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

damage the equipment enough to make sure they can’t repair it quickly.

What do you recommend? I asked, taking the quarters and rolling the clay-like material into a ball.

This size, maybe even smaller. I’ll climb up the dish and put it on there, but you’ll have to climb the antennas.

I hesitated, wiping my hand on my thigh, and shook my head.

Too exposed. If anyone comes out or looks in through one of those windows, we’ll get—

Viggo, I just saw a group of wardens heading your way, Amber cut in. In one of the adjacent halls. I can’t be sure they’re after you, per se, but—

Thanks. It was rude cutting her off, but I didn’t want to waste a second. What’s the messier way to do this?

Owen hesitated, then slapped a ball of explosive onto the concrete wall holding up the dish.

Let’s hope they didn’t skimp on the contractor they hired to build this, he muttered. Every three feet one of these goes down. I’ll move behind you and put in the detonators.

I picked up the balls we had made, cradling them in my hand, and returned to the front of the equipment tangle at a jog, sticking them to the side of the wall while Owen planted the detonators. We had three quarters of it set up when I heard something—a slight scraping sound—and froze.

A heartbeat later I moved behind the large radio tower, using the metal frame as cover, and looked out onto the still rooftop, searching for any sign of movement.

Viggo?

I didn’t reply to Amber’s voice. I didn’t have time—bullets pinged off of my cover, and I ducked under it as the gunshots sounded.

I counted four muzzle flashes! Owen, can you confirm?

Six… no, eight! What do you want to do?

I was already smashing the remaining six or so balls in my hands into one large one and planting it haphazardly at the base of one of the legs holding the radio tower up.

Toss me a detonator, I ordered, and Owen’s hands moved, something small arcing through the air toward me.

Reflexively, I caught it and pushed it in before moving over to the other side, keeping low. The gunfire had cut off unexpectedly, but I could hear whoever was out there scrambling around, searching for a better position.

Rope! I shouted.

Owen looked up at me from across the narrow divide that separated us, and then pulled the coil we’d dragged with us into his hands, tossing it to me. Someone fired at it as it flew through the air, interrupting its trajectory and pushing it back in midair, and it landed a few feet from either of us. I cursed, preparing to lunge for it, when Owen darted out, shimmering from view.

Owen! I shouted as the coil began to move. Gunfire exploded all around us, and Owen grunted, reappearing suddenly in the middle of tossing the rope over to me. He slid through the gravel after it, his hand going to his side and coming away wet with blood.

It’s just a graze, he said. But the suit’s damaged.

Growling, I went to my knees and fired a few shots toward our attackers. I was firing blind, but hopefully it would buy us a few seconds.

We’re pinned down, he said as he dropped, looking at me with a blind, desperate determination in his eyes. My suit is gone. Leave the detonator with me.

He held out his hand, and I gave him an incredulous look.

I’m not doing that, I informed him, ducking as sparks shot off overhead, probably a bullet ricochet, and then rising back to a knee and firing. I saw a shadow peel away from a cluster of shadows creeping around on our right side and realized the door I’d cut into the fence was on that side.

I fired a few rounds near the first approaching warden, and she danced back a few feet, giving me a little time.

Viggo, can’t you see? Owen grabbed my arm and gave me a look, broken and angry, that sent a clench of fear through my heart. This was what I had sensed in him earlier—the despair that made him want to do stuff like this. I have to do this! I can… finally make up for all the wrong I’ve done you and Violet. I can finally see Ian.

A sharp pain tugged at my heart as he spoke, but… I couldn’t let it happen. Not so close after Thomas. This wasn’t the time or the place for a sacrifice. Not one I could prevent.

I’m sorry, I said, pulling out the length of rope as my bullets whizzed by overhead. But I can’t let you off that easy.

Viggo, I—

NO! I said, activating the suit so I could quickly loop the length of rope around the leg of the tower closest to the edge. I’m getting us out of here.

Owen groaned, and I looked over in time to see him lifting his gun up to his shoulder, firing at the mass of wardens now closing in on us.

You stubborn, egotistical jerk! he shouted as he fired. Don’t you know you can’t control everything?

You’re still up and moving, Owen, I retorted, looping the opposite end of the rope into a makeshift harness and getting into it. He fired another couple of rounds and then pulled back, gasping as his hand went back to his side.

Doesn’t mean you get to decide how I die, he said, his voice harsh with pain. I have to do this.

No, you don’t, I said angrily, moving over to him and grabbing him under his armpits, intending to drag him if necessary. We need you, Owen. Morgan needs you to come back and support her. Violet and I need you to help us rebuild. Thomas sacrificed his life so we could do this and get out alive. So you get to die on this roof the exact second after I do, or not at all!

Owen looked up at me as I dragged him closer to the edge, a wry, bitter smile on his lips,