Rising Storm: The Last Sanctuary: Book One

by Kyla Stone

  “Our fellow comrades are en route,” Simeon said. “Davison and Hernandez are outside the engine room, awaiting orders. The rest of the team are stationed and ready.”

  “And the surveillance?” Kane asked.

  “The relevant CCTV screens are set on a loop, ready to remote activate,” Gabriel said, his tablet in his hand. The ship's internal security system required two additional levels of access to hack, but he'd infiltrated them with ease.

  “Start the damn thing.” Kane adjusted his body armor beneath his uniform.

  When Simeon nodded, Gabriel tapped the tablet. Eight of the surveillance screens flickered and activated the recorded loops. “Done.”

  Simeon put his right fist over his heart. The other men followed. Gabriel felt his own heart beating through the fabric of his uniform. “For the honor of true patriots and the love of country.”

  “For the honor of true patriots and the love of country,” he repeated.

  He followed the men down a series of hallways to the central entrance to the bridge. They stopped before a reinforced steel door labeled 'Bridge: Authorized Entrants Only.'

  The two men in crew uniforms pressed themselves against the right wall, out of sight of the camera over the door. They dumped the layer of towels from the laundry cart and pulled out three subsonic assault rifles.

  Simeon and Hollis did the same on the left side of the door, pistols outfitted with silencers now in their hands. Both groups pulled black masks over their faces.

  Gabriel stood beside Kane in front of the camera and pressed the metal switch recessed into the left wall. The captain and bridge officers accessed the bridge through a retinal bioscanner. Everyone else entered the old-fashioned way.

  The bridge officer on the other side of the door would glance at the CCTV monitor and see only Kane, a radio officer, and Gabriel, dressed smartly in his security uniform with the black epaulettes on the shoulders. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

  Reinforced steel couldn't protect against treachery. Gabriel's heart jolted at the word. This wasn't treachery. It was justice. Justice for the people. A new revolutionary war, beginning today. Beginning now.

  There was a buzzing sound and the hatch swung open.

  Everything happened at once.

  12

  Willow

  “Can we order dessert first?” Benjie asked, a goofy grin on his face. He had a pack of playing cards arrayed around him on the table, intent on practicing his latest magic trick, something about making a card disappear right from his hands. “And breakfast for lunch!”

  “Only if we eat broccoli last,” her mom said.

  “No deal.” Zia wrinkled her nose and straightened the strap of the flowy aqua top with the photo-luminescent flowers, the one Willow had saved two months of spare change to buy for her birthday.

  They were eating lunch at the Imagination Café. Her stomach was bloated and achy from stuffing her face every chance she got, but that didn’t stop her from eating more. The tables were filled with hungry passengers freshly returned from their shore excursions. Everyone smelled like sunscreen, sea salt, and sweat.

  They’d spent the morning at a local beach in Grand Cayman, exploring the shops crammed with cheap island ware and trinkets made in China. It hadn’t been as fun as she’d expected. Port security handed out respiratory face masks to everyone disembarking.

  “Just a precaution,” they’d said with huge, white smiles. Apparently, a ton of people were sick with the bat flu in Grand Cayman, too. It was unsettling. And it reminded her of Rihanna, sick and miserable with the same flu back home.

  Zia swiped the menu embedded in the table and entered their orders. “After lunch, let’s do low-grav karaoke again!”

  “I’ll pass.” Zia could sing and dance. Willow had the coordination of an elephant on roller skates, even when floating in midair. “How about we check out the sleep pods in the spa and take a nap?”

  “That's so lame!” Benjie flipped his wrist and the Ace of Spades in his hand disappeared.

  “I have to work after lunch,” her mom said. “But I’ll be done before dinner, I promise. You guys have fun.”

  Willow forced herself not to roll her eyes. She had yet to do anything she wanted to do, and the damn cruise was half over. “Can I borrow your SmartFlex? I want to check in with Rihanna.”

  “I’m sorry, I let the battery die. But here—take my staff band.” Her mom rooted around in her pocket until she pulled out the red wristband. “Unlimited wi-fi at the tech station, one of the perks of the job!”

  One of the only perks. But she just said, “Thanks.”

  “That’s an administrative key,” her mom said. “It can access almost any door on the ship.”

  “Wow.” Zia’s eyes widened.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” her mom warned, locking eyes with Willow. “Please be responsible.”

  Willow rolled her eyes. When was she not responsible?

  A service bot brought them virgin margaritas and chilled platters of lemon tart, yogurt panna-cotta, and artisanal chocolate truffles with sides of fresh fruit. Benjie shoved huge chunks of real watermelon into his mouth until his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's. Pink juice dribbled down his chin.

  Zia giggled. Benjie made a silly face at her and then they were both cracking up. Zia's shoulders convulsed. She clapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. She did that gasping, donkey-bray laugh she'd perfected as a little kid. Her mom laughed, too.

  Willow smiled, but it felt tight, like it didn’t fit her face. She was being selfish, she knew that. She loved her family; she just wished she didn’t have to resent them all the time.

  The cruise director's chirpy voice came over the ship's speakers: “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you had a wonderful time enjoying Grand Cayman today! A quick note of unfortunate news. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the Grand Voyager won't be docking in Belize tomorrow morning as planned.”

  A collective groan rose from the passengers.

  “What's going on?” Zia wrinkled her nose.

  Her mom shrugged. “I think they're trying to avoid that big storm, what's-its-name. They're so . . . capricious these days. It happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about.”

  “What's capricious mean?” Benjie asked.

  “Hard to plan for. But we can still have plenty of fun.”

  “I'm glad we're here,” Zia said.

  Her mom smiled so wide her eyes crinkled at the edges. “Me too, honey. Me, too.” Her mom looked so relaxed as she sipped her margarita. Content and peaceful. Like Willow hadn't seen her for a long time. It made her happy and sad at the same time.

  She popped a chocolate raspberry truffle in her mouth and watched the ocean glimmering like burnished steel. It was so beautiful, her heart hurt. Every day that passed made her heart hurt worse.

  Pretty soon, this would all be gone. And she’d never get it back again.

  13

  Gabriel

  The bridge door swung open. One of the Patriots tossed Gabriel a rifle as he rushed in.

  “Don’t move!” Hollis shouted.

  He caught a glimpse of the panoramic windows encircling the room. The long, rectangular console featured a bank of digital charts, position readouts, and satmaps hovering over the sleek surface. He'd been in the bridge dozens of times. But never like this.

  Time seemed to slow. All sound faded save for the blood whooshing through his ears. Two bridge officers, a security officer, and the helmsman turned toward them. The captain stood at the center of the console in front of the helm.

  “Don't move!” Hollis screamed again at the helmsman, a British man who started for the mayday button as soon as he saw the guns. He lunged for the center console, not hesitating for a moment.

  Neither did Hollis. She slammed out two shots in quick succession, puncturing the helmsman's chest. He dropped to the floor, red spots spreading like ink stains across his shirt.

  The sound ricocheted louder than Gabriel expe
cted. Silencers couldn't suppress all noise from a projectile weapon, not like a pulse gun. But they wouldn't be heard through the steel door and thick walls.

  The remaining officers gaped at the fallen body. Gabriel stared with them, fighting down the acid rising in his throat. The rifle hung limply at his side.

  Simeon moved swiftly to Captain Johannes Liebenberg and pressed the gun against his head. “No one does anything foolish, and you'll all live. This fight is not with you. Do you understand?”

  Hollis swiveled, aiming her pistol at each of the officers until they nodded. The Second Officer, an attractive African-American woman with short hair, stood next to the captain, frozen. The Third Officer stood halfway between the console and the exterior door to the portside wing. He was trembling, sweat popping out on his forehead.

  “You'll never get away with this,” Captain Liebenberg growled.

  “Oh, but we already have.” Simeon's voice was steady, but Gabriel recognized the rush of his words. Adrenaline must be kicking through him the same way it streaked through his own veins, filling him with frenetic energy. His heart slammed against his ribs.

  “This was easier than hijacking a semi-truck.” Hollis laughed, her eyes gleaming. “At sea, there's no law enforcement. No surveillance drones. It’s like stealing candy from a baby. A rich, gold-gilded baby.”

  Gabriel turned to the right, where the security monitors mimicked those in the security room—a large transparent screen showing images in quadrants of four, the feed shifting to various hallways and external areas of the ship in ten second intervals. Not a thing looked out of place, though he knew fellow freedom fighters were barging into the radio and engine rooms that very second. The screens revealed nothing.

  “Everyone against the wall,” Simeon ordered. “Davison and Hernandez, tie them up.”

  “Why are you doing this?” The third officer's voice trembled. He was middle-aged, with short blonde hair and a harsh Ukrainian accent tinged with fear. “Are you pirates? Are you with one of the syndicates? Are you—”

  Simeon smiled at him. “You read the daily reports from the Maritime Bureau's Piracy Reporting Center. You tell me—what should you do now?”

  The man licked his lips, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head with terror. “If pirates board your ship, do not resist. They're after money and ransom. Do what they say, they'll leave you alone. Let the company worry about losses.”

  “Exactly. Now sit down, hold out your hands, and shut up.”

  “Voyager Enterprises will pay you. They have hostage insurance. Just tell us what—”

  “You're no pirate,” the captain interrupted, his voice laced with barely contained rage. “This isn't the southern Red Sea or the coast of Somalia.”

  “Sir, I have to respectfully ask you to stop talking,” Simeon said.

  “You're Americans!” Captain Liebenberg glared at Kane and Gabriel, the only two men not wearing ski masks. “You’ve both served this ship for months, if not years. You're traitors!”

  “Shut the hell up!” Kane barked.

  “You're terrorists!”

  Simeon slammed the butt of his gun against the captain's head. “I said, that's enough!”

  Liebenberg's head lolled to the side. A trickle of blood dripped down his forehead and thickened in his left eyebrow. “Whatever you want from me, I will not give it to you.”

  Kane stood splay-legged, monitoring the hostages as Hollis bound their arms behind them with zip ties. “If he doesn't shut his ugly mouth, I'm gonna do it for him.”

  The Second Officer still stood beside the captain, a grim smile on her face. No one had touched her.

  Gabriel started to lift his gun, but Hollis shook her head.

  “This is treason! You’re murderers.” Captain Liebenberg looked straight at Gabriel. “Each and every one of you—murderers and terrorists!”

  Gabriel flinched. His free hand curled into a fist at his side.

  “I'm warning you!” Kane swung his weapon around to point at the captain.

  The captain raised his chin defiantly. “I'll see you get the needle, if it's the last thing I do.”

  “Nah, man,” Kane said, his smile a fierce slash of teeth. “This is the last thing you'll do.”

  And he pressed the trigger.

  14

  Willow

  “Hey, Gwyneth!”

  Zia elbowed Willow in the side. “Is that guy calling you Gwyneth?”

  Willow flushed. “Just go with it,” she hissed to Zia, and turned around in the middle of the promenade.

  Finn lumbered toward her, waving wildly with a goofy grin on his face as he nearly bowled over a group of older, well-groomed ladies chatting and nibbling fat-free gelatos in the center of the main corridor. He was even bigger than she remembered.

  “Hey, Finn.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and attempted a sophisticated smile. “This is my sister, Monique.”

  Monique? Zia mouthed in horror. Willow pinched her arm, sending her a stronger message. She wasn’t going to let her sister ruin this, too.

  Finn shook Zia’s hand, enveloping her hand past her wrist. “Nice to meet you, Monique.”

  “Likewise,” Zia managed to force out, her nose wrinkling warily.

  “Um, we’re headed for the library for a bit.” She cleared her throat, pretending she didn't care either way. After lunch, her mom had dropped Benjie off at the Kid Zone on her way to housekeeping. And Willow was stuck with Zia yet again. “I mean, you're welcome to come if—”

  “I'd love to,” Finn said, falling into step beside them. Zia trailed behind them, scowling furiously.

  The library was half tech station, half bookshelves filled with old, mostly leather-bound books. The sign by the door stated they were all either autographed copies or original first editions.

  She sat in the ergonomic chair and swiped her wristband over the sensor integrated into the sleek black desk. The navbar display appeared, hovering in front of her. “Welcome, Willow,” the computer said in a smooth British accent.

  She flinched, but Finn was over in the library section with Zia, totally oblivious.

  She stared at the display. No vids from Rihanna. Nothing. Not even text.

  Willow: You there?

  There was nothing for a moment, then Rihanna’s face appeared. But it was her holo avatar, a saved gif of her hamming it up for the camera, her eyes bright, a huge, goofy grin spread across her face.

  Rihanna: Hey you. Long time no see.

  Willow: How come you aren’t live streaming?

  Rihanna: Trust me. You don’t want to see this.

  Willow: What’s going on? You still alive over there?

  Rihanna: Once upon a time, that used to be funny.

  Willow: Are you okay?

  Rihanna: Not really.

  Willow: Are you in a hospital?

  Rihanna: Nah. The hospitals are full. They’ve got armed guards turning people away.

  Willow: What?

  Rihanna: Not just in Newark. But everywhere. You've been a good friend, even when things were rough. Thanks for that.

  Willow swallowed. Why was Rihanna acting so strange? And why didn’t she want Willow to see her? Now you're weirding me out.

  No response.

  Willow: Hello? You there?

  Nothing. Her pulse thudded in her throat. A sense of foreboding settled over her.

  Willow: Rihanna?

  Still nothing.

  “Refresh,” she said. But nothing changed. The holograph of Rihanna’s face was frozen, the barely visible glow around the edges flickering. She swiped the projection with her finger. Still nothing.

  “This isn't working,” she said. “I can't connect.”

  Finn lumbered over and scanned his wristband across a different desk sensor. Nothing. He unclasped his SmartFlex, which resembled a thick leather cuff, and straightened it. “Activate Skittles.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Skittles?”

  “The name of my first pet gold
fish. I’m sentimental like that. What can I say?” Finn focused on the digital overlay. But his SmartFlex remained as still and silent as the computer. “Maybe the satellite is down. There's that huge storm off the coast of Honduras.”

  “A hurricane?” Zia's face puckered worriedly.

  “Just a tropical. They named it Wyatt or something.”

  Willow stared at Rihanna’s frozen face. “Jeez, what a stupid name.”

  “I know, right? If they want people to be all scared and evacuate from some monster storm, at least give it a monstrous name.” He flashed her a lopsided grin, revealing the gap between his teeth. “It's an insult to get all worked up over a Wyatt.”

  She laughed, but it came out sharp and too high. Rihanna was just playing one of her games. She’d been okay enough to message, so she must be getting better. If the stupid internet hadn't cut out, Rihanna would've mocked her for letting the media's 'doom and gloom' shtick get under her skin.

  “We'll just have to roll with the old and archaic forms of entertainment.” Finn grinned mischievously. “Would you enjoy a rousing game of mini-golf?”

  She tugged at her dress. “In this?”

  “Excuses, excuses.”

  She flushed again. “Why not?”

  Finn grinned, revealing the adorable gap between his front teeth. “Not quite a ringing endorsement, but I'll take it.”

  Zia’s expression brightened. “Can I come?”

  “It's totally fine if she—” Finn started.

  Willow shook her head. Frustration and resentment swirled inside her. She’d had enough of babysitting. She didn’t want Zia around, ruining everything when she’d finally made a friend. “Why don’t you hang out here? Read an actual book or something. We’ll meet up later.”

  “I'm not supposed to—”

  Willow whirled on her. “Seriously, enough! You're not a baby. Stop acting like one.”

  Zia's face blanched. “But—”

  “I'm doing what I want for once! If that's a sucky game of mini-golf, so be it.”