Release (The Alliance Chronicles Book 3)

by SF Benson

  Bobby exhaled loudly and raked a hand through his hair. “Ash, Becks and I have always trusted you and your brother to make the right decisions. We’ve rarely told you what you couldn’t do.”

  We were fortunate. Most kids had to deal with overbearing parents. Shiloh and I experienced the opposite, a behavior which caused families like the Millers to dislike our parents.

  “This thing with Cindy… Her father is not going to be happy if you get her pregnant.”

  Shit. How did he know what happened?

  “Bobby—”

  “Let me finish.” He sat beside me. “Becks and I think you’re moving too fast. Maybe the two of you should cool it for a little while.”

  I jumped off the sofa and looked toward the stairs. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have, not now. Not with our city erupting around us. “Not happening.”

  He shook his head. “You’re just thirteen. What’s the damned rush?”

  “I love her,” I admitted. Earlier I wasn’t sure, but now? I couldn’t stay away from Cindy. That would be like asking me to stop breathing.

  “Hurray,” he said flatly. “Glad you found your first love. It was bound to happen sooner or later. But you need to be careful, Asher. We don’t need a repeat of Shiloh’s carelessness.”

  Carelessness? Was that what you called knocking someone up—a careless act?

  My stomach churned. Most likely, this concerned Shiloh’s activation, nothing else. Cindy and I’d been together for a long time. We spent every minute we could with each other. Hell, Bobby walked in on us making out once. It was only recently that we did more than kiss. He couldn’t have known.

  “Bobby?” I muttered and took a good look at my father. Stress was taking its toll and aging the man. The dark circles were deeper, his eyes were bloodshot, and his shoulders drooped. My spending time with Cindy wasn’t what kept him up at night. I forgot what I wanted to say.

  “No excuses needed, Asher. I was once your age. You’re in a hurry to grow up. We’re just asking you to slow down with Cindy. I’d like to avoid another argument with her dad.”

  “I’ll do better.” I didn’t agree with my father, but he didn’t have to know that. Events of the past few weeks made us all edgy. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he mumbled and stood up. “It’s nothing. Becks and I are turning in early. It’s been a long day.”

  Any other time that was code for my parents needed “some couple time.” Things felt odd between us. My parents didn’t keep things from Shiloh and me.

  “Yeah. Night, Bobby.”

  I remained downstairs listening to some song about kids in love. Just like the singer, I didn’t want to grow up. At that moment, I had all I needed—a girl who loved me and a family who loved me. So why did thoughts of despair invade my mind?

  “You fight and you kill

  But loss is great, pain leaves scars which will never heal.

  This isn’t the way to win.”

  —from “Spoken Words on War” by Civic Minded, 2018

  We revere our heroes not desecrate them. They deserve our loyal support, not a boot shoved up their asses. Those were my beliefs that night.

  I still believe them.

  On that night, I was alone in my opinion. Citizens saw the government, the police, and even the military as part of the problem and not as defenders of a solution.

  I lost track of time playing video games in the basement. When I made it up the stairs, the house was dark, but the noise had increased outside. Without a sound, I moved to the window and lifted the bottom edge of the curtain.

  Outside, a crowd had gathered. Men, some dressed in shorts and T-shirts while others wore only jeans and shoes, roamed the sidewalk and street. Someone broke a bottle, and a shoving match ensued. A pickup truck parted the crowd, and a woman wearing dark clothing jumped out of the back of it. The men stopped and immediately turned to the woman.

  Under different circumstances, someone might mistake the crowd for a group at a block party. This, however, was no party—someone had started a fire in a portable grill, but no smells of meat cooking reached my nose. A police cruiser was in front of a neighbor’s house. It was late. Time to get some sleep.

  The soft sounds of snoring drifted down the hall from Bobby and Becky’s room. Rufus snored in his spot at the foot of my bed.

  It was one of the hottest September nights on record, and I couldn’t sleep. I considered closing my windows and turning on the air conditioning. The humid air clung to my skin. Sweat dripped down my back and pooled along the waistband of my boxers. I tossed back the sheet. Rufus lifted his massive dark head.

  “Go back to sleep, boy.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “I’m just getting some water.”

  The smell of burning leaves and wood crinkled my nose. A high-pitched whistle, like a bottle rocket, sounded in the distance. A sonic boom rocked the walls. I ran to an open window. Orange lit up the night sky and surrounded the neighborhood. Flames licked at houses and trees. People shouted.

  I ran down the hall with Rufus on my heels. “Bobby! Becky!”

  My parents’ door flew open. Bobby stood in the doorway dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. “Go back to your room, Asher. Lock the door.”

  “B-but—” My mind raced, searching for the right words to say. Locked in a bedroom was for scared little kids.

  “No buts,” my father shouted. “Take the dog. Don’t come out until I come back for you.”

  I grabbed Rufus by his collar and dragged him back to my room. Yes, the dog needed to stay put. Me? No way. I jammed my legs into a pair of jeans and donned the shirt lying on my desk chair. Noise from the crowd gathering in front of the house got louder.

  On top of my desk, my cell phone buzzed with Cindy’s number lit up on the screen.

  “Asher, you okay?” Her voice trembled.

  “Yeah.” My heart raced, and I had the sudden need to go to the bathroom. But Grandpa always told me only weaklings showed fear. I was nobody’s wuss. “You?”

  “Dad’s moved us to the basement to wait it out. I’m scared.”

  Her unsteady words got to me. I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and let her know she was safe. “Don’t worry, babe. Shiloh’s patrol will be here soon and disperse the crowd.”

  Out of nowhere, a cheer rose from the street. I dropped the phone and moved closer to the window. More cheers chimed in. People ran by the house.

  And that’s when I saw the most gruesome sight I’d ever laid my eyes on. A pickup truck crawled down the street. Tied to the tailgate were soldiers. Not just any soldiers. They were a few members from Shiloh’s unit.

  No, no, no. I rushed down the stairs following my parents outside.

  Becky reached the street first. The truck with the soldiers inched past our house. My stomach sank when I saw Shiloh tied to the back, his face bloodied.

  Shit. Without a concern for my own safety, I ran after the truck.

  Becky cried out, “Asher, don’t!”

  My mother’s pleas fell on deaf ears. The only thing which mattered was stopping the driver and saving my brother.

  It was unfortunate that she didn’t see it my way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother approach me and then she froze.

  “Becks!”

  My father’s voice reached us through the mayhem. A rock sailed over my head and it struck Becky in the head. She crumpled to the ground. People plodded over her like yesterday’s trash. My heart nearly exploded. I pushed my way through the sea of bodies. Mom needed me.

  The truck’s motor revved. Wheels squealed. Shiloh.

  Adrenaline pushed my body forward. I had to reach the driver before he pulled off. The asshole would pay for hurting my brother.

  Ka-pow. Ka-pow, ka-pow, ka-pow.

  My feet refused to move. I turned in time to see my father’s body collide with the asphalt. Blood poured from wounds in his chest. With great difficulty, I carved a path through the crowd stepping around my father’s body.
/>
  His fog-gray eyes stared ahead. My thoughts raced. What the hell was I supposed to do?

  My parents lay dead. The truck dragging Shiloh was nowhere in sight. Surely this was a dream, but this…this was nobody’s dream. It was a damn nightmare, and I couldn’t wake up.

  The crowd continued past my house, destroying cars and taking down innocent bystanders.

  Woof, woof.

  Rufus stood in the yard. Damn it! I ran toward the dog and hauled him inside, locking the door behind us. He nudged my hand. I dropped to my knees and choked back the tears burning my eyes.

  No tears.

  Be brave.

  My brain didn’t get the message. Tears ran down my face faster than I could wipe them away.

  My life had changed forever.

  The lesson that night?

  Age didn’t make you a man. Instead, it was circumstances that transformed you. They kicked your butt and forced a change.

  At the start of the Street Wars, I was a kid. I spoke like a kid. I thought like a kid. I pitched a fit like a kid. But that night, people took my childhood and my family from me.

  “Death comes to our shores.

  And you embrace the twisted, maniacal actions

  Of those who practice evil.

  To save face, you’ll risk lives…”

  —from “Spoken Words on War” by Civic Minded, 2018

  The first rays of sunlight and Rufus’ rough tongue awakened me. At some point, I fell asleep on the floor beneath the living room window. It wasn’t rest my body sought last night. It was more like the need to escape.

  Even now, I wanted to trap myself in a bubble and not face reality. My hands trembled as I pulled myself over the sill. I had to see what happened, confirm the terror which rocked and fractured my world.

  The street was in ruins. Burnt-out cars, like the husks of dinosaurs, littered driveways. Bodies adorned the pavement like the leftovers of a ticker-tape parade. I sank back to the floor, unable to stomach the grotesque picture.

  The worst of the fighting had passed through our…my neighborhood. Rufus followed me to the back door where I slipped on his leash. The rat-a-tat-tat of guns in the distance greeted us outside.

  Back inside, the house a phone rang. I ignored the incessant sound and fed Rufus his breakfast. While he ate, I considered my options—stay put and call my grandparents or go to them. Leaving seemed my best bet.

  Upstairs, I filled a duffel bag with a few changes of clothes and my phone. Before I forgot, I swiped Shiloh’s cap off my dresser and shoved it in my pocket.

  My feet involuntarily carried me to his old room. Shiloh told me it was a suicide mission. I didn’t want to believe him, but the images from last night were still too fresh to ignore.

  What happened to him and the other soldiers? Tears threatened to slip from my eyes. I rubbed them away.

  Force it down.

  Rufus’ nails clicking across the hardwood floor alerted me. Staying put was dangerous. I walked to my parents’ room.

  My mother’s engagement ring and silver wedding band sat on the nightstand where she took them off each night. They should have gone to Shiloh, but now… I pocketed them for someday in the future. Becky kept a framed family picture, all of us dressed in matching Christmas sweaters, on the dresser. I slid it into my bag.

  One more item that I needed to take was in my parents’ bedroom closet. Contrary to my father’s pacifist beliefs, he kept a small gun safe in a corner behind the hanging clothes. Grandpa gave him the safe and a weapon. Bobby locked the firearm away. Better to accept it and avoid the argument, he told me.

  My mind was a jumbled mess. Memories overwhelmed me as I stared at their clothes. I needed to cling to those happy times, but I didn’t have the luxury of a trip down memory lane. The groups of men standing around last night could still be in the neighborhood waiting to ransack houses.

  I pushed everything aside in the closet and found the safe open. The Glock lay on a shelf next to a leather holster. Why didn’t Bobby take it with him last night?

  Last night… I sank to my knees and sat back on my heels. What would I do without my parents and brother?

  Parents try to prepare kids for every little thing growing up, but they didn’t tell me what to do if I became an orphan overnight. I buckled the holster around my body and shoved in the gun.

  Rufus and I ran down the stairs. I considered grabbing his food bowl but remembered Grandpa would have what he needed. Instead, I shoved one of Rufus’ toys into my bag and made my way to the front door.

  Stragglers from last night’s massacre walked past our yard. We could use the back door, but Rufus couldn’t hop fences. Instead, I waited for the street to clear. Grandma and Grandpa lived two miles away. I had a gun, didn’t know if it was loaded, and I had Rufus. We’d be fine. We had to be. It was all I had.

  The acrid smell of smoke mingled with burnt rubber hung in the air. An eerie silence, after a long night filled with gunfire, blanketed the neighborhood. I slung my duffel bag across my body and hurried down the porch stairs.

  “Asher!”

  I whirled around. Cindy ran across the yard, and I swept her up in my arms. All I wanted to do was bury my face in her sweet-smelling hair and never let go. I needed this nightmare to end.

  “What are you doing out here?” I murmured in her ear.

  Her body trembled against me. “I came to see you.”

  She didn’t need to know the truth about my family. Not yet. Better she thinks nothing had changed. “I’m on my way to my grandparents’ house.”

  Bile rose up my throat when I noticed my father’s body at the curb. I held her tighter. She didn’t need to look death in its face.

  “Asher…” She squirmed in my arms. “You’re hurting me.”

  I loosened my grip but kept my arms around her. “Sorry.”

  “Have you heard from Shiloh? Is it over?”

  Over? Yeah. Life as we knew it was over. This was a new beginning, a new reality we all had to face. A cold, harsh truth threatening to suck out my soul. “Cindy…I…like…uh…I need you to go home. Now.”

  “Wha—”

  I placed my hand on her spine and guided her to the door. “Go inside. Stay in there. I’ll be back with my grandfather.”

  “Ash, you’re scaring me,” she said uneasily.

  She attempted to look past me. I cupped her face with both hands and kissed her like my life depended on it. Come to think of it, it did. Kissing Cindy was the only real thing remaining in my world that morning.

  “Please, Cindy. I need you to listen to me.”

  “Okay, Ash. Just…just be careful.” She shut the door behind her.

  I whistled for Rufus, and we jogged to my grandparents’ house.

  “You maim and kill those in your path

  Never finding the answer.

  Your anger fills the skies

  Destroying lives, believing the lies.”

  —from “Spoken Words on War” by Civic Minded, 2018

  Thankfully, my training for JROTC helped with my endurance. It was either the training or the nervous energy crackling through my body. Rufus and I didn’t stop running until we reached my grandparents’ front door.

  “Asher, what are you—” My grandmother took one look at the duffel bag slung over my back and a drooling Rufus and shouted, “Edward!”

  I followed her to the kitchen and collapsed on a chair. Grandpa filled a bowl of water for Rufus and sent him to the basement.

  Grandma sat at the table next to me. “Asher, tell us what happened.”

  “Rioters hit our street last night.” I brushed a strand of wet hair off my sweaty forehead. “Shy…my parents…they’re…g-gone.”

  Tears slid down my grandmother’s face. “They’re gone?”

  I nodded. Reluctantly, I recalled the events of the massacre.

  Grandpa grimaced. A vein twitched at his temple. He cracked his neck from side to side and released a guttural roar.

  I flinch
ed at the outburst. My insides twisted, and I barely made it to the trashcan in time. His pain, my grandmother’s pain… It was too much agony for me to bear. I felt a cold towel rest against my neck. At the same time, I heard Grandpa grab his keys.

  “Let’s go,” he bellowed.

  “No, Edward,” Grandma pleaded, her hand resting on my back. “He’s been through enough.”

  “Bernice, he’s not a boy anymore. He needs to do this.”

  I hated to admit it, but I agreed with him. It’s what Shiloh tried to tell me. It’s what my father tried to do. A man takes care of his family and mine was dead. I had a responsibility.

  “It’s okay, Grandma.” I pushed myself upright. “Grandpa’s right. I have to help him.”

  My grandfather, noticing the holster, pointed at the gun. “You know how to use it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’ll teach you. For now, leave it here before you hurt yourself.”

  I unbuckled the holster, handed it to my grandmother, and followed Grandpa.

  We rode over to my street in Grandpa’s pickup. His Glock rested on the seat between us. I watched neighbors traipse past the vehicle. Some collided with the truck. Others stopped in their tracks. My grandfather trudged down the street.

  He cleared his throat and muttered, “Damn people.”

  Grandpa parked the truck in front of our…my house. Carefully, he unfolded a tarp and laid it in the flatbed.

  “C’mon.” He removed a rifle from the truck, and we began searching for my family.

  We found Becky first. Dried blood and purple bruises covered her petite body. She lay beneath an old oak tree in a neighbor’s yard. She appeared to be asleep despite her matted and dirty blonde hair. Reality paid a visit when I noticed my mother’s torn shorts and T-shirt. Someone had pinned a sign declaring ‘do-gooder’ on her chest.