Release (The Alliance Chronicles Book 3)

by SF Benson

  “Are you okay?”

  The woman was actually a teenager. She wore one of those head scarves, a dark long-sleeved T-shirt, and dark pants. All of that took a backseat to the beauty shining in her large, brown eyes. I knew this girl.

  She glanced at me and recognition crossed her face. “It is Asher, right?”

  “Yeah. You’re Ree… I’m sorry. It’s been a couple of years,” I said and gave her smile.

  “Rihana. Yes. It has been a while.” She glanced in the direction her attackers ran in. “Thank you. I do not know what would have happened if you had not shown up.”

  “It wasn’t all me,” I said, remembering the recruiter, “but I’m glad I was here. Maybe I should walk you to wherever you’re headed?”

  “I am on my way home.”

  “You live near here?” I scratched my head and surveyed the area—no houses nor apartments nearby. “Hey, let me, like, walk you in case those guys are still hanging around.”

  “Very well.” She began walking up Beech Daly toward Goddard.

  We were in a business district; there were only shops and motels in the area. I shook off my stupor and ran to catch up with her.

  “So, Rihana, where do you live?”

  “You are now military?” she asked, ignoring my question.

  “Yeah. Just signed up today.”

  The nature of our conversation continued in that manner. She asked a mundane question, and I gave a generic answer. Our path took us up Brest Road to Telegraph. We walked past businesses and shops, some no longer open since the wars.

  I knew some people had started squatting in abandoned buildings, but that wasn’t a big problem in Taylor, now known as the Village of Taylor. There were so few people left, thanks to the war and the virus, there wasn’t enough of a population to justify calling it a city.

  We crossed the main street and stopped in a parking lot. I looked up at the old motel across from the state police building and no longer had any questions. I felt like an idiot. It was obvious Rihana’s family had been displaced, and I kept pressing for answers.

  Rihana turned those expressive eyes to me. “Before you ask, my family moved in here during the Street Wars. We lost our restaurant and our home.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “You could not have known.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Asher, are you satisfied with your decision to join with Riza?”

  “I guess. Why?”

  “You should never make a decision you are unsure of.”

  A door opened to one of the rooms and a tall bearded man stepped out. He waved toward Rihana.

  “That is my older brother. I must go.”

  My eyes weren’t focused on her. I noticed the numerous faces peeking beyond the man dressed like any other American—jeans and a button-down shirt.

  “Yeah. Anytime.”

  The next day, I woke up with thoughts of Rihana Fakhoury on my mind. Her situation baffled me. How many people lived in that tiny motel room?

  After breakfast, I made the decision to head over to the motel. Griffin’s house was nearly three miles away from there. I grabbed the keys to the Charger.

  When I reached the Ambassador Motel, I realized I didn’t know what room Rihana stayed in. I caught a break when a door swung open and she walked out with a small child on her hip. Rihana noticed me standing next to the car, staring like an idiot.

  “Asher?” She whispered something to the child, a little girl, before putting her down. The child ran inside and slammed the door behind her.

  I had no idea what I’d say to Rihana or why I was even there. “Hey.”

  “Hello. What brings you here?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “You were on my mind.”

  Rihana smiled and walked toward the car. I swore my heart leaped. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Can you leave? Maybe grab something to eat?”

  She nodded and opened the passenger door.

  Rihana directed me to the only Middle Eastern restaurant in the area. We sat in a corner booth in the dim eatery.

  I picked up the menu and panicked. I didn’t recognize the entrees, and the prices were a little too steep for my wallet. How could she eat here?

  A short, thin man appeared at the table. “Rihana, As-Salam-u-Alaikum.”

  She smiled and responded, “Wa-Alaikum-Salaam. Uncle Jir, this is the man who saved me yesterday.”

  The man turned to me. “We thank you for your kindness. Whatever you wish is paid for. What would you like?”

  I cocked my head and looked over at Rihana.

  She laughed, a sound so pleasant it warmed my heart. “Uncle Jir, two Falafel sandwiches.”

  “And vegetables.” Her uncle said it pointedly.

  She made a face and said, “Yes, Uncle Jir, and vegetables.”

  Rihana leaned over the table when he left. “He knows I loathe vegetables. He will bring us a plate of grilled eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes. Do you eat those things?”

  “I’m good with it.”

  Her uncle returned with two glasses of cucumber and mint iced tea. Rihana added a squeeze of fresh lemon to each one. She passed me a glass. “May Allah bless us.”

  It was the start of an interesting friendship. I looked forward to having lunch with Rihana each day. She told me of her childhood in Syria and how her family came here.

  Rihana was so easy to talk to. For the first time in a long time, I shared my feelings and fears with someone other than Mark.

  After one of our lunches, I told Rihana about my family. We talked so long that we lost track of time.

  “Oh my,” Rihana dropped her napkin on the table and stood up. “We must leave now. I will be late.”

  “Late for what? I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

  “Are you sure you do not mind? We must travel to Dearborn.”

  I hadn’t gone to Dearborn in a long time, not since before the wars. But this was Rihana and I trusted her. “Let’s go.”

  She guided me to an unassuming tan building on Schaefer. It was one of the few structures still standing on the street. Men and women in traditional Muslim attire entered through two separate front doors.

  “What is this place?” I asked her.

  “It is a place of worship, a mosque.” She gestured toward the side of the building. “Park there.”

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  “Nonsense. We are not here for prayer. You may come with me.”

  Inside, we walked quickly into what appeared to be a classroom full of people. Rihana gestured to a seat in the back row.

  At the front of the room, a short man with a trim beard and wire-rimmed glasses spoke.

  “He is Mohammad Raman Bashur of Kurdistan,” she whispered.

  “Who?”

  “Just listen.”

  I sat back on the folding chair and did as she asked. For an hour, I listened to this man talk about regaining control of the country. He spoke of Allah and how our new government showed signs of being evil. I watched heads nod in agreement with everything Bashur said. At the end of the hour, I wondered if joining Riza was a hasty decision.

  The room cleared, and Rihana motioned for me to stay seated. Bashur joined us.

  “Is this the young American you spoke of?” he asked Rihana.

  “Yes. The day he saved me, he joined Riza Corps.” I noticed her emphasis on the word Riza.

  “Good,” he said.

  “Wait a minute,” I held out my palms and shook my head. “You spent an hour telling us how wrong things were in this country. Why would you support my decision to join Riza?”

  Rihana answered for him. “Because we need someone like you on the inside.”

  I simply stared at her.

  “Let me explain,” she said. “I am with the Alliance. The man who recruited you into Riza works with us. He helps us find possible recruits for our side. We have been looking for someone who would be willing to join Riza but work
with us as well.”

  Reality dawned on me. I felt betrayed. “The incident with the men?”

  “I am sorry to deceive you, but it had to be this way. We were told you were honorable. I had to see for myself.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’ve lost so much,” Bashur answered. “You’ve lost your family. That loss can motivate you to want to rectify things.”

  Rectify things? They were talking revenge. My mind flashed back to the night I lost my family. Of course, I wanted someone to pay for what happened. I didn’t think it was a possibility. “What do you expect me to do?”

  Rihana leaned forward. “Be our spy. Learn all you can and move through the ranks of Riza. Report back to us. When the time is right, we will act.”

  Her words tempted me. “Why should I help you?”

  “Young man,” Bashur said, “were you not listening? The common man isn’t a concern for this new government of ours. Only bad things can come with this leadership. We need someone who is motivated to change it, to destroy it. When the time is right, we will strike back. Reclaim this country. You can help us get there sooner.”

  I weighed what he said. In a year, I’d officially be a Riza soldier. Joining this new military came with perks—regular meals, an education, a paycheck, and a chance to get out from under Griffin’s roof. If I studied and worked hard, I’d move through the ranks. And if I helped the Alliance, I might be able to regain…what? Being a traitor wouldn’t bring back my family. It wouldn’t rebuild my relationship with my grandparents.

  “Asher,” Rihana tapped my knee, “I understand your hesitation. We cannot give you your family back. What we can offer is a chance to make sure their dying was not for nothing. You told me of your parents. They believed in justice for everyone, not just a few. This new government does not care for everyone. It goes against what your parents believed in. Helping us keeps their dreams alive.”

  “Can we talk, Rihana?” I cut my eyes at Bashur. “Alone?”

  Bashur took the hint and said his goodbye.

  “Was all of this, like, a setup?” I asked after he left.

  “All of what?”

  “The lunches, the talks…your friendship.”

  Rihana put a finger to her lips and walked to the door. She looked into the hall and then locked the door behind her. She returned to me and said, “No. All of that was genuine. I am genuinely your friend. You mean a great deal to me. Tu dilê min î.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She grasped my hands, a forbidden gesture, and said quietly, “You are my heart. If you choose not to help us, I will still want you in my life.”

  I was uncertain of the Alliance, but I was sure about Rihana. She helped me get over the pain of losing Cindy. Rihana listened to me talk about Shiloh and my parents, and she understood in a way that Mark never could.

  “Okay.” I squeezed her hands. “I’ll do it.”

  Rihana smiled. “When do you go to the Academy?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I will tell Raman.” She held her hands up and waved them in the air as she spoke. “This room is our meeting place. When you can get away from the Academy, you will come here.”

  The next day, I moved from Griffin’s and into my room at the Academy. I shared the space with two other guys. It made sneaking out difficult, but I managed it.

  Two or three times a week, I drove to the mosque to meet with Bashur and Rihana. I received instruction in Alliance operations. Afterward, Rihana taught me about her culture and gave me lessons in Kurmanji, her native language.

  Everything went smoothly until one of my roommates saw me leaving the mosque. One cold morning, a couple of soldiers escorted me to see the commanding officer. Carmella Bartlett, a statuesque African-American woman with skin the color of warm toffee and short curly dark hair, sat behind a large wooden desk. I remained standing at attention.

  “Cadet Jones, do you know why you were called here?” she said caustically.

  “No, ma’am.” I kept my eyes focused on the wall behind her.

  “I have it on authority that you have been seen frequenting a mosque. Your religious affiliation is Catholic. Care to explain?”

  A knock at the door interrupted her interrogation. My heart raced when I heard her voice. I didn’t dare turn around.

  The soldier on duty escorted her into the office. “Commander Bartlett, a civilian is here to see you.”

  Bartlett waved her in. “This had better be good.”

  Rihana stopped at my side. “Forgive my intrusion. I heard my fiancé was here.”

  My CO raised an eyebrow. “Your fiancé? Is this true, Jones?”

  I glanced down at Rihana. Her eyes pleaded with me to go along with the story. “Yes, ma’am. It’s, like, a recent development.”

  “So, this is why you’ve been going to the mosque?”

  Rihana spoke up. “Yes. It is uncommon for my people to marry outside of our culture. But Asher saved my life, and we fell in love. My family gave their permission.”

  My hands sweated. Rihana’s lie sounded so believable.

  “How did you learn he was here?” My CO didn’t miss a thing.

  Rihana held up an envelope. “I have papers from my imam. I thought I could leave them in Asher’s room. One of his roommates told me he was here.”

  Bartlett’s eyes swept over Rihana as if her lies were visible. “Very well, Jones. We will keep our eye on you. You’re dismissed.”

  I walked Rihana outside where Bashur waited for her. “How did you know I was in Bartlett’s office?”

  Rihana jerked her head toward Bashur. “We have people here at the Academy. Someone got word to us. I had to do something to protect you.”

  “You saved me. Spas dikim.”

  “You are welcome.” She started to walk away. “Oh, I nearly forgot. I had to speak with my father in case your commanding officer became nosy. He has given us permission to date.”

  I couldn’t contain my joy. Fortunately, Rihana stopped me before I hugged her. “Not in public. There are rules. You will learn them. But I am happy too, dilê min.”

  We celebrated our new status with a family dinner that evening. In Riza’s eyes, the Fakhourys were my family. They received a new home. Asif Fakhoury, Rihana’s father, found better employment working for the city of New Detroit. The family regained some of the wealth it had before the Street Wars.

  A year later, I graduated from the Academy and entered Riza. I studied hard and moved up through the ranks. All of it was a careful plan to right the wrongs done to me and people like the Fakhourys.

  “Is liberty worth a war?

  Spilled blood is too high a price for pride and idiocy.”

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

  November 2025: North Woods, Michigan

  “Now you know all about me,” I say to Ko.

  She sits frozen in her seat. I can’t read her eyes, but the quick rise and fall of her chest gives her away. Did I make a mistake telling her?

  “Say something, Ko,” I prompt. “I haven’t shared this with anyone else. Not Zared, not Tru. Hell, Mark doesn’t know all of what I told you.”

  Ko pushes the hair from her face. “I have a question. What happened to Rihana?”

  I run a hand through my hair. Out of all the questions Ko could have asked me, she focuses on the girl. “She left the Alliance. Rihana believed our trust was misplaced. A change in leadership reinforced her belief.”

  Ko raises an eyebrow. “Malcolm?”

  I nod my agreement. “Yeah, that asshat. Rihana didn’t support him. She felt she couldn’t support the Alliance anymore, either.”

  Guilt rises to the surface. “Rihana left Michigan with her family. She’s been underground, hiding from the Alliance, for a long time now.”

  Ko squeezes my hand. “Is that everything, Asher?”

  The words lodge in my throat. “Actually, there’s more.” Tension pounds in my head but I push it aside
. “It’s about Griffin.”

  Ko drops her hand. “That guy should be locked up somewhere. He’s crazy and dangerous. Ash, he put us through hell. From what you’ve told me, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. I couldn’t care less about him.”

  I wince. “There’s a reason for it. I’m not making excuses for him, Ko. Dude’s always been a little high-strung, but he had help going over the edge.”

  A flicker of irritation and impatience shines in her dark eyes. “Tell me everything, Ash. Don’t give me some half-cocked story.”

  I draw in a deep breath.

  This is it.

  Make or break.

  “Griffin followed us to Riza. I was kind of shocked when he joined. Our paths didn’t cross for years. When they did…”

  The memories tumble through my mind—shouting, a screaming woman, gunfire, and menacing silence. Of course, the images are much worse.

  “What happened?” Ko’s quiet tone drags me back from the horror.

  “I was, like, part of the squad assigned to retrieve Griffin at his house. He disobeyed orders because his wife was pregnant and sick. I was second in command. Our CO told us to bring him in—no excuses. I gave the order to do what was necessary, but what happened was a nightmare.”

  Ko’s eyebrows knit together.

  “Trust me. I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. I heard the gunfire and ran inside the house. Gena Carter lay on the floor. A pool of blood surrounded her small frame.”

  Ko blanches. “Oh, my god. Did you shoot her?”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter who shot her. I gave the order.”

  “You followed orders. If anything, your CO is the responsible one.” She rubs my arm.

  “I don’t see it that way, Ko. Neither does Griffin.”

  Ko scoots closer. “No. You’re guilty of making some poor choices in your life, but it was the people in your life who messed up. When’s the last time you spoke to your grandparents?”

  I lift my head. “Not since Grandpa refused to sign my papers.”