The Last Sanctuary Omnibus

by Kyla Stone

Sykes made an irritated sound. “I’d say we all have a rat problem.”

  There was about two inches of space between the floor and the railing’s brass panel. Micah pressed his face to the plush carpet and turned his head. He could barely make out the figures below.

  Sykes was still turned away, his black trench coat sweeping his shins. He gripped that deadly, curled scythe in his left hand, his bandaged right hand limp at his side. Horne knelt before him, sniveling and pleading. Two Pyros flanked Sykes, their guns trained on Horne.

  “I know who helped us escape,” Horne said. “Let me go, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  Acid burned the back of Micah’s throat. He felt sick with anger. Horne never stopped. He’d betray his own grandmother if it kept his sorry butt alive.

  Was this the right thing? Should he really risk his life for Horne? His brother’s life? Was it worth it? Horne wasn’t worth it. Horne had betrayed them. Jericho was dead because of Horne.

  But to abandon him to the cruel torture of the Pyros? It felt wrong. This brutal world had already taken so much from Micah, from them all. Trying to force him again and again to be something he loathed.

  Be good. Be brave. He repeated his mother’s mantra in his head. He wasn’t doing this because of who Horne was. Micah was doing it because of who he was. Everything was a choice. In the end, he had to make the choice he could live with.

  Horne didn’t deserve to be saved. Micah was going to save him anyway.

  “I can help you,” Horne whined to Sykes. He squirmed wretchedly. “I can tell you who the rat is.”

  Sykes only smiled in cruel amusement. “You don’t think I already know? I know everything that happens in this place. You don’t think I know what that girl’s up to? Who she’s affiliated with? Moruga is too enamored with her hideously burned face. He can’t see clearly. But I can. I’ve just been waiting for her to make her move, to reveal herself as the rat she is.” He spat on the floor. “Judging by the wreckage surrounding us, I’d say she has.”

  Horne deflated. He’d played his last card and lost. He shuffled forward on his knees, groveling. “Moruga should be the one who metes out my punishment. Let him decide—”

  Sykes recoiled in disgust. “Don’t touch me, you filthy beast. Moruga isn’t here now, is he? We don’t bother him with such small, unsightly matters. He trusts his people to take care of business, which we do. As for you, little piggie, it’s time we had some fun. Right, boys?”

  Beside him, Gabriel stiffened. Micah turned his head and met his brother’s gaze. Gabriel pulled out the hunting knife Cleo had given him and gestured for Micah’s. Micah handed it to him without a word.

  Stay here, Gabriel mouthed. He crouched, every muscle tensed, his jaw bulging, his eyes cold and calculating. Getting ready.

  “Wait!” Horne gasped, cringing. “Don’t kill me! I know where the escaped prisoners are going and how they plan to get there. I’ll tell you everything—”

  Gabriel leapt onto the narrow lip of the railing. Micah inhaled a single sharp breath as his brother sprang from the railing and plunged over the edge of the balcony.

  He dropped silent and deadly. He landed on Sykes’s back, sending them both sprawling to the floor. As they fell, Gabriel sank one knife deep into the man’s upper back. Sykes’s scythe went spinning across the marble floor.

  No sooner had he landed then he was on his feet again. He spun and hurled the second blade at the startled, gaping guard to his left.

  The blade struck the guard in the throat. He clutched at his neck, gurgling, sputtering, eyes wide and astonished at his own death.

  Protect him, God, he prayed desperately. Keep my brother safe. Micah watched from behind the safety of a pillar, his mouth moving in a flurry of silent prayers. But it didn’t look like Gabriel needed them. He’d seen his brother fight, but he was usually waist-deep in the battle with him. He’d never seen Gabriel like this, a deadly, skilled killer.

  Gabriel was raw, vigorous power. He moved with precision and control, his muscles bulging, sinews straining, his body a well-honed weapon.

  He didn’t waste time to grab a gun. He leapt over Sykes’s writhing body and hurled himself at the second guard, a thickly muscled white man with a bulldog face.

  Gabriel was a streak of lightning coming at him, impossible to stop. Bulldog shot but missed. A crackling blue ball of death smashing into the base of the fountain behind him, marble shards exploding everywhere.

  Gabriel barreled into Bulldog with every ounce of his considerable force, his lowered head slamming into the guard’s soft gut. Bulldog cursed as he stumbled.

  Gabriel took him to the ground, wrestling for the pulse gun. The guard struck him in the face and neck with his free hand, but Gabriel was undaunted. He grunted, absorbing the blows like they were nothing.

  Bulldog managed to lift the gun, aiming unsteadily at Gabriel’s head. Gabriel spun on his hands and knees and lashed out with his leg, kicking the gun out of the man’s hands. Bulldog landed a savage punch against Gabriel’s jaw. He fell back.

  Micah flinched as if he could feel the pain himself. His lungs constricted. He was too terrified to breathe. It didn’t matter how strong Gabriel was. A tiny mistake, a second of misjudgment, or a single bullet could still take him down.

  What was he thinking? How could he allow Gabriel to risk everything for Horne? Gabriel was worth a hundred of the likes of Tyler Horne. Jericho would never have allowed this, would never have sanctioned so great a risk for so little reward.

  Abruptly he remembered the girl whose hand he’d held as she died in the middle of the highway, slaughtered by the Headhunters. Jericho had forced him back, refusing to allow him to intervene, for saving the girl meant certain death for the rest of the group. All bravery and valor have a cost, Jericho had said. Be damn sure you weigh the cost before you act.

  Jericho was dead. Micah had to step up, to be a man now, not a boy. To be the leader Jericho said he could be. To weigh the risks and benefits of every choice, to make the difficult decisions, both for himself and for the people he was responsible for. To somehow balance mercy with justice, compassion with self-preservation. A good leader needed to do both. Micah needed to do both.

  Right now, it was his brother who needed him. He forced himself to breathe, to act. He shoved his skewed glasses into place and pulled himself to his feet. Crouching, he scrambled down the curving walkway, not yet sure what he would do but knowing he had to do something.

  In the lobby, Gabriel punched Bulldog’s gun-hand hard just above the wrist, then forced his hand inward at an excruciatingly unnatural angle until the guard bit out an ugly scream and dropped the weapon.

  Bulldog headbutted Gabriel, sending him reeling backward. The guard rolled out from beneath him and stretched for the gun.

  Gabriel shook his head, momentarily stunned.

  “Gabriel!” Micah hit the lobby floor at a dead run. “The gun!”

  He glimpsed Sykes staggering to his feet out of the corner of his eye. Micah swerved left and went for the other guard, the one Gabriel had stabbed in the throat. A pulse gun lay a foot from the man’s limp, open palm.

  He bent, grasped it, and whirled, his finger already on the trigger. “Don’t move!” he shouted.

  Horne had tried to run, but he’d slipped in a puddle of Sykes’ blood. He was flat on his back, moaning, clutching his knee.

  Sykes picked up the scythe. He loomed over Horne, the wickedly curved blade pressed against Horne’s heaving stomach.

  Another pulse blast crackled through the air. He hoped with all his being that it was Gabriel who shot the guard and not the other way around, but he didn’t dare risk a glance.

  “Don’t move!” he shouted again at Sykes. “Back away, now! Drop the knife!”

  Blood filmed Sykes’s lips and spattered his chin. His pale eyes gleamed. “Which is it, little piggie? Move or don’t?”

  Micah’s hands were slick on the gun. His arms trembled. It was suddenly the heaviest object in t
he world. “Drop the scythe!”

  “You and I both want this filthy pig dead,” Sykes said, his lilting voice taking on a heavy rasp. The back and shoulder of his coat were slick, drenched with blood. “How about you let me do the dirty deed and we both walk away from this?”

  “Just kill him!” Horne screamed, sputtering incoherently. “What are you waiting for?!”

  “I can’t let you do either of those things.” Micah’s finger twitched on the trigger. He was willing to fight. He had killed in the heat of battle. But this was different. He’d never killed someone face to face. He didn’t want to do this.

  He hesitated.

  “Micah,” Gabriel said from behind him.

  He nearly sagged in relief. Gabriel was alive. He was okay.

  He was only distracted for a moment, but a moment was all it took.

  Sykes plunged the scythe deep into Horne’s belly.

  Micah pressed the trigger. A crackling blast split the air. A hole the size of a softball opened up in the side of Sykes’s skull, the edges seared and smoking. His limp body tumbled sideways. He was dead before he hit the polished marble floor.

  Micah dropped the gun and raced to Horne. He knelt over him, heedless of the puddle of blood pooling beneath Horne’s crumpled body. Horne’s eyes were glassy. They stared up at the ceiling high above them, seeing nothing.

  Horne wasn’t a good person. Maybe he never would have changed, no matter how many chances he was given. Now, no one would ever know. Death was an ugly, terrible thing, no matter how much the victim deserved it. “He’s dead.”

  Gabriel came up behind him and gently wrestled the gun from his stiff fingers. “And we’re not.”

  He nodded dully. “I killed Sykes.”

  “He was a murderer. He would’ve hunted us down. And the others. Whoever got in his way. You did what you had to do, Micah.”

  Micah stared at the bodies. Bile roiled in his stomach, acid stinging the back of his throat. “If I hadn’t hesitated, Horne would be alive.”

  “They both made their choices.”

  “I know.” He did know. He would never condone violence, never choose it if there were any other way, but men who lived by the sword died by it, too. That was Jack London’s law of club and fang, wasn’t it? It came true for Sykes. For Horne.

  Would it be true for Gabriel? For Micah? That remained to be seen. All they could do was their best. That’s what Jericho used to say. The rest was out of their hands.

  “There will be other Pyros,” Gabriel said. “The hunting parties are headed back. The drones sent out alerts. Moruga is still out there. If he finds us, he’ll kill us. We have to go now.”

  Micah rose to his feet numbly. It felt like hours had passed since the first bullet had struck the elevator doors. In reality, it had been mere minutes. So much destruction and death in so little time.

  Gabriel placed a heavy hand on Micah’s shoulder. “Let’s find our people.”

  31

  Willow

  Willow tucked the gun inside her waistband and grabbed the flamethrower from its strap around her shoulder. She opened the ignition valve with trembling fingers, struggling to remember the hurried instructions Li Jun had given earlier.

  Yuan reached over and pressed the button that activated the spark plugs. “Point and shoot. It has wicked fire-power. Streams of napalm that shoot fifty—”

  He cried out as a rat leapt onto his shin. He dislodged it by slamming his leg against the wall.

  Another rat climbed up her shin. She seized it with her free hand and flung it to the ground. She pulled gently, half-depressing the trigger. A searing, twenty-foot flame whooshed out, blasting the rat. “Take that, you bastard!”

  The rodent squealed and skittered back, but it was too late. A sizzle of fire engulfed its fat, bristling body. She spun in a circle, obliterating anything that moved. Fifty rats burned to a crisp in an instant.

  Hundreds of rats squeaked and chittered, scrabbling away from her in a widening arc. Their shiny black eyes reflected the orange, flickering light. “They saw their comrades die. They know what it means.”

  “Of course they do,” Li Jun said like he was personally affronted. “I told you they were intelligent.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  Together, they drove the horde back. The rats squeaked and squealed in fury but scurried back from the flames. Gradually, the river of hunched creatures ebbed away like a fading tide. They slipped into cracks and crevices and pipes and grates.

  “It’s working. They’re leaving.”

  Yuan scratched his head, frowning.

  “What?”

  “That was too easy.”

  She switched off the flame and huffed her bangs out of her eyes. “Maybe you need to check your thesaurus app. That did not at all fit into my definition of ‘easy’.”

  “We only killed a handful of them. The rest fled.”

  She remembered what he’d said about rats communicating with each other and suppressed a shudder. “You said they’re smart, didn’t you? I’d run from fire, too.”

  The remaining rats kept rising on their haunches to glare at them, if rats could glare. Li Jun let off a short blast. A dozen rats met their fiery demise. The rest of them scuttled into the darkness.

  More sounds echoed further down the tunnel. Willow dropped the flamethrower and drew her gun. Li Jun did the same. Was it Micah and Gabriel and Horne? Or were the Pyros coming for them?

  She gritted her teeth. “Come on, come on.”

  Li Juan peered down the tunnel with his night vision goggles. “They’re human, at least. Two of them.”

  Micah appeared out of the darkness. He sprinted toward her, his dark hair a mess, his glasses skewed. Gabriel followed close behind, several fresh bruises and cuts marring his jaw and forehead.

  She could have kissed Micah. She was so relieved. She pulled him into a quick hug. “Have I told you recently how beautiful you are?”

  Micah gave her a shaky grin. “Not recently, no. But there’s no time like the present.”

  “Save your flirting for later,” Li Jun said. “Where’s the traitor?”

  Micah shook his head, his face pale. “He didn’t make it.”

  “Horne is dead. So is Sykes,” Gabriel said. “Moruga will be coming for us.”

  Willow pointed ahead. “They went that way. We’re holding off the rats for a few more minutes, just to make sure it’s safe.”

  Micah hesitated. “I’ll stay—”

  She waved him off. “We’ll be right behind you.”

  Micah nodded. He trusted her to handle this. He and Gabriel sprinted down the tunnel. Willow watched them go.

  “I used to work at Rodell Industries, you know,” Li Jun said quietly.

  She turned to him. He was definitely the brainy type, though he clearly knew his way around a gun, too. The digital snake tattoo winding up his neck shimmered in the dim light. His angular face was sharp and hungry-looking, but his eyes weren’t cruel. She should hate him, but she didn’t. “Yeah?”

  “I was studying bioengineering at Georgia Tech. I interned at Rodell between classes. I wanted to be a scientist, one of the few jobs not taken over by metalheads. My family was barely hanging on, you know? My folks worked three jobs each and stayed in the slums of Doraville so they could send me to school.” His features hardened, his face grave. “Two years ago, the rotting tenement building we lived in collapsed. My parents were inside. The governor sent some drones and cop-bots to sift through the rubble, but only a handful of human rescue workers. They said they couldn’t waste valuable resources, claiming the drone scanners had determined everyone inside was already dead. But they didn’t know. How could they know? What they meant was, the slums could burn for all they cared.

  “When they finally uncovered my father’s body five days later, they found notes he’d written to us on the slab of concrete crushing his legs. He’d still be alive if…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I dropped out of
Georgia Tech and joined the New Patriots a week later.”

  Willow’s throat thickened. She swallowed. So much grief and sorrow everywhere. Too much. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I saw the way you looked at us. But the New Patriots aren’t terrorists. We’re freedom fighters.”

  “Whatever you say.” She felt a prick of guilt at the words. She understood Li Jun’s suffering better than most. And his anger. She didn’t dislike him, though he was both a Pyro and a New Patriot. She glanced down the dark tunnel, straining for sounds. “Why are you risking all of this for us?”

  “Because of the girl who survived the Hydra virus. If it’s true, if she’s really got the vaccine or the cure or whatever inside her, that changes everything. We can stop brutalizing each other, fighting for the scraps of a dying civilization. We can build something new.”

  He sounded just like Micah. “I hope you’re right.”

  Li Jun pulled something out of his pocket. She eyed it warily. “What the hell is that?”

  Shadows flickered over Li Jun’s features. His mouth tightened, his expression scared but determined. He hefted a dark, egg-shaped object in his hand. “Plan D.”

  Willow’s eyes widened. A pulse grenade.

  “You should go now,” Li Jun said firmly. “The rats will come back. I’ll do this alone.”

  “And leave you to be the hero and get all the credit? I don’t think so. I have a kick-ass reputation to uphold. We do this together.”

  “Halvsies on the credit?”

  “Done. Now tell me how to kill these flea-infested mutants.”

  “When the rats show up again, because they will, I’ll hurl it down the tunnel. I’ll activate it here,” he flicked his Smartflex, “and we’ll take out as many as we can. The explosion will kill most of the main colony, hopefully. At any rate, it will create a wall of fire that will stun and confuse them, for a few minutes at least. It should be enough time to get us all out of here.”

  She smiled grimly. “Then we run like hell?”

  He nodded. “Then we run like hell.”