by Kyla Stone
They stopped at least a dozen times to clear a path, shoving dead cars and the occasional fallen tree branch out of the way. In five hours, they’d gone twenty-six miles, with another thirty to hit the city, and another hundred to go after that. Still, at least now they had a destination, a goal.
They were headed for the Sanctuary to save her mother and find a cure. It was a place that represented safety, law and order, and hope for everyone. Though for Amelia, it was so much more.
Beside her, Micah shifted. He didn’t touch her, but she still felt his presence, his warmth. “Do you want to see something beautiful?”
She smiled in the dark. “Of course.”
He pointed at the sky. “A falling star.”
The night was clear. Without ambient light, the sky was a black like she’d never seen, rich and full of depth, limitless. The stars were sharp and bright, like tiny shards of ice or glass. She stared hard, straining her eyes until her vision blurred. And then she saw it: a streak of fire across black velvet.
“As long as you can still find beauty, you know you’ll be all right,” he said. “That’s what hope is.”
Did she have hope? She thought so, but the obstacles arrayed against her seemed insurmountable. For every enemy and fear she bested, two more rose in its place. Like the Hydra monster from the myths, she thought ruefully. The namesake of the virus that had destroyed the world as they knew it. “Sometimes, hope feels impossible.”
He made a shape in the air with his fingers. “Hope is a thing with feathers.”
She gave a half-smile. “I know that one. Emily Dickens.”
“Good.” He traced another star as it arced through the sky. “We can’t give up. We won’t. We’ve come this far. We’ll figure out who the Headhunters trade with and find a way to rescue Elise. I know we will. And you’ll help the scientists find a cure to put a stop to all this.”
Her heart twinged at the thought of her mother. She’d just found her again, only to have her ripped away. “You think so?”
“I know so,” he said, without a shred of doubt in his voice. She admired his faith, his belief that there was something bigger than all this, a meaning behind the things they couldn’t see or understand.
“I don’t get it.”
“What?”
Another falling star streaked across the sky, a shot of brilliant fire. “Why I’m still alive.”
“My mother was Catholic.” Micah shifted again as the truck jolted over a pothole. “Her faith was everything to her. She would say that you have a purpose.”
“But why me?” Why was she the only known survivor of the Hydra Virus? How had she lived when no one else had? What made her special? Did it have something to do with the illegal epilepsy medication her father designed? Or was it something with the epilepsy itself, some aspect of her brain that the disease irrevocably changed that made her different? “Maybe it’s just some freak improbability.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s more than that.”
She didn’t know if there was purpose or meaning to any of it. She did believe in beauty. She believed in music and art and literature and those things that awakened something deep inside her soul.
Micah folded his hands behind his head and gazed up at the sky. “If the rumors are true, then the Sanctuary is a safe place, Amelia. A safe place for you, for Benjie, for all of us.”
“I hope so.” But was it truly safe? More questions flared in her mind. Who was the real mastermind behind the bioterrorism attack that unleashed the Hydra Virus on the world? Her father helped design the bioweapon, but he wasn’t the ringleader. Her mother had feared high-ranking government officials were involved. Could President Sloane have orchestrated the whole thing?
Amelia tugged the leather thong from beneath her shirt and rubbed her charm bracelet, her stomach tightening. She longed to talk to Micah about all this, but she couldn’t. Her mother had warned her. Trust no one.
The Sanctuary might be even more perilous for Amelia and Silas than out here. They knew the New Patriots were used as patsies. They were targets for anyone desperate to cover up the truth.
But maybe the Sanctuary would live up to its name—an oasis in a desert of sickness, terror, and death. They would rescue her mother. And they could all make a new start and rebuild their lives.
Amelia didn’t know which version was truth and which was fiction. But her instincts were clamoring, her gut telling her that some way, somehow, there were answers waiting at the Sanctuary.
And if the scientists there could use the antibodies in her blood to discover a vaccine or a cure, then she would do whatever it took to help them. She would do everything in her power to stop the Hydra Virus—but first, she had to live that long.
She pulled her bottle out of her backpack and dropped the remaining two pills into her palm—the only thing that stood between her and the seizures that could render her unconscious, brain-damaged, or dead.
Her emergency auto-injectors were gone. Without medication, the next seizure could come at any moment, in a day or three weeks or six months.
Beside her, Micah stiffened. “Is that the last one?”
She gulped down a single pill and placed the other one back inside the bottle. “I’m keeping one. In case I can find someone who can replicate the formula.”
With every seizure, she would lose more and more of herself, her brain breaking into pieces as she forgot memories, forgot how to read, how to hold a fork, how to talk—how to be human. “My father might be the only person who can make more.”
“Do you think he’s alive?”
“I don’t know.” She wondered who’d created the antivirals that successfully delayed the onset of the disease. Was it someone with previous knowledge of the genetically engineered virus? Someone like her father? Could he still be alive? And if so, was he back in the States? The thought chilled her to the core.
Her mind warred against itself in the same old battle she’d fought since she was a child. The man she feared and loathed was also her savior. She wanted him dead. She needed him alive. She hated him. And there was that small, childish part of her that still desperately loved him.
He was her father. He was the man who’d introduced her to the violin, who’d glowed with pride at her concerts and competitions, who’d worked so hard to save her life. Things were not always black and white. Love and hate and grief and joy could all be tangled up together. She thought again of her mother, the choices she made, the sacrifices. Her heart ached in the hollow place beneath her breastbone. She missed her mother.
For most of her life, she’d believed her mother was weak. Only now did she realize how strong her mother was all along. There were different kinds of strength. Her mother had a quiet strength, a spine of steel hidden beneath her demure exterior. A strength that endured years of emotional abuse, all to protect Amelia.
Her mother’s dauntless love saved her, and she hadn’t even known it.
Even as she worried for her mother’s safety at the hands of the Headhunters, she knew her mother would never give up. Declan Black hadn’t broken her. The New Patriots hadn’t, either. Her mother would survive. She would endure.
And this time, Amelia would save her mother.
A brisk wind rustled through the trees on either side of the road. She shivered. Micah untucked the blanket he’d rolled beneath his head and handed it to her.
“I can’t steal your pillow.”
“I can use my backpack. Take it, please.” He flashed her a dimpled smile. “I insist.”
She wrapped herself in the fleece blanket. She remembered how he sat with her for hours when she was sick, how she’d focused on his kind brown eyes to distract herself from the burning fever. “Thank you.”
They fell silent as more falling stars cascaded across the sky. It was incredible. Micah was right. If there could be such beauty in the midst of so much chaos, fear, and uncertainty, then there must also be hope.
And with hope came life, came finding a new wa
y to live, to be. She didn’t want to be tough but alone, like Silas. Or strong but distrustful, like her mother. She refused to live in fear, afraid of touch, of connection. She wanted to rebuild herself, one block at a time.
She touched her shorn hair. And she would start with trust. Tomorrow, she thought wearily. She would start tomorrow.
They watched the sky for the next hour. Micah’s body was warm next to hers. She snuggled into the blanket and felt herself drifting.
Exhaustion overtook her and she gave in to it, lulled to sleep by the hum of the truck and the songs of crickets and other creatures of the night. For the first time since the Grand Voyager, she did not dream.
In the early morning hours, she drifted in and out of consciousness, only half-awake. As the truck crested a hill, Silas slammed the breaks. Amelia jolted, rolling against Micah.
“Oh hell,” Willow mumbled. Micah gasped. She sat up, rubbing her eyes.
The air seemed thicker. It smelled strange, like something charred or singed. “What is it?”
“Look,” Micah said hoarsely.
In the distance, she could make out the skyline of downtown Atlanta. The sky over the city was ash gray, the skyscrapers barely visible beneath dark pillars of smoke.
Harmony had been right. Atlanta was burning.
To reach the Sanctuary, they would have to travel right through the heart of it.
The End
The End
I hope you enjoyed Falling Stars: The Last Sanctuary Book Two!
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Burning Skies: The Last Sanctuary Book Three is now on pre-order! Get your copy HERE.
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Acknowledgments
As always, my deepest gratitude is to my readers. Without you, my books would only be snippets of thoughts, characters, and scenes swirling around in my head. You make the story come alive. Thank you for reading.
To my beta readers, who caught errors small and large and helped strengthen this story: Jazmin Cybulski, Kimberley Trembley, Lauren Nikkel, Jeremy Steinkraus, Barry and Derise Marden, and Leslie Spurrier, who has graciously read (and helped improve) all of my books.
To my developmental and line editor, Michelle Brown, for the time and attention you devoted to my characters and their emotional and physical journeys throughout the story. And finally, to Eliza Enriquez for her eagle eyes and ability to catch those last little errors.
To my children and husband, thank you always for your patience and encouragement. It means the world to me.
About the Author
Kyla Stone is an emerging author of contemporary young adult fiction and suspense/dystopian novels. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband, two children, and two spoiled cats. When she’s not writing or spending time with her family, she loves to read, hike, draw, travel, and play games. Her favorite food is dark chocolate.
Kyla loves to hear from her readers. For news and new releases, visit her at:
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www.Amazon.com/author/kylaStone
Email her at [email protected]