by Kyla Stone
“How dare you do this to me!” he cried. “If you think you’re going to get away with—”
“Stun him!” President Sloane ordered. “I will not listen to one more word from this traitor’s mouth!”
Bale pulled a stun gun and shot Declan before President Sloane had even finished speaking. Declan’s body juddered. A second later, he slumped to the floor, unconscious. The guards hauled him up and dragged his limp body from the grand hall.
“No wonder he found the cure,” Vera sniffed. “He was the one who created the virus in the first place.” She turned and stared at Amelia, her expression going hard and suspicious. “Did you know? Were you a part of this?”
Suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on her. Senator Steelman was staring at her with open hostility and suspicion. “Her timing is a bit too perfect, don’t you think, Madam President? The daughter of a terrorist shows up and just happens to have the cure in her blood? And you’re going to stand here and tell us you’re innocent?”
“I am,” she forced out. She didn’t know how to defend herself. Anything she said would make her look like she was concealing the truth behind a veil of unconvincing lies.
The room echoed with the buzz of dozens of confused, angry voices. This is what her mother was afraid of. She believed the people would blame Amelia, simply for being her father’s daughter.
Sweat broke out on her forehead. “What he did was—I would never—”
“Of course not!” President Sloane strode across the black polished floor. She wrapped a comforting arm around Amelia’s shoulder, steadying her, and raised her voice so everyone in the room could hear. “Amelia Black is an innocent bystander. She has already proven her loyalty by submitting to test after invasive test to help our scientists develop a way to stop the insidious Hydra virus. She is not a suspect. No one here should treat her as anything but an honored citizen.”
Relief flooded through Amelia. She glanced up at President Sloane gratefully, sorry she’d ever suspected this woman of foul play. She was clearly incensed at Declan’s behavior, willing to bring him to justice while also trusting and protecting Amelia. It was more than she’d expected. “Thank you.”
Sloane smiled warmly at Amelia before turning to the rest of the crowd. Her expression hardened. “I suspected someone in the government must have colluded with the terrorists, but I was never sure who without proof. I don’t know how you accomplished that little feat with the recording, but I thank you. Everyone here thanks you profusely.
“Declan Black may have just found us the cure, but he is also a terrorist. And he will pay for his crimes. Every single citizen must know how the Sanctuary deals with terrorism—swiftly and decisively.” President Sloane’s lips tightened in a thin, bloodless line. “For his crimes against humanity, Declan Black will be executed by firing squad.”
Amelia felt sharp and brittle, dangerously close to shattering into a thousand pieces. What had she expected? Not this, not so soon. She was prepared for imprisonment, a trial—but this?
Shaking, she touched the charm bracelet dangling from the leather thong around her neck. It offered no comfort.
She took in a shuddering breath but still couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs. Everything went blurry and distant. She swayed on her feet.
“Amelia, darling,” said a voice from far away.
“I want to go home,” she whispered.
“You are home,” the voice said.
Her legs felt like water. She slumped against the nearest pillar. “I want Micah. I want to see my brother.”
Strong arms gripped her shoulders, keeping her up.
“We’ll find them soon, don’t worry,” President Sloane said.
“Take her to her quarters,” someone murmured.
She blinked, trying to focus. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“Oh, darling,” Vera said sweetly, “there’s nowhere else to go.”
“Get a doctor,” President Sloane ordered. “She’s distraught. Not in her right mind, poor child.”
Amelia wanted to argue, to scream, to run. She could do none of those things.
She couldn’t do anything at all.
38
Willow
Willow couldn’t sleep, not with the adrenaline still spiking through her veins. Benjie was safely snuggled in the tent next to her, curled up like a puppy in Finn’s sleeping bag. After the attack, Benjie had clutched her hand with white-knuckled ferocity, refusing to let go or loosen his grasp. An hour later, he’d finally collapsed into exhausted sleep.
After checking to make sure Benjie was still sleeping, she climbed out of the tent, wincing from the shot of pain in her side.
The world was silvered in moonlight. Finn sat on the overturned log, hunched over the dying campfire.
“You okay?” she whispered.
He looked up at her, his face strained, his eyes huge. “Benjie almost died. You almost died.”
“We’re alive,” she said. “We’re okay, Finn.”
They were all bruised and battered. Willow was pretty sure one of her ribs was bruised, maybe fractured. The back of her head throbbed from where she’d cracked it against the tree trunk. Blood still trickled down her scalp.
But they were alive. Safe.
Finn’s gaze dropped back to his hands. His shoulders were tense, his lips pressed together in a thin, bloodless line.
“What’s a bear mauling between friends?” she quipped. But when he didn’t flash his usual crooked grin or even look up, she knew something wasn’t right.
This wasn’t like Finn. Something was bothering him.
She hobbled over to the campfire and sank down on the log next to him, adjusting herself gingerly to keep the pain in her side to a minimum. The bottoms of her socks were soaked from the snow and tinted red. The soles of her feet stung and burned. She would fix them up with the antiseptic spray from her pack later. But right now, Finn needed her more.
The warmth of his body pressed against hers. She breathed in his familiar scent. “What’s wrong?”
He flexed his left hand. His right remained stubbornly limp. He inhaled sharply. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m right here.”
“I was wrong,” he said, still not looking at her. “I thought I could never use a knife or a gun to hurt a living thing. But I can. I did. I had to.
“When that second bear came crashing into the clearing—I thought it was over. That was it. We’d survived so much, and it was all going to end in the middle of nowhere, for no reason. I couldn’t let that happen. I didn’t even think about my own life, Willow.” He cleared his throat, his voice gritty. “All I thought about was protecting you and Benjie.”
“The man protecting the woman is so last century.” But it sounded lame and stupid. She had needed help. Benjie would be dead without Finn. Probably she would be, too.
They were a family. Families protected each other.
She rubbed her hands together in front of the fire, suddenly very aware of how close they were sitting, how his leg was only an inch from hers. “I felt the same way.”
He said the words so softly she barely heard them. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
The wind picked up, scraping through the trees. Somewhere, icicles tinkled against each other. Her whole body stiffened. “What?”
“I mean,” he stammered, “I know your heart belongs to someone else. I’m not the kind of guy who’d try to get in the way of that, so don’t worry—”
“Wait. Back the heck up. What?”
He poked at the frozen ground with a stick. “You and Silas...”
Her heart stuttered. She gaped at him.
He sighed. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? I know you love Silas.”
“I do love Silas,” she said, amazed at the words coming out of her own mouth. She’d never thought of it that way, but as soon as she’d spoken, she knew it was true. She cared deeply for Silas, loved him even—the prickly
bastard.
Finn’s face fell. He gave a pained smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s got a hard shell, but I’m sure there’s some humanity deep inside him…somewhere.”
Willow snorted. She tried to imagine Silas in a romantic situation, with a girlfriend or boyfriend he’d have to actually be nice to—but it was impossible. “Finn. Silas and I are friends.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“We’re only friends.”
“Oh.” He sounded surprised, slightly confused, possibly hopeful.
Her heart leapt. “All this time, you’ve thought…?”
“Yeah, I did.” He shook his head, rolled his shoulders, sucked in a breath. Like he was preparing for something. “I guess you might think I’m an idiot for this, but I need to tell you something—”
Willow put her finger to his lips. His breath warmed her hand. She’d had enough of words. She’d almost lost the two people that meant the most in the entire world. They were her everything.
Life was too short not to take risks. Not to take the leap. Hadn’t they learned that these last desperate months? Hadn’t they learned it again tonight?
She was tired of being scared, of feeling weak, of giving in to her own doubts. She was the girl who’d scaled the outside of a cruise ship in the middle of a hurricane to save her brother. She was the girl who’d killed a Headhunter to protect her own, who blew up a thousand rats in a sewer to save everyone she cared about.
What the hell was she so scared of now?
Here he was, big goofy beautiful Finn, smelling like wood smoke with his huge brown eyes, and an uncertain crooked grin and that adorable gap between his front teeth that always made her blood fizz, that made her stomach flutter, that made her want to do so many things she never thought she would—
And then his hand was on hers, tentative, questioning, so light it felt like the brush of a bird’s wing. She exhaled softly. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the earnest warmth of his brown eyes.
Finn leaned in and kissed her.
Her lips opened, startled. But she didn’t pull away.
He kissed her again, his lips barely brushing hers, soft and gentle, still hesitant, asking the question her heart was screaming at her to answer.
She kissed him back. Harder, more insistent, leaning into him. Her heart was soaring, her palms damp, her stomach a flutter of thrilled panic.
The world around them was a dark, frozen wonderland, but right here was heat, flame, fireworks.
Life.
Dizziness flushed through her. Willow leaned back with a heady gasp, catching her breath. She lost her balance, her arms flailing. She nearly fell off the log like an idiot, rendered immobile by the sparks sizzling through her veins and exploding in her stomach.
“Sorry.” Her face burned. Pain seared her ribs. She ignored it, waved her hand sheepishly. “I’m not exactly used to this.”
“I don’t exactly mind.” Finn flashed her favorite lopsided grin. He tugged her hand and she went to him. She settled into his lap as he wrapped his strong arm around her. She leaned into him and pressed her face into his broad chest, closing her eyes.
She loved the sound of his heartbeat, so steady and safe, so reassuring.
She had to be strong all the time. Out in the wild, she could never let her guard down. But here, with Finn, she knew she could. She wanted to.
“I really like you, Willow Bahaghari.”
“I—I like you, too.”
“How’d I do? I was going for sexy and suave and smooth.”
“Smooth as gravel, you big oaf,” she said into his chest, smiling.
They kissed again—longer, deeper, hungrier.
They were so focused on each other that they didn’t see the pair of yellow eyes or sense the dark shape slinking through the trees until it was right on top of them.
Finn gasped. Willow leapt up, tuning out her body’s aching protest. Whipping her handgun from its holster, she spun around, aiming at shadows.
Or, more specifically, one shadow.
“Took you long enough,” came a voice from the woods. A figure eased into the clearing and stepped off her hoverboard. She flung back her hood, revealing glossy black hair and a small, tough face, her mouth twisted in a wry smile.
Shadow and Raven had found them.
The End
Read on for the epic finale in Raging Light!
The end is coming. Safety is finally within their reach—but at what cost?
Raging Light
1
Micah
The beauty of the Sanctuary struck nineteen-year-old Micah Ramos Rivera like a blade between his ribs. After months of destruction, ruin, hunger, and death, it was impossible to get used to—even after all these weeks hidden inside the walls.
The February air was cold. Micah puffed out white steam with each breath. A few fat flakes of snow swirled down from the gun-metal gray sky, smearing his glasses. In the distance, huge mountains loomed on every side of the Sanctuary.
He gazed up at the pristine buildings surrounding him—all engineered white quartz—some domed, some spired, others tall white columns with large terraces jutting out on each level. Transparent spheres curved over the terraces, enclosing luxurious gardens.
Micah couldn’t see the forbidding electrified plasma wall surrounding the Sanctuary from here, but its presence always hovered in the back of his mind, reminding him that no matter how beautiful it was, they were trapped in here.
There was only so far they could run.
“They’re not doing anything,” Micah said. “Why aren’t they doing anything?”
“Who knows?” Fiona Walsh said.
Dozens of Sanctuary citizens were out and about, hurrying to jobs, home for dinner, or strolling with small children, all hunched inside their coats against the cold and wind. Their faces were tense, perhaps the shadows under their eyes were deeper, but they were still going about their daily business.
There was no uprising. No protests. No revolt.
“I’ve been listening to my co-workers, my family, anyone I could get close enough to overhear.” Fiona twirled a stray bright-red curl between her fingers. The rest of her fiery hair was tucked beneath a plain gray knit cap. “They’re angry, sure, but they feel helpless. Two elite women were going on and on about how Declan Black’s confession must have been coerced or faked, how easy it is to manipulate pixels.”
Micah stood with Silas outside a bot-repair center in sector four. Beside him, Theo, Fiona, and Kadek leaned against the wall, Smartflexes and holopads in hand, pretending to be engrossed in the latest vlog feed while surreptitiously scanning the crowds.
“Score one for poor judgment.” Silas shoved his hands deep in his pockets. His gray eyes were cold, hard.
Micah wasn’t sure what he was thinking. How did he really feel about all of this? Declan Black was his father, after all. But Silas was an enigma, as always. His lean, wolfish face revealed nothing.
“Or they say it was Declan Black acting on his own, a rogue agent, that there was no way our government would ever kill their own citizens,” said Kadek Tedjasukmana, one of the other undercover Patriots. He spat in disgust.
Four nights ago, on February first, President Sloane had put out an emergency broadcast—a mere twenty minutes after Micah, Silas, Theo, Fiona, and Kadek had hijacked the entire Sanctuary network and played Declan Black’s secretly recorded confession.
President Sloane had sat calmly in her presidential suite, modeled to resemble the Oval Office in the White House, and informed the people she would do everything in her power to determine the truth behind the Unity Coalition chairman’s revelations.
The government had blamed the virus on the resistance group, the New Patriots. But Declan Black had confessed to designing the Hydra virus, a deadly contagion meant to kill a hundred thousand of the poorest, most disposable citizens. It was Declan who had released the Hydra virus as an act of bioterrorism, in a calculated attempt to pass his Safe and Secu
re Act. The law had required citizens to receive the Vitalichip, an embedded chip that recorded health, personal, financial, political, and purchasing data, as well as tracking each citizen’s location.
It had worked—until the virus merged with the deadly bat-flu already ravaging the country. The new virulent contagion was a supervirus, one that devastated the entire world in only a few short weeks, killing off 96% of the world’s population. The fatality rate for those infected was 100%.
Until Amelia lived.
“They don’t want to believe,” Micah said, scanning the Sanctuary as his heart plummeted.
Lush greenery was everywhere, genetically modified trees with green leaves and verdant manicured hedges. Drones zoomed through the air above their heads—delivery, security, surveillance. Auto-transports controlled by a cloud-based AI hummed to and fro. Everything was clean, healthy, safe.
“If they choose to believe, they’d have to do something about it.” Kadek’s narrow face darkened. He was Indonesian, tall, and gangly, with long, lank black hair and sharp features. “If the people believe the government intentionally harmed their own citizens, how could they stay here and continue to trust that same government? They couldn’t. But this is the only place they’re safe. So it’s better to disbelieve evidence they’ve seen with their own eyes than to risk their own safety and the safety of the people they love—the few who are still alive.”
“I understand it,” Theo Reaver said, his voice cracking. He held an unopened bag of gummy worms in his left hand. He twisted the bag over and over, crumpling it between his fingers. His right hand gripped the arm of his wheelchair so tightly the tendons on the back of his hand stood out. He had been uncharacteristically subdued since the president’s first broadcast. “I don’t agree with it, but I understand.”
Like his twin sister, Cleo Reaver, Theo was Indian, with disheveled black hair and dark, intelligent eyes. Unlike his bloodthirsty sister, he was kindhearted and good-natured.
