The Last Sanctuary Omnibus

by Kyla Stone

“Chickens don’t come from eggs anymore, dummy,” Fiona said, her body stiff, her lips barely moving.

  As the elevator descended, the guards came into view. Micah whispered a silent prayer as the first guard paused to check an opened door, his body half-turned away from the elevators.

  The second guard was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smoking a faux cigarette. He only had to look up to see them, only ten yards away, sliding right past him.

  Micah held his breath.

  The guard didn’t look up.

  The elevator crept lower, lower. Finally, it slid below the guards’ line of sight.

  Silas inhaled a ragged breath. Micah whispered a relieved prayer of thanks. Fiona and Theo gave each other silent fist bumps, grinning like kids. Fiona turned to Silas, fist out, but he just gave her an awkward glare. She shrugged and punched his shoulder instead.

  Silas jerked away like she’d stabbed him.

  Micah stifled a tense laugh. Someone had a little crush, and Silas had no clue what to do about it.

  The elevator continued to the lobby. Before the elevator doors slid open, Fiona put her finger to her lips. They still needed to be absolutely silent to slip out the entrance doors without attracting the notice of the guards upstairs.

  Kadek checked his SmartFlex. His eyes widened as he signaled them. One minute before the exterior guards strolled around the front corner.

  They strode as quickly as they could to the front entrance, Micah’s adrenaline-fueled muscles begging him to run. Fiona reached the glass door first and held it open for Theo. He rolled through, his muscles bulging as he maneuvered the wheelchair with skill and speed.

  And then they were all racing across the manicured lawn to the cover of the hedges across the street, where the surveillance drone waited for them like an obedient pet.

  The chill in the air was a welcome relief against Micah’s hot skin. Breathing hard, he risked a peek over the top of the bushes. Like clockwork, the two exterior guards marched around the corner.

  “Time to separate,” Theo whispered. “We’ll meet at a location still to be determined at ten before six to watch it all go down. I’ll message you. Good night and good luck.”

  Micah and Silas followed Fiona as she slipped off into the darkness, heading for the agricultural sector, the drone drifted along behind them.

  The adrenaline slowly seeped from his veins. He shivered, suddenly cold, slightly stunned at how well they’d pulled it off.

  A tiny prick of doubt niggled the back of his mind. It had almost seemed easy.

  When had anything they’d ever done been easy?

  36

  Willow

  Willow’s scream ripped from her throat, a primal thing full of love and terror and dread. “Benjie!”

  She would switch places with him in a heartbeat, lay herself down to die for him, to bleed every drop from her body if it could save him.

  But her body wouldn’t move. Her legs and arms were strangely numb. Her head rang with terrible sounds. Her lungs burned from every breath she couldn’t take.

  She was forced to watch, horrified and helpless, as her eight-year-old brother fearlessly took on a grizzly bear.

  Benjie ran straight at the bear. It was still crouched over Finn, clawing at his backpack, growling and snarling. Benjie thrust the small blade into the bear’s haunches.

  The bear rose with a ferocious roar. It twisted and lunged for Benjie.

  Benjie fell, scrambling back on his elbows.

  No! Willow screamed. But she didn’t know if she’d even made a sound, or if the scream was trapped inside her own head.

  “NO!” came again, but it wasn’t her voice this time, but a deep, booming shout.

  Finn pulled himself to his knees, scrabbling in the snow and leaves and dirt. He whirled, Willow’s gun in his left hand. He didn’t hesitate a second. He pulled the trigger.

  The first shot struck the bear in the right shoulder. It roared and reared onto its hind legs. It swung its head, searching with wild, murderous eyes for the source of its pain. Its massive paws dangled over Benjie’s body, deadly claws glinting.

  Benjie cowered. He curled his arms over his head. It wasn’t enough. All seven hundred pounds of the grizzly would slam down, crushing Benjie’s bones to dust, shredding muscle and skin and flesh.

  Run! Willow screamed. Move! But maybe that was a mistake. Maybe if he ran, he would only draw the bear’s attention.

  Maybe he was doomed either way.

  Her breath slammed back into her lungs. She inhaled a single, shuddering breath. “FINN!”

  Finn stumbled toward the bear. He lifted the gun again and fired. The bullet went wide, smashing against the branches somewhere above their heads. The bear bellowed, still on his hind legs. He took a step away from Benjie, his head swiveling toward Finn.

  Finn fired another shot. Missed. His arm shook.

  He shot again. The bullet struck the grizzly in the gut. Dark blood gleamed black, matting the creature’s fur. It still didn’t retreat. It didn’t fall. It didn’t leave.

  How many bullets did it take? How many were left?

  Her head cleared, painfully slow.

  One. One bullet left.

  “Leave. Him. Alone!” Finn screamed. He ran toward Benjie, toward the bear, close enough that he wouldn’t miss. Couldn’t miss, even if it killed him. A single lunge, one strike of that powerful paw, and it would be over.

  Bloody saliva glistened from the grizzly’s jaws. It lumbered toward Finn, still towering on its hind legs. Finn aimed for the creature’s skull. He pulled the trigger.

  The bear’s head snapped back. It moaned, staggered, and fell with an earth-shaking thud.

  It moaned again, eyes rolling wildly in their sockets, jaw working, paws scraping at the snow like it could climb right back to its feet again.

  But it didn’t. It couldn’t.

  With a final, wounded groan, the great bear shuddered and died.

  “Benjie!” Willow scrambled over rocks and hard-packed snow, crawling on her hands and knees, oblivious to the cold and scratches. She reached Benjie and yanked him into her arms. He was warm and soft and alive, so damn alive.

  “I’m okay, Lo Lo,” he said in a shaky voice.

  She choked back a sob. “I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost you!”

  “I’m right here.”

  She checked him all over for blood, for punctures, for bite marks. She patted his arms, legs, head, chest. His right cheek was scratched. A huge bruise already swelled an ugly purplish yellow on his forehead. His coat was torn in several places, including five gashes slashing across his left arm.

  She tugged off his coat, her gut clenching, expecting tattered flesh, severed tendons, damage beyond hope of repair.

  But only three of the bear’s claws had pierced Benjie’s skin. The cuts were bleeding, but she didn’t see bone or muscle. The blow had been a shallow, glancing one.

  The grizzly had been too distracted by Finn and Willow. It hadn’t had the chance to focus its attack on any of them individually—which was why they were alive.

  “I had to save Finn.” Benjie endured her ministrations without moving. Tears mingled with dirt streaked his face. “I had to do my brave thing.”

  “You did, Sir Benjie.” Finn stood in the center of the clearing, half-bent, his hand on his leg. He was breathing hard, white breath puffing from his mouth. His whole body was trembling. “You saved me.”

  Benjie managed a tremulous grin. “And then you saved me.”

  “Shall we just agree that we all saved each other?” Willow helped Benjie to his feet. She took her own unsteady steps—her ribs screaming, her head splitting. But now that Benjie was safe, she wouldn’t let anything stop her from reaching Finn.

  She went to him, her heart surging in her chest, relief and hope and love pumping through every vein in her body. She didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around his huge chest. “Are you okay?”

  He sucked in a tremulous br
eath, dropped the gun, and pulled her into an embrace with his good arm. “That thing just took ‘mean as a bear with a toothache’ to a whole new level.”

  “That’s not an answer, you big oaf.” Her tears were cold as ice on her cheeks. She bit back another sob. If she started now, she’d never stop.

  “I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t want to kill it. But I did,” he said unsteadily. “I did what I had to do.”

  He squeezed her tighter. She never wanted to leave the warmth of his arms. “You saved us.”

  37

  Amelia

  “Aren’t you having the best time?” Vera leaned against an elegant marble column and fingered the pearl necklace at her throat. “These galas are simply fabulous!”

  “Immensely,” Amelia lied. She touched the voluminous folds of her gown, which radiated shades of sapphire, lapis, and cobalt, the luxuriant fabric soft as cashmere. President Sloane’s stylists had spun a French braid around the crown of her head, the lower half of her hair cascading down her back in glossy waves.

  She held a crystal goblet of wine in one hand, but she hadn’t taken a single sip. Her stomach was too knotted with anxiety to enjoy anything.

  She was attending a gala full of officials, advisers, and scientists as everyone gathered for a grand celebration. The twenty test subjects’ fevers had broken the night before. The twelve-year-old boy was weak but on his feet.

  Serum 341 worked. They’d found a cure.

  The gala was held inside the capitol, in a grand hall of marble, black granite, and crystal. The room swirled with silk and perfume. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling.

  Amelia wasn’t sure what she had expected of the Sanctuary, but it wasn’t this. She’d thought it would resemble the government’s underground bunkers, modest and practical, with an emphasis on security, safety, and survival, not extravagance. But when had the elites ever been anything but extravagant?

  She glanced across the room at President Sloane. Sloane’s gown was a soft lemon-yellow chiffon, draping over her stout body in undulating waves. Her long fingers were adorned with a half-dozen winking garnet, ruby, and sapphire rings. She was surrounded by advisers, generals, and the other members of the Coalition, along with her retinue of staff. Amelia recognized her chief of staff, Selma Perez, as well as Senator Steelman and General Daugherty.

  The president’s head of security, Angelo Bale, stood like an imposing mountain behind her. Bale was statue-still. Only those beady eyes roved intently, taking in every detail.

  At President Sloane’s left hand, Declan Black beguiled the crowd with his magnetic presence. He plucked an hors d'oeuvre from a passing silver tray laden with slivered meats, gourmet cheeses, and other delicacies. He popped it in his mouth and said something charming, letting out a booming chuckle. The group turned to him with eager, upturned faces, laughing appreciatively at whatever he’d just said.

  Amelia dragged her gaze away and scanned the rest of the grand hall. At least thirty soldiers were stationed between the pillars throughout the room, dressed in sharp gray uniforms and white gloves.

  Both Harper and Logan were here, never straying too far from her side. She’d met Harper’s gaze earlier in the evening. Harper had given her the slightest nod before averting her eyes. Logan ignored her, as always.

  But it seemed he was the only one. All evening, she’d felt eyes on her, scrabbling like spiders. President Sloane’s aids and advisers. The scientists and doctors she’d passed in the hallways of BioGen’s lab, never learning anyone’s name. Senator Steelman’s shrewd gaze, following her every movement as if waiting for her to trip, to make a mistake.

  So Amelia drank wine and champagne. She laughed and she danced with Vera and her father and she ate caviar and tried not to feel sick. She was every inch the charming daughter her father desired, the sweetly innocent but oh-so-brave survivor President Sloane wished to show off.

  She knew what they wanted. And she gave it to them.

  The wallscreen flickered to life, and the crowd turned to watch the daily update. The same message was echoed on every Smartflex and holoscreen throughout the city. Amelia’s breath quickened, her skin hot and clammy. The Patriots had received the recording. It was up to them now. When would it happen? Tonight? Right now?

  She barely heard the droning voice-over as she took in the images of disease and destruction. A drone captured footage of a FEMA holding facility for the infected somewhere in the Midwest. It was nothing more than a fifty-acre field inside a reinforced electrified fence. Lining the barbed wire fence were steel-girded watchtowers equipped with machine guns turned inward, aimed at the dirty, terrified faces of hundreds of men, women, and children. Some of them coughing heavily, others pale with fever, many curled up in make-shift beds, too sick to stand. A secondary fence contained the bodies, stacked chest-high against the barrier.

  Amelia’s stomach lurched. Acid burned the back of her throat. So many sick, dying, and dead. How quickly could the Sanctuary manufacture and distribute the vaccine? How many millions—billions were already dead? Was it already too late to make a difference?

  She glanced at Vera out of the corner of her eye. She was facing the screen, but her eyes were vacant, unfocused. She wasn’t really watching. She didn’t want to see.

  Vera pinched the bridge of her nose and gave a world-weary sigh. “It’s just so damn depressing.”

  A sharp edge of anger sliced through Amelia. Like Vera would know. Like she had any idea what it was like out there, how so many had suffered and died, what it took to survive. They were just images on a screen to her. They weren’t real. They weren’t a part of the world Vera knew. Not before, and not now, safe behind the walls of the Sanctuary.

  Guilt pricked her. This was why Willow and Gabriel had despised her when they’d first met. Her old self would have reacted the same way. She had deserved their derision for this, at least.

  She reigned in her anger, swallowing a sharp retort that would’ve made Willow proud. She managed a gracious nod instead. “Now, with the cure, we can really help them. We can open our gates and save everyone.”

  “That’s just what I was thinking.” Vera pasted a tight smile on her face and gestured for a hover tray filled with fresh champagne. “Another glass? I’m parched.”

  “Thank goodness we don’t have to worry about that anymore,” President Sloane said as the newsfeed wound down. She turned away from the screen with an elegant swirl of her skirts and raised her goblet.

  Her staff lifted their glasses. “Here, here,” they chorused.

  Abruptly, the newsfeed cut out. There was a moment of static. Then the head and shoulders of a digital avatar appeared: a bald, vaguely human, bluish figure with a shimmer like a hologram. His deep, baritone voice was modulated to imitate a computerized AI. “Citizens of Sanctuary, you have been deceived. The government you’ve trusted to keep you safe from the Hydra virus is the same government who knowingly and intentionally unleashed it upon you, their own people.”

  Gasps echoed throughout the grand hall. Guests glanced at each other, eyebrows raised in alarm. Others just stared at the screen, mouths hanging open, shocked.

  Vera set her glass on a passing tray and swiped at her Smartflex with a frown. “How in the world…”

  “What is this?” Selma Perez asked in confusion.

  “Get it off the screen!” Senator Steelman barked, jabbing her finger uselessly at the wallscreen.

  “We bring you evidence that Declan Black, chairman of the Coalition, not only had knowledge of the bioweapon attack, but orchestrated it,” the avatar continued.

  “It’s on the entire network!” Vera stared aghast at the incoming data streaming to her Smartflex.

  “Shut down the network!” Declan shouted. “It’s a hoax! Take it down!”

  General Daugherty put his finger to his earpiece, either taking or giving orders as he strode hurriedly from the room, flanked by eight soldiers.

  “It’ll take a minute,” Perez sa
id. “We’re working on it.”

  “We don’t have a minute!” Declan roared.

  But it was too late.

  The screen filled with a view of Declan Black’s penthouse, the quartz table and the gently undulating jellyfish in the wall aquarium. Declan himself turned toward the hidden camera, admitting everything in his own words: “I did what was required…We sacrificed a few to save the many, to ensure our national interests and survival as a nation…No one could have foreseen how the Hydra virus mutated...”

  “Citizens, you have the truth,” the avatar said. “Now, you must act. Overthrow your corrupt government and start again. We can work together to build a new world, a new society based on freedom and choice, not fear and tyranny.”

  The wallscreen went dark. The grand hall fell into a deafening silence. The scientists and staff gaped. Amelia stood frozen, the wine glass still in her hand, her blood rushing in her ears.

  She’d done this. It really happened. Now her father would know how she’d betrayed him…

  “Is this real?” Perez asked incredulously. “Tell me this isn’t real.”

  Everyone stared at Declan Black in confusion and suspicion. Several people moved away from him, as if he’d just contracted the Hydra virus himself. The soldiers manning the outskirts of the gala rushed toward Declan but didn’t touch him. Their hands hovered over their pulse guns, just waiting for the president’s orders.

  “Of course not,” Declan spat. His fists were clenched, his shoulders stiff, his eyes flashing with rage. “It’s a joke. A ridiculous charade—”

  “It’s real.” President Sloane stepped back, shock and fury contorting her features. “Security, take Declan Black into custody immediately.”

  Two dozen guards swarmed Declan. He tried to wrench free, his face purpling with outrage, but the guards were already forcing him to his knees, yanking his hands behind his back.

  “You did this!” he shouted.

  Amelia shrank back against a pillar. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at someone else, someone she couldn’t see in the crowd—