The Last Sanctuary Omnibus

by Kyla Stone

  “We get it,” Micah forced out, shoving his glasses back into place with trembling fingers. The attackers marched Micah and the other waiters back into the galley. Two others stood guard over the terrified cook staff.

  Think. He had to think. He had to find a way to escape. Then find Amelia for her mother.

  But first, he had to find Gabriel. He could not, would not believe Gabriel was involved in this horror. There was an explanation. There had to be. One his muddled, terrified brain was too confused to work out.

  He needed to find Gabriel. Then they’d figure out the rest.

  He moved to one of the massive stoves on trembling legs, picked up a ladle, and stirred the pot of bubbling blue lobster soup. At least here, he could find weapons. Knives of all shapes and sizes.

  He’d get one.

  And then? What next?

  He had no idea.

  17

  Amelia

  The pain beat sharp in every cell, in every nerve.

  Amelia 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.

  She counted in her mind, the numbers a shimmering, flickering aura. One, two, three, four, five.

  If she got to thirty, she would be okay.

  Long seconds ticked by. Nothing happened.

  The train stopped in its tracks. The darkness didn’t come. The seizure didn’t grip her body and shake her like a rag doll.

  She pulled the needle out of her leg and leaned back in the chair. She sucked in a breath. Her limbs trembled, the muscles weak and watery. But that was the worst of it.

  Relief winged through her chest. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thirsty.”

  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. She saw no disgust in his gaze, no revulsion.

  This moment was a world apart from her normal life. If she didn’t speak the truth now, she never would.

  “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?”

  She took a deep breath. Here was the thing she’d never told anyone outside her own family. The secret that lived inside her, that proved her a failure, defective. “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.”

  Once she started talking, she couldn’t stop. The long-held words poured out of her. “My type of epilepsy is resistant to pharmacotherapy. It's complicated, but 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.”

  She 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 directly to the specific targeted areas of my brain.”

  She didn't tell him the FDA never approved the drug. It didn't make it past the phase II human trials. In certain patients, the nanoparticles became . . . 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 be receptive to the nanoparticles. He'd given the drug to her in secret, smuggling the medication out of his lab, defying the FDA, defying the law.

  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 pale skin. “My mother had to watch me like a hawk.”

  His lip curled. “That explains a lot.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

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

  “It's that obvious, huh?” She 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 smiled, the smile reaching his eyes for the first time that evening. He acted like a normal human being, not like every conversation was a battlefield to be won or lost.

  She grinned back at him, some smoldering thing igniting 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?” she asked.

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

  “We should go.”

  “You need to rest.”

  She glanced at the used auto-injector on the table. “I don't know . . . mustering is for safety reasons, right?”

  “You're safe with me.” He was attentive, eager, almost giddy. His eyes brightened. “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 went husky. “The Grand Voyager is building a new attraction, 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. Her entire life, she’d done everything she was supposed to, when she was supposed to.

  She’d kept her epilepsy and her medication a secret for her father. And because it filled her with shame. But Gabriel didn’t judge her or despise her. He hadn’t even blinked.

  He didn’t care that she was fragile, some part of her deeply broken. He didn’t care that she wasn’t perfect.

  He moved closer. She inhaled the deep, musky scent of him, like something wild. Her heartbeat trembled against her ribs.

  So many things she should do. She didn't have to do any of
them. Not right now. Not yet. “Take me there.”

  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. Her heartbeat tried 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.

  He kissed her.

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

  She’d kissed boys before, rich heirs and bored aristocratic playboys. None of them had touched her like this. None of them had made her feel so alive.

  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.

  18

  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. Nothing moved.

  An eerie silence descended over the hallway and balcony, the bar empty of everyone. A service bot sat silent and unmoving in one corner. No one, human or bot, manned the photography stations or the latte stand.

  It took them forever to crawl across the length of the lido deck, past the infinity pool and the lagoon hot tub and the raised center stage. 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’d managed to make it inside and creep down several flights of stairs. Now they huddled in the stairwell, both trembling and panting, 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 filming 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 spoke the words, she knew she couldn’t do it.

  She couldn’t hole up somewhere when she had Benjie. And her mom. And Zia. Zia must be terrified. And Willow was the one who deserted her. “Oh, hell.”

  “Your family. 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. Zia had to be okay. She had to be. “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’re staying together. We’ll go to Deck Six first, get my dad, then head to Four and find your family.”

  She took a deep breath. It sounded so simple, so easy. “What could possibly go wrong?”

  They heard the voices at the same time. One female, one male.

  She stiffened, 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 attackers dressed in black with automatic rifles slung over their shoulders stood behind the counter of the bar. One was tall and bearded, the other younger, with black hair pulled back in a knot and a red bandana tied around her neck.

  The service bot beeped at them, starting to speak, but Bandana whirled and shot it in the center of its humanoid chest. It made a mechanical groaning sound and slumped to the floor, sputtering. Bandana laughed.

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

  Willow 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. “We’re sitting ducks. 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 entire body trembling. Sweat beaded his upper lip, his nostrils flaring as panic gripped him.

  She grabbed his clammy hand. “On three. One. Two—”

  Several bottles crashed to the ground simultaneously. She yanked Finn to his feet. He was heavy, but she was strong. She pulled him down the last two stairs and around the corner of the landing.

  She caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye and ran faster. Move!

  She dashed down the next several sets of stairs, nearly stumbling, her heels hitting hard and awkward. At the landing to Deck Eight, the ship pitched.

  Her ankle twisted. Pain shot up her leg.

  Finn toppled into her, almost knocking her over. “Sorry, Gwyneth.”

  She leaned against the wall, straining to hear over her own ragged breath. Nothing but distant thunder from the storm. They weren't being followed.

  “Are we safe?”

  “I think so. For the moment.” She took a deep breath and let it out, willing herself to calm down and think. “Are you okay?”

  Finn leaned against the wall, his head back, his eyes closed. He pressed both hands against his chest. “I'm about to puke violently, Gwyneth. And you?”

  At least he was breathing. And he had his sense of humor back. “The same. And it's Willow.”

  “Huh?”

  She wanted him to know her real name, her real self. In case they didn’t make it out of here. “I lied to you, before. It was stupid. My name is Willow.”

  He opened his eyes and stared at her, startled.

  She bent down and unstrapped her useless heels. She should've tossed them from the beginning. Panic had muddled her mind. She rubbed the fresh blisters on her heels. “And I'm not rich. My mom won our tickets. And since I'm being brutally honest, this isn't my dress. I don't even like it. Also, I absolutely despise these shoes.”

  He breathed deeply for a minute. She pretended she didn’t care what he thought or whether he liked her. How could it matter when terrorists hunted them? But it did.

  He managed a crooked grin and thrust out his massive hand. “It's nice to meet you, Willow.”

  “You don’t hate me?”

  “How can I be mad at the girl who just saved my ass?”

  She shook his hand, surprised at the relief flooding through her. “Those maniacs upstairs might come down any second. We've got to go.”

  They hurried down the next two flights. Gunfire blasted on Deck Nine and Eight. The horrific sounds of screaming, shouting, and breaking glass following them down the stairwell.

  Finn stopped at the landing to Deck Six. “This is me.”

  They crept out of the middeck stairwell and into the elevator foyer. To their left was the boardwalk with the Xtreme Worlds virtual reality center, the low-grav arena, and the handmade sweets shop with bioluminescent lollipops bigger than Benjie’s head. To the right were the desig
ner shops, a sports bar, and the Trident Theater at the end.

  Before they could move, the elevator across from them dinged. The doors opened and a dozen terrorists poured out. “You! Stop!” one said, pointing at her.

  Willow lunged for the stairs, launching herself off the landing and taking them two and three at a time. She heard shouting, gun shots, and Finn pounding down the stairs behind her.

  Her heart pummeled her chest, her breath tearing from her lungs in ragged gasps. Her ankle jolted with pain, but she managed to stay on her feet.

  She rounded the corner of Deck Four. Empty open space, the casino ahead, the bulbs of the huge Galaxy Lounge sign blinking beyond it. Maybe she could find somewhere to hide.

  Another burst of gunfire above her. She ducked out of the stairwell and turned to Finn.

  But Finn wasn’t there.

  Something sharp jabbed into her back. Her heart froze.

  “Move, girl.” A guttural voice spoke from behind her. “In there.”

  Her knees locked. Cold sweat broke out on her skin. The pounding steps behind her hadn’t been Finn. Finn was still up there, with the gunshots and the shouting.

  The sharp thing—a gun barrel—prodded her again.

  “Move. Or die.” Her attacker spoke the words with such indifference that Willow didn't doubt whether he cared either way. He'd shoot her in a hot second.

  She moved.

  19

  Amelia

  Gabriel kissed Amelia again. Dizziness flushed through her. Her stomach fluttered with a thousand whispery wings. It was terrifying and wonderful at the same time.

  She pulled away to take a breath. “Wow.”

  “I thought the same thing.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb, sending sparks shooting through her entire body. “And here I was afraid you hated me.”

  She laughed. “It's hard to explain.” And it was. She wasn't sure she had the words for what it was like when people changed around you, acted differently because of how you looked or who your father was.