Rising Storm: The Last Sanctuary: Book One

by Kyla Stone

  The senator’s eyes brightened. “Thank you, my dear.” He was a handsome Mexican-American in his sixties, lean and fit, with thick eyebrows and silver hair swept back off his lined forehead. “Just one more crisis to add to the flooding on the coasts, the crop blights in the corn belt, and now this terrible superflu outbreak.”

  Amelia rubbed the violin charm on her bracelet. “Thank goodness for BioGen’s universal vaccine, at least.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “If it’s as effective as claimed.”

  “I know it is,” she said as she watched her father greeting his employees, the other members of the Unity Coalition, and several VIP guests at the other tables in the Oasis dining room. He always took the time to engage in small talk, trading jokes, admiring grandbaby holos, and bestowing compliments. Declan Black knew how to charm those people he deemed valuable, knew how to keep them eating out of his hand.

  “Your faith in your father is admirable,” López said.

  Her father returned to the table as a white-gloved waiter hurried over to slide out his chair with a flourish. “I hope everyone had a spectacular day,” Declan boomed.

  Everyone at the table chuckled politely. Though the captain was supposed to be the star, the guests were arranged around her father. There was Tyler Horne, the founder of Vitalichip Technologies, one of her father’s subsidiaries, and the company set to manufacture and distribute the Vitalichip once the law passed. He was in his late twenties, with perfectly styled blonde hair, a cultivated stubble, and a swagger to match his enormous ego.

  Bradley Marx, a heavy-set international banking guru, sipped his third glass of wine. She recognized Omar Ferguson, another senator, and the CEO of Yates Pharmaceuticals, Meredith Jackson-Cooper, but the other names and titles slipped out of her mind like water through her fingers.

  Usually, she could remember everyone. She was just tired. She sat up straighter in her seat and smoothed the napkin across her lap. The air was chilly, goosebumps prickling her arms. She needed to focus. Her father expected her to exude beauty, charm, and wit. She flashed López another smile. “More wine?”

  “Your father is a very busy man,” the senator said quietly. “An ambitious man.”

  “You’re referring to the Safe and Secure Act, I presume.” It was already the fourth evening of the cruise, and she hadn’t managed to get past pleasantries, until now. Her father wanted to announce his support of the bill at the Prosperity Summit in three days. And the vote in congress was less than weeks away. She was running out of time.

  The senator swirled his wine. The lines bracketing his mouth deepened. “I’m not quite sure how I was even talked into attending. I’m afraid I’m an old man now and rather set in my ways, though your father wishes to convince me otherwise.”

  “You don’t think the Vitalichip will help save hundreds of thousands of lives?” Amelia asked. “It can detect the presence of elevated antibodies in the blood and recognizes markers for over thirty diseases. A simple, noninvasive scan at the checkpoints into every city will easily identify contagious individuals and minimize the spread of disease.”

  “That is a significant benefit, I agree. However, while the Vitalichip may be marketed as a life-saving health device to the public, it is much more than advertised. Citizens do not wish for their every move to be tracked.”

  “But bio-indentification will prevent terrorists from hacking SmartFlexes and crossing state and city lines to evade capture,” Amelia argued sweetly. While the chip was intended to be implanted on the underside of the wrist, it would be wirelessly connected to a neural processor embedded near the base of the brain. It couldn’t be hacked or cut out without alerting authorities. “My father says sixty-five percent of Americans back the proposed law.”

  Senator López swallowed the rest of his wine. “And the rest don’t. Including President Morgan.”

  “You might wish to take care with whom you align yourself with, Senator López,” Declan said from across the table, an edge sharp as steel in his voice.

  Amelia flinched. She hadn’t realized he’d been listening to the conversation. The rest of the table fell silent.

  Her father leaned forward in his seat. “The President is weak. He’s done nothing to eliminate the swarms of tent-cities springing up outside every state and city checkpoint, bringing their disease and violence with them.”

  Senator López raised his eyebrows. “Surely you aren’t blaming this bat-flu epidemic on the poor?”

  “Disease spreads in the filthy, unsanitary, contaminated conditions they choose to live in.” Her father was still smiling, but it had hardened, his lips flattening, that thick line appearing between his brows. He loathed dissent, especially in a setting like this, especially by Senator López, the politician he despised but needed in his pocket. “President Morgan harms our interests with his anti-security state border policy and his continued prohibition against weaponizing drones.”

  The weaponized drone debate had been going on forever, it felt like. There were people who hacked their guardian drones and weaponized them anyway. She knew her father had ordered Jericho to add some custom specs. We protect our own, no matter what, he’d said.

  “This president has done nothing to eliminate the domestic terrorists, these so-called revolutionaries,” Declan said. “We’re one terrorist attack or outbreak away from the breaking point.”

  “I hardly think—”

  Declan snorted, cutting him off. “The people respect strength. They always have and they always will. Unity through might is the key to our country's restoration.”

  López lifted his chin. “I believe Americans still value their freedom, what freedoms they have left, anyway.”

  Amelia rubbed her charm bracelet uneasily. This wasn’t going well. How could her father expect someone like Senator López to change his beliefs? It was an impossible task. Yet somehow, it would still be her fault. It felt like her father expected things of her no one could accomplish, just so he had someone to blame when things fell apart.

  Declan’s lip curled as he barely restrained his derision. “Everything good requires some sacrifice. Upstanding, law-abiding citizens have nothing to fear from bio-identification chips or weaponized drones. Only those who would destroy everything we stand for, those terrorists who refuse to appreciate all the things their country has provided them—only they need to fear.

  “Morgan’s policies do nothing to prevent terrorism. Instead, we’ve had seven attacks in the last two years alone. Nine hundred killed in the Harvard bombings. Six hundred and fifty when the Illinois state capital blew up, and another eleven hundred lost in the riots that followed. Seven thousand killed in the coordinated stadium attacks in Foxboro and Landover. Do I need to go on? Europe is fractured. Most of South America is in shambles, their countries ruled by gangs and terrorists. Yet Russia and China remain strong. Why? Because they rule with an iron fist. It is that power that protects the citizens.”

  Lopez’s face contorted as he looked around the table. “What are you suggesting?”

  Declan arched his brows. “Only this. If congress proves themselves to be as weak-willed as the president, someone else will step in and provide the security the citizens demand.”

  “Is our country now free in name only?” López asked, his voice rising slightly. Amelia stared at

  him in dismay. Every word he spoke only angered her father further.

  “That’s un-American,” Bradley Marx said with a frown.

  López set down his wine glass so hard a few scarlet droplets splattered on the white linen table

  cloth. “It’s American to believe in freedom.”

  “And we have our freedom!” her father declared, his face darkening. “But what is freedom in the midst of fear and chaos? The U.S. must be a bastion of strength. Tough times call for tougher measures. We must make our country safe again, a sanctuary in a dying world. Only then will the people be truly free.”

  “I’m afraid you and I have different definitions
of freedom,” the senator said stiffly.

  A strained silence settled over the table. Declan clenched the stem of his wine glass. Her father must be incredibly stressed. He never spoke like this—not in public, at least.

  A dull roar filled Amelia’s ears. She cleared her throat, resting her hand on the senator’s forearm. “Senator, you clearly care about your constituents. I'm sure they're grateful for your leadership.”

  “Let's all drink to that,” her mother said brightly, raising her glass. “We're all working to benefit the people. This was the purpose of National Health Day, after all. Now, who would like some delicious prosciutto cheese and melon appetizers?”

  The waiter returned, the same one they’d had the last four evenings. He was handsome, with dark wavy hair, bronze skin, and a boyish face. He smiled shyly at her, then moved to her father’s side. “May I take your order, sir?”

  “I'll have the chilled Malossol caviar.” Declan inclined his head toward Amelia. “She'll have the poached blue lobster tail, hold the caramelized butter.”

  She didn’t even like lobster. The roaring in her ears intensified. She was hot all over. She needed air. She grabbed her clutch and pushed back her chair. “Please excuse me.”

  “Amelia? Are you all right?” her mother asked.

  But she didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She hurried through the main doors of Oasis and ducked into a small alcove. She opened her clutch and grabbed one of the cigarettes nestled next to her auto-injectors. Her epi-pens, as she tried to think of them. They weren't really epi-pens, and they weren't for allergies. It was what her father told her to call it, so no one would question her.

  She tapped the top of her cigarette with trembling fingers until it self-lit.

  “You’re not allowed to smoke inside.”

  She jerked her head up. It was the security officer, the one she recognized from the added detail that followed Declan and several other high-profile clients around the ship.

  He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. He was tall and well-built. Even in his white officer's uniform, she could see the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles in his arms and chest. His skin was dark bronze, and his straight black eyebrows and scruffy goatee gave him a serious, brooding look.

  “These are non-cancerous,” she said.

  “Is that what they tell you?”

  She shrugged. “It doesn't matter, anyway.”

  “Why? Because your father has the cure for cancer?” There was something in the way he said it, an undercurrent of hostility.

  She flinched. “No, of course not.”

  A shadow crossed his face. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Let’s start again. I’m Gabriel Rivera.”

  “Amelia.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Amelia.” He nodded at her cigarette. “Cancerous or not, they’re still illegal to smoke in here.”

  She waved her hand, flustered. “Oh. Sorry. I’ll just put it out—”

  “You can smoke outside. There’s a spot just around the corner on the deck, out of sight of the Oasis windows. I can show you.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. She needed the fresh air. “Thank you.”

  She followed him through a set of glass doors to the starboard side of Deck Six. The breeze pulled at her French twist, tugging several strands of hair free to whip around her face. The engine rumbled beneath her. She sighed and breathed in the salty air. Beyond the ship's lights, the water was black as pitch.

  “Are you okay?”

  She touched her cheek. “I’m always pale.”

  “Is that why your hands are trembling?”

  Her fingers tightened on the cigarette, her face heating. “It’s just hot in there, that’s all.”

  There was silence for a moment. She tried not to think about how her father would react to tonight’s fiasco. Senator López would never back the Unity Coalition’s Safe and Secure Act. The stress of the evening was like a load of bricks pressing against her chest.

  Gabriel leaned against the glass railing, facing her. “When I have a bad day, I always come out here and just relax for a while, you know?”

  “I can’t get enough of the ocean, how it feels like it goes on forever.” Even as she said the words, she wondered why she was telling him so much. “It gets inside you out here.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Like your music.”

  She looked up, meeting his eyes. She took a long drag of the cigarette to steady herself. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving.

  “I’ve heard you play,” he said, grinning. “It’s not bad, but I’m sure you know that.”

  She cocked her brows. “Is that a compliment? I can’t tell.”

  “You know it is.” He raked his hand through his hair. “How do you like the Grand Voyager? Is there any place you’d like to see? Backstage at the Galaxy Lounge? The bridge?”

  “I've already been to the bridge. With my father.”

  His lip curled. “Of course. How could I forget? You have access to whatever you want, whenever you want.”

  Her stomach twisted a little. It felt like he was subtly mocking her, or maybe not so subtly. “I should go back inside.”

  “Do you want to go back in?”

  She didn’t answer, only breathed out a tendril of faux-smoke. The breeze took it and flung it out into the space surrounding their little boat on the vast, empty sea.

  “This is your vacation, after all. Aren’t you supposed to only do what you want?”

  She snorted. “I wish.”

  He took another step closer. He smelled like a combination of something musky and male, like cedar or pine, a deep and wild forest. “I’m serious. You clearly deserve some fun. Come with me.”

  She turned to face him, startled at his forwardness. “Excuse me?”

  He smiled, his eyes going even darker. “Come with me. I'll show you the ship, her inner workings, her guts. The stuff you don’t see on the official tour.”

  She should go back inside and charm the stuffy, boring politicians and CEOs like she always did. She didn't have a handle on this conversation. She didn't have a handle on him. He seemed to waver between friendly and slightly hostile. It made her nervous. He made her nervous.

  And yet, he was incredibly handsome. She couldn’t deny that. She couldn’t deny the flutter in her belly when she felt his eyes on her. She licked her lips. “I really should go.”

  “It'll be fun. And I'll be a gentleman, I promise.”

  She took a step away from the railing, away from him. The ship rolled beneath her, and she fought off a wave of dizziness. “Isn't there some rule about crew and passengers not fraternizing with each other?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what you want to do? Fraternize?”

  She blushed. For one second, she imagined what it would be like. To take off, to defy her father. How furious he would be when he realized his only daughter, his prized possession, wasn't coming back to his dinner of honor. That she'd dared to disobey him. “I’m sorry, I really can’t.”

  She took a deep breath, steeling herself. She didn’t get to do whatever she wanted. What she needed to do was focus on doing better. Being better.

  She pushed Gabriel Rivera and his dark, brooding eyes out of her mind and went back inside, returning to her duties.

  7

  Willow

  Willow shielded her eyes with her hand and watched Benjie and Zia frolicking in the pool. The sun shone bright in the cloudless sky, though the breeze was brisk.

  She strolled down the deck to get away from the noisy kids, then swiped the passcode into the SmartFlex her mother had lent her. It was old, scuffed, and plain, nothing like the gorgeous SmartFlex cuffs everyone else wore. The elites boasted slim cuffs in smoky platinum, shimmering rose gold, or silver filigree edged in tiny rubies. They looked like designer jewelry until the digital overlay or holo ports were activated. But at least her mom’s SmartFlex had a holo-port, unlike her own.

  She’d been wanting to c
all her best friend Rihanna for the last five days. She swiped Rihanna’s avatar, and a moment later, her holo appeared. She was usually all bright-eyed and bursting with energy, but her brown skin looked faded, her eyes glassy, and her braids were frayed and unkempt.

  “Please tell me you’re already engaged to a wealthy playboy CEO-wannabe,” Rihanna said.

  “Hell no. They’re all stuck-up jerkwads.”

  “Their loss.” Rihanna coughed and pulled a pink polka-dotted blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Got that Armageddon bat flu thing the media keeps going insane over. This thing is malicious.”

  Willow frowned. “You don’t look so hot.”

  “Funny you should say that. I’m actually dreadfully, horrendously hot. You ever had a fever of one hundred and five?”

  “Seriously? Shouldn’t you be in a hospital?”

  Rihanna grunted. “They’re sort of full right now.”

  “What do you mean, full?”

  Rihanna waved her hand. “Everyone here is sick. And you know how those stupid border checkpoints won’t let you in the next city without a medical clearance. We’re stuck here. For days, it was just a stupid cold that wouldn't go away. Then, bam. Woke up yesterday feeling like I've been smashed into a blender. I don’t recommend it.”

  She felt a pang of guilt. Here she was drinking champagne every day and Rihanna was puking her guts up. “I’m sorry. Did you get out of that Physics test, at least?”

  Rihanna coughed. “They shut down every school in Newark yesterday.”

  “Really?”

  “Voluntary quarantine or something. It sure doesn’t seem voluntary, though.”

  Nervous energy prickled up and down Willow’s spine. She hadn't been paying attention. Schools shut down for a few days or weeks every year due to the flu or whatever new disease was all the rage, but never so many of them. Not all at the same time. That was weird.