Rising Storm: The Last Sanctuary: Book One

by Kyla Stone

  She tapped the top left corner of the SmartFlex, and the home page appeared alongside Rihanna’s face, the various news sites' headlines crawling along the bottom beneath the celebrity gossip, near-constant weather record-breakers, and the latest on the soybean blight spreading throughout the southern states: 'Vice President Sloane says Epidemic Concerns Overblown,' one headline stated. Another posted, 'Universal Flu Vaccine Declared a Success.'

  “The news says things are getting better. Lots of doom and gloom over nothing.”

  Rihanna snorted. “I'm about to hurl all over your doom and gloom, bitch.”

  “Love you, too. Didn't you get the free shot?”

  “A useless five hours standing in line, if you ask me. A pointless publicity stunt.”

  “You must've already been infected.”

  “I guess.” Rihanna’s face turned an even unhealthier shade. She swallowed several times. “Seriously, though, the toilet and I have a date. Go kiss a hot rich guy for me, 'kay?”

  Willow swiped off, missing Rihanna like a physical pain in her chest. Rihanna was funny and irreverent and always up for a dare. This cruise would be a radically different experience with her best friend here. With anyone her age who didn't look at her like she was a pariah or a communicable disease.

  It was already the fifth day of the cruise. Everyone busied themselves with eating, drinking, sunning, and amusing themselves with the pool, the casino, and the spa. But Willow wasn’t doing any of those things. She was stuck watching her siblings, yet again.

  Instead of relaxing, her mom was off working, even wearing her stupid housekeeping uniform. Apparently, the sani-bots had been hacked. Some anarchist’s idea of a joke. Willow could just imagine the outrage when a rich elite didn’t get her eighty-dollar bottled water restocked or her perfectly folded octopus-shaped towel draped across her bed.

  Her mom had grabbed her hands, her mouth taut, her eyes tired. “Benjie can go to the Kid Zone on Deck Fourteen to give you a break, but Zia's too old. But she’s not old enough to be by herself, do you understand?”

  “Okay, whatever,” Willow had said, trying not to pout.

  “Please, Willow. You’re Ate. They’re your responsibility. Take care of your siblings. Do this for me, okay?”

  She was sick and tired of being Ate, of always being the responsible one. She’d already spent the last four days being the patient big sister: she took Zia and Benjie to the Xtreme Worlds gaming center, managed not to freeze to death in the snow room, and glided around the low-grav room, where they slurped up floating spheres of lemonade. And she'd spent hours in the pool, training Benjie to paddle around without a life jacket.

  For half a second, she'd allowed herself to think this trip might be as amazing as advertised. But even this was too good to be true. She felt guilty for feeling that way, but she couldn’t help it.

  Willow gazed out at the ocean stretching in every direction, an expanse of deep blue that went on forever. It was beautiful. And peaceful. At least the ship was free of surveillance drones, stupid border checkpoints, and those irritating holo ads everywhere like in the city, always scanning everyone’s retinals and vying for attention: “Willow, try a sample of Desire, our new pheromone-engineered formula guaranteed to make your guy blah, blah, blah for you.” Or, “Our new Allure has all the taste of real, soil-grown food with none of the calories, so you can finally lose those fifteen pounds, Willow!” Like calories were the reason no normal person could eat cheeseburgers anymore.

  She sighed and turned back toward the pool and her never-ending responsibilities—and ran smack into a large, heavy shape.

  “Oh, sorry!” She stumbled back and looked up. And up. A giant towered over her. He was huge, at least 6’3, maybe 6’4, and big all over. “I didn’t, um—”

  “See me there?” he asked wryly, thrusting out his hand. “And I’m usually so hard to miss. I’m Finn Ellington-Fletcher.”

  She shook Finn's massive hand. He was young, probably her age, with smooth walnut-brown skin, dimples in his cheeks, and a gap in his slightly crooked teeth.

  “Nice to meet you.” She smoothed her sundress over her stomach, the sunflower-yellow one she’d borrowed from Rihanna. This ship and these clothes made her feel like someone else. She wanted to be someone else, for one damn day at least. “I'm . . . Gwyneth. My parents drag us on this thing every year.”

  Finn raised his eyebrows. “Funny, I don't remember you, Gwyneth.”

  She smiled wider. She hadn't expected him to be a repeat passenger, which made him a son of an elite. Scratch that, it made him an elite himself. She'd pegged him for an off-duty crew member or something. But in for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ve changed a lot. Maybe it’s the hair.”

  He nodded. “Must be. Where are you from?”

  “New Jersey. Avalon.” She named the fanciest neighborhood she could think of. “But we summer in the Hamptons.”

  It was the best she could come up with. Rihanna would've already created a full backstory and convinced him she was a southern debutante planning her cotillion ball. But she wasn’t Rihanna. And Rihanna wasn’t here. “What about you?”

  “My dad's a biotechnologist for BioGen. But I live with my mom in Virginia. They're divorced. But I still spend a lot of time with my dad. We do the Prosperity Summit every year.”

  “That’s cool. So . . . you having fun?”

  He shrugged, rolling his massive shoulders. “What's not to love? Though I gotta say, getting shunned by my more affluent and socially adept peers has its upsides. One gets to know the tomes in the quaint library quite well.”

  Willow laughed before she could stop herself. Maybe that was rude, but he didn't seem offended. “Why would you be shunned?”

  He gestured at himself. “Too big. Too loud. Too much everything. Maybe I'm not refined enough for their tastes? Who knows.”

  “Their loss,” she said and meant it.

  Finn smiled again, showing the gap in his teeth. “I do play a mean game of ping pong. Strangely, I find winning isn't quite as satisfying playing against myself. Chasing the ball all over a rolling deck loses its appeal quite quickly.”

  “I've never played ping pong.”

  “It's not exactly the sport of the elite, now is it?” Finn said ruefully. “Too much sweating.”

  She raised her chin. “I'm not afraid to sweat.”

  “Great. Maybe I can teach you, sometime.”

  Heat crept up her neck. She liked this guy. He looked at her like she was an actual person, not a parasite. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “How about now?”

  Just then, Benjie yelled her name, begging her to watch his newest cannonball dive. Frustration swirled in her gut. “I’m sorry,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Maybe some other time.”

  It was the story of her life.

  8

  Micah

  Micah faced his brother, his shoulders tensed, his voice hoarse. “I need to talk to you.”

  Gabriel stabbed a green bean on his fork and waved it at him. “Remember how Mom always made us eat a serving of vegetables at every meal, even breakfast?”

  “I've been searching for you all over the ship.”

  Gabriel grinned. “I still eat my vegetables, even when she’s not here to make me. Silly, huh?”

  “Where have you been?”

  Gabriel shrugged dismissively. “I’ve been busy.”

  Micah’s anger built up inside him. He would not be pushed aside. Not today. He’d finally cornered Gabriel down in the officer mess after spending his shift serving middle-aged men nursing sunburns and rich women giddy with the 'deals' they'd bartered off the poor in the bustling shops of Grand Cay.

  The Grand Voyager had just departed from its second port, Grand Cay in the Bahamas. It was day five, and they were headed for Grand Turk to restock on provisions and provide the nine hundred elite passengers on board a glimpse of the best the Caribbean had to offer. But Micah didn't care about beaches and palm trees.

&
nbsp; Gabriel had avoided him for three days. He’d refused to answer his messages or his SmartFlex pings. Outrage had been burning a hole in Micah’s chest since he’d discovered the drugs. He couldn't wait any longer. “Are you ignoring me?”

  Gabriel gave him a lazy smile. “Of course not. I’ve been working.”

  “I only need five minutes.”

  Gabriel leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. “What do you want?”

  “Gabriel.”

  “Oh, fine.” Gabriel untangled himself from the chair and followed Micah into the corridor. The beige walls were tacked with peeling posters of notices and safety policies, the bare floors and exposed piping a sharp contrast against the decadence upstairs. But no one cared about the state of the crew quarters.

  Micah’s face felt overheated, his ears burning. He licked his lips. “I was in the laundry. I saw the drugs.”

  Gabriel smoothed a stray wrinkle in his security uniform. “What drugs?”

  “The drugs you've been smuggling on the ship.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  A fresh wave of anger swelled over him. Gabriel was a smooth liar. Always had been. But Gabriel wasn't supposed to lie to him. He wasn't supposed to lie to his own brother. They'd promised. “Zhang told me.”

  Gabriel leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. His expression was placid, his eyebrows cocked in mild curiosity. “Zhang is a piece of trash. A little rat scurrying around the bowels of the ship. He's looking for someone to blame. I don't have a thing to do with any drugs. Why would I?”

  Micah wanted desperately to believe him, but the evidence told him otherwise. It explained so much. The nice clothes. The hushed conversations. The way Gabriel’s face would harden at some innocuous question or comment, shutting Micah out for no reason. “Then you won't have a problem when I report this to the captain.”

  “You need to follow the chain of command and report to Chief Security Officer Schneider.”

  “Schneider is in on it. But you know that.”

  “I know nothing of the sort. It's against protocol to break the chain of command. You'll be disciplined—if they don’t just kick you off at the next port.” But something changed in Gabriel's face, a hint of anxiety around the eyes. He wasn't worried about Schneider. He was worried about the captain.

  Micah bit the inside of his cheeks, his gut twisting. He forced his voice to sound confident. “I'm going to Captain Liebenberg tonight. If you're clean, you don't have anything to worry about.”

  Two crew members walked by. Micah edged out of the way to let them pass.

  Gabriel’s hands twisted into fists. The florescent lights highlighted the shadows in the hollows of his eyes. “Wait, Micah. You know how many people would be affected by this? I'm worried about their welfare. A dozen crew fired, and what are their families going to do? They'll starve. These guys are just trying to earn a living, Micah. You know how hard that is. You know what it's like now.”

  “I know.” He remembered what it was like, how hard their parents had to work just to keep the electricity going and food on the table. But even at the worst times, his mom never hurt anyone. Even his father, always so angry and defeated, only took Silk, never sold it. “It’s breaking the law.”

  Gabriel made an exasperated sound in his throat. “You don't get it. The law is nothing but a weapon the elite use to oppress the rest of us.”

  “Don’t you remember Dad?” Micah’s voice cracked. Their father, who had worked hard to provide for his family. Who came home after a long day and cooked dinner so their mom could have a break. Who loved woodworking and carved wooden trains and whittled tiny people for Micah and Gabriel when they were little. He’d had a fiery temper, but he never laid a hand on his wife and kids.

  His dad couldn’t bear to watch his wife waste away from cancer, weaker and sicker day after day. His helpless rage twisted inward, burning him up from the inside until he finally turned to Silk to make it all go away. Until finally, it did. “I'm going to report it, with or without you.”

  Micah turned and walked away. He prayed his brother would stay silent, clinging to a thread of hope that he was wrong, that somehow Gabriel wasn't involved. Maybe Zhang was lying. Maybe it was some mistake. Maybe everything could continue as it had been, his brother still his best friend.

  He hadn't gone five steps when Gabriel spoke. “Stop.”

  Micah turned and faced him.

  “You turn in those drugs, and you're turning me in, too.”

  Micah’s heart cracked open inside his chest. All the things he wanted to say—Why? How could you do this? How could you lie to me?—stuck like burrs in his throat. He swallowed. “I have to.”

  “You don't have to do anything, brother. I promise you, it's for a good cause.”

  “I have to,” he repeated, like the rest of the English language had suddenly deserted him.

  “No. You don't. And you won't. This is me. You know me. I wouldn't do this if not for a good reason. Trust me.”

  “Trust you? You’re smuggling drugs!”

  “You’re a good person, Micah. That’s what I love about you. But I need you to trust that I’m a good person, too.”

  His brother was a good person. He knew it in his deepest heart. Gabriel could be a hothead. He had anger in him, just like their father. He joined the New Patriots, always railing against the corrupt government. He got in fights at school. And he’d put that boy from the park in a hospital all those years ago. Micah still winced at the memory of what Gabriel did because of him, for him. An act of violence Micah couldn’t condone. But still, Gabriel’s actions were always to protect something or someone else.

  But this was different. None of it made any sense. “What’s going on?”

  Gabriel’s expression softened. “I’d tell you if I could. It’s for a good cause, that’s all I can say.”

  “That doesn’t make what you’re doing any less wrong. Don’t you see that?”

  “It’s easy for you. Some people can afford to only see things in black and white. But the rest of us can’t do that.”

  “Right and wrong is black and white.” His mom taught him to do the right thing, even when it hurt. Be good, she always told Micah, squeezing his hand. Be brave. Those were the last words she’d spoken to him in the hospital. God has such plans for you, my son. Be good. Be brave.

  Gabriel’s mouth hardened. “You sound like Mom when you talk like that.”

  “Gabriel—”

  “Do you have my back or don’t you?”

  Micah hesitated.

  Gabriel’s gaze pinned him. “It's just you and me. Just us.”

  “Always,” Micah forced out, his throat gritty.

  “See? I knew you’d come through. You always do.”

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke. He stared at Gabriel but couldn’t read him, not anymore. If he ever really could.

  Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck. “Look. I’ve got work. I know you'll do the right thing.”

  “What’s the right thing, Gabriel?”

  “The right thing is to trust me. And to trust in the greater good.” He spoke with such confidence, such certainty.

  But Micah felt anything but certain. He was teetering on the edge of a gaping hole, about to fall. “Gabriel—”

  But his brother’s expression closed, slamming shut like a door. Micah watched him saunter down the corridor and disappear around the corner. Gabriel acted like it was no big deal, like Micah’s world hadn’t just splintered into a thousand pieces.

  Questions tore at him, jagged as glass. How could he betray his own brother? How could he live with himself if he didn’t turn in the drugs? How could he live with himself if he did?

  Micah walked through the ship as if in a daze, smiling on cue, greeting the passengers, laughing at a crew member’s joke.

  And all the while, the secret smoldered like a burning coal behind his eyes.

  The following evening, Micah made his way
to the lido deck after he’d finished his shift. The Grand Voyager had departed Ocho Rios several hours ago.

  Further down the deck, couples in fine evening gowns and tuxedos preened for the photo drones. The walls on Deck Six outside the Oasis dining room were already lined with thousands of vids, and this was only day six of the cruise.

  The wind whipped Micah’s hair into his face, stinging his eyes. He stood at the glass railing on the lido deck and looked out at the vast and endless sea. The ocean on either side stretched as far as the eye could see, the horizon bleeding into the darkness. A pale strip of moonlight reflected on the water. In the distance, the lights from a sister cruise ship glittered like a star fallen from the sky.

  He was surrounded by so much beauty, but inside, he felt ripped in half. Micah hadn’t spoken to his brother since yesterday. Gabriel’s parting words echoed in his mind. It’s just you and me. Just Us. Always.

  Doubt gnawed at him. How could he stand by and do nothing while toxic, life-destroying drugs made their way across the ocean and polluted his country? And yet, how could he turn in his own brother? Gabriel was his home, his compass, his fixed North Star.

  Micah stared at the water until his vision blurred. A seed of loathing sprouted in his chest. He knew what he would do. As soon as he'd spoken the word “Always”, he'd known.

  Nothing. He would do nothing.

  And already, he hated himself.

  9

  Gabriel

  Gabriel stood on the glass catwalk on Deck Thirteen, anxiety and anticipation coiled in his gut. Today was the seventh day of the cruise. The long-awaited time was approaching. Finally, the world would change.

  Simeon leaned against the glass beside him, along with Simeon's first in command, Alexi Kane, a huge white guy with a crew cut, a thick, bulging neck, and a body built like a bulldozer.

  They looked out over the deck of the Imagination Café at the passengers inhaling their decadent breakfasts, their plates piled high with exotic fresh fruits, all of them ready for another lazy day of gluttony and opulence.