by Kyla Stone
With a final, wounded groan, the great bear shuddered and died.
“Benjie!” Willow scrambled over rocks and hard-packed snow, crawling on her hands and knees, oblivious to the cold and scratches. She reached Benjie and yanked him into her arms. He was warm and soft and alive, so damn alive.
“I’m okay, Lo Lo,” he said in a shaky voice.
She choked back a sob. “I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost you!”
“I’m right here.”
She checked him all over for blood, for punctures, for bite marks. She patted his arms, legs, head, chest. His right cheek was scratched. A huge bruise already swelled an ugly purplish yellow on his forehead. His coat was torn in several places, including five gashes slashing across his left arm.
She tugged off his coat, her gut clenching, expecting tattered flesh, severed tendons, damage beyond hope of repair.
But only three of the bear’s claws had pierced Benjie’s skin. The cuts were bleeding, but she didn’t see bone or muscle. The blow had been a shallow, glancing one.
The grizzly had been too distracted by Finn and Willow. It hadn’t had the chance to focus its attack on any of them individually—which was why they were alive.
“I had to save Finn.” Benjie endured her ministrations without moving. Tears mingled with dirt streaked his face. “I had to do my brave thing.”
“You did, Sir Benjie.” Finn stood in the center of the clearing, half-bent, his hand on his leg. He was breathing hard, white breath puffing from his mouth. His whole body was trembling. “You saved me.”
Benjie managed a tremulous grin. “And then you saved me.”
“Shall we just agree that we all saved each other?” Willow helped Benjie to his feet. She took her own unsteady steps—her ribs screaming, her head splitting. But now that Benjie was safe, she wouldn’t let anything stop her from reaching Finn.
She went to him, her heart surging in her chest, relief and hope and love pumping through every vein in her body. She didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around his huge chest. “Are you okay?”
He sucked in a tremulous breath, dropped the gun, and pulled her into an embrace with his good arm. “That thing just took ‘mean as a bear with a toothache’ to a whole new level.”
“That’s not an answer, you big oaf.” Her tears were cold as ice on her cheeks. She bit back another sob. If she started now, she’d never stop.
“I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t want to kill it. But I did,” he said unsteadily. “I did what I had to do.”
He squeezed her tighter. She never wanted to leave the warmth of his arms. “You saved us.”
37
Amelia
“Aren’t you having the best time?” Vera leaned against an elegant marble column and fingered the pearl necklace at her throat. “These galas are simply fabulous!”
“Immensely,” Amelia lied. She touched the voluminous folds of her gown, which radiated shades of sapphire, lapis, and cobalt, the luxuriant fabric soft as cashmere. President Sloane’s stylists had spun a French braid around the crown of her head, the lower half of her hair cascading down her back in glossy waves.
She held a crystal goblet of wine in one hand, but she hadn’t taken a single sip. Her stomach was too knotted with anxiety to enjoy anything.
She was attending a gala full of officials, advisers, and scientists as everyone gathered for a grand celebration. The twenty test subjects’ fevers had broken the night before. The twelve-year-old boy was weak but on his feet.
Serum 341 worked. They’d found a cure.
The gala was held inside the capitol, in a grand hall of marble, black granite, and crystal. The room swirled with silk and perfume. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling.
Amelia wasn’t sure what she had expected of the Sanctuary, but it wasn’t this. She’d thought it would resemble the government’s underground bunkers, modest and practical, with an emphasis on security, safety, and survival, not extravagance. But when had the elites ever been anything but extravagant?
She glanced across the room at President Sloane. Sloane’s gown was a soft lemon-yellow chiffon, draping over her stout body in undulating waves. Her long fingers were adorned with a half-dozen winking garnet, ruby, and sapphire rings. She was surrounded by advisers, generals, and the other members of the Coalition, along with her retinue of staff. Amelia recognized her chief of staff, Selma Perez, as well as Senator Steelman and General Daugherty.
The president’s head of security, Angelo Bale, stood like an imposing mountain behind her. Bale was statue-still. Only those beady eyes roved intently, taking in every detail.
At President Sloane’s left hand, Declan Black beguiled the crowd with his magnetic presence. He plucked an hors d'oeuvre from a passing silver tray laden with slivered meats, gourmet cheeses, and other delicacies. He popped it in his mouth and said something charming, letting out a booming chuckle. The group turned to him with eager, upturned faces, laughing appreciatively at whatever he’d just said.
Amelia dragged her gaze away and scanned the rest of the grand hall. At least thirty soldiers were stationed between the pillars throughout the room, dressed in sharp gray uniforms and white gloves.
Both Harper and Logan were here, never straying too far from her side. She’d met Harper’s gaze earlier in the evening. Harper had given her the slightest nod before averting her eyes. Logan ignored her, as always.
But it seemed he was the only one. All evening, she’d felt eyes on her, scrabbling like spiders. President Sloane’s aids and advisers. The scientists and doctors she’d passed in the hallways of BioGen’s lab, never learning anyone’s name. Senator Steelman’s shrewd gaze, following her every movement as if waiting for her to trip, to make a mistake.
So Amelia drank wine and champagne. She laughed and she danced with Vera and her father and she ate caviar and tried not to feel sick. She was every inch the charming daughter her father desired, the sweetly innocent but oh-so-brave survivor President Sloane wished to show off.
She knew what they wanted. And she gave it to them.
The wallscreen flickered to life, and the crowd turned to watch the daily update. The same message was echoed on every Smartflex and holoscreen throughout the city. Amelia’s breath quickened, her skin hot and clammy. The Patriots had received the recording. It was up to them now. When would it happen? Tonight? Right now?
She barely heard the droning voice-over as she took in the images of disease and destruction. A drone captured footage of a FEMA holding facility for the infected somewhere in the Midwest. It was nothing more than a fifty-acre field inside a reinforced electrified fence. Lining the barbed wire fence were steel-girded watchtowers equipped with machine guns turned inward, aimed at the dirty, terrified faces of hundreds of men, women, and children. Some of them coughing heavily, others pale with fever, many curled up in make-shift beds, too sick to stand. A secondary fence contained the bodies, stacked chest-high against the barrier.
Amelia’s stomach lurched. Acid burned the back of her throat. So many sick, dying, and dead. How quickly could the Sanctuary manufacture and distribute the vaccine? How many millions—billions were already dead? Was it already too late to make a difference?
She glanced at Vera out of the corner of her eye. She was facing the screen, but her eyes were vacant, unfocused. She wasn’t really watching. She didn’t want to see.
Vera pinched the bridge of her nose and gave a world-weary sigh. “It’s just so damn depressing.”
A sharp edge of anger sliced through Amelia. Like Vera would know. Like she had any idea what it was like out there, how so many had suffered and died, what it took to survive. They were just images on a screen to her. They weren’t real. They weren’t a part of the world Vera knew. Not before, and not now, safe behind the walls of the Sanctuary.
Guilt pricked her. This was why Willow and Gabriel had despised her when they’d first met. Her old self would have reacted the same way. She had deserved th
eir derision for this, at least.
She reigned in her anger, swallowing a sharp retort that would’ve made Willow proud. She managed a gracious nod instead. “Now, with the cure, we can really help them. We can open our gates and save everyone.”
“That’s just what I was thinking.” Vera pasted a tight smile on her face and gestured for a hover tray filled with fresh champagne. “Another glass? I’m parched.”
“Thank goodness we don’t have to worry about that anymore,” President Sloane said as the newsfeed wound down. She turned away from the screen with an elegant swirl of her skirts and raised her goblet.
Her staff lifted their glasses. “Here, here,” they chorused.
Abruptly, the newsfeed cut out. There was a moment of static. Then the head and shoulders of a digital avatar appeared: a bald, vaguely human, bluish figure with a shimmer like a hologram. His deep, baritone voice was modulated to imitate a computerized AI. “Citizens of Sanctuary, you have been deceived. The government you’ve trusted to keep you safe from the Hydra virus is the same government who knowingly and intentionally unleashed it upon you, their own people.”
Gasps echoed throughout the grand hall. Guests glanced at each other, eyebrows raised in alarm. Others just stared at the screen, mouths hanging open, shocked.
Vera set her glass on a passing tray and swiped at her Smartflex with a frown. “How in the world…”
“What is this?” Selma Perez asked in confusion.
“Get it off the screen!” Senator Steelman barked, jabbing her finger uselessly at the wallscreen.
“We bring you evidence that Declan Black, chairman of the Coalition, not only had knowledge of the bioweapon attack, but orchestrated it,” the avatar continued.
“It’s on the entire network!” Vera stared aghast at the incoming data streaming to her Smartflex.
“Shut down the network!” Declan shouted. “It’s a hoax! Take it down!”
General Daugherty put his finger to his earpiece, either taking or giving orders as he strode hurriedly from the room, flanked by eight soldiers.
“It’ll take a minute,” Perez said. “We’re working on it.”
“We don’t have a minute!” Declan roared.
But it was too late.
The screen filled with a view of Declan Black’s penthouse, the quartz table and the gently undulating jellyfish in the wall aquarium. Declan himself turned toward the hidden camera, admitting everything in his own words: “I did what was required…We sacrificed a few to save the many, to ensure our national interests and survival as a nation…No one could have foreseen how the Hydra virus mutated...”
“Citizens, you have the truth,” the avatar said. “Now, you must act. Overthrow your corrupt government and start again. We can work together to build a new world, a new society based on freedom and choice, not fear and tyranny.”
The wallscreen went dark. The grand hall fell into a deafening silence. The scientists and staff gaped. Amelia stood frozen, the wine glass still in her hand, her blood rushing in her ears.
She’d done this. It really happened. Now her father would know how she’d betrayed him…
“Is this real?” Perez asked incredulously. “Tell me this isn’t real.”
Everyone stared at Declan Black in confusion and suspicion. Several people moved away from him, as if he’d just contracted the Hydra virus himself. The soldiers manning the outskirts of the gala rushed toward Declan but didn’t touch him. Their hands hovered over their pulse guns, just waiting for the president’s orders.
“Of course not,” Declan spat. His fists were clenched, his shoulders stiff, his eyes flashing with rage. “It’s a joke. A ridiculous charade—”
“It’s real.” President Sloane stepped back, shock and fury contorting her features. “Security, take Declan Black into custody immediately.”
Two dozen guards swarmed Declan. He tried to wrench free, his face purpling with outrage, but the guards were already forcing him to his knees, yanking his hands behind his back.
“You did this!” he shouted.
Amelia shrank back against a pillar. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at someone else, someone she couldn’t see in the crowd—
“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.
