by Kyla Stone
“Run!” she cried.
A bang exploded in her ears. She screamed.
The terrorist stumbled, his face contorting in a stunned grimace. His gun wavered as he stared down at the red spreading across his chest.
He staggered, then fell to the floor.
A moment later, a guy dressed in black combat gear stepped out from around the corner. He had a long, wolfish face and a sour expression. He smirked, cradling a semi-automatic in his arms. “You do know that’s not how you’re supposed to use a gun, right?”
Her legs turned to water, and she crumpled to her knees. Benjie raced back to her, bursting into tears. She dropped the gun and wrapped him in a fierce hug, both their bodies trembling. She looked up at the guy. “Thanks for the tip. And you know, saving us.”
He looked down at the body, nudging the guy’s arm. “I needed the target practice.” His voice was light, but his face was pale, his lips a thin, bloodless line.
Benjie coughed, wheezing for air as she stroked his hair. “Here, get your inhaler from your backpack. It's okay, everything's okay.”
“Technically, it's not.” He reached down and grabbed the dead terrorist's rifle.
Two other people limped around the corner behind him, one in the standard dark-clothed terrorist garb. She leapt to her feet, pushing her brother behind her.
The first guy rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’m Silas Black, by the way. Meet my sister, Amelia, and I forgot this one’s name.”
“I'm Micah,” the second guy said. She recognized him from the Oasis dining room. She’d noticed his boyish handsomeness in his tux and white gloves. Now, he was covered in smudges of dirt and blood, his eyes wide and wild.
Micah’s arm looped around Amelia Black's shoulder, holding her up. Her face and neck were bruised and bloodied, her hair a tangled mess around her face.
“Is she okay?” Willow asked.
“None of us are okay,” Silas said.
“I'll be fine.” Amelia’s voice was raw, but she lifted her head and met Willow's gaze.
“We need to go, guys,” Micah said. “We’re headed for the lifeboats. Come on.”
“Just a second.” Willow called for the rest of the kids and the caregivers to come down the stairs. Several small, terrified faces peered around the corner of the stairwell.
Silas scowled. “You've got to be joking. There's no way in hell we're babysitting a bunch of snotty-faced rug rats on a sinking death-ship. Just, no.”
“We can't abandon little kids,” Micah said. “We'll figure it out.”
“They'll slow us down and make too much noise. They'll get us all killed. There are still psychopaths all over this ship.” He kicked at the dead man's body at his feet. “Enter exhibit A.”
“You're the psychopath!” Willow hissed. How could someone even think that way? He was just another rich bastard, a pompous elitist asshat with no compassion, no conscience.
Silas's face darkened. He took a menacing step toward her. “You forget just who knows how to use a gun here.”
“We’re taking them with us,” Micah said. “No discussion.”
“Fine.” Silas sneered. “We’ll leave you with the brats. Have fun.”
“Silas.” Amelia's voice was hoarse. But her brother stopped. A look passed between them. “We're going. All of us.”
The PA system cackled. “This is CSO Schneider. We are abandoning ship. I repeat, abandon ship. Please follow standard evacuation protocols—”
Another explosion trembled the floors, the walls, the ceiling. A couple of the kids stumbled and fell. Willow leaned against the elevator for support. The floor seemed to slide beneath her feet. Not rolling. Tilting.
“I smell smoke,” Benjie said in a quavering voice.
He was right. They all smelled it, a stench like burning rubber, something foul and dangerous.
Fifty yards down the royal promenade on the right, the heavy fire-resistant door that led to the next section hadn’t closed properly. Fire burst into the promenade, black smoke billowing toward them. Flames licked the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
“Time to go!” Micah shouted.
There was a loud groaning, scraping sound, and the floor tilted again. The ship was listing. Willow grabbed Benjie’s hand. “Run!”
The group half-ran, half-staggered left along the royal promenade, toward the aft stairwell. Shards of glass and chunks of wall and ceiling littered the floor. The gold mermaids in the fountain were punctured with bullet holes.
Behind the fountain, the grand staircase was fractured, the glass spidered with jagged cracks. Several stairs were missing, the others shattered.
Smoke clouded the air in a murky, deepening haze. The stench was stronger now, stinging Willow’s nostrils, gagging her throat. She stepped over a splintered, gilt-framed painting, what was once an authentic Jackson Pollock.
They edged around an enormous fallen chandelier, a motionless body trapped beneath the broken crystals. The group reached the closed fire-resistant door separating them and the aft stairwell. Micah pushed the green button. A red light over the door flashed, and the alarm blared.
Willow turned to Micah. “Didn’t the Grand Voyager holo ads promise to make all my wishes come true?”
Micah snorted. “We might have oversold ourselves a bit.”
“So did the Titanic,” Amelia said.
Willow grabbed Benjie with her free hand and pushed him through the opening. “Dream vacation, my ass. Let’s get the hell off this ship.”
By the time Willow and the others made it to Deck Four, dozens of panicking passengers crowded the deck, impatiently waiting to board the lifeboats. Several officers and a few men in plainclothes flanked either side, weapons up and ready in case of another attack. Crew members prepared the lifeboats and handed out life preservers.
The deck was slick and pitched beneath her feet, tilting downward. The rain battered her head. It should have been dark without lights, but tongues of fire burned through the outer decks on the floors above them, casting everything in an eerie orange glow.
Flitting, shouting shadows surrounded them. She gripped Benjie's hand tighter and stumbled through the surging crowd, searching every face she passed for her mom. But she wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere.
Instead, Willow bumped into Celeste. The girl just stood there, her wet hair curtaining her face, her eyes shiny with terror.
“Get in line for a lifeboat!” Willow shook Celeste's shoulders. Celeste nodded dully.
“They won't let us through!” Nadira cried.
Micah helped them shove a path through the panicked, jostling crowd to the closest lifeboat.
“Children first,” the crew member manning the boat ordered, stopping a blonde, middle-aged woman from climbing aboard.
“Do you know who I am?” she sputtered. Her mascara dripped down her cheeks, her hair plastered to her skull. “I’m Meredith Jackso—”
“No one cares.” Willow pushed the woman aside and lifted Benjie onto the boat.
The ship shifted with a great groan, tilting at a steeper angle. Benjie's legs slipped into the gap between the lifeboat and the side of the ship. He jerked out of her grasp. She grabbed at his arms, but her fingers couldn't grip his slick skin.
“Benjie!”
From inside the lifeboat, someone lunged forward, grabbed Benjie by his backpack, and hauled him up and over the lip of the hatch. He fell in a heap on the floor of the boat.
A familiar face peered out at her.
“Finn!” she gasped.
He grinned crookedly. “Come on in.”
“Hurry up!” someone shouted.
“Let us on!” Bodies jostled her. Someone elbowed her hard in her spine. Hands clawed and shoved at her back.
Then Micah was there, standing between her and the crowd. “Go!”
She nearly slipped as she and Nadira helped the rest of the children. Finn leaned out of the hatch and grabbed each kid, easily lifting them to safety.
“Climb in
!” Micah pushed Nadira into the boat and turned to Willow.
“But my mom—!” Could Willow really escape not knowing if her mom was dead or alive? Her mom could still be on the ship. What if she was trapped somewhere and needed help? What if—
Gunshots blasted from somewhere above them. Everyone screamed. The crowd throbbed, slipping and skidding across the slanting deck. Several people knocked against the railing, lost their balance, and fell, plunging into the ocean below.
“There's no time!” Micah shoved her. “Go!”
Maybe her mom had made it onto one of the other lifeboats. Maybe . . . but her hope dwindled with every explosion that rent the sky.
Benjie. She needed to stay with Benjie. It's what her mom would want. She took a deep breath and climbed into the boat. When it was full, Micah released the gripes and securing wires. He guided two crew members onto the lifeboat and started to close the hatch.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I'll take the next one.” The hatch slid shut. The shouting and the roaring wind dimmed. Everyone huddled together on the benches, soaking, trembling, terrified. Benjie and one of the little girls buried themselves against her sides.
The boat swayed as it lowered toward the sea. It released, dropping the last few feet to the water. A wave swelled beneath them, and the boat bucked as the crew started the engine and motored away from the sinking Grand Voyager.
“Mom!” Willow twisted around, searching the passengers’ strained faces. “Has anyone seen Marisol Bahaghari?”
But no one answered. Her mom wasn’t here. Dread settled in her stomach, hard as stone.
A few benches over, someone vomited. The sour stench filled her nostrils and she clenched her lips, willing herself to hold it together. She needed to be strong for Benjie.
Another crew member bustled around, handing out Dramamine and bottled water. When the lady next to her tried to wave it away, the girl insisted. “It's to keep you from becoming dangerously dehydrated.”
“That and the smell,” Finn said.
Willow tried to smile, but she couldn’t. Her face felt like a mask, skin stretched over bone. It was only after they'd gotten far enough from the ship that she dared look back.
The Grand Voyager looked like a ghost ship. The once magnificent white hull listed to the side, alight with the hungry, flickering glow of the flames chewing through the middle decks. Black smoke billowed up into the sky like the breath of a great dragon.
But the water would swallow the dragon. The ocean didn’t care how mighty and splendid the Grand Voyager was, how wealthy and powerful its passengers. The ship would go down, every inch of it, devoured by the cold, indifferent sea.
Willow tore her gaze from the sinking ship. A second lifeboat headed toward them. A third boat released from the cradle too early. Instead of lowering on the cables, it dropped the last fifteen feet. But they were all free of the ship. Another explosion ripped the top decks, fire and smoke spewing into the darkness.
Finn sat across from her, exhausted, his eyes as wide and scared and lost as her own. But he was alive. Whatever hell he'd been through, he was alive. They both were.
“Where's Mom?” Benjie sat up. “Where's Zia?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to be strong. She pulled him close and rested her forehead against his, the way her mom always did whenever one of them was frightened or sick or sad.
Her mom might be in another lifeboat. It was possible. But somehow, she knew. She felt it deep in her bones. Her mom was gone, just like Zia.
“No one can hurt them now, I promise,” she whispered to Benjie. “You don't need to be scared anymore. I’m going to keep you safe.”
He nodded and nestled himself in her lap like a puppy. In moments, he was asleep.
If only she could sleep, too. Her eyes were gritty, her thoughts thick and foggy. Every muscle in her body ached. But Benjie slept the sleep of the innocent.
She wasn't innocent. The memory of her sister's eyes, blank and empty as marbles, burned through her. Zia had died because of her. She'd died alone and terrified. All because of Willow's selfishness. She’d spent all her time and energy resenting her family instead of loving them.
What she wouldn’t give now to hear Zia’s donkey laugh or listen to another of her mom’s lectures on family responsibility. Her mom, who always sacrificed her own needs for her kids. Her mom, who only worked so hard to take care of them.
She stroked Benjie’s hair as she blinked back tears, her heart aching with grief and regret. She couldn't cry. Not for herself. She didn't deserve it.
51
Gabriel
Jericho shoved Gabriel through the crowd, the gun pressed against the small of his back. His hands were bound in front of him, the hard plastic digging into his wrists. Rain pelted him. The wind battered him against the railing. The blazing fire above them battled the lightning forking through the clouds. The sky was a dark, seething mass, like a living beast swooping down to devour them all.
“Move it!” Jericho herded him past the first line of people shoving and jostling to board the lifeboat. There weren't enough crew to manage the calm, orderly emergency evacuation they'd trained for. The repeated shout, “Please remain calm!” was lost in the din. The storm, the boiling sea, the listing deck, and the flames transformed the passengers into a writhing throng of panic.
The ship tilted. Everyone screamed, stumbling and slipping against the railing. Several of the barrel-shaped life raft canisters popped loose from their storage on the deck. Gabriel leapt aside as one bounced past him and crashed over the railing.
Beside him, two crew members lowered the fourth lifeboat on its cables. Gabriel felt his brother's presence before he saw him. He twisted around.
“Don't move!” Jericho jammed the gun against his spine.
Gabriel barely noticed. “Micah!”
Micah bent over the controls as the davits and cables lowered the lifeboat until it was even with Deck Four. He glanced up at the sound of his name. His curls plastered against his forehead, water fogging his glasses. His gaze met Gabriel's and he froze, his face contorting.
Micah jerked his head and broke eye contact, turning back to the lifeboat. He opened the hatch and helped the first few passengers climb inside.
Gabriel blinked the rain out of his eyes. Impossible. And yet there she was, not ten yards away, Silas propping her up as Micah grasped her hand to pull her into the boat. Lightning ripped the sky, revealing her pale face, the bruising and the cut on her lip. But she was alive, dirty and wounded, but gloriously alive.
She looked at him, their eyes meeting for one long, terrible moment. And what he saw was not the hatred that he deserved, but confusion, pain, and loss.
Remorse filled him, a regret so wide and deep it swallowed him whole. He'd betrayed the only two people in his life he truly cared about. Micah, the brother he loved. And Amelia, the girl he cared about, might have loved, if only he'd had more time. If he'd given them more time. If he hadn't deceived and deserted her.
He’d fed his own desire for hatred and revenge more than anything else. More than justice. More than love. And in doing so, he'd betrayed Amelia, his brother, his cause, and ultimately, himself. Self-loathing coiled within him, dark and deadly.
Gunfire rained down. The bullets hardly made a sound as they tore into the deck, exploding into splinters of teak. The terror-stricken crowd surged, knocking more people over the railing.
Jericho spun around, aiming wildly, searching for the gunman. Bullets chewed into the hull behind Gabriel. Several panels of the glass railing shattered.
Three people to Gabriel's right crumpled, red water pooling at his feet. One of them was a girl, five or six-years-old, wearing only a bright yellow bathrobe. Her dark hair fanned around her head like a halo, her dim eyes staring up at him.
Gabriel turned his head and vomited. That little girl hadn’t asked for any of this. Who gets to decide who is innocent? She was innocent. And now s
he was dead. She was Simeon’s collateral damage. She was Gabriel’s collateral damage.
He did this. All these people, all this pain, terror, and death. This was his fault. He saw it now so clearly, now that it was too late. His soul broke under the crushing weight.
The rain was so cold. The seething sky so close. The shattered sea rose up to meet him. Ravenous, waiting. He stepped to the railing.
“Gabriel! No!” Micah shouted.
Someone grabbed his arm. Jericho jerked him back from the edge. “You don’t get to escape justice that easily.” He shoved Gabriel toward the lifeboat. “You’ll pay for your sins.”
Gabriel bowed his head. There was no price, no punishment, no atonement that would cover his sins. He’d been a fool to ask his brother for forgiveness. There was no forgiveness, not for him. He would find no solace, no peace, no redemption.
Not in this life or the next.
52
Willow
Willow watched the first hints of gray tinge the dark windows. The fingers of dawn painted the sky in the softest shades of indigo blue. There was no trace of the storm, no boiling clouds, no vicious waves.
The sea was still and flat as a sheet of glass.
“You okay?” Finn whispered from across the aisle. He leaned against the window, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were blood-shot and rimmed with red, like he'd been crying in the night. Specks of dried blood dotted his right cheek.
A part of her wanted to ask what had happened to him, but she didn't. She wasn't ready to reveal her own secrets.
Every person in this boat would be haunted by the nightmare of this day for the rest of their lives—the things they'd seen, the people they'd lost, the things done to them and the things they'd done. She knew she would.
Her arms tightened around Benjie. She wouldn’t let him go. Not for anything. Benjie was her only family now. He was her responsibility. He was her heart.
