Rising Storm: The Last Sanctuary: Book One

by Kyla Stone

  A sharp, metallic stench filled his nostrils, mixing with the stink of gunpowder. He forced his gaze to the floor. Several bodies were scattered around the bridge. He counted nine dead. Two more were mortally wounded, sure to bleed out in the next few minutes.

  His stomach curdled as he stepped over the bodies, searching each one for Gabriel. He wasn't there. Micah checked and rechecked each body. Two more lay crumpled behind the main console. Neither of them were Gabriel. His brother was not among the dead.

  Impossible. He was certain he'd heard Gabriel's voice.

  “Looking for someone?”

  Micah stiffened.

  Silas slouched against the wall, staring at him with those dark, penetrating eyes. He'd been watching him the whole time.

  His stomach dropped. “Why would you say that?”

  Silas only smirked. “He's down the corridor.”

  Micah didn't ask who. Silas knew. The way he'd been looking at him all night, scrutinizing him. But now there was no confusion. Just smug, contemptuous recognition.

  “Is he—?”

  “Restrained and under guard. So he can stand trial for his crimes. But he's alive.” Silas arched his brow. “That a good thing? Or bad?”

  Anger shot through him. Silas hit much too close to the mark. Micah didn't even know what he wanted. Alive. He wanted his brother alive. Beyond that, he had no idea. He shouldered past Silas into the corridor.

  Three rescued hostages sat in the hallway. One man moaned, clutching a bullet wound in his stomach. The other two appeared unconscious.

  And there he was. His brother, the terrorist. Gabriel slumped against the wall a dozen yards further down the corridor. Hands cuffed in front of him, his crisp officer's uniform sullied with blood, some blotches faded to brown, some still bright red. One of Schneider's men stood guard several feet away.

  Could he go to him? Could he even bear to confront Gabriel, to look into that face he knew as well as his own, had loved more than himself? He blinked, fighting back the wave of grief and despair.

  Someone grabbed his pant leg. It was one of the hostages, her dark hair wild around her face. He recognized her despite the blood and the mascara smudging her cheeks. “Mrs. Black.”

  “You were in the Oasis dining room. When it happened.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” he said in a strangled voice.

  Silas crouched in front of his mother. “Are you okay?”

  Mother and son looked at each other. Mrs. Black's face held a complicated expression Micah couldn't read: a blend of relief, hope, fear, and regret. She lifted her hand as if she were reaching for Silas. It fluttered for a moment in the space between them before she let it drop into her lap. She rubbed the red marks on her wrists instead, smiling shakily. “Silas. I've been praying every second for you and Amelia. I'm—I'm so thankful you're okay.”

  “You too.”

  “It was horrible. I was so scared, every second. And then he took her—” She looked frantically from Silas to Micah, as if she were waking from a terrible nightmare only to realize it was still happening. “He took her!”

  Silas stiffened. “Took who?”

  “Amelia! She was here, in the bridge. They hurt her—” Her mouth contorted. “That monster took her.”

  His chest tightened. It was hard to breathe. The fear that nagged at him in the ducts settled in his gut like a block of ice. Micah had left Amelia in the Oceanarium. He'd believed Gabriel wouldn't hurt her. Not an innocent girl. He couldn't have.

  But Gabriel did. He brought her to the bridge and handed her over to brutal thugs, to killers. Micah was so naïve, stupidly trusting in the brother he thought he knew. But maybe he never did. Maybe you could never truly know another person beyond what they wanted you to see. Or beyond what you wanted to see in them.

  “Where is she?” Silas asked, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

  “I don't know!” his mother said.

  “Think! You were there!”

  “I don't know!”

  “What did he look like?”

  “He—he was big—strong. He had eyes like . . . like he was doing things to you, in his mind. Oh, Silas. He's going to kill her!” She covered her mouth with her hands, stifling a sob.

  Silas leapt to his feet and turned to Micah. “Where would you go, if you were gonna—” He grimaced, unable to finish the sentence.

  Micah bit the inside of his cheeks so hard he tasted blood. “I don’t know where he’d take her, but I know someone who would.”

  He strode down the corridor. The floor jerked, and he steadied himself against the wall. Fury rose in him, blotting out the pain, the betrayal. He would mourn later.

  Gabriel's eyes were closed. Micah kicked his leg. “Wake up!”

  His eyes fluttered open. “Micah. You're safe.”

  The affection in his gaze was like a savage punch to the gut. “No thanks to you.”

  Gabriel lifted his bound hands and tilted his chin at the guard standing a dozen feet away, talking into his walkie-talkie. “Tell him you'll relieve him. He doesn't know who you are. We can get out of here, grab one of the lifeboats before anyone even knows we're gone.”

  Micah’s heart pulsed like a bruise. He could hardly bear to look Gabriel in the face. Disgust and revulsion warred with loyalty, tenderness, love. And grief, over everything, like a towering tsunami bearing down on him. “You did this. You helped kill all these people.”

  “I'd take it back if I could, I swear to you. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake.”

  He couldn't listen to Gabriel's wounded voice. Couldn't let his emotions get in the way. “Where's Amelia?”

  A shadow passed over his brother's face.

  “Where is she? Answer me!”

  “Already dead,” Gabriel said in an agonized voice.

  “Gabriel! Please!”

  “Captain's quarters. He took her to the captain's quarters. But it's too late for her, Micah. I'm so sorry. I never meant for this. Never. You have to believe me—”

  “I did believe you. I believed you wouldn’t actually hurt anyone. But you brought her here. You let them take her.”

  Gabriel’s face contorted. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

  Micah stood and backed away.

  Desperation shone in Gabriel’s eyes. “Just us?”

  The word always disintegrated on his tongue. He couldn't listen anymore. His heart would shatter if he did. “You’re my brother. You’ll always be my brother. I love you, but I can’t save you.”

  “Micah!”

  “I’m sorry.” It felt like a betrayal, turning his back on his only family, the brother he loved more than himself. It felt like losing his own soul. Like everything he'd ever loved crumbled to dust in his hands.

  “Let's go!” he called to Silas, his voice breaking.

  Silas came toward him, hefting his rifle. He pointed it at Gabriel, though his gaze was locked on Micah. “Aren't you a traitor like your filthy rat of a brother? Why should I listen to you?”

  Micah swallowed back the howl of outrage and grief and horror. “Because I know where she is. You want to save her?”

  Silas scowled, but he nodded.

  “Micah, I'm sorry—” Gabriel pleaded. “Forgive me.”

  But Micah and Silas were already gone.

  48

  Willow

  Willow clutched the rifle to her chest with one hand and gripped Benjie's small fingers in the other. She led the caravan down several flights of stairs. Nadira was behind her, the other two staff members taking up the rear.

  A massive explosion shook the walls and trembled the stairs. The lights flickered then went out, plunging them into darkness. Several children cried out.

  “It's okay,” Nadira said.

  “Lo Lo!” Benjie cried, squeezing her hand.

  “Just wait.” A moment later, the dim emergency lights along the floor switched on. She blinked, willing her eyes to adjust to the murky gloom. Suddenly every shadow seemed alive, taunting her. “Okay,
let's go. Hurry!”

  They followed her down another set of stairs to Deck Six. The smell of smoke filled her nostrils. She leaned over the stairwell railing and glimpsed a dark gray haze seeping up the stairs from below.

  That way was blocked. They would have to take the royal promenade to the aft stairwell down to the lifeboats on Deck Four.

  The ship lurched violently, and she stumbled, holding onto the wall for balance for a moment before forcing herself to move again. She rounded the corner fast and was already several steps into the foyer when she froze.

  Movement. A glimpse of a shadow to the right.

  She gestured wildly for Nadira to stop. Nadira retreated to the stairs, but Willow and Benjie didn't have time. Her gaze spun, frantically searching for safety. The elevator alcove was across the foyer. It was the best option.

  She yanked Benjie's hand and dashed across the open space, rounding the corner of the alcove. She pressed her finger to her lips. Benjie nodded, eyes wide with terror.

  She peeked around the alcove wall. Nadira and the children were out of sight. They must be huddled on the stairs, blocked from view by the stairwell wall. Safe, for the moment. If whoever was coming just walked straight through, without turning to the stairwell to the left or the elevators to the right, the dim lighting and the shadows might hide them. They might survive this.

  Then she saw the blood. It was directly illuminated by the emergency floor lighting. Her bloody footprints, dark and conspicuous on the gold carpet. The cuts on her feet from the coffee bar display case had been bleeding all this time, and she hadn't even noticed. The prints led straight to the alcove they were huddled within.

  The sound of heavy footsteps drew closer. She shrank back against the elevator door, her heart thudding in her chest. Benjie covered his mouth with his hands. He stared at her with wide-eyed desperation, his face reddening. He had to cough. No, no, no. Not now. Please not now.

  She pressed her hands over his. He shook from the effort of holding it in. Her own throat closed like a vise, cutting off her breath.

  The footsteps stopped. He'd seen the blood. This very second, his gaze was following the footprints straight to the alcove.

  And then he was in front of her, standing only a few yards away. Even in the dim lighting, she saw see him clearly. He wasn't wearing a ski mask. He had blonde hair and a long, horsey face. He lifted his rifle.

  “Stay back!” she cried. Hopefully Nadira and the other kids would run back up the stairs while the terrorist's attention was on her. But she couldn't worry about that now. Not with the muzzle of an assault rifle pointed straight at her.

  She swallowed, her heart punched into her throat. Her palms were damp, Benjie's hand slipping inside hers. Benjie's cough exploded from his chest. He choked, half-coughing, half-sobbing. She clenched his hand tighter.

  “You don't have to do this!” Her voice shook. “The ship is burning. We're all just trying to escape with our lives. You can let us go.”

  “None of you elitist bastards deserve to live,” he spat. He advanced, mumbling curses under his breath and jabbing the gun at them like a spear. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. Blood stains splattered his shirt and smeared his neck.

  He had no wounds. It wasn’t his blood.

  He was going to kill them. Not because he had to. Because he could.

  Time seemed to slow. Terror screamed at her to run. And maybe she could. She was fast. She could weave and dodge. Maybe she'd get away. But Benjie wouldn't. He was too small, his legs too short. He wouldn't be able to escape.

  Unless there was a distraction. Unless this vicious bastard had a more appetizing target. She could save herself, but she couldn't save them both. The decision took only a moment. She knew what her mom would want her to do. Take care of them. She was Ate. It was her responsibility.

  “When I tell you,” she said softly, squeezing Benjie's hand. “I want you to run. Don't stop. Pretend it's magic. Pretend if you're fast enough, you'll disappear.”

  I love you. And I'm sorry. But there wasn't time to say those things. She let go of Benjie's hand.

  Her gaze never left the terrorist's face. Fear churned in her gut, but also something else. Resignation. And something like peace. Take care of them. To save her family, she had to be willing to do anything.

  This was it. Now or never.

  She stepped in front of her brother.

  49

  Micah

  Micah and Silas raced down the starboard corridor to the third door, marked with a gold placard titled, ‘Captain Liebenberg.’

  He tried the handle. “It's locked. Schneider will have a master key.”

  “There's no time!” Silas rammed his shoulder against the door. It shuddered but didn't give.

  Inside, someone screamed.

  Micah’s breath stilled in his chest. They'd found her. She was alive. But the terror in that scream iced his veins.

  “Amelia!” Silas shouted. He pounded his fists against the door. He backed up and ran at the door again.

  “Use your rifle!”

  Silas swung the rifle around and smashed it against the old-fashioned brass door handle. It broke off after four tries.

  Micah and Silas kicked the door until it crashed open.

  There was a living room area—sofas and a coffee table and a holoscreen, the opened door to what he assumed was the bedroom, but his brain barely registered any of these things.

  Two bodies grappled on the floor beside the coffee table. For a horrific moment, he couldn't tell what was happening. Then his vision focused.

  Amelia crouched over the body of a man. Kane. He was moaning in pain, clutching at his face. She stabbed him with something, screaming in outraged terror. He shoved her off with a flailing arm, but she hurled herself at him, stabbing him again and again in the neck, chest, and shoulders.

  Silas ran to her. He grabbed her under her arms and lifted her off Kane.

  She howled, turning and lunging at Silas, her weapon clutched in her hand. Silas caught hold of her wrist before she could stab him. “Amelia! Stop! It's me! It's me!”

  Her scream died in her throat. She blinked, recognition dawning in her face. She sagged against him. They collapsed to their knees, Silas drawing her close, murmuring something into her hair.

  He pulled her back at arm's length to examine her.

  Her dress was torn in several places and ripped off her shoulder. Deep bruises shaped like handprints marred her neck. Blood bubbled from a shallow cut at the base of her throat. A purplish bruise formed over her right eye, and her teeth were smeared bright red.

  To Micah's surprise, Silas grinned at her. “What a mess you are, princess.”

  She half-laughed, half-choked. Her face contorted, like she was about to dissolve into tears. But she didn't. Her mouth flattened, her eyes going hard. “He was going to kill me.”

  “I know.”

  “I stopped him.”

  “You did.”

  She pulled away from him and stood, swaying on her feet. Silas jumped up and steadied her. “Come on. Let's go.”

  She shoved her hair out of her face. “He needs to die.”

  They both looked at Kane, bloodied and unconscious. Micah kicked at the man's arm, knocking it away from his face. Blood and clear goopy liquid oozed out of his right eye.

  “You did that, sister?” Silas said in awe.

  “I did.” Her voice was stronger now. She lifted her chin and stared at her brother. “I'm going to kill him.”

  “No, you're not,” Silas said.

  “Yes. I am.”

  She tried to pull away, but Silas gripped her upper arm. “You've been through enough. Let me do this.”

  They stared at each other for a long, silent minute, so much passing between them that Micah felt like an intruder. He glanced away, his gaze landing on Kane. “Silas!”

  Kane writhed on the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head, white foam bubbling out of his mouth. After a moment, he went still, his body t
wisted grotesquely.

  Amelia stared at the body, her face white. “Is he dead?”

  Silas checked, pressing his fingers against Kane’s neck. He nodded.

  Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Good.”

  Acid roiled in Micah’s stomach, but he fought it back. He had no idea what was in the syringe to kill a person like that, but it didn’t matter now. He needed to be strong, to be brave. They weren't safe yet. “It’s time to go.”

  “Micah, help Amelia,” Silas said. “I’ve got the gun.”

  She allowed Micah to put his arm around her shoulders. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but she still winced. The ship lurched, and they staggered. Micah steadied her. “I’m sorry.”

  She looked at him for the first time, a fragile smile tugging at her lips. “Last time we met, didn't I say that to you?”

  He pressed her black purse-thing into her trembling hands. “About that. I never should have left you. I should've—”

  “It's done and forgotten.”

  Deep shame filled him, as if he alone were responsible for his brother's actions, for all the terrible things that had happened, for what Kane did to Amelia, for all the dead mothers and fathers and children. Because in a way, he was. He let his love blind him. He’d believed in the goodness in people, in his brother. And now, surrounded by all this death and darkness, he didn’t know what he believed anymore.

  He led Amelia out of the captain's quarters and into the hallway. “I should've done things differently. If only I—”

  “Micah.” Her voice was soft. “I trusted him, too.”

  He nodded grimly, but the shame didn’t dissipate. It never would.

  Before they reached the stairwell, another massive explosion rocked the ship.

  50

  Willow

  Willow stepped in front of her brother, shielding him with her body. She lifted the rifle with both hands, gripping the barrel and raising it like a club.