The Gender End Bella Forrest (best mystery novels of all time TXT) 📖

I nodded as I took the papers. “Thank you.”

“People are scared, so try to take the quieter streets. The queen doesn’t want a lot of attention drawn to your convoy.”

“Because of the prisoners,” I commented, folding my papers and tucking them into the breast pocket, and she shook her head.

“Because you went to The Outlands and came back. With what’s going on in Patrus, she doesn’t want anyone knowing that people actually survived out there.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I scoffed. “We only survived because we had supplies on board. As it stands we’re almost out of food.”

“I agree, but people are scared. Stay off the main streets.”

“Will do,” I said. “Thank you, Captain Harris.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Carver. Please collect your guns and prisoners, and go.”

I smiled, and then began shouting orders to everyone. Just minutes later, we were driving again, moving steadily away from the anti-ship missile station, the captain raising her hand in farewell in our rearview mirror.

“Are you okay?” I asked as soon as the group was out of sight, whirling around and reaching for the cuffs around Viggo’s hands.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled as I pulled the cuffs off. “Not the first time I’ve been punched in the gut.”

I smiled, and suddenly the bumpy ride smoothed out as Ms. Dale pulled onto the paved road. The change felt surreal, and I breathed out a sigh that was half relief and half greater worry. Parts one and two of our plan had been unmitigated successes. I could only hope the rest of it went as smoothly.

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25

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Viggo

The streets of Matrus slid by the window as I gazed through it. We were entering the city proper now, and even though autumn was progressing, it still seemed warm with light, calm and peaceful. It felt like so long since I had seen such peace—and here it was, right across the river. I experienced a moment, maybe more than a moment, of jealousy. A pang of anger and resentment burning deep in my belly.

They didn’t know, I firmly reminded myself, pushing aside all those petty emotions.

We were heading through the restaurant district. Our first goal, Alyssa Dawes’ house, lay somewhere beyond that, buried in the heart of a residential area. The lights here were even brighter—the large glass windowpanes we passed, set back into red brick buildings, were practically white. Inside each bright window was a restaurant, where people sat inside, eating.

As I watched, I began to realize that even though it didn’t look like a city at war here, there certainly wasn’t a great amount of peace. I picked it up at first when I saw a man walking, his steps hurried, his hands tucked in his pockets and his back rolling forward as he ducked his head—as if perpetually stepping under low-hanging ceilings.

Next I saw a group of women walking together, but instead of appearing relaxed and open, they were pressed together, speaking to each other from behind their hands. They eyed anyone approaching with a general wariness, a deep suspicion, a feeling that, from my observation, seemed shared by others on the street.

Nobody ambled. Nobody laughed. Nobody smiled. Even inside the restaurants themselves. Each one we passed seemed like a snapshot of a room where, just out of the frame, somebody had been murdered, and no one was sure who in the room had done it. It made me feel wary, checking behind us and down the streets we passed, searching for some phantom sign of pursuit.

“Viggo, could you…” Owen hesitated, and then looked away. “Never mind.”

“No, spit it out. Could I?”

He gave me an irritated look. “Could you stop twitching? You’re making me nervous.”

I frowned. Had I been that fidgety? For a second, I considered the possibility that I was being paranoid, that all of this fighting was finally getting to me, and then he added, “These people are already freaking me out.”

I exhaled sharply and smiled when I heard Violet do so as well. “Thank you,” she exclaimed, crossing her arms, just as I said, “I know exactly what you mean.”

Violet turned in her seat and we all shared a smile while Ms. Dale tsked. “Of course these people are feeling tense. Their neighbors across the river have clearly destabilized. The future is nebulous—everyone’s mind is running them through every ‘what if’ scenario humanly possible, or even impossible! It’s sad, really. We forget that Elena doesn’t really care about her people any more than she cares about ours. They are just a means to an end, and the poor fools don’t even know it.”

I blinked. Ms. Dale was right, of course. Elena didn’t care about anyone but Elena. She was a true sociopath, and a smart one. She knew that she had to pander to the people to keep their support, but she also knew how to lead them, what to tell them to make them believe in her as she made decisions on their behalf. The stories they must’ve been told about what was happening in Patrus, I was sure, were compelling, filled with alarming battles and noble soldiers.

After all of this, I was beginning to feel that the way people got news shouldn’t be in the hands of the government, but rather in its citizens’. The motivated few who could keep tabs on those in charge, and make sure they weren’t breaking the rules or abusing their power. Ensure they were doing their jobs, honestly and with integrity.

“There,” Violet said, pointing to a spot on the side of the road. Ms. Dale pulled to a stop, Amber stopping behind us, and Violet got out. I watched her go, curious, as she raced into an alley mouth. She disappeared from sight, then returned, holding her hand in a fist against her stomach, long, thin pieces of… something clutched between her fingers.

The street was more or less deserted, and she moved quickly, getting back in the car and closing the door.

“Keep heading straight for two blocks,” Thomas said. “Go right and then keep going straight.”

Ms. Dale pressed her