Rising Storm: The Last Sanctuary: Book One

by Kyla Stone

  “I'm alive,” she said.

  Finn nodded. “That has to be enough.”

  “We have to make it enough.”

  He gestured at her clothes. “I guess you really do hate dresses, huh?”

  She looked down at herself, the navy blue fabric ripped in several places, smeared with dirt and blood. Her feet were cut, bruised, and aching. “I sure don’t miss those pain-in-the-ass heels.”

  Finn snorted. They exchanged barely-there smiles.

  She noticed something in the window behind his shoulder. A gray smudge on the horizon, darker than the fog surrounding it. “What's that?”

  Finn turned and looked, cupping his hands against the glass. “My lady, I do believe you've sighted a ship.”

  She couldn't quite believe what she'd heard. “A ship.”

  She glanced at Finn, her own hesitant hope reflected in his eyes.

  They watched the ship grow closer in the early morning light, the sky shaded apricot and rose. It was a U.S. naval ship. And it was coming straight toward them.

  Rescue.

  53

  Amelia

  Amelia pressed against her mother. She couldn't stop shaking. The migraine had dissipated to a dull ache at the base of her skull. She felt exhausted and weak, like she'd been climbing a mountain for days. She stared down at her numb hands. They felt like they didn’t belong to her. As if someone else plunged that needle into Kane's eye. Someone else had stabbed him, over and over.

  But she was alive. She’d saved herself.

  Silas sat across from her, staring off into nothing. It wasn't like there was anything to look at in this barren, plastic-draped room anyway. Everything was white or gray, sterile and bland.

  Since they'd been rescued by the Navy yesterday, the hundred and fifty or so survivors were confined to a massive room-like plastic tent. They were given water bottles and served several meals on brown plastic trays. They had access to a six-stalled bathroom and a few showers.

  The first time she had limped to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, she was shocked. Hair: tangled, knotted mess. Face: dirty, bruised, and swollen. Dress: torn and stained. Nails: ragged. She'd examined the greenish-yellow bruising on her ribs and stomach, gingerly touching the tender flesh.

  But she was here. Simeon wasn't. That asshole Kane wasn't. Her father wasn’t. She was. She raised her chin and met her own gaze in the mirror. This time, she smiled for herself.

  But that was hours ago. Now, they just waited. Everyone sat on plastic chairs or hunched on the floor, huddled in blankets. She sat with her mother and Silas against the wall in the far corner.

  Jericho was somewhere behind them, giving them privacy. Tyler Horne and Senator López were here, and Celeste and Meredith Jackson-Cooper. A few feet away, Willow slept with her little brother curled in her lap, a ratty backpack clutched in his skinny arms.

  Micah slumped on the other side of Benjie. He was as sleep-deprived as Amelia, judging by his hollow cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. She hadn’t spoken to him, but she could read the sorrow and devastation etched across his face.

  Everyone was scared, confused, shell-shocked, grief-stricken. They had all lost someone. The sounds of muffled sobbing were constant over the drone of the ship's engine.

  The only people who'd come into the sealed room wore bulky contamination suits. They didn't meet her gaze through their masks. They tended to the wounded and provided first aid. They examined her clutch with the single remaining epi-pen, but hadn't taken it. Not yet. Whenever anyone tried to ask them questions, they just shook their heads. “We're following protocol. Someone will be in to speak with you shortly,” was all they'd say. That and, “Please remain calm.”

  Silas glanced at her, cocking one eyebrow. He didn't constantly ask her if she was all right, like her mother did. But he studied her, scrutinizing her face, searching for something. She met his gaze. He was the brother she loved, the one who put himself between her and her father, over and over. Even though he never said a word, he still made sure she was okay.

  Even though she wasn’t, not yet. Ever since the attack, she couldn't sleep. Her eyes burned and her head throbbed, but every time she tried to rest, she saw that face behind her closed lids—Kane's venomous eyes, that hideous, lecherous grin. She could still feel his hands—huge, strong, scrabbling like spiders, could still smell the stench of his breath, the heat of it on her cheeks. She couldn't get the stain of his touch off her skin. If she managed to drift off, she jolted awake, her heart beating savagely against her ribs.

  Kane haunted her sleep, but Gabriel haunted her waking moments. She kept seeing him in her mind’s eye, in the rain and the chaos of the deck. Gabriel, desperately pleading for something she couldn't give him. She hadn’t seen Gabriel since two naval officers led him away in handcuffs within moments of their rescue. She didn’t know what would happen to him now.

  She shivered and wrapped the Mylar blanket tighter around herself.

  Her mother stirred and opened her eyes. “Amelia.” Her voice was full of relief. Every time she woke up from her restless dozing, she was frantic until she laid eyes on her daughter. “We survived. We're all here.”

  “Not all of us,” Silas said.

  She licked her lips. Part of her wished she didn't need to know, that she could pretend it all away. But that was impossible. “Why are they keeping us in here?” she asked again.

  This time, her mother actually answered. “They want to make sure we're not infected.”

  “Because of what's happening on the mainland,” Silas said.

  She rubbed her charm bracelet. “This is all because of Father, isn't it?”

  Her mother gave her a hard look.

  “You don't have to keep protecting me.” Her tone came out sharper than she intended. “In case you haven't noticed, we're well beyond that.”

  Her mother sighed. “Keep your voice down, please. We must keep this between us. We don't have all the answers. Not yet. The attack on the Voyager must have been planned for months.”

  “But how—”

  “There are political groups who have openly hated and threatened us for almost a decade. You father planned the Unity Coalition’s Prosperity Summit on the Grand Voyager for the same week every year. It wasn't like we made ourselves a difficult target.” Her mother's hand strayed to the hollow of her throat.

  “There's more,” Amelia said.

  Her mother took a deep breath. “Yes, there's more.”

  “The New Patriots said the universal vaccine was used as a cover to distribute a bioweapon,” Amelia said, staring at her mother, trying to read her face for any signs of deception. “They said the engineered virus was meant to kill a hundred thousand innocent people. Father admitted it. How could he do something like that?”

  “Shhh.” Her mother tilted her chin at the people closest to them. But everyone else seemed to be sleeping. And they were in the far corner, which afforded as much privacy as this fish bowl allowed. “When you blame the poor for their misfortune—like your father did—it dehumanizes them. It becomes easier to justify atrocities if their plight is their own fault. And if they’re less than human . . .”

  “Did you know?” Silas asked darkly.

  Her mother grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I swear to you, on your life, I had no idea. I never would've—I believed we were safe. Your father—he protected us. I didn't know.”

  Revulsion filled her. She yanked her hand away. “But you know what he’s like.”

  “You have to understand, Amelia. The world is such a dangerous place. He offered safety.”

  “Safety?” Silas snorted. “Is that what you call this?”

  A line appeared between her mother’s brows. “It wasn't supposed to be like this.”

  Amelia couldn't stop thinking about all the people, all those thousands of lives. All those mothers and fathers and children and babies, all suffering, all dying in agony.

  And the worst part was how those people trusted the
vaccine, believed in it, waited for hours to give it to their sick children. All those health workers administering the shots with a smile on their faces and gentleness in their touch, saying, “This will only hurt a bit.” Because they didn't know. How could they know they were administering grief and horror and death? She bent over, acid burning the back of her throat.

  “Amelia! Are you okay?” Her mother reached for her purse. “Do you need your medication? I have your pills—”

  “I’m fine. What about the cure? The cure the New Patriots wanted to help all those sick people?”

  “They didn't want the vaccine for the sick. They wanted it for themselves.”

  “What?”

  Her mother closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were full of anguish. “Amelia, honey, I need you to sit down.”

  She stiffened. “Just tell me.”

  “The bioweapon—it didn't just infect the people who received the virus through the shot.”

  Dizziness rushed through her. She started to get that feeling, like when the aura came before a migraine. A warning. “Tell me.”

  “The engineered virus inserted into the flu vaccine—it mutated. It's contagious.”

  “Contagious,” Amelia echoed. She felt thick headed, her brain full of fog.

  “There’s always the possibility of viral shedding with a vaccine that utilizes a live virus, like measles or polio. But this—something happened. I’m not an expert, but I believe the engineered virus merged with the H17N10 bat strain of influenza in tens of thousands of already infected people who lined up to receive the universal vaccine. When the two viruses infected the same host cells, they underwent reassortment, combining their genetic material to create a new strain—the Hydra Virus. I don’t know much more than this. But right before communications went down on the Grand Voyager, the CDC declared the Hydra virus a pandemic.”

  “What are we supposed to do now?” Amelia asked, fighting down panic.

  Her mother clasped her hands together. “We have faith. We do anything we can to help. We pray for the sick and their families—”

  “How can you say that?” Silas's mouth twisted. “How can you talk about faith after what he's done?”

  Her mother's eyes filled with tears. “I hope I've taught you—”

  “What you've taught us?” Silas sneered. “You taught us to respect and obey a monster.”

  She looked from Silas to Amelia, her face crumpling. “You both must hate me. And maybe I deserve it. But you don't know everything. There's more I need to tell you—”

  But Amelia had heard enough. She couldn't stand to be near her mother, couldn't stand to even look at her. Her mother was weak. She'd always been weak. Amelia saw that now. She'd been blind before, so determined to please her father, she hadn't seen him for what he was. And she'd tried so hard to be as meek and docile as her mother, she hadn't seen what it was doing to her own soul. Even with Gabriel, she’d been blind, letting herself see what she wanted to see—someone to rescue her, so she didn’t have to do the hard work of rescuing herself.

  But she wasn't blind now. She didn't have to be weak and docile anymore. “Just stop.”

  “But Amelia, you don't understand—”

  The entrance to the quarantined area opened, and two figures in contamination suits lumbered in, wheeling in an old-fashioned flat screen TV. Their hazmat suits made them look alien and intimidating. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the first one said in a loud, throaty voice.

  All around her, people sat up, rubbing their exhausted faces. A few seats down, Willow hunched protectively over her little brother. Their eyes locked. She tried to offer up a reassuring smile, but she couldn't. Her mouth, her whole face, was frozen.

  “We understand your shock, confusion, and questions,” the woman in the hazmat suit continued. “You've been through a tremendous ordeal. However, due to the circumstances, we must take extreme precautions. Our doctors will conduct further examinations on each of you later today. Thank you for your patience and please remain calm.”

  “Give us some damn answers!” someone shouted.

  “Is this because of that Hydra plague?”

  “What’s really going on?”

  “You can’t keep us in here!”

  “I have been authorized to brief you on the current state of emergency. As you may have gathered, the Hydra virus is a particularly virulent strain of Influenza A. It has also mutated in . . . unexpected ways.”

  “What's happening?” a man asked, terror in his voice.

  “All state and national agencies are working in conjunction to contain the disease. President Sloane has ordered all domestic ports closed, and domestic and international flights have been grounded.”

  A low murmur spread through the room. “President Sloane?” Tyler Horne asked.

  The woman nodded. “President Morgan succumbed to the virus the night before last. President Amanda Sloane was sworn in immediately. Her first act was to declare a national state of emergency.”

  Another audible gasp.

  “President Sloane announced yesterday that the Hydra virus was released upon the United States as a biological weapon.”

  No one moved. No one breathed.

  “The effects have been . . . catastrophic. We’ll release information as we receive it, but for now, we've been authorized to show you part of President Sloane's emergency address.” The woman turned on the television and stepped aside.

  On the screen, the new president stood behind her desk in the Oval Office. She leaned forward, her hands splayed on the desk. She was a tall, svelte woman in her mid-fifties, her auburn hair clipped short around her ears, her gaze somber. She looked like a person who was strong and capable, someone able and ready to handle the crisis. “I’m shocked and saddened to announce that the Grand Voyager cruise ship sank yesterday after it was attacked by terrorists. As of now, we do not know how many survived. This was an intricately planned and organized two-prong attack.

  “The murder of so many of our shining beacons of industry as well as several wonderful and dedicated members of congress and their families is an unpalatable act. It will not stand unavenged. The murder of millions of American men, women, and children via a deadly biological weapon is a heart-breaking atrocity we shall never forget. This too, we shall avenge with the full force of our military power.

  “We have reason to believe the criminals behind these acts are one and the same, the homegrown terrorist group known as the New Patriots. I pledge to you tonight that we will find each and every perpetrator of these horrendous attacks. We will show them the exact meaning of American justice.

  “But tonight, we are a nation in mourning. You did not vote for me, but I am still your president, the leader of this magnificent country. I will not rest until we contain this bioweapon. We will not stop until our country is safe again.

  “As my first act as President, I gathered an emergency session in congress and oversaw the passage of the Safe and Secure Act. This bill enables empowers us to track down and capture the wicked persons responsible for these atrocities. The bio-identification Vitalichip will enable us to identify and help those who are ill and protect those who are not, saving as many American men, women, and children as possible.”

  The President paused, staring out at the viewers with a stony determination. “Our hope and faith in the American dream is not diminished tonight. The world's prayers are with the United States. God be with us.”

  The TV went dark. A second later, the room exploded into panicked confusion.

  The hairs on the back of Amelia’s neck prickled. “That's not right—”

  Her mother gripped her arm so tightly, her nails dug into Amelia’s skin. “Shhh!”

  An image of Gabriel flashed through her mind. Gabriel leaning over her, his face brimming with emotion, his dark eyes glossy with pain. “But it wasn't them—”

  “Stop talking. Right now.”

  She stared at her mother in shock. She couldn't remember the las
t time she'd seen her so fierce, her eyes filled with a desperate determination. “What—?”

  Her mother leaned in close, her breath hot on Amelia's ear. “No one here knows what your father did. Not even Jericho.”

  She stiffened. “Gabriel knows.”

  “Then we pray he says nothing. Do you have any idea what these people will do to us if they find out?”

  “No. I—”

  “There are others involved, high in the government. You remember all those disturbing calls that agitated your father so much?”

  “But it wasn't the New—”

  “Keep quiet,” her mother hissed, iron in her voice. “Of course not. But it was someone. Someone with enough power and influence to organize a terrorist attack on a cruise ship full of powerful and influential people. Someone determined enough to poison a hundred thousand people and frame a terrorist group. The microchip contract alone will be worth billions. There's more going on than we know. We're in an extremely dangerous position. Do you understand?”

  Amelia nodded. Her brain buzzed with the implications of her mother's words. Her father hadn’t acted alone. But then, who was behind it? And what about the attack on the Grand Voyager? Were they covering their tracks, tying up loose ends by destroying everyone who had any intimate knowledge of the engineering of the Hydra virus? And what would happen to her family if Gabriel revealed the truth about her father?

  But her mind stopped there. It was too much to take in at once.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” the woman in the hazmat suit said. “Our doctors will begin seeing you soon.”

  “How long do we have to stay here?”

  “We're not sick!”

  “That boy is coughing! You locked us in here with the infected!”

  “When are we going home?”

  “Everyone will be tested!” the woman raised her hands. “You must remain calm.”

  A shiver ran through her, a cold that reached deep into her bones. When were they going home? And the bigger questions, the words she could hardly bring herself to think, let alone speak aloud. Was there even a home to go back to? And if there was, what dangers awaited them there?