A Sea of Shattered Glass

by Kyla Stone

  “That's not his fault,” she said automatically. “The bat flu virus is just one of a thousand strains. It mutates. By the time they synthesize a vaccine, it might be a completely different bug.”

  He clicked his tongue between his teeth. “I thought it was for every strain, hence the term universal.”

  Amelia flushed. “Lots of things can go wrong with vaccines.”

  “That's not what they advertised. They promised a miracle.” His gaze raked over her, his eyes hard, almost angry.

  She blinked, breaking eye contact. “You say that like it's someone's fault.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  “Disease always spreads in dense, urban areas. It's been that way forever, since the flu epidemic in 1918, the bubonic plague before that and all the epidemics since then—the China outbreak, the bat strain that wiped out half of Nigeria five years ago. It's how outbreaks work. It's no one's fault. That's ridiculous.”

  “Is it?”

  “You sound like you're blaming my father.” Her words felt brittle in her mouth. Hollow. She thought of Silas. Of her mother, always defending Declan, no matter what.

  Gabriel's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring like he was gearing up for an argument. But then he stopped. He sucked in his breath and averted his gaze. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

  “Maybe we should.”

  The silence lengthened, uncomfortable and tense. Maybe this was another mistake. Maybe she should leave. She should go back to the Oasis dining room where she belonged. But she wanted to be there even less than here.

  The hot, bubbling water massaged her legs. Warmth seeped into her body. She didn't want to leave. “Let's try talking about something nice, shall we? I'll start. If you could do anything, what would you do?”

  “I'd be president, and I'd change the world.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I would rid politics of corruption. I would pass laws that actually helped the people.”

  “Sounds like a nice dream.”

  “It's real. We could fix things. Real change could happen, if people would stand up.”

  She snorted. “Stand up against what? The disappearing bees? The droughts? The crop blights? The dying rivers? Are you going to do a dance and bring rain back to Arizona?”

  “All of those problems were caused by humans who put greed above protecting the next generation.”

  “Humans didn't kill off the bees or drain the lakes or call hurricanes from the sky to decimate cities. Those are acts of God.”

  He laughed, but the sound came out coarse and jagged. “Why would God do anything like that?”

  “Because—” she stopped. The words in her head were her father's, not her own. Her mother always said God was a God of love. She said God didn't punish people, not like her father claimed. Her mother's faith was quiet, her father's loud and demanding. But her mother also never stood up to him. She never said he was wrong. Amelia sighed. “You know what? Never mind.”

  For a moment, they were quiet. The lights inside the spa glowed turquoise. The steam dampened her dress, heating her legs. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “What about you?” Gabriel asked. “If you could be anywhere, do anything, what would you do?”

  That answer, at least, was easy. She rubbed the violin on her bracelet. “I'd be at Julliard. Practicing six hours a day. Becoming better. Becoming the best. I’d play for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra or the Vienna Philharmonic. I’d be the next Stephane Grappelli. If I got in.”

  “Why wouldn’t you? You’re good enough.”

  A cold, dull dread filled her. “No. No, I’m not. They rejected me.”

  “It sounds like a lot of work for a rich girl who could spend the rest of her life doing lunch, country club hopping, and getting massages.”

  Amelia flushed. “Money doesn't make people automatically lazy.”

  “Could've fooled me.”

  Her headache pulsed at the base of her neck. He was so angry all of a sudden. Tense and irritable. No matter how hard they tried, this conversation seemed to roll back around to the same antagonistic themes. Who had money. Who didn't. And whose fault it was. Maybe her mother was right. The classes were just too different. Part of her wanted to leave—to escape, to give up on this whole thing. But something wouldn't let her. “You work on a cruise ship—you only see people when they're relaxing, not the eighty-hour weeks they pulled for the previous six months.”

  “Wealth is its own drug. It inoculates you from need. From want. From risk.” The bitterness in his voice felt like a slap.

  “You think I don't want things?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Not like the rest of us. You don't know need. You don't know hunger.”

  “That's not true.”

  “And you, especially.”

  She wiped sweat from her brow. She felt hot and a little dizzy. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  He shot her a blistering look. “Don't play coy. You have that coveted mix—insane wealth and the kind of beauty no amount of money can buy. You live a life apart from mere mortals.”

  Anger swelled through her. She was used to such judgments. Usually she didn't let them bother her. But this was different. She didn't know why, but she cared what he thought about her, his boy with the bronze skin, the intense eyes and the unyielding set to his mouth. She swallowed. “You don't know me.”

  “I don't need to. Wealth and class always comes with privilege.”

  “Look, I don't know your life, obviously. But you don't know mine, either.” Her chest tightened. The edges of her fingers tingled. “Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.”

  Her SmartFlex beeped. “Warning. Your biostats have exceeded healthy parameters. Please cool your temperature immediately—”

  “Disengage.” The sensors worked even without internet access. But she didn’t need her SmartFlex to tell her something was wrong. She lifted her legs out of the water and stood on the ledge of the hot tub. She swayed as a wave of dizziness hit her.

  “Wait—” Gabriel said.

  She stepped off the ledge just as the ship rolled sharply. She stumbled and lurched forward.

  Gabriel grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet. “You okay?”

  She pushed away from him. “I don't need your help.”

  “You look pale—paler than normal.” The aggression leaked out of his voice, replaced with concern. He pulled out a chair at a patio table with a closed umbrella. “Sit.”

  She sat down. But the dizziness didn't go away. The headache pulsed against the walls of her skull. Lights danced in front of her vision. No. Please no. Not now.

  She hated this feeling—this weakness. Her clutch was on the table where she'd left it. She wouldn't need it. She willed herself not to need it. She bent her head, breathing hard and rubbing the charms of her bracelet, pressing the point of the violin into the tip of her index finger.

  Gabriel stood in front of her, watching warily, probably disgusted.

  The tingling sensation spread up her arms, flooded her belly. Her thoughts came slow and sluggish. Her tongue thickened in her mouth. It was hard to breathe, impossible to speak. Make it stop. Not here. Not now.

  But it didn't matter what she wanted. It was coming.

  She pried open her clutch with shaking fingers. She gripped one of the auto-injectors, so smooth and sleek, so hard to hold onto when the shaking started, the rattle of the tracks as a train roared closer, seconds from overtaking her.

  “Amelia—”

  She ignored him. There was no time. She hiked up the fabric of her dress, revealing her bare thigh. She flicked off the cap and jammed the needle hard into her own flesh.

  The pain was a sharp beat in every cell, in every nerve. She counted in her mind, the numbers a shimmering, flickering aura. One, two, three, four, five. If she got to thirty, she was okay.

  Long seconds ticked by. Finally, she pulled the needle out of her leg and leaned back in the chair. She sucked in a ragge
d breath. Her limbs were weak and watery. But that was the worst of it. A flutter of relief winged through her chest.

  She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thirsty,” she whispered.

  Gabriel went inside the crew lounge and brought her a bottled water. She drank it greedily. “Thank you.”

  “What happened?”

  She flexed her hands, willed them to stop shaking. “Nothing I can't handle. I’m fine.”

  He squatted in front of her. “You don’t look fine.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but she didn't have the strength. Her secret wasn't so secret anymore. She forced herself to meet his gaze. His expression was concerned, compassionate, the hardness in his eyes gone.

  “This isn't an epi-pen.” She showed him the auto-injector. “It's intra-muscular midazolam combined with a few other things. My rescue treatment, for emergencies. For breakthrough seizures.”

  “Seizures?”

  “I have a form of Dravet Syndrome. Otherwise known as severe myoclonic epilepsy of infancy.”

  He just watched her, listening.

  “The seizures started when I was a baby. Complex febrile seizures, tonic-clonic seizures, partial seizures—I get them all. They cause brain damage. The mortality rate is twenty percent by the age of twenty.

  “My type of epilepsy is resistant to pharmacotherapy. It's complicated, but basically I have this protein called P-glycoprotein, which is overexpressed or whatever the medical term is. The anti-seizure medications don't make it through the blood-brain barrier, so they can't reach the part of my brain to stop the seizures.”

  “But you seem okay.”

  Amelia smiled in spite of herself. She knew this story by heart. “In a twist of fate—or faith, as my mother would say—she met my father at a hotel bar. He was in town for a medical convention. At the time, he was working on a new treatment for epileptic seizures. He used nanotechnology to develop these biodegradable nanoparticles small enough to penetrate cell membranes. They acted as nanocarriers that delivered the anti-seizure medications through the blood-brain barrier and directly to the specific targeted areas of my brain.”

  She didn't tell him the drug was never approved by the FDA. It didn't make it past the phase II human trials. In certain patients, the nanoparticles were . . . reactive. They induced unforeseen chemical reactions, causing mitochondrial damage and transforming normal cells into cancerous ones. But Declan had believed a child's brain was more plastic and would receptive to the nanoparticles. He'd given the drug to her in secret, defying the law, defying the FDA, smuggling the medication out of his lab.

  It had worked.

  Her mother had told her the stories so many times, how she'd kept Amelia next to her bed, not trusting the sensors her father had placed in the crib mattress. How she'd spent Amelia's first two years only half-dozing at night, waking repeatedly to read the monitors, to check her daughter's breathing and study the rise and fall of her tiny chest, the pallor of her already pale skin. “My mother had to watch me like a hawk.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  He held up his hands. “I'm just saying she still looks at you like that. Like you're made of glass.”

  “It's that obvious, huh?” Amelia took another gulp of water. “But the medication works. I haven't had a tonic-clonic seizure in years, other than a close call last year when my dosage was off.

  “I get migraines, though. Bad ones. But I can handle them. I don't have permanent brain damage, that's the important thing. I'm still me. I just need to be careful of certain things, like heat and fevers, high stress, and photosensitivity stuff.”

  “That's why no hot tubs.”

  “Right. No hot tubs.”

  “Now I know for next time.” He was smiling, the smile reaching his eyes for the first time since she'd met him. He was acting like a normal human being, not like every conversation was a battlefield to be won or lost.

  She grinned back at him, a smoldering in her belly that had nothing to do with the temperature.

  The PA system crackled. “All passengers are required to go to their assigned muster stations immediately. All passengers and crew, please make your way to your assigned muster station.”

  “What's going on?” Amelia asked.

  “The storm must be bigger we thought. This captain's overcautious.”

  “We should go.”

  “You need to rest.”

  “I don't know . . . mustering is for safety reasons, right?”

  “You're safe with me.” He was attentive, eager, almost giddy. His eyes were bright. “When will you ever have an entire ship to yourself? When will you ever have a night like tonight?”

  She looked out at the dark, frothing sea. The deck pitched uneasily beneath her. Thunder crashed.

  “I want to show you something.” His voice was low and husky. “There's a new attraction for the Grand Voyager, the first of its kind. It isn't open yet. It's so quiet and beautiful, I think you'll love it.”

  She should go to the muster station. She should find her family. So many things she should do. Maybe she didn't have to do any of them. Not right now. Not yet. “Take me there.”

  He was so close. She inhaled the deep, musky scent of him, like something wild. She felt wild herself, her heartbeat trembling against her ribs.

  He leaned toward her. His eyes were huge and dark and beautiful. Emotions she couldn’t read filled his gaze, like shadows cast behind his eyes.

  He reached up and stroked her cheek with his thumb, his touch trailing wisps of fire. Her whole body came alive. Every heartbeat felt like her heart was trying to push its way out of her chest.

  He pulled her to him. Heat burned through her. Her skin sparked, her belly alight with fireflies.

  His mouth was hard and hungry, filled with longing. Or maybe the longing was her own.

  His kiss deepened, urgent, drinking her in. His lips tasted like rain. Electricity sizzled through her veins, sharp as the electrons singeing the air. He pressed against her, his hands strong and firm on her waist, her back, then tangling in her hair.

  It felt like falling.

  When she kissed him back, lightning lit up the sky.

  23

  Willow

  “We have to go to our muster stations,” Finn said. “They just made an announcement.”

  “What if it’s a trap?” They crouched in the stairwell of Deck Eleven. Willow peered around the corner. No movement. The wide hallway and balcony were eerily silent, the karaoke bar empty of everyone, even the bartender. No one manned the photography stations or the coffee stand.

  It took them forever to crawl across the length of the lido deck, past the infinity pool and the lagoon hot tub, past the raised stage and the central pool. The explosion had knocked down half of the transparent tube slide. A massive chunk of plexiglass smoked and sizzled as they crawled around it. Their hands and knees slipped on the slick deck, the rain pelting them, wind whipping at their clothes.

  They managed to make it inside and crept down several flights of stairs. They were both trembling, panting, eyes wide, terrified and unsure of their next move. Willow couldn’t breathe properly. Her heart was about to explode inside her chest.

  Finn wiped beads of sweat off his forehead. His face looked ashen, a sheen of gray over his brown skin. “Maybe it's just the fear talking, but I think we should follow orders.”

  “It's your fear talking. We need to find somewhere safe to hide out until the cavalry rides in. Or flies in. Or sails in. Whatever.” But even as she said the words, she knew she couldn’t do it. She had Benjie. And her mom. And Zia. Guilt seized her heart. Zia must be terrified. And Willow was the one who deserted her. “Oh, hell.”

  “Your family,” Finn said quietly. “And my dad.”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. It could still be a trap. But she couldn’t just abandon her family. Guilt speared her. She already had. Please be safe. Please be okay. “We need to check
the library. We—I—left my sister there.”

  Finn shook his head. “She heard the announcement, too. She’ll be at your muster station. Which one is yours?”

  “The Galaxy lounge, I think. Deck Four. I remember staring up at all the holographic stars on the ceiling during the boring safety speeches.”

  “Not so boring now, are they? I'm in the Trident Theater. Deck Six.”

  Her stomach dropped. “That's on the other side of the ship.”

  “We stay together,” Finn said. “We’ll go to Deck Six first, get my dad, then head to Four and find your family.”

  She took a deep breath. “What could possibly go wrong?”

  They heard the voices at the same time, both deep and male.

  Willow stiffened. She raised one finger to her lips.

  She placed her hand on the wall to steady herself, and leaned around the corner. Finn jerked frantically on her arm. But she needed to see what was happening.

  Two men dressed in black with assault rifles slung over their shoulders stood behind the counter of the karaoke bar. Their ski masks were pulled up. One was tall and bearded, the other younger, with a red bandana tied around his neck.

  Bandana grabbed one of the beer bottles off the glass shelving behind the bar. He threw it on the ground. The bearded guy joined him. They took swigs from amber bottles, laughing as they smashed the rest, glass shattering into thousands of pieces.

  She leaned back on her heels, her heart galloping against her ribs. “We need to go now, while they're loud and distracted.”

  Finn’s eyes widened. “They could catch us.”

  Every muscle in her body screamed at her to stay put. But her brain shot off warning flares, like bright streaks behind her eyes. They were sitting ducks on the stairwell. “As soon as they're finished, they'll march this way and blow our brains out.”

  Finn shook his head furiously. He breathed in shallow gulps, his whole body trembling. Sweat beaded his upper lip, his nostrils flaring. He was panicking.