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

He spotted us, his arms pumping, hair plastered to his sweat-drenched forehead, and then veered ahead, sprinting like his life depended on it.

Behind him, something large and low to the ground raced by with a serpentine swish, legs barely touching the ground, the rustling of the grass marking its passage. There was a sudden break in the grass, and we returned to mossy terrain. The transition was so sudden that I almost slipped on the soft slope, barely catching my balance. I slowed in compensation, but Owen raced past. I steadied myself and looked up, seeing that he was aiming for a ladder at the top of the hill.

Something scrambled through the grass, long nails clicking on the rock just below the moss, and I looked over my shoulder to see a long neck rear up about four feet off the ground, squat legs practically springing up the slope, long tail whipping back and forth. Atop the long neck sat a triangular head, wide eye sockets containing red and yellow eyes with a slit running down the middle.

The creature’s jaw dropped open, and something oozed out, a thick, yellow, viscous fluid that seemed to come out of the gums surrounding tiny rows of small pointed teeth. It reared back, a hissing sound escaping it—and then Owen’s gun went off loudly, the bullet cutting through its open mouth, nearly separating the jaw from the rest of the body.

The goliath slumped over and rolled, its momentum still carrying it forward, and I picked up the pace, not wanting to get entangled.

“Don’t let them spit on you!” Owen had slowed to fire his gun, so we were running side by side again, the ladder looming closer.

Owen sprang up it first, scaling the rungs quickly. I was fast behind him, my hands grasping the metal, and I climbed without looking back, knowing it would only slow me down.

A quarter of the way up, I heard a shout of “Wait!”

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Maxen racing to us, and realized he had somehow gotten behind us—gotten attacked or turned around—and had just found the mossy patch. He emerged from the grass, and I saw three moving trails converging behind him. I wrapped an arm around the bar and pulled my gun.

“Don’t,” Owen said harshly, and I looked up to see him turning away from Maxen, continuing up the ladder. I hesitated, and then thought of Thomas, lying all alone in that airlock by himself. He would never talk about percentages again. Never again have an awkward social faux pas in one of those uniquely Thomas moments that, despite everything, I had come to enjoy about him. The king of Patrus hadn’t thought about him as a person at all, even though he’d had plenty of time to get to know him. He’d shot him when he was defenseless, his only crime trying to keep the door open for me and Owen.

I’d ignored Maxen’s cowardice before, time and time again, protected him in spite of it. This time, I turned away as Maxen slipped and fell, hitting the mossy ground with a whump. The clicking of talons on rock sounded, and Maxen groaned—and then began screaming. I steeled myself and didn’t look back as the Goliaths began chittering again, Maxen’s screams still audible over the sound until we reached the top.

Owen reached the hatch ahead, cursed when he saw it was locked, and shoved a data chip he had pulled from Thomas’ bag into the lock’s port. I paused beneath him, trying to shut out the screams that were still coming up from behind me, reminding myself that the king had shot my friend in cold blood to save his own hide.

The door beeped, and Owen removed the data chip and pushed it open with a groan. As he did there was a loud crunch, clear even from this far away, and Maxen’s screams went quiet. I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I was relieved when he finally died.

He had gotten what he deserved.

I climbed through the hatch and closed the door behind me. Looking over at Owen, I saw a grim, satisfied gleam in his eyes.

“Did Thomas give you any instructions on how to override security protocols?” I asked as I straightened up to look at the room, finding it similar to the ones we’d been through before, with two doors, still empty and desolate. The only notable thing was a sign that said “Access to Palace” next to the left door. That would be the one we’d be taking.

Owen pulled out the notebook, flipping it open to the first page and studying it. I looked over his shoulder and saw that the page he was perusing was an index. After a brief pause, Owen flipped to a page and nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Does this room contain the, uh, master control computer, or whatever it’s called?”

“Master terminal,” Owen said, sitting down at a workstation and powering the terminal on. “Let me check.” He referred to Thomas’ notebook, and then reached into the bag Thomas had given him, pulling out handful after handful of data sticks and sifting through them. “I’m looking for number twelve,” he told me, running a hand through the pile to spread them around.

I began sifting and found number twelve within seconds. I gave it to Owen, and he plugged it into the drive, turning on the terminal. He sat down in a chair, propping up Thomas’ notebook, so he could follow the directions. A black screen opened up and filled with lines and lines of green code, illuminating Owen’s face, making him appear almost sickly. He nodded.

“It’s a master terminal. What do you want me to do?"

“Our team is down below with who knows how many doors they need to try and get open. Let’s clear a path for them—open all the doors and hatches. Including the ones that lead to the palace.”

“All of them?” he repeated in question form, his eyebrows going up. He blinked, and then a slow smile grew wide