by Kyla Stone
The terrorist slouched low in the bean bag, probably dozing. He was bigger and stronger than she was, but not like this. Not when she stood behind him. She had the power, the momentum, and the element of surprise.
Willow tensed as the floor bucked beneath her. In one swift movement, she reached around and pressed the knife to his throat. “Don't move, asshole.”
He jolted awake.
“Put the gun down and kick it away.”
He obeyed. The gun slid across the carpet, bumping against the feet of the childcare workers. All three of the women stared at Willow, fear etched in their faces.
Willow kept the knife pressed to his throat and moved until she was facing him. She adjusted the blade so the point pricked against his Adam's apple.
“My sister is—she's dead,” she choked out. “You people killed her.” Rage welled in her throat, and for a moment she couldn't speak. It filled her whole body until she was shaking, her eyes glazed and burning with grief. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the knife.
He started to shake his head, then froze as the blade knife scraped his skin. He swallowed. A trickle of blood dripped on his shirt collar. “I didn't. I've never killed anybody.”
His voice was clear and smooth. He might have been a singer in another life. He was younger than she'd thought, only a few years older than she was. Acne sprinkled his oily forehead. Shaggy hair, chapped lips, crooked teeth. He looked like an average kid fresh out of high school. He didn't look evil.
Her heart clenched. Evil didn't look any special way. It could be beautiful. It could come at you with a smile, a dagger in its teeth. “Shut up.”
“I swear.” He raised his hands slowly, his gaze darting around the room. “I haven't hurt a single hair on their heads! I fed them, let them play. I'm keeping them safe until we leave.”
“He speaks the truth,” one of the hostages said. She was a Middle Eastern girl in her twenties, wearing a hijab. “He hasn’t harmed us.”
“You can just leave—” the terrorist started.
“There is no 'leaving.' Your friends brought explosives along with their machine guns. They're gonna blow the whole ship and watch it sink in flames.”
“Take the kids to the lifeboats. I won't stop you,” he said. “You don't believe me, I have zip-ties in my pocket. You can tie me up and leave me here.”
Her mouth was dry, her tongue gritty as sandpaper. It was as good a plan as any. “Okay, asshole. Take out those zip-ties, nice and slow, and hand them to me.”
She bound his hands behind his back and freed the hostages.
“If we leave him tied up, we're condemning him to die,” the Middle-Eastern girl said gently. She was pretty, with a strong nose, thick eyebrows, and a soft, oval-shaped face. “I’m Nadira.”
“Nice to meet you, Nadira,” Willow said. “Maybe he should die. He made his bed.”
“This is not our choice to make.”
Willow just stared at her.
“If the ship is burning, then we should untie him—or at least make it possible for him to escape. Otherwise, we become murderers.”
It wasn't how she thought it'd be. The monster was just a boy, with a face like hers. He wasn't the one who killed her sister. This wouldn't be vengeance. It would be murder. Willow was many things, but a cold-blooded killer wasn't one of them. Her anger leaked out of her, leaving an ache like a hot stone in the pit of her stomach.
“Oh, hell.” She placed the cake knife on the floor behind his bound hands. “If you touch this knife before we leave, I’ll gouge your eyes out.”
He met her gaze, grateful relief written all over his face. “Thank you.”
“Keep an eye on him,” she said to Nadira. She picked up the terrorist’s assault rifle to use as protection. She had no clue how to shoot it, but she could use it as club if worse came to worse.
“Ate Lo Lo!” Benjie sat on the Lego mat, rubbing his eyes. His hair stuck up all over his head. She knelt beside him, Lego pieces digging into her knees, and gathered him into her arms.
The cuts on her palms throbbed, still seeping blood, but she didn’t care. Benjie's warm body sank against her. She could feel his heartbeat against her own chest. His hair smelled like green apple shampoo. He smelled like home.
She groaned and hugged him tighter. Alive. He was alive. Her mom would be proud of them, wherever she was.
“Where's Mom?” Benjie asked as if reading her thoughts. He sniffled and rubbed his nose with his arm. “Where's Zia?”
Darkness flashed behind her eyes. Her demons, whispering deep in her soul. Your fault. Your fault. The words clotted in her throat. But she forced them out anyway. “We'll meet them at the lifeboats. We're going on an adventure. But we've got to be brave, okay? And we need to hurry. Let's wake up your friends.”
She hoped Benjie would forgive her someday. The lie was the least of her sins.
46
Gabriel
“You let him take her!” Helpless rage boiled through Gabriel. “You know what he's going to do to her!”
Simeon shook his head. His face was strained, dark smudges beneath his eyes. “I didn’t have a choice, Gabriel. I need you to keep it together. Remember the cause.”
“How could you do this?” He stared at Simeon, the man who'd basically raised him, who'd been like a father—now he was a stranger. The man who'd paid for his school lunches, who taught him how to handle a classic car, one without autodrive. His friend, mentor, and protector. Simeon, who had promised they'd all be heroes, who'd sworn only the guilty would die, and even then, as few as possible.
Simeon promised Amelia wouldn’t be hurt. Then he’d tortured her himself, with his own hands. Amelia had warned Gabriel, and he hadn’t believed her. Gabriel trusted Simeon. Simeon, who had lied about everything.
Simeon refused to answer him. He stalked to the bridge starboard windows and looked out at the storm. He pulled out his satphone and spoke in a voice too quiet for Gabriel to overhear. Cheng and his men huddled together, their heads bent, muttering into their own satphones.
“I'll get you what you want.” Declan Black leaned forward in the captain's chair.
Gabriel took rapid, shallow breaths, desperate to steady himself. Bitterness coiled in his belly and slithered up his throat. He'd believed in this cause since he was fourteen. But first, he'd believed in a man. A man who wasn't who he said he was. A man who couldn't possibly stand for the ideals he'd preached for the last decade. Gabriel was crumbling. “You don't know the first thing about what I want.”
“You want her.”
The ship rolled. Thunder boomed and lightning lit up the bridge windows.
“I can get you what you want.”
Revulsion clogged Gabriel’s throat. “Lies of a broken and desperate man. Even if she made it off the boat alive, she wouldn't want anything to do with you. Not after this.”
“Yes, she will. She'll have to.”
He remembered Amelia's words as she slumped in the patio chair, trembling and exhausted. The sky darkening, electrons sizzling, the wind whipping all around them. She'd shared her deepest secret, her weakness.
And Gabriel had betrayed her.
Black read his face and smirked. “Amelia actually developed feelings for you, didn't she? She told you about her little condition.”
Gabriel despised the sound of her name on that man's lips. It didn't matter if he was her father. He was a monster. “Shut up, you bastard.”
“You know I'm right. She needs the medication or she's either dead or a vegetable. Every seizure destroys more of that pretty brain of hers. If she makes it off the ship, she'll find me. And you can be there, right by my side.”
“If I let you go, you'll just kill me.” He masked the desire springing up inside him, the hope that Amelia might live through this, that his betrayal hadn’t killed her.
“There will be a need for those with certain . . . skills. There is a place for you.”
There was no place left for Gabriel. Not here. Not anymore. N
ot with a monster like Black. Not with a deceiver like Simeon. Not with Amelia, who Gabriel had betrayed and destroyed. Not even with Micah, who was too good to ever forgive him now. Gabriel was trapped in a shadowy no man’s land of rage, self-loathing, and hatred.
He made the decision in an instant. Once it was made, there was no turning back.
In one swift motion, he lifted his gun, swiveled, and aimed it at Simeon's head.
Simeon looked up. Surprised disbelief and outrage sparked in his eyes.
“Hey!” Hollis shouted. “Stop!”
Gabriel pulled the trigger, the gunshot echoing in his ears. Simeon fell almost soundlessly. His body lay twitching on the floor, then went still.
“What the—?” Hollis swung around.
Across the room, Cheng raised his Glock and shot Hollis. The bullet went wide, striking her left shoulder.
Hollis stumbled, then righted herself. Before she could raise the gun and pull the trigger, Cheng shot her three more times. Hollis triggered the assault rifle as she fell, slugs hammering the floor, the wall, and the ceiling only a few feet from where Gabriel stood.
“Thank you for that.” Cheng grinned, his scar wrinkling his left cheek. “I was about to kill that self-righteous prick myself.”
“I didn't do it for you, asshole,” Gabriel spat.
“Your actions have redeemed you,” Black said fervently. “You have found righteousness.”
“I am not righteous.” The words were bitter as poison in his mouth. He planted his feet and pressed his gun against Declan Black's head. “And neither are you.”
“I'm afraid I can't let you do that.” Cheng aimed his own gun at Gabriel. So did the three men behind him.
Black's face paled, but his voice remained steady. “Choose your actions carefully. Kill me and Amelia's treatment goes with it. Is that what you want?”
“Amelia's dead anyway.” A furious hatred swelled within Gabriel. “You and Simeon made sure of that.”
“Put the gun down, boy.” Cheng took a step toward him.
“He deserves to die. I thought that's what we were here for.” His hands were slick, the gun trembling.
Cheng shook his head, a slow smile creeping across his face. “That was our original objective. We were hired to support the New Patriots in capturing the ship and eliminating a few high value targets, with Declan Black as the primary.
“But that objective changed. Simeon was weak. His unfortunate distaste for torture and killing women limited his effectiveness. His New Patriots are idealistic and disorganized, not cut out for a task such as this. We, however, have no such qualms.” Cheng turned to Declan. “It's time to dispense with these little games. Mr. Black, we have a chopper waiting. You’re coming with us.”
Gabriel gaped at him. “What about the rendezvous point? The extraction? The boats?”
“Our boats aren't coming. They never were.”
“Wait—what?” Confusion thickened like fog in Gabriel’s mind. He couldn't comprehend the words he'd just heard. They didn't make sense. “No boats are coming?”
“You an idiot? That's what I said.”
“What about your own men?”
Cheng shrugged. “They are nothing special. I will have a thousand more just like them by tomorrow.”
The realization dawned slow and ugly. They’d been betrayed, both the New Patriots and the pirates-for-hire left to die on a burning, sinking ship just like everyone else. His muscles went weak. Dread coiled in his gut. “We were never meant to survive the mission.”
“Not even Simeon knew,” Cheng said. “Our client saw to that.”
“Your client?”
“You think this whole thing was some idealized statement in the name of freedom? There's only one thing at the root of an act like this. Power. Bought and paid for with cold, hard cash.”
Declan's face darkened. “That lying, double-crossing sack of sh—”
“Our client took care of loose ends,” Cheng said. “And killed two birds with one stone. I wasn't sure of the endgame before Black's little confession. But it all makes sense now. The New Patriots are patsies, an easy mark to take the blame. The truth about Black and BioGen’s role in the virus will remain a mystery—as will the identity of the people who hired him. And you’ll all be dead, so who can say what really happened here? Quite brilliant, actually.” He turned to Gabriel. “Now, put your gun down so we can finish this nonsense.”
Gabriel kept the gun pressed against Declan's head, every muscle tensed. He couldn’t lose his balance when the ship rocked, or it would all be over in a moment. He clenched his jaw, fighting down panic. He had to think. Had to be smart. “Soon as I do that, you'll shoot me.”
Declan started to rise.
“Don't move!” Gabriel shouted.
Cheng advanced around the console, stopping on the other side of the captain's chair, his gun still aimed at Gabriel’s head. Gabriel and Cheng faced each other, Declan between them.
“Put the gun down,” Cheng said. “It's over.”
“You first,” Gabriel said to Cheng. “You can kill me, but I'll get Black, and all his secrets die with him—including the cure.”
“I don't think so. I'm a trained killer, boy. Who do you think will win this shootout?”
Gabriel dug the barrel against Black's temple. “Are you willing to test that hypothesis?”
An explosion shook the floor beneath them.
Cheng smiled. His scar throbbed in the dim light. “Looks like the party's starting early.”
“Hostiles!” one of Cheng's men shouted, pointing at the security monitors. Gabriel caught a glimpse of movement on the hallway camera out of the corner of his eye.
His finger tightened on the trigger.
47
Micah
Micah had never felt more claustrophobic in his life. The sheet metal walls closed in on him in the darkness. The air was stale and dirty. Dust caked his throat and prickled his nostrils. The mask pressed against his nose and mouth so tightly, it was hard to breathe. He kept choking back a sneeze.
The corners of the ducts were sharp as razor blades. The old cuts in his palm and fingers and several fresh cuts stung fiercely. He'd already sliced his forearm and right thigh as he slithered his way around a corner.
Everything was black. He couldn't see above, behind, or ahead of him. He couldn't get the image of rats scurrying over his hands out of his head. This was an HVAC duct system, not a sewer. Still, the sensation of dust mites brushing against him made his skin crawl.
He wriggled forward, using his elbows to pull the rest of his weight. He gripped the smooth metal of the drone in his hands. His glasses kept slipping down his nose, but he had no way to fix them.
Two lefts. A right. A left. Almost every time he moved, he accidentally banged a knee or shoulder against the sheet metal walls. He winced, biting the inside of his cheeks. If the terrorists heard him, the whole plan went pear-shaped. Schneider assured him that since he wasn't crawling directly over the bridge, a few dings and thumps should be sufficiently muffled. Should be.
Fear thrummed through him. But there was no going back. The best way out is always through. He repeated the Robert Frost line in his head, his heart beating double time. He felt his way around the final left turn, bending his body into a twisted, convoluted L-shape, his stomach and thighs scraping against the sharp corner. It snagged his shirt. Pain sliced the skin above his belly button.
Sounds filtered through the vent. Voices shouting. One of them he recognized as sure as his own face in the mirror. Gabriel.
No.
Gabriel shouldn’t be here. Gabriel was supposed to down in the Oceanarium with Amelia, safe from all the death and destruction and chaos. Ice went through him, stabbing all the way to the bone.
Micah closed his eyes. Would Gabriel be killed in the crossfire? Did it make a difference? Could he risk his brother’s life to save everyone else? Did he even have a choice?
He couldn't reconcile this hard, angry Gab
riel with the brother who'd rescued him from bullies over and over, who'd cradled Micah in his arms that day at the hover park when his back was split open. Gabriel who'd sat on his bed and stroked his hair the times he contracted pneumonia. Gabriel who snuck him oranges and candy bars even when they didn't have the money. His brother. His family. The only real family he had.
Gabriel, who might be dead seconds after Micah released the drone. Micah would never get to say all the things he still needed to stay. How could you? I'm sorry and I love you and always, all in the same breath.
More shouting.
A gunshot blast.
It didn't matter. It couldn't matter. All the good in Gabriel was overshadowed by this one heinous act. It was more important to save innocent lives. It had to be. He couldn’t value his brother’s life over so many others. Too many lives were at stake. It was the right thing. No matter how many times Gabriel had protected him in the past, Micah couldn't protect him now.
Grief welled up, but he forced it down. He couldn't let himself feel the staggering pain, not now. All that would come later.
If he survived.
He sucked in his breath, more dusty air gagging his throat.
Almost there.
He recalled the complicated HVAC blueprints, trying to guestimate his location. Crawl five feet past the turn. No further, or risk being riddled with bullets like a fish trapped in a tight metal barrel.
Dim light filtered through the vent two yards in front of him. He barely made out the shape of the drone gripped in his hands. He fumbled for the switch and activated the thing as Jericho instructed.
A spray of bullets punctured the air duct, not two feet ahead of him. He froze. More shouting from below. Time was up. He had to act.
His mother’s words came back to him. Be good. Be brave.
He whispered a prayer as he released the drone and gave it a gentle push. It whooshed silently, hovering a few inches above the duct. The drone landed on top of the grate, clicked, and let out a soft hiss.
Smoke spewed into the bridge. Chaos erupted.