Rising Storm: The Last Sanctuary: Book One by Kyla Stone

Author:Kyla Stone [Stone, Kyla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Paper Moon Press
Published: 2017-12-10T16:00:00+00:00

26

Micah

The sound of breaking glass shattered Micah's concentration. He froze.

He was on his way to the starboard side of Deck Four to reach the lifeboats. He was nearly to the mid-ship stairwell on Deck Four, making his way past the Jazz Lounge, the comedy club, and the Blaze disco lounge with the photoluminescent walls. The eight-thousand square-foot Undersea Paradise Casino was directly in front of him.

More breaking glass. This time from behind him.

He rushed blindly into the casino. He raced past red velvet gaming tables featuring Blackjack, Caribbean Stud Poker, Baccarat, and Roulette. He stumbled over one of the tufted leather chairs, cursing silently as it crashed to the floor. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline spiking through his veins. He was a giant exposed target.

He eased around a giant holographic spinning prize wheel and dove behind the first set of slot machines. Hundreds of the machines were bunched in groups of six or ten like a blinking, jangling maze.

Though the casino was empty, the slot machines still glowed, their sleek panels lit up with rotating holos of cherries, dice, stars, and triple sevens. He leaned against one, the metal cooling his back, the holoscreen boasting, '3000 Chances to Win!' He strained to hear over the clanging, spinning sound effects and the frantic banging of his own heart.

Nothing. He crept deeper into the electronic jungle, scrambling from one bank of slot machines to the next. He stepped over several dead bodies, begging their forgiveness in his mind. An elderly woman in a beautiful scarlet gown was still crumpled on her stool, her glassy eyes staring at him, unseeing. He inched around the stool, careful not to disturb her body.

Voices: coming from the front of the casino.

His breath stilled in his chest. He crouched beside the body, hunching himself into as small a form as possible. He gripped the knife in both hands. It wouldn't do much against a semi-automatic or a pulse gun. It was all he had. But could he really attack another human being, even to defend himself?

He didn’t want to die here, bleeding out like an animal. His mom had faced her death with courage. But he wasn’t as strong or as brave as she was. His faith wasn’t as strong. He was afraid. Terrified. He wasn't ready. There were so many things he'd never done. He'd never even gotten a chance to live yet. He’d never fallen in love. He'd never even—

Movement on his left. A chill zipped up his spine. He whipped his head around.

One of the terrorists squatted in front of the bank of slot machines to his left. He was dressed in dark clothes with combat gear and a dark mask pulled over his face. He cradled an assault rifle in his arms.

Micah shrank against the stool, his back bumping the woman's still-warm body. Her body toppled from the stool and landed on the carpet with a dull thud. He flinched, fear throbbing through him.

The terrorist still hadn't moved. He was waiting for something.

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