Falling Stars: The Last Sanctuary Book Two

by Kyla Stone

  Silas grunted. “Since when has begging done you any good?”

  A flash of hurt crossed their mother’s face. Amelia’s throat went dry. Guilt pierced her. No matter how angry she felt, she didn’t like to see her mother in pain.

  “You coming, sister?” Silas quickened his step, and Amelia hurried to follow, leaving her mother—and her guilt—behind.

  Silas glanced at the blade in her hand. “You should keep the knife.”

  She attached the sheath to her belt. She liked knowing it was there, just in case. She slid her SmartFlex off her arm and stuffed it into one of her cargo pockets. “Fine. But I’m not cutting off my hair.”

  He cocked his eyebrow at her, a slow, hard grin spreading across his face. “Good.”

  She wasn’t giving in to them, to anyone. She wasn’t changing herself for anyone else, not again. Maybe someday, if she was strong enough, hard enough, the nightmares would fade. Maybe someday, she would finally defeat the fear curled deep inside her.

  6

  Micah

  “So, do we just walk right up to them?” Micah stood with Jericho, Silas, and Horne. In front of them, the I-75 exit ramp stretched down into a small town. A few stores, a gas station, a tiny hotel, and several smaller roads branched off into clusters of small, hunched houses.

  “They don’t look too friendly,” Silas said sourly, slouching against a tree.

  At the bottom of the ramp, six sheriff cars blocked the road. It’d be impossible to plow through, even if they had a vehicle. A guardian drone hovered over two cops lounging against the bumper of one of the cars, smoking cigars. Rifles were slung over their shoulders. There were no cop-bots as far as Micah could see.

  He was used to state and city checkpoints. They’d been everywhere for years: attempts to stop the domestic terrorist groups and prevent openly sick individuals from spreading the flu and other diseases that seemed to get more contagious every year.

  You had to scan your SmartFlex at each checkpoint, cataloging your ID, last well visit from a doctor, and criminal and political background. But he’d never seen a checkpoint at the town level, especially one as small as this. It had a population of less than five thousand.

  “We’ll go around and sneak in another way,” Jericho said.

  “Nonsense.” Horne mopped his brow with his handkerchief. “They’re officers of the law, not armed bandits or terrorists. We’ll go down and speak to them, man-to-man.”

  Horne’s idea seemed reasonable. They were cops, after all. Public defenders, community leaders. The good guys, supposedly.

  Micah’s stomach rumbled. His mouth was dry, his throat beginning to ache. If they had food down there, he was all in. “I think we should check it out.”

  Jericho squinted, shielding his eyes. “They might be hostile.”

  “This isn’t backwoods Africa, man.” Horne clapped Jericho on the shoulder.

  Jericho stiffened, his eyes going hard. Micah thought he might slap Horne’s hand away. His jaw muscles twitched as he glowered at Horne for a tense moment. Finally, he spoke in a low, restrained voice. “I’d prefer not to be touched.”

  “Whatever you say, soldier boy.” Horne removed his hand and made a show of wiping it on his own shirt. “Do what you want. I’m negotiating food and shelter.” He took off down the hill, his arms waving.

  “We’re not letting that simpering pansy take charge, are we?” Silas asked. Without waiting for a response, he jogged after him. Jericho sighed and gestured for the others.

  By the time they reached the checkpoint, both officers had their weapons pointed at the group. “Halt!” the first one, a portly Asian man, said when they were still a dozen yards away.

  “No closer!” The second officer was Latino and in his mid-fifties, with gray striping his goatee and sunglasses masking his eyes. Both officers wore gloves, with surgical masks around their necks and goggles perched on their foreheads.

  “We mean no ill will,” Horne said. “I’m Tyler Horne, founder and chief executive officer of Vitalichip Industries.”

  The portly one merely raised his eyebrows.

  “We need food, shelter, and access to communications,” Horne said. “I see you have a lovely hotel down the road. We just need a place to stay for the night and to contact our base to come get us.”

  “None of you are military.” The guy with the shades spat tobacco on the ground.

  “Like I said, I’m a chief exec—”

  “No offense, Executive, but you could be the king of Timbuktu for all I care. No one gets into our town.”

  “All we’re asking for is some hospitality.” Micah adjusted his glasses.

  “Keep your hands in the air!” Shades barked, whipping his gun toward Micah.

  Micah jerked his hands up, heat flushing his cheeks. “We aren’t dangerous.”

  The portly one smirked. “Everyone is dangerous these days, son. And hospitality is what gets people killed.”

  Micah exchanged a nervous look with Finn, who stood closest to him. He was starting to get a bad feeling about all this.

  “Come on now,” Horne pushed. “Let’s be civilized about this. We’re willing to pay.”

  Shades stood up and took a step toward them. The drone buzzed menacingly over his head. “I don’t know what rock ya’ll have been hidin’ under, but the world’s fallen to hell and we’re protecting our own. This town is sealed.”

  Horne scowled. “You can’t keep us out.”

  Both officers turned toward Horne, their expressions darkening. These guys weren’t playing around. Micah wanted to tell Horne to shut up. He was too arrogant, too aggressive. He just pissed the cops off. Horne would escalate things if they weren’t careful.

  Micah took a step forward. The officers’ attention swiveled to him. “We’ll go now,” he said in a placating, soothing voice. “But can you give us any suggestions on where to go?”

  “Stay the hell back!” Shades snarled.

  The other officer took a puff of his cigar and blew out the smoke. “Try five exits down, Mayfield. Our scouts say it was infiltrated a few weeks back. The Headhunters have it now.”

  The way he said Headhunters made Micah’s gut twist. “Who?”

  Before they could respond, Benjie sneezed.

  Both officers flinched. They yanked their masks up over their faces. “Git now,” Shades said, “before I’ve gotta do something nobody wants.”

  “How bad is it out there?” Micah asked.

  But they weren’t interested in talking anymore. The drone whined as it swooped from behind the officers and hovered menacingly over Micah’s head.

  “Time to go,” Jericho said. “Now.”

  By the time they made it to the Mayfield exit, everyone was tired, hungry, and thirsty. The sun banked low over the horizon, flares of red, violet, and orange tingeing the clouds over the trees.

  Micah walked with Willow, Benjie, Nadira, and Finn. Amelia walked beside them but a little apart, and Gabriel was up front with Jericho, Elise, and Silas. Celeste trailed behind, muttering complaints and curses over blisters.

  Abandoned cars littered the exit ramp, forcing them to walk along the shoulder. At the checkpoint, a temporary plasma fence blocked the road. Several cars parked across the road behind it. Three cop-bots slumped against a state patrol car, their charges long exhausted.

  The checkpoint was abandoned.

  Micah stopped and stared, his stomach knotting. What happened here? If the country was under martial law, where were all the soldiers? The National Guard? Shouldn’t they be protecting people? He knew what Gabriel would say. The military protects the elite, and the elite protect their own.

  “I’m scared,” Benjie whispered.

  “This place gives me the creeps.” Celeste limped as she joined the rest of the group.

  Willow squeezed Benjie’s hand. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Let’s go get some grub, okay?”

  “How about some prefab hamburgers?” Finn grinned down at Benjie. “Fanc
y some cardboard for dinner?”

  Benjie managed to grin back. “Eww. Gross, Mister Finn.”

  “At this point, I’d happily take cardboard,” Micah said. “I’d sleep in a cardboard box if it gets us off this road.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Celeste sniffed. “I certainly will not.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.” Nadira pressed her hands against her stomach. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “Everything will work out.”

  They followed Jericho around the checkpoint, weaving between the cars, and into the eerily quiet town. Here, too, vehicles were parked in the streets. There was no movement, no life.

  A gas station and a couple of fast food restaurants huddled to the right. To the left, more stores and a motel, Save More Inn, the ancient sign hanging half-off the building. The roads were pitted and pocked with pot holes. Everything was dated and fast falling into disrepair. It looked like a holoplex horror movie set.

  “We shouldn’t be out after dark.” Micah glanced around, half-expecting some monstrous creature to leap out at him.

  “You can say that again,” Finn said.

  “Great,” Silas said. “We’re stuck in the ass-end of nowhere.”

  “Why do these towns look like they got stuck in a time warp from fifty years ago?” Celeste sniffed. “Where are the holo ads? The auto-transports? The sani-bots to clean up all this trash and maintain everything?”

  “Progress left them behind,” Micah said in a low voice, recalling Gabriel’s rants against the state of things. The rich elites only saw what they wanted to see. People like Horne, Celeste, and Amelia had probably flown by private jet wherever they needed to go, never stepping foot in the world the rest of them were forced to live in. “What’re people supposed to do with little money and no jobs? Outside the major cities, more than half of America looks exactly like this.”

  “That’s awful,” Amelia said, genuine compassion in her voice.

  Celeste only looked around in distaste. “Where are we going to sleep?”

  “Check out the hotel,” Jericho called back to them.

  They made their way to the sagging building, its brick-red paint peeled in several places, the parking lot weed-infested and riddled with cracks.

  Willow cupped her hands and peered through the entrance window. “This place is a dump.”

  Finn waggled his eyebrows. “What if this is the zombie apocalypse?”

  “Zombies eat brains,” Willow retorted. “You’re safe.”

  Benjie giggled. “What about me?”

  “They’d definitely eat you first.” Finn grinned, revealing the gap between his teeth.

  Nadira turned to Micah. “Shall we check this place out?” She winked at Benjie. “All this zombie talk is making me nervous.”

  Micah rubbed his gloved hands together, praying they’d be enough to protect him from the virus. It didn’t seem like enough—just two layers of flimsy, rubbery plastic between him and a deadly contagion. He shivered as he yanked on the front door, expecting it to be locked, but the door swung open soundlessly.

  Inside, heavy shadows draped over everything. Micah blinked, adjusting to the darkness. There was a check-in desk, a small lobby with worn upholstered chairs, an old-model holoscreen with an Area Attractions slot to scan your SmartFlex and receive all the coupons, maps, and information you wanted on the area’s entertainment and restaurants. Not that there was much here to see.

  “Help me clear the rooms first,” Jericho ordered.

  The rooms were all locked with old model sensors, but the doors themselves were cheap prefab wood. Micah and Silas kicked them in just as they had on the Grand Voyager when they rescued Amelia. Rather, she’d rescued herself. They just found her.

  Micah still disliked Silas as much as that first day. He was cocky and elitist and cruel. But Jericho taught Silas to fight and use a gun, and he was damn good at it. Those were skills they all needed now, whether they liked it or not.

  The first three rooms were clear and quickly claimed. Horne took the first room. He leaned against the doorframe and flashed Celeste a haughty grin. “You can share with me, Celeste. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Celeste crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not into dudes. And if I was, it wouldn’t be an arrogant douche bag like you.”

  Finn chuckled. “Well played.”

  “Shut up.” Celeste rolled her eyes. But as she turned away, Micah caught the slow, satisfied smirk spreading across her face.

  Horne’s expression darkened. He raked his hand through his dyed blonde hair, the roots beginning to show. “I was only attempting to act like a gentleman.”

  “Maybe acting isn’t your strong suit,” Willow said.

  Horne swept into his room with a huff and slammed the door.

  “Well, he’s a bit of an ego goblin, now isn’t he?” Finn said.

  Willow snorted. “A bit? That’s the understatement of the year.”

  “He was trying to be nice,” Nadira said. “I know we’re all hungry and stressed, but I think we can give each other the benefit of the doubt, can’t we? We’re all in this together.”

  “She’s right.” Micah glanced at Willow and Celeste. “I think we can all try to be a little nicer.”

  “Tell that to Horne and Silas,” Willow muttered, but she nodded grudgingly.

  She, Finn, and Benjie took the second available room, and Elise took the third. Silas, Amelia, and Jericho were further down the darkened hall, searching rooms on the opposite end.

  Micah paused at the next door. He opened it with three swift kicks. The fourth room contained two bodies.

  He froze, staring in horror at the bed. A man and a woman lay facing each other, their features masks of pain and fear. Their limbs were flung in awkward positions, as if they’d died writhing in agony. Rust-brown blood stained their noses, mouths, and ran like tears from the corners of their eyes. The room stank of sweat and sickness.

  Micah stumbled back. This was the Hydra Virus? They made it sound like a flu. But this was no flu. His stomach wrenched and he doubled over, gagging.

  “Don’t touch anything!” Amelia came up behind him. “Don’t go in there. Seal the door.”

  She handed him a water bottle. “The room mini-fridges were ransacked, but we found a storage room in the back with a few unopened boxes.”

  Micah gulped down the water, still shaking. “This is bad. Very bad.” He didn’t want to believe it. All those days in quarantine, he’d believed the government was cleaning everything up, healing the sick, fixing things.

  He should’ve known better.

  Gabriel would call him an idiot. Maybe he was.

  7

  Willow

  “Stay right next to me, you understand?” Willow squeezed Benjie’s hand.

  Benjie clutched his backpack to his chest and nodded. “What about food, Lo Lo?”

  Willow’s heart ached at the familiar nickname, the one Zia had always used for her, too. “That’s what we’re looking for today, okay?”

  They’d spent a restless night at the motel attempting to sleep next to rooms contaminated by the dead. At first, Finn insisted she have the bed. He took the crappy couch, but the whole thing groaned when he lay down. His long legs hung off the end, and he could barely fit his massive torso on the cushions.

  “You’re way too enormous for that thing, you big oaf.” She shoved him off the couch and forced him into the saggy bed, where at least he sort of fit. She settled on the couch, while Benjie curled up in a threadbare blanket like a puppy on the floor beside her.

  Now, morning light flared through the trees. They still had a hundred-mile journey to Fort Benning, and they needed backpacks, food and water, masks and gloves, medical supplies, and transportation, if they could get it. In a town bursting with abandoned cars, it was supremely ironic that they couldn’t steal any of them. DNA-ID locks on the engine button saw to that.

  “Let’s make it a game,” Finn said. “We’ll see who can find
the most items of food by the end of the day. If I win, you have to tell me the secret to one of your magic tricks.”

  Benjie’s face brightened. “And if I win?”

  Finn rubbed his chin. “I’ll give you my share of dessert.”

  “Deal!”

  Willow rolled her eyes. Like there was going to be any dessert. But Finn was so eager, so earnest, it was hard not to be drawn into his games. And it was a good distraction for Benjie. “All right, you guys, let’s go.”

  They stood outside the motel front doors. The sky glowered a bleary gray, the morning air crisp and chilly. They broke into groups of two or three, with plans to return to the abandoned checkpoint at noon. Even those without working SmartFlexes could tell when the sun rose to its highest point.

  Jericho assigned Willow and Finn the job of searching cars. Many vehicles had shattered windows, their interiors scraped clean of anything but trash and dozens of empty water bottles.

  Breaking into cars sounded fun enough, and Finn was good at it. He found a couple of loose bricks around the side of the building. He hurled a brick at the passenger side window. The glass dented.

  He gave her brother a turn. Benjie tried a few times before it splintered. A few more throws, and the glass shattered into gummy shards.

  They’d searched a few dozen vehicles when they stumbled across the first bodies. Finn broke the front pane of a dusty SUV with darkened windows. He stuck his hand in and released the latch from the inside.

  Finn recoiled, stumbling back from the window, thrusting his hand over his mouth and nose. Willow smelled the stench. It was the putrid stink of living things decomposing, liquifying from the inside out and releasing all their gaseous fumes.

  “Stay back,” she told Benjie. She covered her nose and circled the vehicle, keeping her distance.

  Two large men slumped in the front seats, blood staining the masks still over their mouths and streaking from their eyes. The bodies were bloated and discolored, their swollen limbs locked in some writhing dance of agony.