by Kyla Stone
After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. She swiped the console screen, adjusting their course.
“Gabriel, come with me.” Simeon took his arm and led him through the exterior starboard door. The bridge wing looked like the narrow wing of an aircraft. It was a suspended walkway supported by thin corbeled struts extending over the ocean over a hundred feet below.
The sea was choppy, the silver water crinkling like foil. The wind beat about his face, whipping his uniform. The sky was battleship gray, ready for war.
He gripped the railing. He couldn't get the images of those bodies out of his mind. Nausea roiled through him. His stomach heaved, and he vomited over the side. He spat the sour acid out of his mouth and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Shame swept over him at his failure. “I'm sorry. I—”
“I hurled at my first dead body, too. Don't worry.”
Silence stretched between them. Even speaking the words felt like a betrayal. “We didn't have to kill them. The captain and the helmsman, they weren't—”
Simeon kept his hand on Gabriel's arm. “The helmsman refused to listen to the warning I offered him. He could have lived. He chose otherwise. The captain wouldn't listen to reason. I wouldn't have chosen for him to die, but it is what it is. We were prepared for the possibility. That’s why we recruited Walsh. She’s a Patriot, and a damn fine one. She’ll fulfill the duties of the captain. We must accept this, Gabriel.”
He stared down at the water, fighting against the weakness inside him. The body of the captain and his dead eyes shimmered in his vision. He blinked.
“Every good soldier in every war throughout time experienced the same thing,” Simeon said quietly. “In the Revolutionary War, neighbors fought on opposite sides. In the Civil War, brother killed brother. In World War Two, the United States dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, killing hundreds of thousands of civilians. That bomb America dropped on North Korea three years ago to prevent nuclear war. Why? Because they were fighting for a larger cause, a greater good.
“We are fighting for the greater good, Gabriel. You must never forget. Innocent people are killed in war every day, including those sanctioned by our own government. But you seldom hear our government speak of this, unless they're attacking someone else for doing the exact same thing.”
Gabriel’s hands curled into fists. Every word Simeon spoke was true. He knew that. He believed it.
“They will try to get in your head,” Simeon said. “They will try to twist your own goodness and use it against you. Do you hear me?”
He nodded, clenching his jaw.
“We must remain strong. Your mother died needlessly because of corporate greed. Even your father died of a blight manufactured by corporations right here in America. These are who we fight for. Yes, we may have to deal with certain . . . undesirables. But it is all for the cause. We are true patriots, fighting for our freedom.”
“We are freedom fighters.”
“Yes, we are. And I need you. Now is the time to collect Black’s daughter and get her and yourself somewhere safe, until I call for you. Take her by force if you have to, but until the rest of the ship is secured, it would be best to stay under the radar.”
Gabriel took a deep breath, forcing out the images of dead bodies, forcing out his fear and doubt and hesitation. He was a soldier. He couldn't afford misgivings. Not now. The arrogant, indifferent elite had to pay for their crimes. The starving, suffering people needed a voice. They needed someone who could fight for them.
The New Patriots fought for them. Gabriel fought for them. This was his purpose. This was a cause worth killing for, dying for.
“I'm ready,” he said, stronger now. “But my brother. I haven't had a chance to warn him. I know you wanted him to fight for us. But he won’t. It’s not in him.” Another pang of regret struck him. He should never have let Micah on the ship.
Simeon held up a hand. His eyes were kind. “Never mind that. But Gabriel, your emotions are your weakness. In war, compassion is a flaw, a risk. Don't let your feelings for anyone get in the way. Especially your brother. Do you understand?”
His throat tightened. He wouldn't let Simeon down again. He wouldn't let the cause down. “Yes, sir. But—”
“You attend to your duty, and I will ensure that he's out of harm's way.”
“Yes, sir.” They turned back toward the bridge. The wind swirled around them. The sky darkened, the horizon deepening like a dark, pulsing bruise.
“Take a moment, son.” Triumph thrummed through Simeon's voice. “We have officially taken command of the Grand Voyager.”
19
Amelia
Ten minutes into dinner, a headache struck Amelia's skull like an axe splitting open a log. The pain pulsed from the base of her neck to her temples, throbbing behind her eyes. At the captain's table, the captain was conspicuously missing. So was her father. He left with Omar Ferguson before anyone could direct any questions his way. The remaining guests talked in hushed, agitated voices and repeatedly checked their disconnected SmartFlex cuffs. Among the strained whispers, she heard the word Hydra mentioned more than once.
The Maître d' announced the outside decks would be closing due to the weather and then made some lame joke about using the forced break from technology as an opportunity to try a hot stone massage. His only response was a trickle of uneasy laughter.
The passengers were tense—upset over what might or might not be happening back home, irritated over the canceled shore excursion in Belize coupled with losing their internet connections, and now this—lousy weather to top it off. The waves were choppy, and some people looked green as the floor rolled beneath them.
Maybe you should play, her mother mouthed from her seat across the table. Amelia shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was play the violin to a restless crowd. And she was too upset and unsettled herself.
She scanned the opulent dining room and caught sight of Gabriel, standing outside the starboard side doorway. He lifted his fingers to his lips and mimed a smoke.
Her stomach turned over. She wanted to see him. And her father wasn’t there to stop her. “I'm getting some air.” She tucked her clutch under her arm and escaped the Oasis dining room.
She breathed in the scent of brine, the wild and salty sea. The wind whipped her hair across her face. The ozone-tinged air raised goosebumps on her arm. For a moment, she closed her eyes and just listened to the crashing waves, the roar of the wind, willing herself to calm down.
“Did I miss the costume party memo?”
“What?”
Gabriel eyed her dress. “The Greek goddess getup.”
She blushed. “My father picked it out.”
He raised an eyebrow. “He picks out all your clothes?”
“Of course not. It's . . . complicated.” A wave slapped the hull. She held the railing for balance.
Gabriel peered through the Oasis doorway, his expression anxious. “Have you seen my brother? I want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah, Micah. He’s a waiter. I think he’s your waiter, actually.”
“The shy, cute one with the glasses?”
Gabriel snorted. “Yep. Add a book to that picture and you’ve got pegged him exactly.”
Amelia shifted against the railing. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, nothing like that.” But Gabriel’s face was tense, his shoulders slightly hunched. “We're just not exactly talking right now.”
She thought of Silas, the parting words he'd hurled at her as she left the suite. “I know the feeling.”
“I want to make sure—oh, never mind.” He turned his gaze back to her. “Are you okay? You seemed upset the last time we talked.”
“I'm fine. A bit of a headache.” Just one more lie to pile on top of all the others. “Are you okay?”
She took a closer look at him.
His jaw was clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. A shadow crossed his face,
something in his eyes she couldn’t quite read. Then he shook his head. “A bit of seasickness. No need to worry about me.”
“Who says I’m worried?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Certainly not me.”
“Maybe we both need to be worried about that storm.” In the distance, flickers of lightning lit up the menacing black clouds.
“That's miles away.”
“Looks like we're headed right for it.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
Her dress lashed at her legs. Electrons singed the air with nervous energy. “Then why are the outside decks closing?”
“Safety precaution.” Gabriel lit a cigarette, hooding the flame with his hand, and handed it to her. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Is that real?”
“You wanted to be a rebel, didn't you?”
“I never said that.”
“Sure you did. Here.”
She hesitated for a moment. Silas’s words rang in her ears. You’re just like her.
“The danger makes it so much better. Trust me.”
The world seemed to be going to hell anyway. Or at least her corner of it. She took the cigarette and inhaled. Pungent smoke filled her throat and she gagged, doubling over in a coughing fit.
“Relax. You inhale the smoke, not the whole damn cigarette.”
She stifled a sharp retort. It was her own fault, anyway. “Thanks.”
She tried again, prepared this time. He was right. The real thing was better.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem upset.”
She kept her gaze on the water crashing below. She couldn't talk about the anxiety roiling in the pit of her stomach, the fight with her brother, how her father's anger and contempt filled her with a dark, writhing shame like a living thing. “I'll be fine. I just need—I need a minute.”
“Let me take you down to the officer's deck. It's out of the wind. They've got a gourmet coffee bar, lounge chairs, a hot tub.”
Her stomach fluttered against her will. He was so close, she could see the stubble on his jaw, his long, thick lashes. Heat crept into her cheeks. “Aren't you supposed to be working?”
“Aren't you supposed to be in there?” He gestured in the direction of the Oasis dining room. “Come on. Can't you feel it in the air? Something wants to happen.”
She arched her brow.
“What? You don't believe in fate? You don't believe some things are meant to be?”
Her headache dimmed, a dull hammer thudding against the back of her brain. She remembered that terrible look of disdain on her brother’s face. You're as bad as she is. The whisper was still there, tormenting her. Was he right?
She loathed how her father made her feel, so helpless and ashamed. Her mother never did anything. Her mother let it happen, over and over. So did Amelia. Silas was right. She was turning into a younger, meeker version of her mother, doomed to spend the rest of her life crushed beneath her father’s iron will. The thought suffocated the breath from her lungs.
No. The whisper was so deep inside she barely heard it over the roar of the wind and the waves. No. If she didn’t do something, if she didn’t make some choice for herself, however small, she was sealing her own fate. She felt her future snapping shut over her head like a steel trap.
She took one last drag of her cigarette. “Yes.”
20
Willow
“Told you I'd destroy you.” Finn grinned wickedly as he hefted his golf club over his shoulder.
Willow glared at him. She planted her feet on the Astro turf, aimed her club, and sent the neon-blue golf ball spinning between two skyscrapers, over a little bridge, narrowly dodging the Empire State building. It went straight into the Hudson River.
Finn had scored a hole-in-one, his bright yellow ball wobbling into Central Park like it had a mind of its own. And he'd done it left-handed.
“Are you left-handed for real or did you do that to rub it in?”
“Left-handed all the way. It's my secret power.”
She snorted. “You also failed to tell me you were the mini-golf equivalent of Tiger Woods.”
“That's the hustle, darling.” He checked the leaderboard that automatically tallied their scores and clucked his tongue. “Only fifteen shots behind with one hole to go.”
“Seriously? I'm that bad?”
“Well, your skills, consistency, and accuracy score is . . .”
“Abysmal?”
He gave her a crooked grin. “I was going for a gentler word.”
“Save your pity.”
He nodded at the last hole. “All right, then. Loser goes first. Remember, you're about to owe me two hundred credits. Don't let the pressure stress you out, Gwyneth.”
Willow shoved her hair out of her face. She hated losing. At anything. What she hated more was the prospect of having to admit she didn't have two hundred credits. Which meant she'd have to admit to lying, which would end this fledgling friendship before it'd even begun.
Even though it didn't matter, even though it was nothing—a stupid little game—she still liked the thought of being someone else, stepping into another life as easily as slipping on a pair of glittering high heels. Amelia Black and her posse recognized Willow as an imposter immediately, but Finn believed in her. Finn saw what she wanted him to see—what she could be, if she ever got the chance.
She liked that. And she actually liked Finn, too. Which had surprised her. Damn it. No matter what, she always found a way to screw things up.
The wind up here was vicious, especially with the storm boiling on the horizon. Flashes of light threaded through the clouds. The miniature golf course was located aft—she thought that was the word for the back of the ship—directly in front of the massive red and black funnel looming at least three stories above them. It blocked the entire mid and front of the ship from sight. Right now, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. “We're the only two people stupid enough to play games in a tropical thunderstorm,” Finn had quipped.
She pinned her club between her knees and re-tied the escaped strands of hair that kept slipping into her eyes. She tensed as the ground pitched beneath her. “How can anyone play anything with the ship rocking like this?”
Finn rolled his shoulders. His oversized polo flapped against him. “Go ahead. Make excuses for your lame-ass skills.”
She refused to tell him she hadn't played this ridiculous game in over ten years, that even cheap distractions like glow golf and bowling weren't so cheap anymore. And who had the time anyway? “You think I spend my leisure time playing mini-golf?”
“Oh right. You're too fancy for all that.”
“Aren't you?”
He grinned. “My parents are kinda weird, remember? We love mini-golf. Get this. Before the divorce, we even had board-game night. Rummikub, Sorry, Candy Land, Monopoly, the whole deal. Mega-lame, right? It was always a blast though, once you put aside your pride.”
“I guess. My dad was really into poker back in the day.” She tried not to think of the time before, when her family was whole and still laughed and told jokes around the dinner table. Her dad would sit for hours and teach Benjie how to shuffle cards, how to use sleight of hand, how to bluff, though Benjie was terrible at it. Zia was better at bluffing, and could even take a hand or two once in a while.
Her heart twinged. She refused to feel guilty, shoving the thoughts out of her head. She’d hurt Zia, but she’d make it up to her later. This was her escape, her time to herself, her moment of fun. Her mom was so stressed out all the time, she was miserable. Not Willow. Not today. She wrapped her hands around the club and bent her knees.
“Just concentrate,” Finn said, leaning on his golf club. It looked like a toy in his huge hands. “Try your best, and remember, you don't have a marshmallow's chance in hell, darling.”
She blew out a breath and focused, ignoring the sloshing in her stomach when the ship swayed. “So. Not. Your. Darling.” She
struck the ball and hit it over the Golden Gate Bridge. It rolled up and down a few steep hills and came to a rest a couple of inches from the trolley with the hole beneath it. She made it in par.
“Nailed it! Take that!”
Finn gave her a high five. “Well played, madam, well played. Nice one-hole-out-of-eighteen.”
She grinned up at him. “Don't hate. It's all in the small victories.”
A crew member made his way out to them. Behind him, a metalhead directed a hover cart piled high with lounge chair cushions. “We're closing the decks in ten minutes due to inclement weather!” he shouted.
“What inclement weather?” Finn shouted back.
“Very funny, sir,” the guy said. “My job is to clear the decks of all potential debris.”
“You need any help?”
“No thanks, sir. But I'll go ahead and take those.”
They handed him their clubs. “Thank you.”
After he was gone, Finn turned to her, his eyes glinting. “Climbing cave? Or is that not your jam?”
“Definitely not my jam. And didn't you listen to what he just said? No climbing dangerous structures during a hurricane.”
“Okay, fine. I guess it is colder than Jack Frost's balls out here.”
She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering. “That's one way to put it.”
“How about the casino? We can play the slots with the credits I just won off you. Or maybe Blackjack. Unless you're tired of getting schooled?”
She was, but she wouldn't admit it. And he hadn't forgotten about the credits she owed him. Crap. But she didn’t want this to end. Not yet. “Falafels at the Mediterranean Grill first?”
“Deal.”
They walked around the funnel, Willow making sure to stay a good five feet from the glass railing. She took several steps before she realized Finn was no longer beside her. She turned around, the wind a dull roar in her ears.