansion. Although it wasn’t as good as a ride on my motorcycle would have been, it definitely helped ease the tension and sorrow that seemed etched into my very bones these days.

We came to a long stretch of dirt road without a single curve, yellowing cornfields on either side of us for at least five miles. “Hey,” I said, and looked at Owen with a smirk. He looked back at me, narrowing his eyes as though trying to understand what I meant. He jerked his head toward the road in front of us, eyebrows raised, when he suddenly got it.

“Straightaway,” he said eagerly.

I nodded. “Let’s see how fast this baby can go.”

I hit the accelerator hard, and the small car revved into gear, purring smoothly, then making a roaring sound that was surprising for its size. Dirt rose up around us as I shifted up once, then twice, then three, four, five times… The cornfields whipping by were a blur, and the bumps in the road beneath us had mostly evened out.

“75…” Owen was shouting, his eye on the speedometer. “80… 90… 95…” I kept my foot on the gas, relishing the speed, my mouth turning up in the kind of grin I hadn’t felt in a long time. I wish Violet were here for this, I thought.

And then loud beeping blared through the car, and all the paranoia and close calls of the last few days awoke in my mind again at once. I hit the brakes so fast that the vehicle skidded for yards, the wheels spinning out on the dirt, so it was all I could do to keep the vehicle from spinning off the road into the cornfields.

“What—” Owen said as the car ground to a halt and the sound continued. “That’s not the car…”

There were no warning lights on the dash, nor was there anything descending on us from the sky… I finally realized what the noise was and groaned. “Dammit, it’s that blasted handheld.” I looked at Owen, who shrugged as if to say, “It’s not mine!” Which was true—he’d given his to Ms. Dale’s crew, which had prompted me to find a new one from among Ashabee’s ample supply. Why they hadn’t just gotten new ones… Well, that came down to poor planning.

I answered the handheld. “Viggo here.”

Jeff’s face appeared on the screen. If I hadn’t been working closely with the man for days now, I would have thought him impassive and mild as always. But now, I knew instantly that he was nervous, on edge. And anything that put Jeff on edge was enough to be worried about.

“Viggo! I’m so glad we found the correct unit number. We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for about forty minutes.”

“What is it?” I asked.

There was the slightest of pauses. Then Jeff bowed his head and said, “There’s no good way to tell you this, Viggo. Violet and Amber are headed to the king’s palace to meet Princess Tabitha. They’ve taken King Maxen and Thomas with them in the heloship.”

I stared at the screen, stunned. Owen’s mouth had dropped open. “Violet took the heloship?” he said. “She can’t even fly it!”

“Amber was piloting, I believe,” came Jeff’s worried voice from the handheld.

I hadn’t managed to respond yet, because I was counting to ten, slowly, inhaling and exhaling evenly—just to quell the impulse to throw the handheld across the car. A dozen thoughts rushed through my mind at once. I needed to know why all this was happening. I needed to know what could possibly compel Violet to pull such a horrifying, foolhardy, suicidal stunt. She would never have done such a rash thing on her own, which meant that there was something… something terrible… that had forced her hand.