The Last Sanctuary Omnibus

by Kyla Stone

  They hesitated outside the cafeteria double doors. Gabriel and Cleo cleared it, then gestured for the others to follow. Micah held the door open for them. Willow helped Celeste hobble through, then Amelia followed.

  The cafeteria was enormous, with high, wood-beamed ceilings and white-washed walls. The dozens of tables and chairs were made of transparent polymers, so that at first glance the room appeared sparse and empty.

  A sudden sound stilled her breath.

  “Little piggy, little piggy, come out, come out, wherever you are!” Sykes’s eerie voice filled the cavernous room. It echoed off the walls, the ceiling, the polished floor. It seemed to come from all directions at once.

  Gabriel, Micah, Silas, and Cleo dropped into crouches. They spun in different directions, guns up, sighting for movement.

  Amelia twisted, frantically searching for the source of the voice. There was nothing to see. White walls. Whiter floor. Several white doors opened to a kitchen and more corridors led deeper inside the building. There was no one there. And there was nowhere to hide. “Where is he?”

  “He must have jacked his comms into the sound system,” Cleo said.

  “He’s not on the map.” Li Jun studied the biometric sensor map projecting from the SmartFlex, his voice rising. “He deactivated his tracker. He knows it’s us.”

  “Relax,” Cleo said tightly. “He knows it’s someone on the inside, he doesn’t know who.”

  “Now they’ve all dropped their trackers,” Li Jun said in growing horror. “We don’t have any way of knowing where they are or how close—”

  “Don’t make me blow your house down,” Sykes boomed over the sound system.

  Amelia’s blood went cold. It was like Kane all over again. Kane taunting her, stalking her. Kane’s hands snaking around her throat, squeezing, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe, until blackness swirled at the edges of her vision. Kane’s crazed, viper eyes and leering, vicious grin looming over her—

  “Amelia,” Willow reached back, squeezing her arm.

  Amelia blinked back to the present, shaken and dazed.

  “You’ve survived worse than this,” Willow hissed. “Get it together.”

  She nodded, hesitantly at first, then harder. Willow was right. Her own fear was her greatest threat, her greatest weakness. Her fear made her forget. She was a survivor. She’d outlasted Kane. Simeon. The sinking of the Grand Voyager. The Hydra virus. Sweet Creek Farm. Cerberus. The fire. And now, she would survive the Pyros.

  She was the girl who lived.

  She didn’t have a free hand to touch her charm bracelet, but she felt its comfort around her neck anyway. She pushed her fear deep down and concentrated on the present, channeling all of her focus on getting out of this place alive.

  Cleo raised her finger to her lips. She pointed across the cafeteria, toward a door standing ajar. From the cafeteria windows, Amelia could see the transparent skybridge arcing over the six-lane road three stories below. It was still dark outside, but the Hyatt Renaissance across the street was lit up like a Christmas tree.

  Cleo gave the signal, and they hurried across the cafeteria, Willow and Celeste beside her, Micah directly ahead. They wove between the round tables, careful not to knock over the chairs.

  Amelia tripped on a chair leg. She lurched, her limbs flailing.

  She pitched forward, sure she was going to fall, that the noise would draw the enemy, that it would all be over—

  Celeste snaked out her hand and seized Amelia’s arm, jerking her back. The flamethrower hovered above a chair’s hard plastic seat, threatening to fall. With a muffled curse, Celeste managed to pull her to her feet.

  She sucked in her breath. That was far too close. She shot Celeste a grateful, relieved glance. Willow rolled her eyes and tugged Celeste along.

  Everyone paused, waiting for Cleo. Amelia hardly breathed as she focused on the glowing, rotating map over Cleo’s right arm. The red light of the drone blinked just outside the cafeteria.

  “Get down!” Gabriel hissed.

  Amelia ducked. She, Willow, and Celeste huddled against the wall to the left of the door. Celeste winced as she bent her wounded leg, but she didn’t make a sound.

  If the drone spotted them, it would send an alert to every other drone on its network as well as the guards’ comms. Even if Gabriel or Cleo shot it down before it could injure anyone, it wouldn’t be fast enough to stop the signal.

  Above them, the lion roared. Even three floors away, the powerful sound vibrated inside her chest. Someone had found Apollo, which meant they’d found the empty jail cell.

  They were running out of time.

  28

  Gabriel

  Gabriel wiped his sweating palms on his pant legs.

  After an eternity, the drone finally moved away from the cafeteria toward the third-floor stairwell, drawn by Apollo’s roar. He let out a relieved breath.

  Cleo gave the signal, and they exited the cafeteria through the double doors. A sharp right-turn led to a wide alcove and the skybridge access point. Cleo hugged the wall, Gabriel right beside her. It would be better to sneak up on the guards and attack silently and swiftly with knives, but the element of surprise was not an option. The guards were already on alert. The suppressed rifle Cleo had given him would have to do.

  She peeked around the corner and raised two fingers for two guards. One, two, she mouthed.

  Three. Gabriel spun around the corner, caught a blur of movement, and aimed and fired as the guard lifted his gun. The guard staggered and fell back, his limp body sliding down the glass window behind him. He didn’t move.

  Cleo took out the second guard with two sharp pops to the chest.

  “Aren’t they wearing armored vests?” he asked as they rushed onto the skybridge.

  Cleo tapped her magazine, grinning like the cat with a canary still stuffed in its mouth. “I made sure I stole the armor-piercing rounds.”

  The skybridge was a transparent tunnel forty yards long. They were exposed. Out in the open. Vulnerable. Gabriel’s heart rate jumped as they sprinted over West Peachtree, the road below strewn with the husks of thousands of cars.

  He risked a glance down. On several side streets, cars and transports were crushed to either side, spilling onto the sidewalks. A bulldozer must have rammed a path through them, allowing the Pyros to travel by vehicle through their territory.

  “More lions!” Benjie said. “Look, Mister Finn!”

  “I see them, Sir Benjie.” Finn placed a hand on Benjie’s shoulder. “Thank goodness they’re friendly kitties like Apollo.”

  “Too bad their owners aren’t so friendly,” Silas said.

  The Hyatt Renaissance was a magnificent white steel spiral arcing one hundred and thirty-two stories above them. The hotel was a feat of modern ingenuity, one of the last great skyscrapers built in Atlanta over a decade ago—before the developers and investors abandoned it for less disease-plagued, war-torn pastures.

  Concrete barriers and barbed wire fences rimmed the perimeter of the hotel. A dozen guards patrolled the area, several of them with enormous lions at their sides. At least two dozen large, armored drones zoomed back and forth, their gun turrets swiveling menacingly.

  “The drones won’t detect us,” Gabriel said. Hopefully the Pyros didn’t have some advanced tech he didn’t know about.

  “They’re not designed to scan above, only below.” Cleo scrubbed sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm.

  She pointed to the northwest corner of the plaza, where six groups of hostiles had formed, two dozen Pyros in each group, all armed to the teeth. A tall, gaunt figure took point. Moruga. They slowly fanned out, heading in all directions.

  The Pyros were hunting them. He knew it would happen. Still, the sight of so many enemy combatants in one place chilled him to the core.

  “They’re expecting us to run away,” Cleo said, “not run straight into the hornet’s nest.”

  He clenched his jaw. He hated having to trust this girl
he didn’t know. A Pyro or a New Patriot—either way, she was slippery as hell. He hated not knowing the plan, the layout, every emergency exit, every contingency. He hated his own helplessness. “This is a massive risk.”

  “It’s a gutsy risk,” Cleo countered. “And one they won’t expect. With any luck, we won’t have to engage the guards outside at all.”

  They exited the skybridge and cleared the alcove. There were no guards waiting for them. The walls and floor were white marble swirled with gray. A plush, blood-red carpet ran along the length of the corridor. Gabriel gestured for the others to follow. “I don’t believe in luck.”

  She scowled, the scarred side of her face shiny and wrinkled. “Me neither.”

  And yet, at least for the moment, it seemed luck was on their side. They didn’t run into any interference as they made their way down the corridor, passing numerous wooden doors leading to massive conference rooms, to the stairs.

  Her finger to her lips, Cleo gingerly touched a frosted glass door labeled ‘lobby.’ The door slid open with the faintest hiss, soft as an expelled breath.

  The lobby ceiling stretched a full thirty stories above them. Each hotel suite opened onto a five-foot-wide walkway lined with a three-foot brass railing. Instead of baluster posts, the railing was constructed of solid brass panels embossed with artistic, swirling shapes. The railing was broken up every few dozen yards by thick marble pillars that held up the balcony above it. The walkway began on the left side of the enormous circular lobby and spiraled gently upward like a single apple peel.

  The lobby itself glimmered with polished floors, sleekly curved loungers the same garnet-red as the carpet, and a grand, three-story fountain at the center of the atrium. Three glass revolving doors marked the entrance, opposite the concierge and check-in desks. Six elevators with brass-overlaid doors were located perpendicular to the entrance.

  “You sure they’re working?” Gabriel asked in a strained whisper. “An elevator takes an awful lot of electricity.”

  Cleo nodded. “They use it to transport scavenged goods they bring in through the parking garage.”

  He glanced at the guards patrolling outside the glass revolving doors. A dozen or so remained. Every guard faced the street, expecting any threat to come from the outside.

  Several large, armored drones glided past. “What about them?”

  “They’re programmed for exterior protective measures only,” Li Jun whispered. “Deadly machines, but dumb as a box of rocks. These are fifth gen. They were discussing adding AI features to the next—”

  “Li Jun,” Willow hissed. “Please stop talking.”

  Gabriel felt the first jolt of hope. Maybe they would actually make it. “I’ll stay and provide cover. You lead them to the elevators.”

  “I’ll stay, too,” Micah said.

  He turned to his brother. “Are you sure?”

  Micah didn’t bother to respond. He crouched behind the closest marble pillar, hiding as much of his body as possible. He adjusted his rifle butt against his shoulder and rested the muzzle on the top rail.

  “If we crawl, the railing will block us from sight,” Willow said.

  Silas dropped to the floor first. “We’re not serving cake and tea here, people. Move.”

  “Can you crawl?” Gabriel asked Finn.

  “I can do anything right now,” Finn said with a grimace. “Tomorrow’s another story.”

  “We’re fine,” said Celeste, though she winced as Willow lowered her to the floor.

  “We’re going to do this.” Gabriel’s throat thickened with sudden emotion. He pushed it away. This wasn’t the time. “We’re going to get out of here. All of us.”

  Amelia met his gaze, her ice blue eyes striking all the way to the core of him. He saw fear, but also an unfaltering, unflinching resolve. “We’ll see you on the other side.”

  The others dropped to their hands and knees. They crept quietly down the gently descending walkway, Cleo and Li Jun leading them, Benjie between Willow and Finn, Amelia helping Celeste, and Silas and Horne taking up the rear.

  Gabriel took cover behind the closest pillar. His pulse thudded against his throat. His blood rushed in his ears. He winced at every muffled sound, the bump of a shoulder against the railing, the scrape of a boot scuffing the floor.

  The group reached the lobby. There were forty-five wide-open yards between them and the elevators. So much empty space to cross with so little cover.

  “How’s it look?” Cleo said into his comm. The sound was loud and clear in his right ear.

  “It’s clear. You’re a go.”

  Cleo and Li Jun stepped into the lobby, crouching and scanning either side before they crept forward. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run if it all went sideways.

  He glanced at the guards outside again. One of them coughed into his mask. Another scratched his butt. Their posture was stiff but not on edge. They hadn’t noticed anything yet.

  His eye snagged on movement. A giant, metallic red mirror hung on the wall behind the concierge desk at the rear of the lobby. Through the mirror, he glimpsed a sleek black desk with a computer interface and several rolling office chairs. A shadow fluttered in the reflection.

  He peered through his scope, adjusted it, and looked again. Three dark figures bristling with weapons crept around the concierge desk.

  His heart stopped. Everything else faded away. He aimed his rifle, his gaze narrowing, ready to obliterate the bastards from the face of the earth.

  The angle wasn’t right. Though he could see them in the mirror, they were protected by the massive marble desk. He could shoot through wood, but not dense, two-foot-thick stone.

  He bit back a curse, enraged by his own helplessness. He caught Micah’s attention and pointed silently. Micah’s eyes widened in horror.

  Amelia was down there. Willow and Benjie and Finn. Everyone and everything left in this ruined world that either of them cared about.

  The group had made it to the fountain, but they were crouching on the opposite side, hiding from any guard who might glance through the glass doors. They were completely exposed to the enemies hunting them from behind.

  “Hostiles to your six!” he said into his comm. “I’ll cover you. Run!”

  As soon as he fired, it would alert the guards outside. It couldn’t be helped now. He tucked the stock to his shoulder, pressed his cheek down, and slammed out a flurry of shots at the concierge desk. The Pyros ducked, seeking cover.

  His group fled, racing for the bank of elevators. They were thirty feet away when one of the hostiles behind the desk shot at them. The bullet struck the metal doors of the elevator, bounced off, and nailed a holo port, splintering the casing and sending it skittering across the floor.

  The elevator doors opened with a ding. A thick, burly Pyro strode out, a pulse gun in each hand.

  They were trapped.

  “Oh, hell,” Willow whispered in his ear.

  Gabriel didn’t think. He just moved. He darted from the safety of the column and dropped into position. He was exposing himself above the railing, but he had to make the shot. He fired a short, controlled burst.

  The burly Pyro crumpled, a single bead of blood dripping down his forehead.

  The air exploded in gunfire.

  One of the hostiles leapt out from behind the concierge desk. He brought his sub-machine gun around with a precise sweep, emptying the clip, gouging chunks of marble from the walls and shattering a floor-to-ceiling window, striking one of his own men outside.

  Before the sweep could reach his actual targets, Micah brought him down, shooting him in the chest.

  A second man turned and returned fire at Micah and Gabriel, a spray of bullets whizzing past and puncturing the wall behind them. They flung themselves behind the marble pillars.

  Cleo swore loudly. “Run!”

  The group ran. They crouched, covering their heads as bullets tore through the air above them.

  Gabriel darted out and unleashed a storm of b
ullets on the hostile still shooting up at them. The man tried to dive for cover, but it was too late. Micah nailed him with a second volley. He went down and didn’t move.

  Gabriel aimed at the concierge desk. A burst of slugs smashed into the mirror, red metallic glass raining down on the remaining hostile’s head.

  The hostile headed for the edge of the desk, giving Gabriel his opening. He fired in quick, three-shot bursts. The Pyro slumped across the computer console.

  “Gabriel!” Micah cried. The guards had surged inside, already shooting.

  “We’ve got it,” Silas said into his comm. He and Willow retreated. They took positions behind the marble fountain, shooting at the guards while the rest fled for the elevators.

  Willow shot two in the head, dropping them where they stood. Silas took out another one just as his rifle swiveled toward the elevators.

  Gabriel spun and hid behind the pillar, his back pressed against the cold stone. He unclipped his second—and last—magazine from his belt, jammed it in, and slammed out a dozen shots. Spent cartridges dropped to the plush carpet.

  The high ground gave him an enormous advantage. But would it be enough? Five guards flooded through the revolving doors. Gabriel picked off four of them in a barrage of bullets.

  The fifth one got off a shot, his pulse gun aimed at Silas. The marble head of the fountain’s mermaid statue exploded in a crackle of blue, sizzling energy.

  Silas ducked, swearing profusely. He shook off the shards and dust, unhurt. “Damn, that thing has power.”

  Micah leveled his rifle and shot the fifth guard in the shoulder. The man staggered but didn’t go down. He lifted his weapon, aiming shakily for the third-floor balcony. The pulsed plasma ripped into the railing several feet away, tearing it from its moorings and gashing a jagged hole in the ramp floor.

  Micah pulled the trigger again. This time, the man went down and didn’t get up.

  Amelia made it to the elevator, Cleo right behind her. Cleo swiped her SmartFlex over the brass-plated ID-scanner. The doors slid open. Two bullets struck the wall above the elevators. The screen displaying the floor numbers hissed and went black.