The Gender End by Bella Forrest (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📕

“Eighty-six percent probability,” Thomas nodded. “I knew it. I tried to warn you… tell you… the code.”

“No!” Owen said, spotting the kit I was holding out for him and snatching it. “Dammit, Thomas, you weird little man, don’t give up!”

“Bag… Notebook… Instructions,” Thomas wheezed, ignoring his friend’s protests. His face was brimming with unconditional affection as he looked up at Owen, the edges of his mouth curling up in a sad smile. “Thank… you… for… being… my friend.”

Then his breath gave out, soft as a baby bird, and he went still.

Owen stared at him, the first-aid kit hanging open in his hand.

“Thomas?” he rasped, his voice breaking.

My heart suddenly felt like it was trapped in the vice-hard grip of one of the berserk wardens we’d fought at the plant, stuttering in my chest. Owen shuddered and leaned over Thomas, his breath coming in gasps.

“Thomas?” he said again, emphasizing his name more.

“He’s gone,” I said, hating myself for saying it. God, how my heart ached. Thomas was gone, stolen from us by Maxen in a cowardly act. It had been senseless, cruel, and vicious—nothing worthy of our friend at all. It took everything I had not to break down and cry, to remember the mission… If I couldn’t keep going, this all would have been in vain. Centering my thoughts around that, I was able to build a dam between my heart and the flood of emotions threatening to break me down.

I leaned over and pulled Owen against me, hugging him for a moment or two. The man sniffled, and then jerked away from me, his face hopelessly lost.

“Everyone I love is dying,” he croaked.

“Not true,” I told him, my voice strong and certain. “You know that’s not true.”

Owen sniffled again, and then took a deep breath, pushing the mountain of pain back and nodding, the clarity that came into his eyes frightening.

“Maxen.”

It wasn’t a request, and his jaw was set, a searing hatred burning in his eyes.

“Okay,” I said with a nod. “Grab Thomas’ bag.”

I stood up and moved over to the other side of the airlock, hitting the button to detoxify while Owen grabbed Thomas’ bag and handheld.

“We left that lock pick thing outside,” he said, pulling out a little green notebook and opening it up as the chamber began to filter out the toxic air. “Hopefully he has a backup, or we’ll be trapped in here.”

“We won’t,” I said, watching the light that indicated contamination levels. “We’ve got semtex.”

“Fun.” Owen studied the pages. “He really thought of everything,” he whispered, his resolve clearly threatening to break again.

I looked over at Thomas’ still form, felt the dam in my heart buckle and then hold, and nodded.

“He was good at that.” My voice came out harsh and wounded, but it didn’t change my resolve.

The light turned green, and I cranked the wheel, tearing the door open. I stepped in, Owen behind me, and quickly closed the door. The lab beyond was fairly small, yet identical to the last ones—workstations in the middle, screens around the outside edges, dark and deserted. I moved through it toward the only other airlock door in the room. I saw the outer door hanging wide open through the small window on the inner door—a clear sign that Maxen, useless as he was, had come through here. I looked at Owen, and he studied the airlock before we moved into it and he pushed a button.

The door started to swing closed, gears whirring to turn the wheel and secure it. We waited impatiently, seconds ticking by. Once it was shut, we opened the inner door and waited for several more seconds. As we waited, I realized we hadn’t even stopped to take our masks off—not that it ultimately mattered.

“We need to find a ladder up,” Owen said. “The upper labs are where we can find the master terminals, according to Tho—his notes.” He sniffed again, and let out a slow breath. The light went green, and I opened the next door, pushing through. Owen tucked Thomas’ notes and handheld away and stepped out behind me.

It was another contaminated study chamber. The mist was less thick in this room—whether it came from the expansive size of the room, or the fact that the stream here was a much smaller trickle than in the other rooms we’d seen, I didn’t know. What I did know was that this chamber’s ceiling was almost forty feet up, and there were several palm trees growing huge inside. Tall grass filled the chamber, taller than me, and I could see the grass moving, hear it rustling, all in the dimly lit chamber.

I took a few steps forward and saw the slightly bent grass where Maxen had pushed through just a short time ago, and nodded to Owen.

“Be on your guard,” I told him, and he nodded, his gun already in his hand.

We pushed through the grass, following his trail. It was impossible to move silently—the grass was too thick and tall to prevent it from making noise as we passed—so I moved quickly instead, trying to keep an ear out for anything approaching.

There was a chittering sound, like someone coughing softly several times in rapid succession, and it was greeted with a gurgling yowl from the other side of us, somewhere ahead. We froze for a second, and then Owen said, “Run,” in a low, urgent voice.

I waited for a single heartbeat, and then ran, tearing through the grass.

“That’s the sound the Goliaths make,” Owen shouted from behind me. “They are lizards—well, like a cross between a serpent and a lizard—and they’re incredibly dangerous!”

Everything in here is. Before I could turn that thought into words, a dark shape crossed overhead, and without thinking I fired at it. It landed with a thump somewhere in the grass behind us, and I continued to run. I heard something thrashing through the grass, moving in tandem with us, angling toward us—and then, through the waving and shifting grass, I saw