by Kyla Stone
The guards escorting them opened a pair of metal doors to a large underground auditorium seating several hundred people. The seats were packed. People twisted, craning their necks to look back at Willow and Finn, their expressions curious, confused, suspicious, and hostile.
Baseball-cap guy held Benjie back.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Willow hissed, fear and anger jolting through her. She tried to twist free from her guard, but he only tightened his grip. She still had her knife hidden inside her boot, but she’d made a promise. Diplomacy first. But if they tried anything with Benjie, diplomacy would be the first thing to go.
“Camila is one of our teachers.” Baseball-cap guy gestured at a petite, middle-aged Hispanic woman with a kind smile standing across the hall. “We thought it might be best if your little brother got a bite to eat while we talked. We don’t usually allow children in our town hall meetings, so everyone may speak freely without worrying about innocent ears.”
Willow glanced from Camila to Finn to Benjie. Finn nodded. She gritted her teeth. She hated the thought of letting her brother out of her sight, but their words made sense.
“There’s a small conference room right here,” Camila said gently, pointing to a wooden door behind her. Through the narrow, rectangular window in the door, Willow glimpsed a conference table and two little dark-haired girls Benjie’s age bent over digital drawing pads. They were smiling and munching on rolls of freshly baked bread.
“Those are my daughters,” Camila said. “I thought your brother would like some company, though he’ll need to sit at the opposite end of the table and keep his gloves on, and his mask, too, when he’s not eating.” Camila squatted down in front of Benjie. “Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Benjie said politely.
“As soon as you’re finished, you may come right here and get him, I promise.” The corners of Camila’s eyes crinkled as she offered a kind smile. She reminded Willow a bit of her lola, her Filipina grandma, who cooked tapsilog and nilagang baka, gave great hugs, and always made her grandchildren remove their shoes and wear slippers inside their cramped apartment.
Still, she hesitated.
Benjie looked up at her, his small chin lifted. “Lo, Lo,” he said valiantly, “I’ll be okay.”
His eyes were so bright it made her heart hurt. He was so good, so strong, so courageous. He’d braved the cold and dark of the wilderness without complaint. He’d attacked a bear to save Finn. Now here he was, comforting her when he was the one about to be left behind.
Finn took her hand in his, enveloping her fingers, offering reassurance. Willow blew out a breath. She didn’t want to leave her brother, but they were right. She and Finn needed to give this everything they had. She needed these people to trust her, so she had to trust them back—at least a little. “Okay. I’ll be right back, Benjie. I promise.”
She watched Camila lead Benjie into the conference room. Then she turned and faced the auditorium full of hostile strangers.
Baseball-cap guy walked behind them, his gun pointed down along his thigh but holding one all the same. They strode down the middle aisle. Hundreds of people gave them sidelong glances and spoke in hushed whispers as she and Finn passed.
A rectangular table stood on the stage. Four men and five women, nine people in total, sat behind it. There was a podium on the floor before the stage with a small microphone hovering a foot above it. Willow and Finn stood behind the podium, looking up at the men and women at the table, the auditorium of people at their backs.
There was something familiar about the man sitting the furthest to the right. Willow stared at him, gaping.
She blinked. He was still there.
He was an older Latino man in his sixties, with a full head of silver hair and thick, bushy eyebrows. The senator who knew Amelia and Silas. She searched her memory for his name. Senator López. From the Grand Voyager.
He, Meredith Cooper-something-or-other, and a bunch of other elites had parted ways with Willow’s group shortly after their naval transport was ambushed outside of Macon, Georgia. As they’d left, Senator López had relieved Elise Black of her gun. Willow remembered that clearly. But during the two weeks they’d spent in quarantine, he’d always been kind and clear-headed.
Senator López stared at her now, his brow wrinkling. He recognized her, too.
She didn’t know yet if this was a good or bad thing. She prayed for good, even as she tried to remember if she’d been sarcastic or disrespectful toward him. She didn’t think so. And Jericho, Silas, and Micah had gotten López out of that ambushed transport alive. Hopefully, that was a favor that would be returned today.
Someone stood in the first row of seats to Willow’s left, snagging her attention. It was Raven. Shadow wasn’t with her. She was alone. And she looked awful. She was pale and sweating, her black hair sticking to her damp forehead and neck. Her hands shook at her sides.
Willow’s heart jolted. The thought roared instinctively through her mind: Infection.
But no, that wasn’t right. Raven wasn’t sick—she was claustrophobic, Willow realized with a start. Raven had said over and over that she didn’t like to be penned in, that she could never live in the Settlement, even though her mother was there. This was why.
Willow understood completely. They would both prefer to be above the surface. If this was bad for Willow, it must be hell for Raven, who’d been raised in the wilderness, running free through endless forests beneath an open sky.
Raven took a step toward her. Her limp was more pronounced here, in this ugly concrete bunker surrounded by suspicious strangers. But her head was held high, her chin up. She looked as tough and fearless as she had the day she faced down the rabid dogs back at the warehouse.
“Are you okay?” Willow whispered. “You came back.”
“I wasn’t going to leave you. Even though you deserved it.”
“I’m sorry,” Willow said, chagrined.
I’ve spoken for you to the Council.” Raven’s voice was strained, her throat raspy. “It’s all I can do.”
“Thank you,” Willow said, and meant it with all of her heart.
Senator López stood and made his way down the stage steps to where Willow and Finn waited. He smiled broadly and embraced Willow. “It is such a pleasure to see you both alive and well!” he said, pulling back to look at them. Something in his eyes dimmed. “Are you two the only…the only ones left?”
“No,” Finn said. “Benjie is here with us. Amelia, Silas, and Elise Black are alive. So are Micah, Gabriel, and Celeste. But we’ve lost people. Nadira and Jericho are dead. And Tyler Horne.”
“Jericho is only dead because Horne was a traitorous scumbag,” Willow said before she could stop herself.
López shook his head sadly. “I am truly sorry to hear that. Nadira and Jericho were both good people.”
“How did you end up here?” Finn asked. “I thought you were trying to get back to the naval base in Jacksonville.”
“That is a long, complicated story,” López said. “One I fear is much like thousands of similar tales of hardship and heartbreak. When society breaks down, there are too many people willing to turn on their own kind to survive. I fear we should have stayed together rather than parted ways and divided our strength. We had hoped the navy would send us another military transport after ours was ambushed. We were mistaken in that hope. We were mistaken in many things.”
He sighed heavily. “There were seven of us in the beginning. Do you remember Meredith Jackson-Cooper?”
Willow nodded, though she only recalled a haughty attitude, a taut smile, and a helmet of yellow hair. “The Big Pharma CEO lady.”
“She was the first to go. She was attacked by an infected raccoon when we entered an abandoned house without checking it closely enough. The rest went quickly: three to infection, two to men without conscience. Once I was the only survivor, I decided to change course and head north, toward Chattanooga. I had a sister there, but
I had little to no hope of finding her alive.
“About two months ago, I stumbled upon Raven instead. Or more accurately, she followed me until she determined I wasn’t a threat, then introduced herself and brought me to the Settlement. She saved me.”
Willow’s gaze snapped to Raven in surprise.
Raven stared right back. “You think you were the only ones I found?”
“I’m glad you made it, Senator López,” Finn said, gently redirecting the conversation. “The Settlement must be good people, if you stayed.”
“Most of them.” Senator López scrutinized Finn and Willow, his bushy brows lowering. “But they are cautious. And careful. They haven’t survived this long by being foolish.”
“We aren’t foolish,” Willow said. “We have something very important to say.”
A woman sitting at the table on the stage cleared her throat and beckoned to Senator López to rejoin them.
“I will listen with an open mind,” Senator López said. “I can promise nothing more.”
“Fair enough,” Finn said. “That’s all we can ask.”
“We better ask for a hell of a lot more than that,” Willow muttered.
As López shuffled back up to the stage, Raven turned to Willow. She gave a short jerk of her chin. “This is your chance. Don’t waste it.”
11
Gabriel
“They’re being slaughtered out there!” Gabriel cried.
“Shhh,” Cleo hissed beside him. “Shut up. I’m trying to watch.”
They were deep in the forest, a hundred yards above a steep hill overlooking the overgrown dirt road leading to the service entrance of the Sanctuary.
They crouched on a narrow shale ledge, hiding behind a fallen oak’s sprawling clay-encrusted roots and several artfully placed branches and pine boughs. Gabriel and Cleo were both dressed in dark, tight-fitting clothing and reinforced tactical vests, infrared goggles perched high on their foreheads.
“Phase one commences now,” Cleo said eagerly, her eyes bright.
Gabriel hunched over her shoulder, watching the scene unfolding live from one of their drone feeds. The Patriots were attacking the Sanctuary head-on. They’d rolled in with two tanks, eight Humvees, and twice as many RPGs and hand-held rocket-throwers. Maneuvering swiftly, they’d managed to crest the towering ridge that ran along the south-facing perimeter of the Sanctuary.
The eight cannons manning the ramparts of the plasma wall roared to life. The first volley of cannon fire fell far short of the Patriots’ Humvees. The ground forty yards in front of them disappeared in a spray of dirt and debris. A burst of cannon fire wailed overhead. It struck the first Humvee, crippling it.
Gabriel’s chest wrenched. This wasn’t a holofilm. This was real, happening in real-time, right before his eyes. And he was helpless to do a thing.
Another missile pounded a second Humvee, not ten yards from the first. It tipped on its side before erupting into a firebomb. A barrage of high-explosives rocketed toward them. The first vehicle swerved. A blast lit up the screen, illuminating the flaming wreckage of the Humvee. The broken, mangled vehicle belched black smoke.
Cannon fire splintered the trees like matchsticks. Three more Humvees exploded.
The remaining three Patriot Humvees swerved with a spray of dirt and snow, turned tail, and fled. Cannon fire cratered the earth all around them.
“Zoom out,” Cleo instructed. The drone transmitting the feed rose higher. The plasma wall came into view again. The front gates opened, and thirty armored vehicles surged out in pursuit of the fleeing Patriots.
Gabriel couldn’t bear to watch anymore. He turned away, his stomach roiling. “That was the most ill-planned, reckless mission I’ve ever seen.”
Cleo blew out a puff of air, her breath a swirl of white mist. “It was perfectly planned.”
He stared at her. The pieces fell into place, striking him like physical blows. “You not only expected to lose, you wanted to lose.”
“Very good. Would you like a round of applause?”
“You sent your own people out there to die.” His jaw clenched. Acid burned the back of his throat. A dark, ugly anger filled him. “That boy, James Hunt, was in one of those tanks. He was only fifteen. Just a kid!”
“I know that!” she snarled. “You don’t think I know that? I didn’t send them to do anything I wasn’t willing to do myself. They’re willing to die for a cause. We’re all willing to die for that cause.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“Serious as death,” Cleo said. “The Sanctuary has superior defenses, superior weaponry, a superior army. They’re superior in every way but one.”
“And what way is that?” he bit out.
“They’re arrogant. I think there’s a line from some book about giants stumbling over pride.”
“The Bible.”
“What?”
Gabriel remembered his Catholic mother, her strings of prayer beads. He thought of Micah. “It’s from the Bible. Pride goeth before a fall.”
Cleo waved her hand. “There you go. We’re gonna make them fall so hard they’ll never get up again. Inside that enclave, they think they’re safe. We need to draw them out.”
“You’re using yourselves as bait,” Gabriel said slowly. The Patriots’ leadership had only informed each squad of their specific roles. He hadn’t known the full plan until just now. “You’re distracting them with a battle you know you’re going to lose.”
“We have to use their pride and arrogance against them. They won’t be as calculating or prepared if they think the enemy is disorganized and stupid. Think of it like a game of chess with the highest stakes ever. We have to make sacrifices to win the game.”
Gabriel stared at her. He was at a loss for words. “That’s…”
“Brilliant?”
“Horrifying.”
“I’ll take it,” she said. “You know how to win a shoot-out or a hand-to-hand fight, Gabriel. But the art of war is a beautiful thing.”
“It’s a brutal thing.”
She shrugged. “Brutality can be beautiful.”
“Only you would say that.”
She smiled like he’d given her a compliment.
He shook his head. “There must be another way. One that doesn’t involve the wholesale slaughter of your own people.”
“It is the only way!” She glared at him, her teeth bared. The unquenchable fire of her rage filled her dark eyes. She wasn’t beautiful in any traditional sense. But she was strong and fierce, with a terrible will that filled him with both dread and awe.
Gabriel had felt that way himself. He knew that rage. That bitterness and hate. He knew that path. It only led to darkness. “You’re wrong.”
She shrugged as she turned back to the holopad, seemingly unconcerned, but her shoulders were tense, her fingers clawing over the edges of the holopad. “You’re just gonna have to trust me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Don’t cross me, Rivera, or you will regret it.”
Gabriel glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. He lunged right and seized her wrist just as she dropped the holopad and reached for the knife belted to her waist. He grimaced. “Nice try. I’ve seen that trick before.”
She scowled. “Let go of me.”
“It’s hard to trust someone willing to betray anyone who gets in their way.”
“Then don’t get in my way.”
He tightened his grip, grinding her wrist bones.
She didn’t flinch. She met his glare with one of her own. “As long as our objectives don’t cross, you have nothing to worry about from me.”
“And if they do?”
She shook her head, her eyes sharp. “What do you think?”
She would slit his throat in a heartbeat. But at least she didn’t pretend otherwise.
He’d been her, once. He had changed. She could change, too. She could let go of her hatred. “I think you need a friend.”
She flashed
a lethal smile. “Friends are a liability.”
“No,” he said. “The people you love are assets. They’re your strength, your power, your everything.”
She snorted, but there was no true disgust behind it. “You sound like your brother.”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “I’ve come to learn he’s right more often than not.”
“Love is a luxury in this world,” she said darkly. “A luxury I can’t afford. Not until this is over, the Sanctuary is ours, my mother is cured, my brother is safe, and President Sloane is dead.” She looked away, staring off at a point in the distance. “Are you going to let go of me?”
“Are you going to restrain yourself from stabbing me in a fit of childish temper?”
Her lip curled. “Maybe.”
He relaxed his grip slightly but didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her arm closer and yanked down her jacket sleeve, revealing the lines of scars riddling her forearm. “Tell me why.”
“I already told you—”
“Do you keep track out of shame or pride?”
She spat into the dirt. For a long second, she didn’t answer. He started to think that she wouldn’t. Finally, she gave a harsh, hollow laugh. “Both.”
She was still being honest. And it had cost her. He could see it in the strain around her eyes, the tightness in her mouth. Maybe they were getting somewhere after all. “What about the other side?” He tilted his chin at her other wrist, where her brown skin was smooth and unbroken. “What about the lives you’ve saved? Doesn’t that matter, too?”
She jerked away. He let her go. “There’s only one life that matters now. Everything else can burn.”
He sighed. “I know you feel that way, but—”
She turned to face him. Her eyes glittered with anger. “Whatever you’re trying to convince me of, your come-to-Jesus moment or whatever, it won’t work. You want me to have compassion for those people in the Sanctuary, but I don’t. I can’t. I never will. They’re the enemy.”
“And the children who don’t have a choice?”
“They’ll grow up to be just like their parents. They’re all cruel, greedy, selfish—all killers who won’t get their hands dirty. But their callous disregard makes them killers all the same.”