Raging Light Page 10

  “Or should I say, who will you destroy?”

  “I would never hurt Micah.”

  Cerberus laughed mirthlessly. “Did I say you would? Men have battled over their claims for desirable women since the dawn of time. It is the way of things.”

  “I would never fight my own blood.” But Gabriel had, once. He’d trained a gun on his brother’s back.

  He winced at the memory. He wanted to believe he never would’ve pressed the trigger. But that was a lie. It was a shadow, a darkness, an ugly, malformed thing hiding in the deepest part of him.

  If Simeon had ordered him to do it, Gabriel would have pulled the trigger. Just like he had betrayed Amelia, turning her over to Simeon and then to Kane—he would have done the same thing to his brother.

  He took a breath, forcing the thoughts from his mind. He reached into his pocket and touched the tatter of blue cloth from Nadira’s headscarf, which he’d kept with him since her death, since she’d given up her life for him, offering him a redemption he hadn’t deserved.

  He wasn’t that person anymore. He was someone different now. Someone better.

  Cerberus watched him with a predatory glint in his gaze, like he was assessing Gabriel for weaknesses, for chinks in his armor. Cerberus was trying to rattle him before the battle. But why? To what end?

  “Who’s going to protect her?” Cerberus asked. “You and I both know your brother doesn’t have what it takes. He’s a beta. He’s soft, weak, good for child-rearing and domestic tasks and little else.”

  “My brother is one of the bravest men I know. You don’t know anything.” Gabriel indulged a brief fantasy of ripping out the man’s tongue at the root. “Stop talking, Cerberus. Before l make you.”

  “See? That’s what I’m talking about. He’s no alpha. Not like you.”

  Gabriel ignored him. He raked his hand through his hair, scanning the trees, the road empty but for the half-dozen Patriots preparing the truck. Tension filled every inch of his body, straining taut as a rubber band about to snap.

  “That girl you love,” Cerberus said, that taunting edge still in his voice. “She’s a special one. I saw it the first time I laid eyes on her. Beautiful. Undisciplined. Appears meek, but she’s stubborn beneath those impeccable manners. I’ve tamed my share of fillies and—”

  Gabriel spun on him, jaw clenched, eyes flashing, right hand hovering over the butt of his gun, ready to draw. “Don’t you dare talk about her.”

  Cerberus lifted both hands, palms up, grinning slyly. His gray-blue eyes glinted with cruel amusement. “She brings out the animal in you, doesn’t she?”

  Gabriel turned away, his jaw rigid. He couldn’t afford to think about these things before a battle. All the things he could lose. All the things he’d already lost and could never get back again. They threatened to unravel him.

  “How far would you go to save her, huh, Gabe? Would you burn the Sanctuary to the ground?”

  “No.” That answer, at least, he was sure of. “I wouldn’t kill innocent people. And if you do, I swear, I’ll kill you.”

  “Time to go!” Jamal Carter called from inside the truck. He was a black guy in his mid-twenties, with a full beard and piercings glinting from his lip, nose, and ears. He was almost as skilled with a knife as Cleo, but without the lethal temper.

  Cleo rapped the side of a blue barrel with a savage smile. “This one has your name on it, Rivera.”

  “I mean what I said,” Gabriel said as he swung himself into the truck. Cerberus said nothing for once. He folded his knife, slid it into his pocket, and followed Gabriel, that sly, predatory half-smile still plastered across his face.

  The truck was stacked with barrels along the back and sides of the interior walls. Nestled in its center was the Phantom. It was a HERF, an EMP gun that fired an intense, controlled electromagnetic pulse at a narrow target, permanently disrupting anything electronic in its path. It would neutralize the Sanctuary’s lethal cannons.

  It was a beast of a weapon carted on an armored, wheeled base for ease of movement and accurate targeting. The base featured reinforced shield wings that unfolded during combat to protect the gunner.

  “Lose the dog fur,” Cleo snapped at Cerberus.

  Cerberus scowled. “This is a rare albino wolf pelt—”

  “I don’t give a damn. From now on, you’re a Coalition soldier. Hence the butt-ugly uniforms we’ll provide you shortly. Now get rid of it, or I’ll use it as an ashtray.”

  Gabriel clambered into the barrel. He watched as Cerberus carefully, almost lovingly folded the pelt and placed it beneath the passenger seat in the truck’s cab. Then Jamal hammered the lid over Gabriel’s hunched body, and he saw no more.

  Five minutes later, the truck was on its way.

  The next time Gabriel saw the light of day, he would be inside the Sanctuary.

  16

  Willow

  A gavel struck the table above Willow and Finn. Raven sat back down. The low murmur of the crowd settled into taut silence vibrating with tension.

  Willow straightened her shoulders. She hoped the hovering microphone wouldn’t pick up the frantic hammering of her heart.

  “Men and women of the Settlement,” a black woman with short-cropped hair and large golden hoop earrings spoke into her own hoverphone, “we’ve called a town hall to hear out the strangers who’ve come to our door requesting assistance.

  “We once had a member, Aiko Nakamura, whom many of you knew and loved. Her daughter, Raven Nakamura, is not a member, but many of us here have the pleasure of knowing her. Raven has asked us to hear them out. Out of respect for her and her mother, we have chosen to do so. Raven, do you vouch for these strangers?”

  Raven stood again. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead and nodded. “Yes,” she said in a loud, clear voice. “I vouch for them.”

  “I am Councilwoman Fabiola Pierre,” the woman said. “Here, we are not ruled by bloated governments or corrupt tyrants, but by the vote of the Council and the will of the people. Our decision today will be final. That being said, please introduce yourselves and make your plea known.”

  Willow cleared her throat. In a trembling voice, she explained who they were, providing a summary of what they’d survived since the Hydra virus, their latest alliance with the New Patriots, and Amelia’s recovery from the Hydra virus.

  Low gasps swept the room at that news.

  “The Sanctuary keeps their resources to themselves,” Willow said into the hovering microphone, her voice echoing in the cavernous room. “The Patriots have chosen to take the Sanctuary—and the cure—by force. They are planning to attack in only a few days’ time, if they haven’t already.”

  A sour-faced blond woman sighed impatiently several times as Willow spoke. Her gaze fluttered over Willow and Finn, aloof and impatient. An elderly man next to her sat forward, shoulders hunched, peering at Willow intently beneath wiry gray brows.

  “We fear the loss of our friends and the bloodshed of many innocent people,” Finn said. His strong left arm pressed comfortingly against her shoulder. “We fear that the vaccine and the cure will not be distributed to the people who need it if something isn’t done. We’re asking for your help.”

  “We are an isolated, insular community,” said Pierre. “We’re not fighters.”

  “But you have airjets, don’t you?” Willow saw by their tight-lipped reactions and narrowed eyes at Raven that they did.

  “Do not mistake who we are,” Senator López said. “We do not seek bloodshed, but neither will we hesitate to defend ourselves.”

  “Good,” Willow said. “But you can also defend other innocent people. Your jets could mean the difference. They could change everything.”

  Councilwoman Pierre leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers on the table. “We have survived this long by keeping our nose out of everyone else’s business. Before the fall, the government left us alone. Now, after, the Sanctuary leaves us alone. This is how we want it.”

  Willow
gritted her teeth, struggling to keep from snapping a sarcastic reply. These people had their heads in the sand. They didn’t get it. They had no clue what was happening outside their little underground enclave, and they didn’t care.

  Finn put his hand on her arm. She bit her lip, but nodded at him. It was time to try Finn’s way. This was a battle that couldn’t be won with violence—only with wits.

  “With all due respect,” Finn said, “that won’t last. We came through Atlanta. We saw what the Sanctuary did there. They hired mercenaries to clear it and kill anyone in their way—infected and uninfected alike. They’re systematically neutralizing potential threats before they rise, just to protect themselves.”

  The blond and the old man exchanged a glance. Councilwoman Pierre tightened her jaw.

  “Even if most people don’t know for sure, there are rumors of what you have here—an armada of airjets and hovercraft. You may be well-defended and protected, but there will come a time when the Sanctuary will be strong enough to take what you have, slaughtering your men, women, and children in the process.

  “You think you’re hidden, but you’re mistaken.” Finn pointed to a red scar on the inside of the wrist of an Asian man in a navy suit jacket, who’d raised his arm to run his fingers through his slicked-back hair. “Some of you have chips. Which means the Sanctuary can track you within a yard of your location. They know exactly where you are. It’s only a matter of time before they come for you, too. And if they don’t, the Hydra virus will. You can only hide for so long, while you lose more and more people you love.”

  There was a murmuring rustle of unease behind them. Senator López folded his hands in front of him on the table, never taking his eyes from Finn, studying him, analyzing him, his expression impassive.

  Councilwoman Pierre held up her hand. The auditorium quieted.

  “Yes, there will be risk. But the risk is worth it.” Finn gazed at each Council member, his face shining, his eyes earnest and filled with warm intensity. “I was shot. We’ve lost people. Good people. But if we do this, I believe it will be worth it. This is a chance to change everything.”

  Willow stared at him, awestruck. She’d never seen him like this, so confident and impassioned.

  “We didn’t come here to bring fear,” Finn said. “We came to bring hope. Our friend Amelia is the cure. She’s with the Sanctuary scientists now. We can stop hiding and start building something worthwhile. The world we want to make for our children and our children’s children.”

  “And the Sanctuary won’t share this cure?” Councilwoman Pierre asked.

  “What do you think?” Willow asked. “You already know they won’t.”

  Finn shifted beside her. “If we’re going to bring the cure to the survivors, if we’re going to save the remnants of humanity, we’re going to have to do it ourselves.”

  “It doesn’t even matter,” said a thin woman in her forties wearing a leather jacket. Diamond studs glinted in her nose. “Even if what you say is true, the Sanctuary missiles will take out our airjets before we get anywhere near their airspace.”

  “The Patriots have a weapon called a Phantom,” Willow said, hoping with all her heart that they’d succeeded. “It’s like a super-strong EMP. They will take the cannons down.”

  Three of the council members bent their heads together and spoke in hushed voices. A bulky, gray-haired man gestured toward Willow. She longed to know what they were saying. Or at least which way they might be leaning. But their expressions were closed, their eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t think you understand,” López said, still skeptical. “We’re not interested in starting a war.”

  “We’re not asking you to start a war,” Finn said. “We’re asking you to help us end it.”

  López leaned in and whispered something in the ear of the woman seated next to him. Then he turned to Councilwoman Pierre. She nodded, her mouth grim.

  “Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us,” López said. “The Council will now retire to a private session to consider your words. I cannot give you an answer now, but I can promise you that we will give this proposal the weight and seriousness it deserves. We will speak with each other and the community and get back to you.”

  Willow tried to imitate Amelia’s elegant poise. “Thank you, Council, for your time and consideration.”

  It was out of their hands now, but they’d done their best. Finn had done his best. It had to work.

  As they turned to walk out, Finn flashed her his most endearingly crooked grin. It was all she could do not to grab him and kiss him then and there. Heck, if she weren’t being stared at by hundreds of strangers two hundred feet below the earth’s surface, she would have.

  17

  Gabriel

  Inside the barrel, every sound was stifled, muffled. Gabriel could hear only his own pulse roaring in his ears, his own shallow breathing. His head was folded into his chest, the crick in his neck already aching. His knees were pulled up to his chest.

  It could have been ten minutes or a hundred—he couldn’t have said which. Every second was spent calming himself, preparing for the storm ahead.

  When the truck finally halted and the barrel lid was pried open, Jamal yanked Gabriel to his feet with an undignified grunt. He unfolded his stiff legs even as he went for his gun, already searching for possible threats.

  “Hell of a ride,” Cerberus grumbled, rising clumsily from his own barrel.

  Gabriel ignored him. Adrenaline spiked through his veins. His senses were sharpened, every scent, every color, every movement vivid and vibrant. He jumped out of the truck, stretched his protesting muscles, and scanned his surroundings. They were inside a tunnel hewn out of the mountain on the eastern perimeter of the Sanctuary.

  Eight Coalition soldiers were sprawled on the asphalt in front of the truck, knocked unconscious, but not dead. Their chips would send automatic alerts to Sanctuary command if their vital signals cut out. Two New Patriots wearing Coalition uniforms stood over them.

  “They doubled the guards after our first attack,” Jamal said, “but we had our own men planted. They did their job.”

  Gabriel shifted his gaze down the tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, a line of warehouses and storage facilities blocked his view of the rest of the Sanctuary to the north. Beyond them were various manufacturing plants, and beyond that, acres of greenhouses and solar fields.

  “We go through each of the sectors—they’re spread out like giant rings,” explained Jamal. He lowered the ramp, and two other Patriots released the Phantom from its straps. “Residential is the largest, then business and government. Most of the citizens are attending a mandatory presidential address at Unity Square. General Reid is prepared to attack the southern perimeter within the next few minutes. Coalition soldiers are deployed to defend against our attacks south of the main entrance. The rest are busy securing the square and protecting the president.”

  “This is the best opportunity we’re going to get,” General Reaver said into their comms, her voice deep and throaty. “We’re depending on you.” She paused to cough violently. “The rest of our forces are ready to attack the southern perimeter. Colonel Willis and I are en route in the chopper. As soon as the cannons are neutralized, we’ll be there to provide air assault coverage.”

  “Copy,” Cleo said with a frown. Gabriel could tell she didn’t want her mother anywhere near this battle, especially not while infected, hazmat suit or not. But she would follow her mother’s orders.

  Something dark and swiftly moving snagged the corner of his eye. He crouched, drawing and raising his gun in one fluid movement. “Hostiles to your six!”

  Ten armored drones soared in through the tunnel, their large, metallic bodies bristling with weaponry. Their lifting rotors whirred, red lasers scanning the Patriots, their gun turrets swiveling toward them.

  His heart jolted. A single drone could wipe them out in a spray of bullets or pulse blasts. Their little rebellion would be dead before it even got s
tarted.

  Everyone froze.

  Only Cleo seemed unperturbed. She checked the mag on her semiautomatic and popped it back in place. “Baby brother, please tell me that’s you.”

  At the end of the tunnel, a figure in a wheelchair rolled into view. Four others strode beside him—a voluptuous redhead, a gangly, skinny Asian guy in a brown fedora and lime-green coat, and Silas and Micah.

  Gabriel leapt to his feet. Joy, pure and effervescent, burst inside his chest. Without a moment’s hesitation, he dashed beneath the spinning blades of the drones. He ran to Micah and gathered his brother in a crushing embrace. “Glad to see you’re safe.”

  Micah hugged him fiercely before stepping back, adjusting his skewed glasses, a boyish grin splitting his face. “You, too.”

  “I missed you,” Gabriel said, meaning so much more than the last few weeks. Micah just smiled, his eyes bright with happiness. Gabriel’s gut tightened. He would give anything to keep his brother this way, kind and loyal and brave—and alive.

  “These are under your control?” Cerberus gestured at the drones, impressed.

  “Under my control, yes,” said the guy in the wheelchair.

  Cleo grinned. “This is Theo, my little brother. Genius hacker extraordinaire.”

  Like Cleo, Theo’s skin was a rich, golden brown. He was broad-chested, with strong muscles bulging through his shoulders and arms, a square jaw, straight nose, and Cleo’s expressive, intelligent eyes. But where Cleo’s face was sharp, suspicious, and cunning, his was open and friendly.

  “I’m only younger by two minutes and thirty-three seconds,” Theo groused, but he was smiling.

  “Every second counts.” Cleo shrugged. “I see you came through with the drones.”

  “I managed to get twelve nighthawks. I know you wanted more, but—”

  “We’ll make do.” She squeezed her brother’s shoulder, her expression softening for the briefest moment. She clearly loved her twin, and from the relieved grin he flashed her, the feeling was mutual.