Breaking World_The Last Sanctuary Book Four Page 8

  She focused on their mission, their purpose: to get the cure. To save everyone. She knew it would require sacrifices and risks. Still, she hated the thought of abandoning them in this place with every fiber of her being. “May I at least say goodbye?”

  “You’ll get to see them in only a few days, so don’t worry your pretty little head!” Vera patted her back, her smile bright and friendly again.

  Amelia repressed a flinch. She still disliked being touched, especially by strangers.

  Amelia gave Micah and Silas a small wave, the only thing she could do. Silas snarled something, his face contorting, but she couldn’t hear him. Micah tapped his chest, that warm, comforting smile still on his face, telling her it was going to be okay.

  Her hand flitted to the bracelet around her neck. It was attached to the leather thong Micah had made for her. She still had a piece of him. It would only be a few days, like Vera said.

  She steeled herself, fighting down the flicker of apprehension, of panic. She could do this. She had to do this. If she had to do it alone, then so be it. “I understand.”

  “Good girl!” Vera steered her past a cluster of soldiers and several sealed compartments. A blast of cold air struck her as they exited the containment center. She shivered, drawing her jacket more tightly around herself.

  “Impressive, isn’t it!” Vera gushed as she led Amelia through the towering, fifteen-inch-thick steel city gates that controlled access to the Sanctuary. Dozens of armed soldiers, military drones, and several tanks flanked the entrance. The plasma wall rose on either side, impossibly tall and imposing. The electrified plasma crackled and hissed.

  The gates closed behind them without a sound.

  “We could have taken a transport, but I thought you’d want to see our glorious city,” Vera said eagerly. “This is a government-operated safe zone, like Raven Rock, Cheyenne Mountain, Mount Weather. But people can’t live for long underground. It’s just not natural.

  “I’ll tell you a secret. When I first heard we were coming here, I thought it was going to be just another awful underground bunker of concrete and stale air, but I was so wrong! The government built this place to last not for months, not for years, but for decades. And who would want to leave? We have everything we could possibly need!”

  Vera guided Amelia onto a moveable sidewalk. They passed people walking, chatting, studying their Smartflexes. Just like before—though even in here, many still wore masks.

  The Sanctuary was laid out in a series of expanding concentric rings, like the cross-section of a tree, only shaped more like an oval, Vera explained. Each ring was tiered and separated further into districts. The outer rings were for food, energy, and manufacturing production, the middle rings for worker and soldier housing, the inner rings for “critical infrastructure elements and our most important citizens, of course.”

  As they walked, Amelia couldn’t stop staring. The luxury apartments on her left were column-shaped, with large, circular terraces jutting out on each level. Transparent spheres curved over the terraces, enclosing a riot of colorful gardens and lush, verdant plants.

  Only a few hundred yards from the gates, an enormous square with an impossibly green lawn spread before them, flanked on either side by business and luxury apartment buildings. At the far end rose three impressive structures, taller and more beautiful than all the rest. “What are they?” Amelia asked.

  “BioGen headquarters, City Hall, and the Capitol,” Vera said. “The heart of the Sanctuary. Pretty much everything is controlled within those three buildings.” She gestured at a manicured rose bush, delicate petals of primrose-pink, deepest ruby, and flaming orange in full bloom. “We use the latest genetic modifications to keep the foliage flourishing even in winter. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Drones zoomed through the air above their heads—delivery, security, surveillance. Auto-transports hummed to and fro. Emblazoned on the sides and fronts of nearly every building were giant holoscreens playing ads for VR games, popular vlogs, designer brands, holofilms, and networking apps.

  Amelia gaped. After months of no or very little power, the gleaming lights and vibrant pixels and shimmering holos danced in front of her eyes like vivid, almost grotesque apparitions. Did those commodities even exist anymore? Were the ads simply a comfort thing, a promise that the world was still the same, even though everyone knew it wasn’t?

  “No dinosaurs or outdated tech here,” Vera went on briskly. “Everything has been built to the latest safety and tech standards. Residences and offices are designed to be ultralight, modular, and made from eco-friendly organic material, mostly quartz and bamboo. They run all the new applications and appliances. Plug-and-play, hot-swapping peripherals, all of it with a twenty-four-hour wireless uplink to the Net. Energy lines, plumbing, security, fire, structural integrity, indoor air quality, lifestyle data —it’s all built-in, all auto-maintained. If you misplace your designer shades, your house will tell you where to find them. Wicked cool, huh?”

  Amelia didn’t know the correct word for it, for what she was feeling. She was used to the silence of a broken world, not the hustle and bustle of so much busyness, so many people all at once and so close together. She was used to the roads and highways cluttered with the carcasses of dead cars and trucks, the decomposing bodies of their owners still locked inside. She was used to hulking buildings empty of all life but rats and vermin, used to houses and apartments and businesses with busted windows and shattered doors, every surface filmed in dust and dirt and rubble. She was used to scavenging and hunger and a constant, wary fear.

  She didn’t know if she could ever get used to this again. After so many months of destruction and ruin, all this order and beauty was almost too much to bear.

  Vera patted her shoulder. “Listen to me patter about nothing when you must be exhausted! Luckily, we’re here!”

  A brick circular driveway arced in front of a palatial mansion reminiscent of the architecture of a century past—four stories of majestic white stone, towering fluted columns, a multitude of ornate terraces crowned by a steep, turreted roofline.

  Amelia followed Vera up the stone steps to the cedar doors inlaid with panes of stained glass. Eight secret service guards flanked the doors. One of them scanned Vera’s wrist, then moved aside as the doors opened.

  Amelia stepped inside. An ornate crystal chandelier gilded everything in a golden glow. She took in the grand hall, arched ceilings, the black granite floor so highly polished she could see her own ragged, unkempt reflection.

  A smartwall to her left greeted her while an unobtrusive door slid open in the wall to her right, a service bot appearing to take her coat and gloves and store them in the hidden closet.

  Vera turned to Amelia, that wide smile still pasted on her face. “We’ll get you cleaned up for dinner with President Sloane and the Coalition chairman!”

  She reached out and fingered Amelia’s short, jagged hair.

  Amelia couldn’t help it. She jerked back.

  Vera didn’t even notice. “It must have been so horrible out there in the Outerlands! But don’t worry. We can fix your hair. Get you bathed and dressed and looking back to your best in no time!”

  A shower sounded more wonderful than she wanted to admit. “Thank you.”

  “Anyway, I bet you’re just ecstatic!”

  “To meet President Sloane?” She was still half-numb, in a mild state of shock. Everything coming at her at once. “I’ve met her before. When she was vice-president, of course.”

  Vera squeezed Amelia’s arm, bouncing on her heels in excitement. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? So sorry! What an ‘oops’ on my part!” She leaned in close, like she was imparting a vital secret. “Someone else will be at dinner. And he cannot wait to see you! You’ll just be tickled pink, I just know it. Your father—Declan Black—he’s here at the Sanctuary.”

  13

  Gabriel

  Halfway back to the compound, the second transport’s tire blew, punctured by a rock hidden benea
th the snow. Jamal and another Patriot worked on changing the tire while the rest of the group grabbed a water break and stretched their legs.

  The first transport continued on, hurrying General Reaver and the dead rat back to the infirmary to be tested and examined.

  “Is your mother okay?” Gabriel asked Cleo in a low voice.

  She scowled at him, her scar twisting the left side of her face. “She’s fine. If you think a filthy rodent can take down someone as formidable as my mother, then you’re more stupid than you look.”

  “If the rat that bit her was infected—”

  “It’s just a scratch!” Cleo whirled away from him. “I’m gonna take a piss. Try to keep a lid on things until I get back.”

  Gabriel leaned against the vehicle, scanning the hills above them. He breathed in the sharp winter air. Rafts of white clouds drifted over the sun. Behind him, a couple of Patriots joked about something he couldn’t hear, laughing among themselves.

  Twenty yards ahead of the transport, a streak of movement snagged his gaze. Cerberus. His white pelt glinted as he slipped into the shadows between a clump of pine trees.

  Gabriel glanced around, scanning the road in both directions. No one else was watching.

  Silently, he followed Cerberus into the woods. He kept a safe distance, winding between maple and birch trees, stepping over roots and jagged rocks. A twig snapped beneath his boot.

  Cerberus spun around. A slow sneer spread across his face. “Can’t a man piss in peace anymore?”

  Anger flared through him like an electrical current. His hand strayed to the rifle slung over his shoulder. “How can you live with yourself?”

  “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth rattled. “You’re the problem with the world. You buy and sell human beings. You trade in suffering and slavery.”

  “You think they don’t?” Cerberus gestured behind them, in the general direction of the Sanctuary. “Their city—our entire civilization—was built on the backs of others’ suffering. You know it as well as I, better than I. Your choices are to die a victim or see the world for what it is and adapt to fit that world, to dominate that world, to take what’s yours by force and violence.”

  “There’s another way.” Gabriel struggled to restrain his anger. “That way leads only to destruction and suffering and death. Violence is sometimes necessary, but it is not the answer. Domination and force are not the answer.”

  “Those are empty words you don’t really believe,” Cerberus sneered. “We’re the same.”

  Gabriel bristled. “I am not.”

  Cerberus leaned against the slim trunk of a birch tree. “You want to kill me right now.”

  “That’s no secret.”

  “You would kill an unarmed man who’s not an immediate threat. That’s murder.”

  “I am not a murderer.”

  Cerberus’s lip curled. “I heard what you did on that ship. You’re a killer. That’s who you are. No one changes.”

  Gabriel’s fingers tightened on the stock of his rifle. He could do it right here, right now. No one was close enough to stop him. He could drench the ground with this psychopath’s blood. He could finally avenge Nadira. The desire was so strong he was nearly blinded with it.

  He took a deep, shuddering breath. He was no murderer. “I’ve changed.”

  “Have you?” Cerberus smiled, revealing his sharp teeth. “We shall see.”

  “Rivera!” Cleo called sharply. She stepped between the trees into the clearing, her glare lethal. “A word.”

  They stood on a rocky outcropping, overlooking a shallow valley about fifty yards below them. The Blue Ridge Mountains loomed in the distance, huge and shadowy blue, like great sleeping giants.

  “I know what you’re doing.” Cleo lit a cigar and stuffed the lighter back in her cargo pocket.

  Gabriel watched her warily. “Is that so?”

  “You’re planning to kill the Headhunter,” she said flatly. “And I can’t let you do that.”

  “You don’t know what he did.”

  “I know exactly what his kind does, and who they do it to.”

  “He murdered my friend.” The words were like barbed wire in his mouth. The memories seared through him—cradling Nadira in his arms, her body impossibly light and fragile, the blood spreading across her chest, her head nestled against his chest like she was only sleeping.

  Sometimes, we get what we don’t deserve, she had whispered, blood bubbling from her lips. Sometimes, we don’t get what we deserve.

  She had thrown herself in front of the bullet intended for Gabriel. A bullet shot by Cerberus. That moment had broken Gabriel’s heart wide open. That moment he would give almost anything to do over, to switch places, to take the punishment he’d deserved.

  That choice had been taken from him. But Cerberus was still here. Still living and breathing in a world where Nadira wasn’t. Out of all the injustices plaguing the world, this was something he could—he would—do something about.

  Cleo blew out an icy circle of smoke. “You think I don’t understand. I do. But you need to put your revenge aside. For now.”

  “We’ve found the Phantom. Cerberus served his purpose. He’s dead weight now.”

  “He’s not. He has hundreds of armed, trained fighters. He’s a skilled, organized leader. His lot would fall apart if we tried to take him out and lead them ourselves. It doesn’t matter how much you hate him—we need him to fight the true enemy.” She pointed into the valley with her cigar. “Look.”

  Gabriel followed her gaze. A cluster of buildings huddled in the center of the valley—three large farmhouses, several barns and storage sheds, with fenced areas for farm animals. Except for a large metal garage, the buildings were blackened husks. Something—or someone—had burned this place to the ground.

  “Use your scope,” she said, her voice husky.

  He swung his rifle by its strap, set the butt against his shoulder, adjusted the scope, and peered through the glass. Scattered here and there across the muddy ground were blackened skeletons. Two large ones together, with two small ones in-between. A family. Children.

  There were other bodies—some charred skeletons, others badly burned but still recognizable as human. A flutter of auburn hair. An apple-green dress rippling in the breeze. A tiny arm flung out, an ash-covered stuffed bear lying next to outstretched fingers.

  He staggered back, revulsion roiling in his gut. Acid burned the back of his throat. He was sickened, horrified. “What the hell happened here?”

  “These people weren’t infected. This was a safe zone. The Sanctuary killed them anyway. Our government committed this atrocity and a thousand others like it. They act in fear—destroying anything and everything they view as a potential threat to their power and control.”

  Gabriel’s outrage burned white-hot. His whole body went rigid. His hands balled into fists. He wanted to fight, to destroy something, to rip this depraved and rotting world apart with his bare hands.

  “You think I don’t have compassion or empathy or whatever,” Cleo said. “I see it in your eyes whenever you look at me. But you’re wrong. I have compassion for them.” She jabbed her finger at the valley, at the charred and blackened skeletons. “I knew them. We gave them food a few times, lent them one of our extra generators. I tried to get the daughter to convince her parents to join us. But they wouldn’t. They wanted peace, freedom. They didn’t get it.”

  She paused for a moment, her jaw working, the cigar clamped between her teeth. “President Sloane and the rest of the Coalition did this. They saved their own and left the rest of us to die. They are the true enemy. The only enemy. Do you understand?”

  His insides were full of cut glass. He felt shredded. “This has to end.”

  “Then help me end it.” She turned to him, her eyes smoldering coals. “You don’t like me. Maybe you even hate me. I don’t care. You hate the New Patriots. I don’t care. You hate the Headhunters
. I don’t care.

  “What I need is your help, not your adoration. You’re skilled. You’re smart. You did what needed to be done on the Grand Voyager. You have what it takes to lead, to fight.”

  He spat out the words. “And Cerberus?”

  “We use him as long as he’s useful. After we’ve taken the Sanctuary, you can have your revenge. On the Headhunters. Kill them all if you want. I’ll even help you.”

  “You promised him peace.”

  She shrugged. “I lied. It’s called strategy, Rivera.”

  “You lied to me, too.” He kept his gaze on the terrible scene below him. He refused to allow himself to look away. “About your plans to attack the Sanctuary.”

  “I owe you nothing,” she scoffed. “Not a damn thing.”

  He wasn’t so naive as to believe she wasn’t using him just as she was using the Headhunters, just as she used the Pyros. When she was done with him, would she discard him and his friends just as easily?

  Was there someone worth redeeming within all of that anger? Someone fierce and loyal and brave as hell? He wanted to believe there was. “If we’re allies, if we’re going to work together, then we have to trust each other.”

  She tapped ash from her cigar and scowled. Her gaze drifted back to the scene below them, to the apple-green dress fluttering in the breeze. “Fine. You have my trust. Do I have yours?”

  He hesitated. Cleo and the New Patriots were offering him everything he’d been denied before—vengeance, justice, the promise of creating a new and better world—but the cost was still as high as ever.

  She tossed her cigar on a rock and ground it out with her boot. “You have a choice to make, Rivera. The question is, which side are you on?”

  14

  Willow

  “What are you going to do?” Willow asked Celeste, hardly daring to breathe.