by Kyla Stone
“At the rate we’re taking people in, not even six months.” Cleo blew out a ring of white smoke and watched it drift. “We need more space. We have a power source with the wind turbines, solar panels, and hydropower from the river, plenty of generators, irrigation systems, and farming equipment. We have livestock, food, medical supplies, crop, and seed stock to grow real food. But not enough for the number of people we’ve taken in.
“We’re running out of time, but we’ve been unable to act without enough fighters, enough weapons. The right type of weapons.”
Gabriel folded his arms and studied her intently. “That’s what Cerberus was talking about. The Phantom.”
“Do you have any clue what we’re up against?” Cleo hefted an RBG cannon off one of the shelves and slung it over her shoulder. It looked enormous in the small space—sleek, menacing, and deadly. “The Sanctuary is surrounded on all sides by a thirty-foot electrified plasma wall. The ramparts are manned by huge cannons that make this beast look like a squirt gun. The missiles take out incoming aircraft before they get anywhere close. They’re powered by internal hydrogen fuel cells, so there’s no way to cut their power externally. And nighthawks—the military-grade drones—patrol the grounds within a five-mile radius. They shoot to kill and don’t bother asking questions.”
Micah nervously shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “Then how do we even get Amelia inside?”
“There’s a single main entrance and a single road. If you follow that road and do not deviate to either side—”
“—because the entire area is booby-trapped with mines,” Jamal interjected.
“—then a whole battalion of soldiers will interrogate you. If they deem you worthy of further inspection, they’ll put you in the containment center, the quarantine tents outside the Sanctuary. If you’re not an elite or don’t happen to have a critical skill set, they’ll turn you away without a second thought.”
Dread gnawed at Micah’s stomach. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Her name,” Gabriel said heavily. “Amelia was on the newsfeeds all the time with her father, Declan Black. Everyone knows her. Who she is will get her in.”
“Hopefully, they’ll let you in with her,” Cleo said to Micah, a wry grin twisting her mouth. “Though we have no way to ensure that happens.”
Micah ran his finger over the barrel of a semi-automatic rifle. Infiltrating the Sanctuary appeared more and more difficult with every passing second. “That’s a lot to ride on a hope.”
She shrugged. “We don’t have a choice now, do we?”
“I should go with them.” Gabriel glanced at Micah, his expression tense. “It’s too dangerous.”
Cleo flashed that savage smile that made the hairs on Micah’s neck stand on end. The smile pasted on her face when she stood beside Tobias Moruga and watched Jericho die. The smile that made her look capable of anything.
“You agreed to remain behind, remember?” Cleo said. “I have need of you. That weapon Cerberus mentioned—the Phantom—it can take out those Sanctuary cannons. While Amelia’s team infiltrates the Sanctuary, we’re going to get it.”
Cleo replaced the grenade launcher on the shelf. She moved down the rows of weapons, then squatted and pulled a black box from a bottom shelf. She pressed her thumb to the biometric scanner, waited for the click, then lifted the lid. She pulled out a thin silver circle. She handed it to Micah. “The Sanctuary will just confiscate any weapons we give you. But our inside people will help you once you get within the walls. These are communication devices disguised as old-fashioned dimes.
“The Sanctuary monitors digital and radio-wave output. But these use out-of-date frequencies, so our communications should stay under the radar if we keep it to a minimum. The range is one hundred miles, so we should be good.”
“Who’s your inside man?” Gabriel asked. “How do you know he can be trusted?”
Cleo smiled. A real smile, one that lit up her eyes and brightened her face, that made her look like an entirely different person. “Because he’s my brother.”
“How did your brother get inside the Sanctuary?” Micah asked, surprised.
“He’s a tech genius and a hacker,” Cleo said proudly as she handed the silver comm to Micah. “We crafted a new identity before the mandatory chip IDs. He’s been working in mid-level government surveillance for three years now. When it all went down, he managed to get inside the Sanctuary from the beginning. A few more of our spies made it inside as well. You’ll have the help you need.”
“The Headhunters can’t be trusted.” Micah tried one last time. But he could tell by the expressions on Gabriel and Cleo’s faces that they’d already decided. And Gabriel, so intent on justice for Nadira, was just going along with it. Micah smothered his welling frustration. “They’re human traffickers, criminals, and killers.”
“We know what they are,” Jamal said.
Cleo tapped ash from her cigar. “They’re a necessary evil.”
“Evil is never necessary,” Micah shot back. Her words might seem to make sense, but she was dead wrong. Violence only begets more violence, death more death. He had seen plenty of evil in the months they’d struggled to survive in the ravaged ruins of post-Hydra America. He wanted no part of it.
“An eye for an eye, right?” Cleo said. “That’s what your Bible teaches.”
“No,” Micah said. “An eye for an eye, and the world goes blind.”
“Whatever.” Cleo gave an insolent shrug. Her eyes narrowed as she turned toward the armory door. “Hate me all you want to. I don’t care. If we don’t get into the Sanctuary first, the Sanctuary will kill us all, or else the virus will. We don’t have a choice. Everyone out here, we’re all on the same side. We have to be—or we all die.”
6
Amelia
The next morning, General Reaver and Colonel Reid prepped Amelia, Silas, and Micah with final instructions. The New Patriots leaders left to tend to other tasks, while Cleo led them to the front gates of the compound.
The day was cold, forty-three degrees according to Amelia’s SmartFlex, but the sun was out, and there was no wind. Amelia was dressed in black thermopants, leather boots, two thick sweaters, and a scarf, along with the usual mask and gloves. She wore a hunting knife strapped to her hip, but no other weapon. Silas and Micah were dressed similarly, their packs filled with supplies and food.
The rest of the group arrived at the gates to say their goodbyes. Celeste still limped slightly. Finn’s arm was bandaged and cradled in a sling. Her mother remained in quarantine. Benjie was sniffling, fighting back tears. Gabriel stood off to the side, his hands balled into fists at his sides, his face carved in stone.
Willow strode in restless circles, trampling the brown, wilted grass beneath her boots, her expression twisted in an indignant scowl. She wasn’t thrilled about being left behind.
Amelia’s heart constricted. She hadn’t spent a day apart from these people in months. She couldn’t bear the thought of saying goodbye, even for a little while.
In the apocalypse, every goodbye could be the last.
Cleo seized her arm and pulled her aside. “Here is my advice,” she said even though Amelia hadn’t asked for it. “If you are among wolves—”
“Let me guess. I should act like a wolf.”
Cleo cocked her head, staring at Amelia like some exotic prey she’d never tasted before, and would love to try. “It depends,” she said slowly, “on what you want.”
Amelia folded her arms over her chest. “If this is a riddle, you should just give me the answer. I don’t have the time or the patience for games.”
“If you want to blend in, then yes. Be a wolf.” Cleo smiled her predatory smile, a white slash of teeth. “But if you want to catch a wolf, it is unwise to act like one. It is far better to be the sheep.”
“Thanks,” Amelia said politely.
To their right, Willow rolled her eyes. “Everybody, listen to the sociopathic philosoph
er.”
Amelia touched Willow’s shoulder. “I wish you could come with us. But you’re keeping Benjie safe. We’ll need you soon enough.”
Willow grunted in frustration. She gripped the handle of her hunting knife at her hip and blew her unruly bangs out of her eyes. “I can help you.”
“I know you can.” It was true. Willow was better prepared than Amelia was. But the more people they tried to bring into the Sanctuary, the more conspicuous they became. “I’d trade places with you if I could,” she said with a wry smile.
Willow just sighed. “Don’t let Silas get himself killed, okay?”
“I promise.” Amelia wished with all her heart that it was a promise she could keep. “I’ll convince them to let us all in. I still believe the Sanctuary is our best chance. For Benjie. For all of us. Okay?”
Willow nodded as eight-year-old Benjie ran up to Amelia and threw his arms around her. He buried his head in her stomach. “Don’t go, Miss Amelia!”
She hugged him tightly, her chest filling with warmth—and a fierce love. She tilted his chin up and gazed into his big, beautiful brown eyes. She ran her hands through the black hair that stuck up all over his head, no matter how often he brushed it. He wasn’t her brother by blood; he was her brother by choice.
“I’ll be back before you know it.” She glanced up at Finn, who’d come up beside Willow, cradling his numb, useless right arm. He was nineteen and huge, a towering giant at 6’6”. He was intimidating and imposing—until you got to know him.
Finn gave her his usual lopsided grin, revealing the gap in his slightly crooked teeth. His walnut-brown skin crinkled around his eyes and dimpled his cheeks. He and Willow were particularly close, but Amelia appreciated his goofy jokes and big heart, especially now.
She smiled back, pushing down the emotions churning just below the surface. For Benjie, for all of them, she’d hide her fear.
Benjie’s lower lip trembled. “Why do you have to go?”
She squatted in front of him, searching for the right words. “Sometimes, we have to go and do a brave thing, Benjie. This is my brave thing.”
“Can I do a brave thing?”
“Of course.” She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I have a mission for you, Sir Benjie. As a sworn knight, it is your duty to watch and protect your sister Willow and Mister Finn. Mister Finn most of all, because he tends to get into mischief. When I return, I’ll bestow your reward. Can you do that for me?”
Benjie nodded eagerly, tears forgotten, and thrust out his hand. “Secret handshake?”
After she’d managed the convoluted series of hand movements Benjie had taught her, she hugged him again before saying her goodbyes to Finn and Celeste.
With regular showers and access to basic hygiene, Celeste was flourishing. Her eyes were bright, her flawless skin a rich brown, her crimson coils vibrant in the sunlight. She hugged Amelia. Amelia hugged her back.
Celeste pulled away and fingered a ragged chunk of her short hair. “Maybe they can do something about this in that place.”
Silas smirked. “Glad to see your priorities are in the right place, as usual.”
“Time to bug out.” Cleo gestured to the transport waiting at the front gates. Jamal would drive them to just outside the five-mile perimeter. They’d hike the rest of the way. From there, the mission was a question mark, a huge unknown.
Amelia was grateful she didn’t have to part with Silas or Micah. She wasn’t strong enough to do this alone. She needed them both beside her.
She watched Micah and Gabriel embrace like the brothers they were. The sight warmed her heart. That embrace—that closeness—had been hard-earned by both of them.
She glanced at the mountains above them, pretending not to listen as Gabriel whispered, “Just us,” his voice hoarse, and Micah answered, “Always.”
They were words meant for each other and no one else.
Micah pulled back, removed his glasses to give his eyes a quick, fierce swipe, and glanced at Amelia. His face was going lean, making him look older than his nineteen years. But there was still a boyish charm to him, his wavy dark hair spilling haphazardly across his forehead. His eyes behind his glasses were a warm and gentle chocolate brown.
“We’ll wait for you,” he said with a tilt of his chin at Gabriel. Then he jogged after Silas to the transport.
She turned to Gabriel, her cheeks already reddening. She felt his gaze on her as she walked the two dozen steps to reach him. He leaned against a small maple tree in front of a low concrete building, the windows boarded and covered with black, light-blocking paint.
“You know I would go with you if I could,” he said in a low voice.
She dared to meet his gaze. She could drown in those dark eyes, full of longing, guilt, regret, and desire. Despite herself, she felt the responding tug in her own heart. “You risked yourself to save my mother. It was dangerous. You probably shouldn’t have done it, but you did.”
“And I’ll continue to do it. I’ll keep her safe, I promise you that.”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”
He attempted a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I would do anything you asked. You know that, right? I—I owe it to you. But more than that, I want to.”
The air thickened between them. There was so much—the past, the present, the possibilities of the future—it was all there, unspoken but still present. Her veins buzzed. Her breath quickened. “Gabriel—”
“I know this isn’t the time.” His features contorted in a pained expression, like he was forcing himself to hold back the things he really wanted to say. “What you’re about to do is brave and dangerous and possibly incredibly stupid. But if you succeed, you can change the world for the better. You have to do it. And Micah will watch out for you. I know you’re in good hands.”
He swallowed, his hands fisted at his sides. “But if something happened to him or to you—” He looked away, blinking rapidly.
Part of her wanted desperately to go to him, to offer him comfort, to remember what it felt like to be wrapped in those strong, safe arms. But another, stronger part of her held back.
Because she couldn’t forget what came after, either. The look in his eyes when he’d betrayed her. When he’d stood by as Kane dragged her by her hair from the Grand Voyager bridge, intent on violence.
“Gabriel—”
He turned to her with a groan in the back of his throat. His eyes filled with anguish. “I can’t protect you in there. And that thought is killing me.”
“We have to trust each other, then.” He was so close she could have put her hands on his chest. To push him away or draw him closer, she didn’t know.
Before she could react, he took her chin gently in one hand and tilted her chin up. His other hand cupped the back of her head. He bent down and kissed her mouth. His lips were hard and searching, hungry.
Her stomach flipped. The buzzing filled her whole body. She wanted him and she hated herself for wanting him and she was weak—but also warm and wild and falling from a dizzying height…
Amelia gasped. She pulled away. But for a moment, she hadn’t. For the barest moment, the brush of his lips electrifying her entire body—she’d let it happen.
They were so close she felt his heartbeat thrumming through his chest, sensed the hard strength of his body, his arms and shoulders and stomach, could feel the coiled power in him.
His hands dropped to his sides. His body was tense, taut as a live wire, the muscle in his cheek jumping as he clenched his jaw. “Don’t run,” he said quickly. “Please.”
She nodded, breathing hard. Not sure she could trust herself, trust her voice or what she would—or should—say.
“I’m sorry—no, that’s not right.” He smiled wryly. “I’m not sorry for kissing you, Amelia Black. I will never be sorry for every good moment we ever shared. It was selfish to kiss you now, I know that. I know I don’t deserve you, not after—after what I did to you. I accept that
. I hate it, but I accept it. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see you again. I hope you can forgive me that one last kiss.”
She cleared her throat, her cheeks burning. Guilt stabbed through her. It wasn’t fair to give him what she wasn’t sure she should. “I can. I do.”
He moved toward her, then stopped himself. He nodded curtly, as if coming to terms with something deep inside him. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “Until next time.”
Gabriel turned and strode between the buildings toward the barracks, his head down, his shoulders hunched, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Exhausted but determined, bone-weary but resolute, doggedly walking into an oncoming storm.
In a way, they both were.
7
Willow
Finn nudged Willow’s foot beneath the picnic table. “Look over there.”
“What?” Willow asked, turning away from the game she and Finn were playing, a holo version of chess featuring red and blue shimmering medieval knights on horseback, robed bishops, and foot soldiers wielding swords, axes, and bows. Willow was losing, badly.
“Cleo’s staring at Celeste.”
Willow narrowed her eyes. Celeste was leaning against the picnic table, her injured leg stretched out on the bench, her eyes closed against the cold sun.
Ten yards away, Cleo slunk in the shadows of the infirmary building, her arms crossed, a cigar in one hand. Finn was right. She was watching Celeste—like a cat watches a mouse.
Willow poked gently at the scabbing burn on her neck. “I bet she’s a cannibal. She’s probably imagining Celeste’s leg as a rack of lamb cooking over a spit.”
“First, that’s a revolting image. Thank you so much for searing that into my brain.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Second, I’m pretty sure that’s not the reason she’s interested in Celeste.”
Willow glanced between them again. This time, she noticed Cleo’s furtive glances, the way she was gnawing on her bottom lip like she was biting into a juicy steak.
