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

would drag Peter back toward the heart of the plant, where he would be deposited in a giant pod and left to be digested, the plant growing stronger as it fed on his remains.

As I watched, the vine flexed and grew tighter around the man’s midsection, making him cry out in pain. The slime was covering his torso now, his clothes beginning to disintegrate. He continued to struggle, which only caused it to exude more digestive slime, and I hesitated.

This man was about to die, either by my bullet or the plant’s slime, and for a long moment, I considered just walking away. It would be a painful, gruesome death, but one that he deserved. He was a monster who tormented women. Surely he deserved this. I should just walk away.

Yet as my conscience was decrying those dark, hideous voices crying out to leave him, he stood up victoriously, a satisfied smile on his face and a knife in his hand. Before I could even shout warning, he began cutting the vine.

You should never ever cut an orange vine, Alejandro had told me.

At first, nothing happened as he sawed into the fibrous vine, trying to cut it off.

“Stop,” I said, stepping forward through the fog. Peter paused only for a moment, looking at me like he didn’t even register my presence, before he began to cut deeper. The plant flexed under his hand, and white, milky liquid began to ooze from the cut. At first it only dripped, but as he sliced deeper, it sprayed out, catching him in the face.

Peter’s skin erupted in burning blotches, and I could actually hear the sound of his flesh sizzling. The fiery rash spread rapidly down his neck, chest, and arms, and he opened his mouth to scream before collapsing on the ground in agony, his body jerking and flopping around as he tried to tear at his flesh.

Alejandro called it the “orange vine’s revenge,” but it was far more gruesome than it sounded. The liquid would burn through his skin, right through to his bones and vital organs.

I stared, the sight too hideous to turn away from, and then lifted up my gun, firing a shot and ending his thrashing. It turned out that I couldn’t let him suffer after all, no matter how much he deserved it.

Turning away from his disintegrating corpse, I looked around, realizing two things. One, I had lost Violet—everybody—in the mist, and two, I didn’t even have a map.

Violet? I said cautiously into the comms. There was a burst of static, followed by… nothing. I tried a few more times, tapping the comms, and then gave up. We were either being blocked or the walls were interfering.

I turned off the useless subvocalizer and slowly moved forward, searching for a wall. I kept a sharp eye out for orange vines, taking care to step over them. I was damned lucky that I hadn’t come into contact with one while I was chasing Peter.

I was so preoccupied looking for a wall to orient myself and avoiding getting caught in the orange vines that I didn’t notice the toe of a boot peeking through the mist until it was too late, and I slammed into the person on the other side of a thick curtain of mist. That person made a startled noise, and a shot rang out, almost right next to my ear, making my ears ring from the proximity.

“Thomas!” I shouted, and the flailing next to me stilled.

“Viggo?” he asked, squinting up at me from where I had knocked him to the ground. I quickly checked to make sure I hadn’t pushed him into any vines, and then helped him stand upright.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”

“He is,” came Owen’s voice, and I saw a dark shape approach and then step through the mist as though parting a curtain. “So am I. The comms aren’t working.”

“I know,” I replied, looking around at the group I’d found myself with and feeling glad we’d developed a contingency plan. “So it’s time to move on to our backup plan. I wonder how Ms. Dale and Henrik knew there was a chance we were getting separated.”

Thomas seemed not to notice my sarcasm. “The probability was too high to ignore,” he said. I looked at Owen, amused, and he shrugged.

“Your mission is my mission?” he asked, and I smiled.

“Don’t let my wife hear you say that. She might think we’re in love,” I quipped. “And yes… I think I’m the person with standing orders here, so you’re following me.”

“Please. You aren’t my type either.”

“My wounded heart,” I said, then shook off the levity. “Ms. Dale isn’t here, and I know she was going to cover the queen—so we’re sticking with my mission. Find a way to stop the Matrians from controlling the boys.”

“All right,” replied Thomas. “But I also need to get to the terminal that controls the computer down here first. I have a program specifically for finding out where the highest traffic concerning transmissions is located.”

“Well, let’s get you to that terminal,” said Owen, pulling out his compass and looking at it. “Where’s the nearest door?”

Before either of us could answer, a growl reverberated in the room, trickling out slow and lethal. I motioned for silence, peering into the mist while Thomas looked at his handheld for the maps he had downloaded there, his focus unwavering as he searched for the nearest door. The mist roiled and moved, and I found myself despising these caves and the monsters inside. How shortsighted it had been for anyone to bring in creatures from The Green. If one got out, if it made its way into the palace… it could cause untold havoc.

Owen reached out and tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to see him pointing toward Thomas’ shadow, the smaller man having already gotten his bearings. I nodded and began to follow him, keeping my footsteps light and continuing to search the mist for any sign of our growler.

After