Raging Light Page 11

  Jamal glanced pointedly at his Smartflex. “We need to move to make our reservation.”

  “Is everything good to go on your end?” Cleo asked Theo.

  The skinny guy answered instead. “The platform is rigged and ready.”

  The redheaded girl unzipped the duffle bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a neat pile of gray Coalition uniforms. She handed them out to the Patriots. “I apologize for size discrepancies. It was quite the feat stealing these.” She flashed an impish grin. “But I pulled it off.”

  Cerberus grabbed his with a grunt and disrobed where he stood. So did Jamal and Cleo. One of the Patriots dared to catcall her. She shot him a ferocious glare as she finished buttoning her uniform and strapped her knife sheath around her waist. “Don’t make me cut out your tongue.”

  That quieted him.

  Cleo tilted her head as she listened to someone speaking into her earpiece on a private channel. Her holopad chirped. She looked at it for a moment before shoving it at Gabriel. “Here. Watch this.”

  Like before, a drone floated high above the hills surrounding the Sanctuary. Its feed revealed a squad of Patriots fleeing before the Sanctuary’s battalions. The Patriots’ Humvees raced up the hill, the Sanctuary’s tanks and armored vehicles rampaging up the hill after them. The Patriots crested the hill and fled down the other side, the Sanctuary hot on their heels.

  Gabriel’s gut twisted. “The Sanctuary has the high ground.”

  “And we’ll use that high ground against them,” Cleo said with a wicked smile. “It’s only an advantage until they begin the descent down the other side. Then it becomes their weakness. The hill blocks their scanners. They have no idea we’re well prepared for them. They’re so arrogant they won’t recognize the noose until it tightens around their throats.”

  As they watched, the Sanctuary’s armored vehicles topped the hill and barreled down the other side, jolting over rocks and holes and fallen branches. They were forced to slam on their brakes and swerve around several freshly felled trees.

  Abruptly, the lead Sanctuary Humvee exploded. A second Humvee tilted dangerously to one side, riding up on two wheels, trying unsuccessfully to avoid a direct hit. It smashed into the lead vehicle, crushing them both. Another explosion blew an armored vehicle to pieces. Land mines.

  At the bottom of the hill, several Patriots’ squads hid behind trees and makeshift concrete barriers. They fired RPGs from shoulder-fired rocket launchers up at the oncoming assault.

  The Sanctuary’s soldiers had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. They were completely exposed as they hurtled down the hill.

  Two fireballs struck an armored vehicle. Three Coalition soldiers clambered out, hiding behind the opened doors of their smoking vehicles as they returned fire. A rocket launcher shot from the tree line made short work of them.

  Gunfire exploded through the trees, splintering bark and sheering branches from their trunks. Three more enemy tanks went up in billowing clouds of black smoke. The Patriots took out over twenty vehicles in under three minutes.

  “Do you see now why we had to sacrifice ourselves in the first attack?” Cleo asked as she put away the holopad. “The Sanctuary is overconfident. They’re throwing caution to the wind in their eagerness to destroy us. We’re nothing more than cockroaches to stamp out. Well, we just showed them cockroaches can fight back.”

  “Now it’s our turn,” Jamal said.

  “What will you do when the battle starts?” Gabriel asked Theo.

  “We’re not fighters,” Theo said. “There’s an empty apartment complex just off the main strip in Sector 4C. There’s a sixth-floor eastside terrace with a clear line of sight to both Unity Square and the front gates. We’ve set up shop there. We’ll man the nighthawks and offer whatever services we can from a distance. But we’re staying out of the line of fire.” Theo turned to Micah and Silas. “You should too.”

  “We can fight,” Micah said. “I know my way around a gun.”

  “He’s serviceable.” Silas smirked. “I, on the other hand, am excellent.”

  Cleo eyed him. “If your skill set is half as big as your ego—”

  Micah rolled his eyes. “He actually is that good.”

  Jamal finished buttoning his uniform. He gestured at the nighthawks gliding in lazy circles over their heads. “With the uniforms and these puppies, we might just get lucky and keep our cover until we’re near enough to the plasma wall to open fire.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with it,” Cleo snapped, striding past. “What are you losers still doing back there?”

  Jamal lifted out the rabbit’s foot attached to his dog tags. He kissed the white fur and slipped it back beneath his Coalition uniform. “You can never have too much luck.”

  “Is there anyone else with you?” Gabriel asked Micah. “Anyone else willing to fight?”

  “We have sixty-seven of our people embedded in the crowd in the square,” Micah said. “That’s where Silas and I will be. With Amelia.”

  “Everyone comes back alive.” Gabriel gripped his brother’s shoulder, wishing he could pull him into one last hug. If he did, he might not be able to let go. “Just us.”

  Micah nodded. The light in his eyes dimmed for a moment. His mouth pressed into a resolute line. “Always.”

  18

  Amelia

  Billowing clouds loomed in the distance, dark and menacing. The sky was stained the dull, colorless gray of ashes. Fat snowflakes swirled in the cold air. The wind whipped Amelia’s hair in her face.

  She’d chosen her own gown for today. It was a simple silk shift of the richest, deepest scarlet. Blood red, for the blood her father had spilled, for the blood he would soon shed. In only a few moments, he would be executed.

  Before her, thousands of people crowded Unity Square, bundled in coats and scarves, hunched against the cold. The people raised their faces, tense, apprehensive, worried. Expectant.

  The capitol loomed behind her, the BioGen complex soaring on its left, city hall on the right. Next to the American flag, the Coalition’s navy-and-silver flag snapped in the wind.

  Amelia stood on an enormous platform raised six feet off the ground, twenty yards in front of the marble steps of the capitol. Government officials, Coalition leaders, advisers, and guards crowded the platform behind her. Four guards flanked her: Harper, Logan, and two others she didn’t recognize. They were older, grizzled and bearded, with stiff posture and cold eyes.

  Sentries were posted on rooftops surrounding the square. Dozens of soldiers dotted the crowd, concentrated along the perimeter. Drones zoomed silent and menacing overhead.

  To Amelia’s left stood President Sloane, flanked by Vera and several security agents, Bale an imposing mountain directly behind her. General Daugherty and General Jeong stood on the president’s left; Perez and Senator Steelman on her right.

  On the far right of the platform, Declan Black knelt between a dozen soldiers, his shoulders slumped, his hands cuffed behind his back. They’d made sure to clean him up. Amelia could barely make out the brutal cuts and bruises that had marred his face only two days ago.

  Amelia dragged her gaze from her father. Not now. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t think about what was coming.

  First, she had to get through the next part. This was too important.

  “It’s time,” Vera mouthed breathlessly, her holopad in one hand as she made a futile attempt to tidy her bun against the wind with her other hand. She smiled, showing all her white teeth. “I’m sure you’ll do great!”

  A hovercam floated in midair. It sank to Amelia’s eye level and hovered a foot in front of her face. The blinking light in the center of its spherical belly indicated it was recording.

  She looked just beyond the hovercam at a hovering teleprompter. The words she was supposed to say had already been prepared for her.

  Her mouth was impossibly dry. Her first word came out like a croak. She cleared her throat, rubbed her palms on the red silk of her dress, and began
again. “My name is Amelia Black. I am the first and only known survivor of the Hydra virus.”

  Her voice echoed as invisible speakers amplified the sound until it boomed across the entire square. Her image was echoed a hundred times on every holoscreen within sight. “Together with the Sanctuary’s expert scientists, I am thrilled to announce that we have synthesized both the vaccine and the cure for the Hydra virus.”

  The crowd roared with applause, hoots, and cheers. Worn, tense faces broke into relieved smiles. Several children raised their arms in the air, pumping their fists in delight.

  “A vaccine will be synthesized within days,” she said when the roar had died down enough for her to speak again. She said exactly what was expected, exactly what President Sloane wanted of her. Just like a beautiful, controlled doll. Like an obedient, docile sheep. “Soon, we will have a permanent vaccine to eliminate the Hydra virus for good!”

  More cheers. Wild clapping. She paused again.

  There was a rumbling sound from somewhere over the mountain—the distant thud of rotors. She faltered. Several people in the crowd glanced apprehensively at the sky. Were the New Patriots attacking again?

  A guard tapped his earpiece. He stepped forward and leaned toward General Daugherty. “Sentries along the eastern perimeter reporting movement, sir. Armored vehicles en route.”

  The general swore. “Send a squad to reinforce that perimeter…” His voice faded as he turned his back to the crowd, his finger swiping at his holopad furiously.

  “I thought you said we’d eradicated that problem.” President Sloane spoke low so the hovercam’s microphone wouldn’t pick up her voice. But Amelia heard every word.

  “Madam President, I assure you, we—”

  “Send out three battalions. Better yet, send four.”

  “That many?” General Daugherty asked in an equally soft tone. “Madam President—”

  “We’re ending this,” she said between gritted teeth. “Exterminate the rats. All of them. Now.”

  Amelia didn’t flinch. She gave no indication that she’d even heard the president’s words. Her smile remained fixed on her face.

  Vera leaned forward and tapped her shoulder. “Please continue with the speech!”

  Amelia read the words floating above the hovercam, her gut tightening with every word. She knew what was coming. The words she was supposed to say. “We will continue working tirelessly on improving the formula, but for now, the vaccine will continue as a monthly shot, similar to the one you are already used to taking. Over time, the vaccine loses its effectiveness…”

  She took a breath. The crowd paused, expectant, waiting. Waiting for what she was going to say next. Hanging on her every glorious word, the hope she’d just delivered them on a silver platter.

  She opened her mouth to speak.

  The thudding rotors drew closer. The crowd gasped, twisting their heads.

  President Sloane took the moment of confusion to snap her fingers at the second hovercam. It zoomed to her. “Remember who unleashed the virus!” she said, her voice ringing over the square. “Remember who the true enemy is. They tried to destroy us and failed. That same enemy is at our gates now! We are being attacked by those terrorists who would destroy our way of life.”

  President Sloane cleared her throat. “We will not buckle, bend, nor break as these terrorists wish us to. We are stronger than that. We will not give in to anarchy. The Coalition promised you safety, and we delivered it. We promised you a vaccine and a cure, and we delivered it. We will destroy these terrorists, too. Every single one of them.”

  “No!” Amelia cried. The hovercam zoomed in front of her. The vidfeed on every holoscreen featured a close-up of her face. For an instant, everything froze. She heard her thumping heartbeat, the roar of her pulse in her ears, saw the thousands of faces peering up at her, eyes wide with hope and fear.

  The ground seemed to roll and buckle beneath her feet, like she was on a ship in the middle of a storm. Her lungs constricted. The world blurred. She blinked, and it became clear again.

  This was it. The moment to decide, to act. To choose. To catch the wolves, all of them, once and for all.

  Amelia had played the dazzled, malleable doll perfectly. So much so that President Sloane had put her on a stage for all the Sanctuary to see and hear, expecting her to parrot the words Sloane had given her, expecting her to fulfill the role of the delicate beauty, the fragile, inspiring embodiment of hope.

  But Amelia was not as she appeared. She was not fragile. And she was no one’s puppet, no one’s doll. She lifted her chin. “President Sloane is wrong. Those people outside the walls are not terrorists! They’re not our enemies! They’re just scared, desperate people. And we can help them!”

  “President Sloane smiled tightly. “You’re not in your right mind, dear. You’re devastated by grief. Please, let us help you—”

  Amelia raised her voice. “I’m in exactly my right mind. The Coalition told you everyone outside these walls are reservoir hosts—contagious carriers of the virus. They lied to you. President Sloane lied to you. Only the infected are contagious. We can open the gates. We can let people in—”

  “Miss Black!” President Sloane warned, her eyes flashing dangerously. “I’m afraid you’re descending into histrionics. You know we’ve done everything we can to help as many people as we can, both inside and outside these walls.”

  Lies. All lies. Beneath this woman’s warm, capable exterior, she was rotting with the cancer of corruption. She was heartless. Cruel. Power-hungry and treacherous.

  Amelia saw clearly now. She saw the barely restrained smirk tightening the president’s mouth, the calculating coldness in her eyes. The flicker of contempt and rage shadowing her features.

  “President Sloane lied to keep you caged, to make you think you were trapped in here, with the rest of humanity stuck out there!”

  Senator Steelman glanced from Amelia to the president, a shocked expression on her face. “Madam President, is she right? Have you—”

  “That’s enough!” President Sloane shouted, losing her composure. She gestured to the guards standing along the edge of the platform. “This poor girl has been brainwashed by the terrorists and her father. Please, take her to the hospital. The Coalition will ensure that she receives the best treatment our excellent doctors have available.”

  Logan raised his gun and moved swiftly toward her.

  Amelia stiffened, expecting him to grab her and drag her from the platform—because that was the only way they were getting her off the stage. She was determined to say as much as she could before they forcibly stopped her.

  “We can end this war!” she cried. “We can stop it right now by letting them in. They can receive the vaccine and so can we. We can offer everyone the cure and help save the rest of the world!” She turned and stared at Sloane. “Your president would keep it for herself.”

  The restless crowd gasped and murmured. Vera and Selma Perez stood frozen, their mouths hanging open in shock.

  “Get. Her. Off!” President Sloane yelled, not caring who heard now.

  Logan reached Amelia. She started to pull away, her heart hammering in her throat. But instead of seizing her, he blocked the rest of the guards with his body. He turned and aimed his gun at President Sloane. “Finish your speech.”

  Screams and shouts erupted all around them. The air buzzed with electrified tension.

  “What are you doing?” Sloane hissed at Logan. “This is treason!”

  Amelia gaped at him, stunned.

  “Finish, girl!” Logan said between gritted teeth. His jaw was set, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “We don’t have all day.”

  Amelia turned back to the crowd, to the hovercam. She forced herself to speak over the fear pulsing through her veins. “There are those who would sacrifice everything for absolute power. For absolute safety. But life is a risk. Every good thing requires some risk. Like love, and hope, and trust.”

  A swarm of drones zoomed over t
he heads of the crowd, gun turrets swiveling toward the platform. Dozens of Coalition soldiers poured into the square from all sides. Several more leapt onto the platform, pulse guns aimed at Amelia and Logan.

  In the distance, more thunder sounded. No, not thunder. Cannons.

  The murmurs of thousands of onlookers buzzed like bees. The crowd shifted, some trying to back away but hemmed in by hundreds of bodies. The air filled with shouts, angry, dismayed, afraid. They were elites. They had no previous experience to rely upon, no reserve of strength to hold back the terror.

  But Amelia did. She stood her ground on the platform as the crowd disintegrated into chaos. The soldiers sprang into action, moving into formation around the outskirts of the square and forming a protective blockade in front of the platform. Somewhere past the crowd, near the plasma wall, gunfire peppered the air.

  The Patriots had attacked the Sanctuary. And the Sanctuary was fighting back.

  “We are the remnant of humanity,” Amelia shouted. “But humanity must be worth saving! We decide that! You and I—the choice is ours! We can still stop this!”

  Two soldiers tackled Logan. A third Coalition soldier seized her arms, his pulse gun pointed in her face. “You’re under arrest for treason—”

  The roar of a hoverchopper drowned him out. Several distant explosions trembled the air. Smoke billowed up from a section of the plasma wall several hundred yards away. The crowd screamed.

  Panic bloomed in Amelia’s chest. This was it. They were too late. Everything she’d tried to do, and war was coming anyway—

  Her world exploded.

  19

  Gabriel

  Gabriel didn’t have time to watch his brother exit the tunnel. He, Cerberus, Jamal, and the other Patriots unloaded the Phantom, set up formation around it, and headed into the Sanctuary. The nighthawk drones drifted in the air above them, much like their namesakes—sleek, lethal raptors seeking prey.