by Kyla Stone
He flushed, his cheeks warming. “Will you play for us?”
Around them, people were setting up their sleeping quarters, cleaning and checking weapons, and scrounging up cans, pouches, and tins for dinner.
“What about noise?”
Micah pointed up. The rain pounded the roof. The wind shrieked and moaned. “No one will be out in this. The rain will drown out the sound. You should play.”
A slow, delighted grin spread across her face. “Okay, I will.”
Amelia drew the bow across the strings. The first exquisite notes floated through the air, flowing over him, around him, through him. The song was sensuous, dark, and soulful. He recognized it but didn't know the composer—Dvorak or Tchaikovsky?
The tension in Amelia’s jaw and around her eyes faded as she played. She closed her eyes, lost in the concentration of her art, her fingers moving with a beautiful fluidity and grace.
He couldn’t take his gaze off her. His heart filled with a contentment like he hadn’t felt since before the Grand Voyager. This was peace. This was everything right and beautiful and good.
The music swelled through the room, deep and sonorous and lilting. It was a song full of hope and dreams and love and every good thing that inspired people to feel, that made them human.
It was a song to break the world. It was a song to remake it again.
9
Amelia
For the next two hours, Amelia played movements from Brahms’ Sonata Number 3, Bartok’s Concerto Number 2, and Shostakovich’s Concerto No. 1 in A Minor. Her fingers trailed the violin’s delicate stem, the chipped and battered wood.
The greatest violins were temperamental, moody and high strung as a human being. This one was old and cheap. It wasn’t her 18th-century Guarneri, but she didn’t care. She coaxed out the notes, the sound sliding from the strings bright and vibrant and full and more beautiful than she could stand.
The headache was building behind her eyes, but she refused to let it steal her pleasure. She refused to worry about migraines and seizures. For the first time in months, she was doing what she was meant to, what she was born for.
She switched to Bach's Chaconne from Partita No. 2 in D Minor, her favorite piece. She swept the bow across the strings and focused on the music until it flowed through every inch of her, filling her up, thrumming through her fingertips. Until there was nothing else. Her music filled the room, trembling in sweet and bitter tones.
It was too easy to forget that there was anything but chaos and violence and fear and death. They were all survivors, though they were dirty and exhausted and traumatized. But there was more, so much more. Life was more.
They could find it again. They would reach the Sanctuary. They would reach safety. They would find a place for music and beauty and love.
It existed. She knew it in her heart and soul.
Amelia opened her eyes as the last haunting note faded. It was completely dark except for the glow emanating from the SmartFlex Micah had set up for her. The rest of the group had fallen into exhausted sleep as soon as their bodies hit the cushioned sofas.
Willow and Finn had pulled two sofas together, sharing the cushions with Benjie nestled between them. Celeste had a leather couch as far from Horne as she could get. Micah was still reading by flashlight.
Jericho took first watch at the main mall entrance. Silas took the west exit, which opened up to another shopping plaza, the one with the sporting goods store and the dead, burning bodies.
Gabriel guarded the south exit leading to a massive parking lot. To the left of the south exit were the bathrooms, a suite of administrative offices, and a steel door connecting the store to a large storage warehouse full of plastic-wrapped furniture waiting to be delivered.
Amelia tucked the violin inside a cashmere sweater she’d found in one of the designer boutiques. She should sleep. She was bone-weary, but her dreams were still capricious, treacherous things. There were nights that Kane still haunted her—his awful hands scrabbling over her skin, his beady eyes and bristling, leering grin. She’d wake thrashing and moaning, horror-stricken, weak and terrified all over again.
It wasn’t every night, or even every other night anymore. Slowly, inexorably, she was ridding herself of him. He held no power over her anymore, dead or alive. Soon, she wouldn’t dream of him at all.
She sighed and made her way to the bathrooms in the darkness, using the blue glow from her SmartFlex for light. It had rained so much, Jericho’s solar charger was nearly useless. Her SmartFlex battery would be drained by tomorrow.
She tried to tell herself she didn’t care. But still, there was something comforting about the blue glow of the interface, the time and date features that still worked even though little else did. It was 10:15 p.m. on Wednesday, December 13th. As if that made a difference. But somehow, it still mattered.
“Watch your step.” Gabriel’s voice came out of the darkness, just as she narrowly avoided scraping her shin against an end table jutting awkwardly into the walkway between furniture groupings.
Gabriel flicked on his battery-operated flashlight and lit her way. She paused outside the bathroom doors. The storm had stopped, though only the faintest light filtered through the south exit’s glass doors on her right.
Thick clouds covered the stars. The empty parking lot and a few barren trees glimmered wetly. “Do you think it will freeze tonight?”
“It will soon enough.”
Pain pressed against the backs of her eyelids. She pressed her fingers against her forehead, willing it to go away. She hoped it wasn’t a migraine, but at least they were in a safe place, for now. But a migraine wasn’t the worst thing.
When would the next seizure come? Would she feel a warning, or would it bear down on her like a roaring train? How much damage would it do? What parts of herself would it steal? Her memories? Her ability to walk and run? Her music?
“Is something wrong?” The kindness in his voice brought another kind of pain, a sharp twist deep in her soul.
“I’m fine.” She could barely see his face, only the outline of his features, his eyes a pale glisten in the dark. Her stomach tightened against her will. “Thank you for the violin,” she said quietly.
Gabriel sighed. “My brother, the truth-teller. I should have known.”
Amelia smiled tightly, though he couldn’t see it. “He’s consistent, you have to give him that.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, he is.”
They fell into an uneasy silence. Could he hear the rapid, unsteady beat of her heart? This was the first time they’d really been alone since the Grand Voyager. A rush of memories flooded her. She nearly staggered beneath their weight.
A flicker of pain pulsed beneath her eyes. She sucked in her breath, her vision wavering. She swayed slightly.
“Hey. You okay?” He reached out and steadied her.
His hand brushed the bare skin of her wrist, sending a cascade of sparks through her. She sucked in her breath and pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, taking a step back. He sounded earnest, his voice full of remorse. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
She rubbed her arm. “It’s—it’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, you know,” he said suddenly. His words came out in a rush. “I’m sorry for everything. I know you probably don’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me. But every second of every day, I think about what I did to you. It must be hard for you to be near me, after what I did…”
She stiffened. She hadn’t planned to have this conversation now. She wasn’t prepared. She felt exposed, vulnerable. “What do you expect me to say?”
“You don’t have to say anything. This isn’t easy for me…” He cleared his throat. “I’m probably saying it all wrong.”
A flare of anger flashed through her. It made no sense, but she couldn’t help it. She hadn’t wanted to speak to him, so why did she suddenly feel such ire that it had taken him so long to speak to h
er? “It’s been months. You could’ve said something earlier.”
She felt his shrug. “I was a prisoner in handcuffs. You were dying of the Hydra virus. It wasn’t a good time.”
She laughed. It was sharp-edged and painful, but it was still a laugh. The darkness surrounding them felt freeing somehow. Like they were in a world apart. Like she could say anything, finally speak the words she’d been thinking for months. “I forgave you for being a terrorist, you know. But once you knew the truth…”
“I know,” he said, his voice thick.
“You betrayed me.”
She waited for him to make an excuse, to claim brainwashing or that Simeon had forced him to give her up, to diminish what he’d done in some way. It was Kane and Simeon who did the real damage, who were the real monsters…but he’d said none of those things.
“You took a chance on me,” he said instead. “You trusted me. We—we had a moment. More than that. What I felt for you, that was real. That’s what I need you to know. I didn’t fake it. Not—not any of it.”
Emotions roiled inside her. Tears sparked the backs of her eyelids. It was a good thing, hearing him say it. He knew what he’d done. How much he’d hurt her. Her heart still felt like a ball of fire inside her chest. “Okay,” she managed.
Her eye adjusted to the darkness. She could make out his arms flexing as he curled his hands into fists at his sides. “It’s not okay. It wasn’t then and it never will be. I took your trust and shattered it into a thousand pieces.”
“You did.” She lifted her chin. She held the words on her tongue carefully, like they might break in her mouth. “You broke my trust, but you didn’t break me.”
He was so close she could hear his breathing, the hitch in his chest. Heat radiated from his skin. Her heart beat faster.
“You’re stronger than I was,” he said softly, “than I am.”
She rubbed her charm bracelet beneath her sweater. Pain pulsed behind her eyes, but she ignored it. “You could have told everyone what my father did, that he was the one who engineered the Hydra virus. You could have claimed your innocence. But you didn’t. Why?”
Gabriel shifted, leaned against the wall. The outline of his profile was sharp in the dim shadows. He was still as handsome as ever, strong and fierce as a hawk. “They would have suspected you and your family by association. They would’ve interrogated you, imprisoned you, or worse.”
“You let your brother believe you were a monster rather than rat me out.”
“I was already a monster,” he said heavily.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. She didn’t know what she was supposed to think or how she was supposed to feel. He had committed truly awful acts. He’d acted monstrously. Did that still make him a monster? “Micah says there’s hope for everyone.”
He shifted in the dark. “So did Nadira.”
Her heart twinged at the thought of Nadira. She had been genuinely kind and tenderhearted. The world was a bleaker place without her. Nadira had believed there was still good in Gabriel, that even a terrorist could be redeemed. Was it possible? Did she want it to be true?
He peered at her intently. “You told Micah the truth yourself.”
She didn’t tell him how trust was a brittle but precious thing. When it shattered, it shattered her heart, too.
But she couldn’t stay broken. She refused to stay broken. She wouldn’t let Kane or Simeon or her father win. She needed to trust someone. It was part of rebuilding herself, one shard at a time.
But he didn’t need to know that. “It was the right thing to do.” They stared at each other for a long moment.
She held his gaze a beat too long before dropping her eyes. “Well, I’m thankful.”
His lip curled, revealing a flash of white teeth. “See, we can be civilized.”
She couldn’t see the dimple in his left cheek, but she knew it was there. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She needed to get out of there.
A wave of dizziness rushed through her, not just from Gabriel’s presence. Her headache still throbbed against her skull. She needed to lie down, and soon. She moved toward the bathroom. “I need to go.”
He moved out of her way. “Of course.”
She opened the door into complete blackness. She held out her SmartFlex, the blue glow illuminating a circle of the cement floor. Before her mind could register that cement was an odd choice for an upscale department store bathroom, something erupted out of the darkness.
She glimpsed a snout and teeth and tiny black eyes. A small, furred creature lunged at her. She gasped and stepped back, leaving the door wide open.
A brown rat skittered out of the doorway. It rose on its haunches less than a yard from her feet, squeaking angrily.
Amelia kicked at it. It turned and fled back into the darkness.
“What the hell was that?” Gabriel asked.
“A rat. It came from in there.” She pointed at the door to the storage warehouse. Warily, Gabriel stepped into the doorway and flicked his flashlight inside, illuminating the shadows.
Amelia froze. Dread coiled in her stomach as the shadows separated into distinct shapes. Wriggling bodies. Shiny black eyes. Flat, wide teeth. Sharp little claws.
A dozen. Then several dozens. A hundred. More than she could count.
They gathered along the armrests of plastic-wrapped lounge chairs, perched on table tops, skittered from sofa cushion to sofa cushion. They amassed atop coffee tables and end tables. They crouched a hundred deep within every corner like thick, bristling shadows.
These were not the cute pets used to sawdust and cages. Their eyes glittered with malice. Their tiny, bone-sharp teeth gnashed, the fur around their jaws damp with a yellowish, foaming saliva tinged red.
They were infected. The virus raged through them, twisting their brains with blood-lust until they were savage little monsters, only longing to spread the virus through bites to as many victims as possible.
A huge black rat emerged from the shadows a dozen feet from the door. It crept stealthily toward her. Gabriel swung the beam of the flashlight, the light reflecting in its tiny eyes. It sat back on its fat haunches and chittered angrily, whiskers twitching.
One by one, and then in clumps, the rats behind it slipped from chairs and sofas and tables and dropped to the cement floor.
“Gabriel…”
“I see them. Don’t move. Don’t startle them.” Gabriel edged closer, moving in front of her protectively as he stretched for the door handle.
The fat rat charged. Instantly, the rest followed. A living tide of brown, writhing bodies rushed toward them.
“Shut the door!” Amelia screamed.
“What’s going on?” a groggy voice blurted from the darkness. But there was no time to answer or call for help.
The rats scurried across the floor, hundreds of bristling, hunched backs and slithering pink tails, a thousand claws scrabbling against cement.
Gabriel dove for the handle and slammed the door shut. Two rats squeezed through. They lunged at Amelia’s feet, both of them clawing up her leg. One bit down hard over her shin, its teeth catching in the thick leather of the boots she still wore. Thank goodness for small mercies.
“Don’t move!” Gabriel swung his rifle like a bat, connecting with the biting rat and sending it flying. It landed a few feet away, deep in shadow, but Gabriel pummeled it with the barrel of the gun.
The second rat scampered up her thigh, its scrabbling claws finding purchase on her pants. She shrieked, frantically batting at it.
She was immune from the virus passed by human transmission, but she didn’t know about animals. The virus could be a mutation. She had to assume this rat was as deadly a threat to her as it was to everyone else.
She wasn’t wearing gloves. If she tried to grab it and it bit her hand…but she had no choice. The thing would gnaw through her pant leg and bite her thigh in half a second if she didn’t do something.
She could barely see. Gabriel’s flashlig
ht swung wildly, the beam of light skittering in all directions. The shadows shifted like liquid oil, tricking her eyes.
She could feel the thing like a weight hanging from her leg. If she missed, if her aim was off by even a fraction…
She caught a flash of tiny shining eyes and a black bulge on her thigh.
Amelia seized the rat around its middle. It felt like a thick, terrycloth towel. A towel that was dense and coarse and bulged grotesquely beneath her fingers.
She screamed and flung the creature as hard as she could against the wall. It struck with a wet thump and slid to the floor. It writhed, twitched, and fell still.
Gabriel leaned against the door, his chest heaving. She sagged next to him, her shoulder only inches from his. They stared at each other in shocked horror.
“Are you okay?” Gabriel asked. “Were you bitten anywhere?”
“No,” she gasped. “You?”
He shook his head.
Micah and Finn stumbled toward them, wiping sleep from their eyes. “What just happened?”
There was a scratching sound against the door. Like an old-fashioned key scraping against metal. Like tiny scrabbling nails.
The rats were trying to get out.
The blood drained from Amelia’s face. “Whatever you do,” she said, “don’t open that door.”
10
Micah
Micah awoke to the sound of shattering glass. The stench of smoke filled his nostrils. Not the distant smoke that swirled constantly in the air, but the intense, fetid smoke from a nearby fire.
A fire so close, he could feel the heat of it on his skin.
He opened his eyes, expecting complete darkness. Instead, everything was orange, flickering shadows.
“Fire!” someone cried.
Micah staggered to his feet, blinking sleep from his eyes. He shoved his glasses on, jerked on his pack, and grabbed the rifle resting on the cushion beside him. He seized the flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on.
