by Kyla Stone
Gabriel hadn’t been able to keep the grin off his face. He had known exactly what he wanted to do. What Nadira would have wanted him to do.
Now, Gabriel knelt and unpacked an insulated medical case from his backpack. He opened it and showed Micah the rows of sealed vials. Half of them were sealed with blue lids, the other half, red. “The vaccine for the uninfected. The cure for the infected.”
Micah stared down at them. He adjusted his glasses, blinking rapidly. “You’re going out into the world. You’re going to find survivors. To give them the cure.”
Gabriel fought the growing lump in his throat. This wouldn’t be easy. But it was the right thing to do. It was redemption. “I need to do this.”
Micah nodded, finally understanding. “You’ll come back.”
“I’ll always come back.” He hadn’t been separated from his brother for more than a few days since Micah had been born, except for his short jaunt on the Grand Voyager before Micah joined him. “Maybe one of these times, when you get bored of this place, you can come with me.”
“I will,” Micah said.
Gabriel pulled his brother into a tight embrace. “Just us,” he whispered.
When Micah smiled, it was through bittersweet tears. “Always.”
38
Amelia
“Can we talk?” Gabriel asked.
Amelia sat on the top step of the capitol’s marble staircase, staring out at the lush green of Unity Square. It was the first week of March, and the snow had mostly melted. A few children chased each other around the manicured hedges rimming the perimeter.
It was hard to believe that only a few weeks ago, the snow and grass were stained red with the blood of resistance fighters and Coalition soldiers alike. Hard to believe that she and Gabriel had stood here at gunpoint while President Sloane screamed for their heads.
Harder still to believe that it was finally over.
Her gaze lifted to the ramparts atop the plasma wall in the far distance. She still hadn’t forced herself to step foot on the spot where Silas had given his life. Soon. But not yet.
“He died a hero,” Gabriel said gruffly.
She nodded, unable to reply.
“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye,” he said after a moment.
Her gaze snapped to his, her heart in her throat. She didn’t want to say goodbye to him, not ever. But she had no right to say that. “Gabriel—”
“I’m not asking you to say anything in return. I just need you to know that I love you.”
Love was a thing with many sides, as deep as the ocean and as faceted as a diamond. Love could hurt. It could cut.
Sometimes, it was toxic. And sometimes, you could love someone and know in your deepest heart that that love wasn’t the best thing for you, that you were meant for something else.
You could love someone and still not choose them.
Looking up at him, Amelia realized the truth. She couldn’t choose him. Because she was stronger now. And sometimes, part of all that was knowing better than your feelings.
Gabriel had made some of those scars on her heart. There were some things even forgiveness couldn’t overcome.
It was all complex and complicated. But she knew—in some deep, still place inside of her—that to go back to him would be a betrayal of her own self.
And that was something she could not do.
“I know,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me. I can see it in your eyes.”
She didn’t apologize. She had nothing to apologize for.
It saddened her all the same to see the pain in his eyes, the pain reflected in her own heart, to recognize everything that could have been, but wasn’t, could never be.
But she was okay with that.
“I will never stop loving you,” he said in a husky voice. “But Micah is good for you. He’s better for you.”
Her chest filled with a rush of warmth. She still cared deeply for him. She always would. Friendship was another form of love. Not a lesser form, but different. It was just as real, just as powerful. “I never thought you’d change. But you proved me wrong. You’re a good man, Gabriel.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “Friends?”
She smiled back. “We already are.”
After dinner that evening, Amelia took a walk around the square. She wore a pair of comfortable jeans and a T-shirt. The air still had a bite to it, especially at night, but she welcomed the chilly breeze on her bare skin. It woke up her senses, started to make her feel alive again.
Though curfew had officially been abolished, most people were still inside by the time the stars winked into existence. A dog barked somewhere, insects buzzed, and some small creature rustled the hedge beside her. Mostly, it was quiet out here.
The moon was a sliver of silver in the indigo sky, the stars sparkling like glitter. They were so bright, so close she could almost reach out and touch them. She needed this. Her broken heart needed this, needed to know there was still beauty in the world, waiting for her to find it.
She’d only gone a fourth of the way when Micah found her. “I have something for you,” he said, his expression hesitant. He hid something behind his back.
Amelia turned to face him. She could still make out his familiar features in the gathering twilight. Around the perimeter of the square, the cozy glow of lit windows radiated through the night. The mountains were the barest shadows, reduced to immense shapes blotting out sections of the sky.
He held it out to her. It was a thin print book—Suzuki for Beginners, Book One emblazoned on the front. She couldn’t breathe for a moment for the grief pounding through her, endless as waves against the shore. “I told you, Micah. I—I can’t play.”
His smile faltered, but only slightly. He didn’t drop his hands. “There’s a woman here who works with the hydroponic farms. Her name is Daisy Bradshaw. She’s about seventy now. She used to play the violin. Thirty years ago, she played with the Chicago Symphony.”
Amelia stared at him, still not sure she understood.
“When she retired, she taught students whose parents wanted them to learn real music, real passion. She said she can work with you, to find a way to play, even with the tremors. It won’t be perfect, but it will be something. She’ll teach you from the beginning. Note by note.”
She bowed her head. She looked at her fingers, at the permanent indentations, a reminder of a lifetime dedicated to a song she could no longer play. Her fingers looked fine until she tried to use them. She curled her fingers into fists as that strange tremor pulsed through her hands. A deep, overwhelming sense of loss cascaded through her.
Micah took a step toward her. His eyes were so full of hope and eager determination that she thought her heart would crack into even more pieces. “Your music is in your heart, your head, your soul. You can find your way back.”
“Do you think it’s possible?” she whispered.
“I do. You can. We can. Note by note. Step by step. Brick by brick. It’s how we learn to walk, to trust, to love. It’s how we rebuild the world.”
Her cheeks were wet. She didn’t know when that had happened. “Thank you.”
Twilight faded into night. The Sanctuary’s automated lampposts switched on, bathing them both in a soft yellow haze. Micah stood motionless, the book in one hand, the other half-raised, inches from her face. She felt the distance between their skin like static electricity.
“I told you once I wouldn’t touch you without your permission, do you remember?”
“That was before Sweet Creek farm,” she said, “before everything.”
“I love you,” he blurted. “I’ve been wanting to tell you but I didn’t think—I would never hurt Gabriel, but he said—he told me I should, that he wanted us to be together, if that’s what you wanted…”
She stared at him, unable for a moment to speak. Her heart was thudding in her ears, her throat, the tips of her fingers.
He was still sweet, steady, reliable Micah, the rock s
he could always turn to and depend on, but suddenly he was more. His eyes were warm and dark, fringed with long lashes, his mouth slightly parted as he watched her. His unruly hair curled over his ears. His skin was a flawless bronze in the soft lamplight.
Her heart filled with so many emotions she could barely sort through them all: Warmth, gratitude, affection, longing. Love.
It had taken time to figure out just what kind of love it was, a precious friendship deepening into something else, something more. During the time they’d been separated these last several weeks, she’d missed him with every cell in her body.
She did love him. All this time, she’d loved him. So many other things had gotten in the way—trying to stay alive, for one—but beneath it all, like a steady heartbeat, she’d loved him.
Maybe sometimes it took an absence for a heart to realize the shape of the thing it was missing.
“I’ve wanted to tell you,” he said softly, his voice thick, “so many times.”
A shadow of that old fear whispered through her. She stiffened. “I’m not whole,” she said. “Some things are still so hard. I’m broken, damaged. I’m not perfect. I’m not—”
“There’s a Leonard Cohen poem,” Micah said. “‘There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.’”
Micah understood her. He’d always understood. He understood her pain, her fear, but also her strength, her music, her passion. And because he understood, he’d waited.
Because he’d never tried to take this choice—or any choice—away from her.
He shifted anxiously. “I never wanted you to feel—”
She arched onto her tiptoes and kissed him.
He tensed for a brief moment, startled, as if worried that if he moved a muscle, she would bolt. But she didn’t.
The Suzuki book fell to the ground, forgotten. He reached out and cradled her head in his hands, drawing her gently to him. He kissed her back, softly at first, his lips full and sweet.
Every nerve in her body tingled. Her stomach fluttered. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through his wavy hair. He smelled like vanilla and old books, but it was a good smell, a smell that filled her and made her heady with the scent of it.
He kissed her harder, more insistently, drawing her as close as he could. He wrapped her in his arms and held on like he might never let go. His arms were the most comforting place she could think of. She clung to him, and he clung to her.
They stood in the circle of lamplight, surrounded by darkness but safe and warm together. Whatever happened next, whatever the darkness held, the grief and struggle and pain that awaited them, she no longer feared it.
She’d faced her greatest threats alone; she knew she was capable, knew she could endure, would endure. But she didn’t have to do it alone anymore. And that meant everything.
She felt the pulse of his heart against her own chest, both of their hearts beating in tandem. It sounded like peace. It felt like home.
It felt like flying, like soaring into a clear blue sky, but without the fear, only exhilaration, happiness, peace. Like she was finally where she belonged. Where she’d always belonged.
39
Micah
“There’s something I want to show you,” Micah said to Amelia.
The sun shone in the cobalt blue sky. Clouds drifted like lacy ribbons above the mountains surrounding them. Birds chirped, and in the distance, the sound of children laughing. The snow was gone. Here and there, blades of verdant green poked through the brown earth outside the Sanctuary.
“There,” Micah said, pointing toward the quarantine tent. Two lines of people stretched out on either side of the containment center, where they’d first entered the Sanctuary what felt like a lifetime ago.
In the line nearest the gate, mothers held babies close to their chests. Small children clutched their fathers’ legs. A few loners stood apart while groups and families huddled closer together. Some looked weary and dirty, like they hadn’t bathed in weeks. Others were dressed in clean clothes with brushed hair.
Everyone wore masks and gloves. And every face, both young and old, bore the strain of barely-believed hope.
Soldiers in hazmat suits with scanners and med-bots bobbing along behind them walked along the lines, giving out instructions and scanning people. They directed certain people into the quarantine tent. “They’re sending the infected inside to receive the cure,” Micah said. “They’ll quarantine everyone for twenty-four hours to ensure the virus is really dead, then release them.”
“And the vaccine?” Amelia asked.
Micah pointed to where the soldiers were sending a second group to a long table near the Sanctuary entrance. Willow and Celeste stood behind the table with several nurses, along with Theo and Fiona. They greeted each person with a smile and a few words before injecting them with serum 341.
At the end of the table, Finn handed out stuffed animals with his good arm. His giant shadow swallowed up the children who darted in shyly to grab a teddy bear of their own.
Amelia closed her eyes, her face lifted toward the sun. “What is that Emily Dickinson poem?”
“‘Hope is a thing with feathers,’” he said, unable to tear his gaze from her.
Nothing was perfect. It never would be. There would be disagreements, fighting. New enemies would rise up and try to steal the happiness others had found. But today was pretty close to perfect.
This was how he would live. He would take each day. He would try his best to be kind, to help others. He would take risks. He would love deeply. His family, his friends, even strangers. Because they were all in this thing together. And above all, he would never give up hope.
In the end, that was everything.
“Do you want to help?” he asked her.
“Yes! With all my heart, yes. But there’s something I need to do first.” Amelia removed the leather thong from around her neck. She unclasped the diamond charm bracelet and held it in her open palm.
He raised his eyebrows at her. “What do you want to do with it?”
She stared down at it. The diamonds sparkled and glinted in the sun. Her brow furrowed. “I kept it for so long. I wasn’t sure why. But I don’t need it anymore. It’s time to let it go. I’ll give it to one of these families. They can trade it for food, medicine, something actually useful.”
She slipped the bracelet in her pocket and placed the leather thong he’d given her back around her neck, over her heart. “I have what I need.”
Micah watched her. Her pale cheeks held a hint of color. Her white-blonde hair rippled in the breeze, her eyes shining brighter than any diamond. She was so brave, so beautiful, this girl that he loved.
“We’ll be okay, you know.” He leaned in and kissed her tenderly on her forehead. “Not tomorrow. Not today. But we will.”
Amelia took Micah’s hand. “We will.”
Together, they faced the new world.
The End
I hope you enjoyed reading The Last Sanctuary series as much as I enjoyed writing it. But the journey isn’t quite over yet…
Isolated at her family's wildlife refuge in northern Georgia, 18-year-old Raven longs to escape. Instead, she spends her days shoveling manure for bears, wolves, and a tiger.
That is, until her father contracts the deadly Hydra virus.
Desperate to help him, Raven journeys into town to get medicine, only to discover the outside world collapsing into chaos. There are no police, no laws, and no hospitals. No one is coming to help.
The wildlife refuge she once resented now offers sanctuary--plenty of food, shelter, and the safety of electrified fences. Using the skills her father taught her, Raven knows how to survive.
But the threat is just beginning. The electrified fences may be failing. Even worse, a dangerous gang tracks Raven back to the refuge. And they'll stop at nothing to take what she has...
Want to know more of Raven’s story? No Safe Haven is a stand-alone companion novel
to The Last Sanctuary series. Though it takes place chronologically between Rising Storm and Falling Stars, it can be read in any order. Stay tuned for a sneak peek after About the Author at the end of this book.
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Part I
No Safe Haven Sneak Peek
Chapter One
Silence could drown a person.
At least, that’s what Raven Nakamura’s mother had said three years ago, the day she left for good.
Her mom didn’t have it quite right, though. It wasn’t silence. There were more sounds than Raven could count—the whirring of insects, the breeze rustling the elm and maple trees lining the flagstone paths, and the constant calls, screeches, hoots, bellows, grunts, and growls of the numerous and varied exotic animals that lived here.
Maybe it was isolation that could drown a person.
