by Kyla Stone
“What is it for?”
“We need you to get your father to confess to developing the Hydra virus.”
Amelia inhaled sharply. “What?”
“There’s no evidence unless he confesses. Get him to confess, and we’ll show it to everyone inside the Sanctuary. Theo hopes the citizens will turn on the Coalition themselves.”
Fear slid down her spine. Her mouth went dry. “He won’t do it. He confessed on the Grand Voyager, but only with a gun to his head. He’ll never tell me the truth.”
“I know it’s hard,” Harper said gently. “And dangerous. But we have a chance to avoid bloodshed and still get what we want.”
“But I’m going to steal the cure and smuggle it out—”
“Isn’t that even more dangerous than what we’re asking you to do now?”
Amelia went silent. Of course, Harper was right. But the thought of confronting her father sent tremors of terror rippling through her body.
Images of the Grand Voyager’s bridge flashed in front of her eyes—Simeon with the muzzle of his gun pressed against her temple, Simeon kicking her, punching her, explosions of agony racking her body. And her father, tied to the captain’s chair, bruised and bloodied yet still defiant, refusing to give in to the terrorists—not even for his wife, not even for his daughter.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I’m not the right person for this—”
“You’re the only person we have.” Harper thrust the thumb drive into her hands, then closed her own hand over Amelia’s. “We’re depending on you.”
Amelia had no choice. She knew it. She knew this was the right thing to do. She took a breath and nodded.
Harper straightened and stepped back. She folded her hands in front of her stomach, a disinterested, bored look painted on her face.
Amelia said nothing as she allowed Harper to guide her back to her room. She faltered. Harper steadied her. “You all right, miss?”
“I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t. All her blood rushed to her toes. Her mind spun, dizzy and lightheaded. Could she really do this? Could she face her father, confront him? After all she’d endured, was she strong enough?
She wished Micah were here. She missed him with a physical ache. She missed his warm eyes and his smiles and his soft, full laugh. She missed the way he was always fixing his crooked glasses, his determination to never give up hope, no matter what.
She missed Benjie’s sweetness and Willow’s sarcasm and her brother’s sullen but steady presence. She missed Finn’s goofy jokes, Celeste’s attitude, and Gabriel’s strength. She missed her mother’s arms around her, promising her it would all be okay.
But that was a lie. Nothing was okay. It might never be okay.
No. That wasn’t true. They could change things. They could make this world a better place for everyone. But nothing would change without risk, without sacrifice, without pain. She couldn’t expect anyone else to shoulder that burden for her. She had to do her part to help. She had to be strong. She had to be brave, just like she’d told Benjie.
“I can do this,” she said, meaning so much more than a walk down the hallway.
This was her brave thing.
27
Micah
“What now?” Micah asked Kadek.
Kadek shrugged one narrow shoulder. “Now, we wait. Amelia gets the confession, Harper gets the recording to us, then we hack into network security and play it. Easy-peasy.”
Night had fallen. The air was chilly but just above freezing. Micah dug his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. Theo had waited until almost eleven p.m., several hours after curfew to hack a transport to take them somewhere to hole up.
Kadek led Micah and Silas to a biodome in the agricultural sector. Rows and rows of biodomes stretched in front of them in the darkness. “All the hydroponic farming is done in biodomes to protect crops from the blights,” Kadek explained. “All those from this street down are empty.”
There were dozens—maybe hundreds—of them. How could they all be empty? “Why?”
“We’ve got plenty to feed the thirteen thousand or so people here. We could double our capacity, even triple it easily.”
Micah’s stomach twisted at the thought of all the people the Sanctuary could feed and shelter here—and were purposefully choosing not to.
Kadek gestured to a large glass dome directly in front of them. The door hung open on its hinges. One of the glass planes was broken. “This biodome malfunctioned a few months ago. Since they have so much excess inventory, they didn’t bother to fix it. We’ve scanned it, and there are no active cameras or listening devices. So, this is your new home away from home.”
Silas glanced around with an expression of derision. “Looks cozy.”
“It’ll have to do.” Kadek thrust a duffle bag into Micah’s arms. “Here are five days’ worth of self-heating meals and water. We’ve already stashed sleeping bags inside for you along with a solar heater. It’s risky to come out here, so we won’t come back for you until we’re ready to broadcast.”
“So we’re stuck here?” Silas grumbled.
Micah shot him a look. “We understand,” he said to Kadek.
“Hopefully, it won’t be long.” Kadek turned and jogged into the darkness, quickly disappearing.
The biodome was empty and steeped in shadows, the cement floor still cluttered with dirt, old planter trays, and cartons, a hose coiled in one corner. It was divided into sections by glass walls, some transparent, some covered with a privacy film.
The sleeping bags were rolled against the wall closest to the entrance. Two old, threadbare chairs stooped in one corner, separated by an ancient and dusty desk. Micah squatted, shivering, and switched on the solar lamp and small heater. Instant warmth radiated against his skin.
He unrolled the sleeping bags and smoothed out the wrinkles. No pillows, but Micah had long since learned to appreciate whatever comfort he could find.
Silas tugged off his gloves and scarf and threw them atop Micah’s sleeping bag. He dug around in the duffle bag and pulled out a self-heating meal pouch. He tore off the top and tossed it on the ground. He tilted his head back and poured some kind of brownish soup into his mouth.
Micah folded Silas’s gloves and scarf and slipped them inside the duffle bag. He slanted his gaze at Silas’s discarded trash. “You’re not an ape. You don’t have to throw your crap everywhere.”
Silas just about choked on his soup. “Have you not taken a look at your surroundings, dude?”
“I’m just saying, if we’re going to be living together for days—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep my crap on my side of the biodome. How’s that?”
Micah pulled off his gloves, placed them neatly on his sleeping bag, and held his hands over the heater. It was the best he was going to get from Silas. “Deal.”
“It’s not going to work, you know,” Silas said when he was finished with his soup. He tossed the empty pouch on the cement floor—but in the corner, away from Micah. “This whole recording thing.”
Micah looked up, irritation surging in his veins. “Why do you always have to be like this? We’re all worried. Of course, it might fail, but we’re going to try. It’s worth trying.”
“You and your insane commitment to hope.” Silas snorted. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, it matters. Everything matters. It all matters. We’re here for a purpose.”
“What purpose? You think God is going to come down and save us?” Silas stretched out his arms, as if encompassing everything. “Even after all this? Humans destroying each other, killing each other? We’re savages. Criminals and killers. We destroy everything good. Even if He existed, He’d turn His back on humanity and never look back.”
Micah stared at him. “No, He wouldn’t. God is love. He loves humans even though they’re broken and ugly and lost. God believes humanity can be redeemed. So do I.”
Silas rolled his eyes. �
��Your stubborn belief is going to get someone you care about killed.”
“You mean Amelia.”
Silas’s shoulders stiffened. “She’s not going to be able to do it. Not against my father.”
“She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”
“I know her. I know what my father does, what he did to her, to all of us.”
Compassion stirred in his heart. Despite their elite status, neither Silas nor Amelia had it easy. “She’s told me some things—”
“You have no idea. She can’t help herself. She turns into our mother. Sniveling, cowed. Weak.”
“I have faith in her,” Micah insisted stubbornly. He couldn’t let doubt creep in. Doubt was toxic. The worst part of being afraid was the fear itself. He wouldn’t give in to either of them.
Silas sneered. “Like you had faith in your brother?”
Micah winced, but didn’t back down. “Yes.”
“And how did that turn out for you?”
“Gabriel has changed. He’s worked very hard to prove that.”
“Except now he’s with his old buddies, the New Patriots. How long do you think that change is going to last, huh? He’s running around with Cleo, who wants to annihilate every elite she sees. You don’t think that’s going to rub off on him? You don’t think he’s gonna go right back to his old ways?” Silas’s gray eyes sparked. “You know what they say. A dog always returns to his—”
“Not Gabriel.” Micah shook his head, adamant. He’d had his worries, his private doubts. But he refused to be controlled by them. He chose to trust Gabriel. He chose a better way. “At some point, you have to believe in something. You have to trust someone. Otherwise, what is life?”
Silas slouched against the glass wall. He buried his fists in his pants’ pockets. “I don’t trust anyone.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
A shadow passed across Silas’ face. He turned and stalked deeper into the biodome, rounded one of the glass panes, and disappeared from view.
For a moment, Micah thought he was gone for good. The same old Silas, always running from his problems, the same way he’d disappeared when Amelia contracted the Hydra virus—too much of a coward to face harsh reality.
Something crashed. Several loud thuds followed the first noise. Then the sound of glass shattering. Silas must be punching inanimate objects.
Micah considered going to check on him, but decided against it. At some point, people were in charge of themselves. No one could make them change. No one could make them be better people, to leave their old, destructive ways behind.
That was a choice only Silas could make.
Several minutes later, Silas materialized out of the shadows. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, drops of blood leaking down his fingers. His shoulders were trembling. His mouth contorted, a flash of raw pain crossing his face.
Micah stood. “Silas? Are you okay?”
“I’m not there,” he said in barely a whisper. “I’m not there to protect her.”
Silas’s veneer had cracked wide open. The snarky anger was gone, replaced by naked fear. Micah understood the desperate helplessness in Silas’s eyes. He felt the same way. They both loved Amelia. They were both powerless to do a thing to help her.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” Silas shook his head. “Don’t you get it? I’m the one who should be suffering all this. I’m the asshole! Why is she the one our father tormented the worst? Why was she the one dragged off to be nearly raped and murdered by a psychopathic terrorist? Why is she the one cursed with migraines and seizures? Why is she the one who got sick?
“Now she’s trapped, scared and all alone, surrounded by enemies, back with our monstrous father, and it’s all on her again. How much can one person take? How long until she breaks?” He stared down at his trembling hands. “It should be me. I should be there. Not her.”
“She’s not going to break,” Micah said quietly. “And neither are we.”
Silas raised his head, his eyes glittering in the glow of the lamplight. “And how can you possibly know that?”
“Because she’s loved.” The moment he said the words, he knew they were true, all the way down to the marrow of his bones. “And she knows she’s loved. By you. By me. By Gabriel and Benjie and Willow and everyone else. Even if we can’t be by her side, she has us here.” He tapped his chest. “And we have her. It’s love that gives us strength, courage, and hope. It’s love that’s going to get us through this.”
He expected Silas to keep arguing, to hurl insults or sneer in contempt. But he didn’t. Silas slumped down on the sleeping bag opposite Micah. “You really believe that.”
“I do.”
“Okay,” Silas said, breathing deeply. “Okay.”
“Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise. Victor Hugo wrote that.”
“Les Miserables,” Silas said.
Micah looked at him, surprised.
“I do read on occasion,” Silas said irritably. “When the apocalypse isn’t around to distract me.”
Micah climbed into his sleeping bag and switched off the solar lamp. He listened to Silas breathing in the darkness.
Weariness descended over him. His eyes fluttered closed in spite of himself. He was almost asleep when Silas spoke. “Maybe you’re right.”
Micah blinked. He could make out the dim shape of stars in the dingy glass over his head. “Silas—”
“If you say a word, I’ll punch your teeth down your throat.”
Micah smiled into the darkness.
28
Amelia
“I’m pleasantly surprised that you suggested this, Amelia.” Declan turned from the window to survey her with his sharp gaze.
“I—I thought we should spend more time together.” Amelia forced confidence into her voice. “Outside of the lab.”
“Your timing is impeccable.” He gestured for her to sit at the glossy quartz table in his penthouse suite on the top floor of the BioGen building. Her father had ordered the guards to wait outside the penthouse. They were alone. “I have a gift for you.”
She sat gracefully in the magnetic floating chair, adjusting the skirts of her silk peacock-blue gown. Her newly long hair was bound in a French twist, curled wisps fluttering about her face. Carefully applied makeup accentuated her ice-blue eyes and fine cheekbones.
Despite the external perfection, she was a mess inside. Her father had promised no migraines with this medication, but a lesser headache throbbed dully at the back of her skull.
She forced herself to keep it together. She couldn’t falter now.
She allowed her gaze to stray as her father poured expensive wine from a crystal decanter into two goblets. Where the capitol building was sumptuous and decadent, her father’s quarters were sparse, minimal, but still pristine. The enormous suite was open, sectioned off into a spacious living area, dining room, and office space. The kitchen was hidden behind a floor-to-ceiling aquarium undulating with exotic, luminescent jellyfish.
The entire west side of the penthouse was a wall of glass, revealing the gleaming city below them and the mountains beyond. The white polymer walls pulsed with cerulean ocean waves.
Her stomach tightened at the idea of elites painstakingly preserving jellyfish but caring little for the suffering human beings outside their walls. She forced herself to look away before her anger got the best of her.
She was here for a purpose. She couldn’t forget that.
“I remembered.” Her father watched her closely. “The ocean was always your favorite.”
She blinked back a sudden stinging behind her eyelids. She glanced at the bouquet of lilies she’d brought, now placed on the table beside her plate. “Thank you.”
Earlier in the evening, Amelia had pinned the thumb-drive camera to the stem of a lily just inside the bouquet. She carefully adjusted it to just the right angle, so that her father was in clear view.
“I have a gift for you,
” he said.
Her eyes widened. “A gift?”
Her father snapped his fingers. “Bring it now.”
“Of course, sir,” the penthouse AI said in a clipped British accent. “Fetching the gift now.”
“Activate privacy mode,” Declan commanded.
“Powering down,” the AI said before falling silent.
A humanoid service bot appeared from behind the aquarium wall and handed her a gold-wrapped rectangular box tied with a silk bow. She opened it, her fingers shaking, her pulse beating in her throat.
“An 18th-century Guarneri, like your last one,” Declan said grandly. “You have no idea how much time and expense went into procuring that.”
She cradled the violin in her hands, running her fingers over the delicate stem, grazing the strings with her fingertips, permanently indented from her years of dedicated practice.
In her former life, she’d wanted to attend Juilliard to become a professional violinist for the Vienna Philharmonic. All that had died with the Hydra virus, but not her love for this instrument, for the beautiful music she created with it.
Her blood quickened, anticipation and excitement thrumming through her. She tenderly plucked a few strings, too overcome for words.
“Play something for me,” her father commanded.
She could not disobey him. In this, she didn’t want to. She shook her head to clear her mind. Both to play, and for what came after. She considered Korngold’s and Mendelssohn’s violin concerto before settling on Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.”
She tucked the instrument beneath her chin. She went quiet and very still. Then she began to play. She drew the bow across the strings, and the first exquisite notes floated through the air, flowing over her, around her, through her. The song was sensuous, dark, and soulful.
The music filled her, swallowed her whole.