The Last Sanctuary Omnibus

by Kyla Stone

  Jericho pointed to an enclosed glass office. They crept toward it. Bland white floors and walls. A holoscreen, integrated computer desk, and blank wallscreens where the family vids would play on a loop. Against the floor-to-ceiling window was a rumpled sleeping bag, crumpled balls of trash and empty food tins, and a solar lantern.

  Rust-colored spatters stained the floor next to the sleeping bag. Dried blood. Jericho picked up a spent shell casing, studied it, and tossed it back on the floor.

  Micah switched off the lantern. From this vantage point, they could see everything below them more clearly. The building they’d holed up in was squat and gray and several decades past its prime, its paint peeling, the roof sagging slightly. But there were no dead bodies to draw the rats or spread infection.

  Amelia was down there. She was on her feet now, though still weak. He’d sat beside her for hours while she lay unconscious, listening to the ragged rise and fall of her breathing, begging God to let her be okay. The seizure had terrified him. He’d thought she was going to die. The next one might kill her, or the one after that.

  She’d had a nightmare last night, thrashing and moaning in restless sleep. He’d half-reached for her, wanting to take her hand, to touch her, to offer reassurance, comfort, anything. He’d thought better of it, his hand dropping helplessly to his side. He couldn’t risk their friendship. She meant too much to him.

  Jericho nudged his arm and pointed, drawing him back to the present. He had a job to do. He peered through the zoom on his scope and checked out the surrounding buildings. Many of them had red graffiti scrawled on the exterior walls, the circle with the X inside it that Amelia and Willow had warned him about.

  “Over there, north and west.” Barely visible through the buildings, he could make out side streets where it appeared a bulldozer had forced its way through, vehicles crumpled and smashed on either side of a narrow pathway in the center of the road, wide enough for a single vehicle to pass through.

  He froze. His gaze had snagged on something. There were piles of burnt corpses. At least a half-dozen of them, scattered over the surrounding blocks. If he didn’t already know what they were, his mind would have refused to identify them. He recognized charred bones and scraps of blackened clothing. The piles of bones and ash were mounded high, at least the height of a man.

  He gagged, fighting down the acid burning his throat.

  “I see it,” Jericho said softly. “We’re inside Pyro territory now.”

  Micah’s heart constricted. “Gabriel.”

  He’d try to play off his concern with Amelia, but the truth was, every hour that passed tightened the band around his chest. It had been forty-two hours since Gabriel left. What if he didn’t come back?

  He could barely speak to his brother. Yet the thought of something happening to him made him feel like he was teetering on the lip of a black hole, about to fall. Like the ground was opening up beneath him and he was falling with nothing solid to grab onto.

  He bit the inside of his cheek. Could he ever forgive Gabriel? Could they ever go back to what they’d had before? He didn’t know the answers. He only knew that he’d prayed for his brother’s safe return every single hour since he’d left.

  If Gabriel died, his own heart would split into pieces.

  “Gabriel is tough,” Jericho said. “You both are.”

  Micah glanced at him in surprise. That was the last thing he expected to hear from Jericho. “What?”

  “When I first saw you, huddled behind that slot machine about to piss your pants on the Grand Voyager, I thought you were a sniveling coward. Then I thought you were one of those book-smart, feel-everything morons who thought they knew better than everybody else but never lived a day in the real world.”

  Micah wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond. “Thank you, I guess?”

  Jericho smiled wryly. “Like I said, I was wrong. You’ve got a moral compass, kid, and you stick to it. That takes guts. A world like this, it takes good people, churns them up and spits them out, turns them into monsters.”

  Micah thought of Harmony, a normal person desperate enough to do something despicable to save someone she loved. Gabriel had been willing to kill for a cause, even if it meant taking innocent lives. People killed for much less all the time. They killed for food, for safety, for self-preservation, for power, for revenge.

  “He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he becomes a monster,” Micah said, quoting a line by Friedrich Nietzsche he recalled from history class. He’d memorized it because it sounded so poetic, so essential, so true.

  “It’s what we’ll become,” Jericho said. “Monsters. Every single one of us.”

  “No,” Micah said. He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t. “Not if we’re careful. Not if we continually fight to choose the good. There’s always a choice.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “We all have choices. We all get chances. It’s what we do with them that matters.”

  Jericho turned to face him. A shadow passed across his tense features. “And the choice Silas made?”

  “Harsh times call for harsh choices, sometimes. I get that. But we still have a choice. We may have to kill to protect ourselves, but we shouldn’t do it until we have to, until we’ve tried everything else.”

  “I taught Silas how to kill,” Jericho said in a strained voice. His jaw worked, the muscle in his cheek twitching. “I never regretted it…until he killed that kid.”

  Micah looked down at the city. In the distance, fires illuminated gleaming steal and diamond-glass towers. Twisting elegantly among the monoliths, the AirRail glittered like a diamond snake.

  From up here, there was a dangerous beauty to it all. A design, a purpose. Down on the street, it all looked like chaos. Everything felt like chaos now. Was there a reason for all of this? A purpose? Something beautiful that might rise from the ashes? Micah hoped so. He believed so. He closed his eyes for a moment and said another prayer for his brother’s safety.

  “There are consequences either way,” he said slowly. “You act, and someone innocent dies. You don’t act, and you endanger someone you love. For me, I’ve got to live inside my own soul. There is a cost for everything. Some things cost too much.”

  Jericho stared out the window, his jaw working. “What does that mean?”

  “If I had to kill an innocent person or steal the last bit of food someone else needed to survive in order for me to live, I wouldn’t do it.”

  “You would rather die?”

  “I would rather die with honor than live as a coward. If the cost is my soul, my humanity, then it’s too high. I refuse to pay it.” The words felt right as he said them. He believed it down to the marrow of his bones. Death wasn’t the worst thing. He refused to let anyone take his soul from him. If he died, he would die by his own terms.

  Jericho raised his eyebrows.

  Micah thought of his mother on her deathbed, squeezing his hand in her frail, trembling one. Be good. Be brave. “Survival isn’t the most important thing. It can’t be. Otherwise, this world could be run by cut-throat savages and murderers, and that would be a win for humanity. Why? Because humans are still alive.

  “But it’s not a win. It’s a tragedy. Because those humans are no better than animals. They’re worse. For humanity to truly survive, we have to preserve what keeps us human.”

  “And what is that?”

  Micah leaned against the glass. “Whatever sets us above even the most intelligent animals. Our ability to love, to be just, to be merciful, to forgive, to dream. To believe in something greater and better than ourselves. To hope.”

  Jericho flashed him a wry smile. “Maybe you missed your calling as a preacher.”

  Micah blushed and adjusted his glasses. “I’m just trying to be the best person I can, in spite of the circumstances. If everybody did the same thing, we would turn out okay.”

  Outside, dusk descended over everything. Treacherous shadows lurked in the alleys. The star
s were invisible, the moon barely a murky glow.

  “Growing up in Nigeria during the revolution, you were hard or you died, simple as that,” Jericho said quietly. “I served as private security in the Chicago and Tampa riots. I saw what people did to each other during the water crisis uprising in Arizona. You learn to live your life one way. It’s difficult to see there are different paths, let alone better ones.”

  He’d never heard Jericho string so many words together at once in the months they’d been living together, day in and day out. He was tough as a mountain, stern and demanding, unafraid, unflinching. He’d never voiced his own doubts. Until this moment, Micah had been sure he didn’t have any. But like everything, most people were more than they seemed.

  Jericho fell silent for a long moment. “I let Silas down. I taught him how to kill. Maybe … maybe the better lesson is how not to.”

  Micah smiled. “Be careful. I think you’re in danger of growing a conscience.”

  Jericho shook his head ruefully. “You know what they say. An old dog can learn new tricks.”

  “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”

  “No? Well, I never understood American slang anyway.” Jericho ran his hand over his head. “You’ll be a good leader, someday, Micah.”

  “What do you mean? We have you.” But still, he flushed, deeply flattered. Jericho was a man who commanded respect. To have that respect returned, even a little, was an honor.

  Jericho clapped him on the back. Micah almost stumbled from the strength of the blow. “You’ve got too much dirt in your ears. I said someday.”

  They made their way back down the twenty-five flights of stairs. A racoon startled them in the stairwell, hissing, its eyes shining in their light beams. But it wasn’t infected, and they carried on without further incident.

  They’d barely returned when Willow signaled from her post at the front doors. “They’re back!”

  “Gabriel?” Micah asked, his pulse quickening. Was his brother safe? Was he okay? Then Willow’s words sank in. What did she mean, they?

  Micah hurried after Jericho to the lobby, where Willow, Amelia, Horne, and Finn were already gathered.

  Micah’s mouth fell open, dumbstruck.

  Gabriel had returned. But he wasn’t alone.

  20

  Gabriel

  Gabriel wrapped his arm around the girl, steadying her as they stumbled through the entrance. Her clothes were bloodied and disheveled. Her face was smudged with dirt and ash, her coppery curls a matted, frizzy mess. Blood dripped down her leg, smeared boot-prints streaking the floor behind them.

  Celeste was alive.

  Willow leapt to her feet, gaping. “We thought you were dead!”

  Celeste trembled from blood loss and exhaustion, but her eyes were clear. “I’m not.”

  He placed his hand on her back to keep her from falling. He was exhausted himself, his eyes gritty, his body almost numb from the hours in the freezing cold and snow. He’d given Celeste his coat. She’d needed it more.

  Gabriel blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dimness. The sky was darkening outside the windows. The lobby was filled with shadows. Only the light of the moon reflected off the snow provided a soft glow.

  Jericho’s gaze sharpened in suspicion as he turned to Horne. “You told us she was dead.”

  Horne’s face drained of color. His features contorted in a barely disguised grimace. “Celeste, I was sure you—I never would’ve—it must be a miracle—”

  “Do not speak!” Celeste straightened, all six feet of her. Gabriel grabbed her arm to hold her up. Her eyes blazed with fury. “You did this!”

  Horne took a step back, then another. He lifted his hands, palms out in a placating gesture. “We must celebrate this joyous occasion. You came back from the dead and—”

  “I didn’t come back from the dead,” Celeste forced between gritted teeth. “You left me for dead.”

  The room fell silent. No one spoke. No one breathed.

  Micah looked from Celeste to Horne and back again. His gaze flicked to Gabriel, questioning, searching for confirmation. Gabriel gave a small shake of his head, barely restraining his own rage. This was Celeste’s story to tell. He wouldn’t do or say anything until she’d said her piece.

  “What do you mean?” Micah asked finally. “Horne left you behind?”

  “Worse.” Celeste leaned down to her bloody leg and unwound the makeshift bandage Gabriel had managed to make out of torn strips of a linen tablecloth.

  Micah gasped. Amelia made a wounded animal sound in the back of her throat. Willow looked even more furious.

  A deep, ugly gash marred Celeste’s leg from the underside of her kneecap to her thigh. Blood welled in the cut as Gabriel carefully rewound the bandage. It wouldn’t stop the blood loss for long.

  Celeste pointed a shaking finger at Horne. “That man tried to murder me to save his own worthless skin.”

  Horne shook his head frantically, his perfectly styled blonde hair falling into his panicked eyes. Shadows flitted across his face. “No! No, I would never…there’s been a mistake. A misunderstanding—”

  “Does that look like a misunderstanding to you?” Silas snarled, pointing at Celeste’s leg. A small puddle of blood formed on the floor beneath her, almost black in the dim light.

  Micah turned to Benjie. “Go get the bandages and the antiseptic spray in my pack.”

  Benjie stared wide-eyed at Celeste. “But—”

  “Go!” Willow said, her voice deadly calm.

  He scooted off his stool and dashed for the stairs, the beam of his small flashlight bouncing off the walls. A minute later, he was back. Micah and Amelia cleaned and bound Celeste’s wound as best they could.

  Gabriel forced his gaze from her leg. Anger ran through him like an electrical current. He caught Silas’s eye and dipped his chin, angling his head at Horne.

  Silas knew what he wanted. He drew his gun, thumbed off the safety, and stepped silently behind Horne. Just in case.

  Once she’d swallowed several aspirin, Jericho spoke in a low, cold voice, his eyes hard as obsidian. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Celeste squared her shoulders. Gone was the whiny, manipulative sweetness. Gone was the helpless, pampered elite. She was fierce, her entire body vibrating with rage. “We were running in the rain. We got lost, unsure how to get back at night. We decided to hole up until morning. We tried a pizza place that wasn’t boarded up, but it was infested with rats.”

  She paused, sucking in a harsh breath at the memory. “We tried to go out the back—there was an alley—but there were too many of those filthy rats. Horne tripped, and I stopped to help him. I risked my life to help him. I reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. When I tried to let go, he gripped me harder, pulled out his knife, and slashed my leg. I twisted away at the last second, so it wasn’t as deep as he’d intended. But it was enough.

  “The rats smelled my blood and came after me instead of him. He escaped through the alley and left me for dead.”

  “I always knew you were a worthless bastard.” Silas jammed the muzzle of his gun against Horne’s head. “Shall I pull the trigger?”

  “Now wait just a minute!” Horne cried. He glanced at Jericho imploringly. “That’s not how it happened—”

  Willow looked ready to punch Horne in the face. “Shut up for once!”

  Jericho held up his hand. “How did you escape?”

  “The rats were chasing me, biting at my ankles, swarming up my shins.” She shot Willow a grateful look. “My thick boots protected me. But those suckers’ teeth are sharp. They half-chewed through them in a matter of seconds.”

  Everyone’s gaze drifted to Celeste’s torn and tattered boots, the leather gouged with dozens of tiny bites. Gabriel’s stomach dropped, though he’d already seen them. They were more than half-chewed through. Celeste was lucky. Very, very lucky.

  “I was bleeding everywhere, but I hardly felt it. Not then. I climbed on t
he counter and stabbed a few of the hairy bastards with a kitchen knife. There was a tall, heavy-duty metal shelf next to the fridge. I noticed the ceiling had drop-tiles, so I climbed up the shelf, pushed aside one of the tiles, and climbed into the ceiling. I huddled there all night, just trying not to faint. All I could think about was that I couldn’t die after what Horne did to me. I refused.”

  Her eyes glittered in the dim light, her teeth bared. “Sometime during the night, a pack of dogs came sniffing around the dumpsters. The back door was open and the rats, they—they attacked the dogs, swarming over them like…it was awful. The dogs could’ve gotten away if they’d just run, but they stayed to fight…after that, the rats scurried off to find more interesting prey, I guess. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid to come down and brave it outside, hobbling on a wounded, bleeding leg.

  “I wouldn’t make it. I knew that. But I wasn’t going to just die there, either. I’d just worked myself up to making an attempt anyway, rats and Pyros be damned. Then I heard a noise. I thought it was one of the crazy assholes who’d attacked us.” She glanced at Gabriel in chagrin.

  Gabriel grimaced at the memory. “She dropped out of the ceiling, shrieking like some kamikaze warrior. She about eviscerated me with her knife.”

  Horne had told as much of the truth as possible, as all skilled liars do. Gabriel had searched the city for the pizza place Horne had described, careful to stay in the shadows, to travel from building to building where he could to avoid leaving tracks, switching and doubling back on himself when he had to go outside, doing whatever he could to move silently and invisibly.

  He’d observed two more groups of Pyros piling and burning bodies and tagging buildings with that ominous X encased in a circle. Some buildings they left alone other than the graffiti, others they set ablaze. They rode in armored trucks through narrow paths they’d made in the side streets, shouting and laughing, every one of them carrying high-powered pulse guns.