Secrets of PEACE

by T. A. Hernandez

  Mei shook her head. “I don’t know. I used to get the drugs from the hospital. It was risky, but I managed. I built up a stockpile for when I retired, but it’s all gone now. I have no way to get Hartman what he wants.”

  Zira clenched a fist. “We have to stop this.”

  “And what do you suggest? That we go charging into the labor camp demanding Hartman’s resignation? That we rescue Ethan so he can spend the rest of his life as a fugitive?” Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “At this point, all I can do is beg for Hartman’s mercy.”

  There was something more that Zira could do, though. A plan was already forming in her mind. Hartman had told Mei he’d be back in two weeks to collect the drugs she owed him. If she worked hard, she might be able to regain enough of her old skills and strength to put an end to Mei’s problem with the man. Permanently.

  She said nothing to Mei about this idea, not wanting to raise her suspicions. The less she knew about Zira’s involvement when the body was discovered, the better, though Zira had little doubt that the shrewd old woman would be quick to put the pieces together. By that time, it would be too late for Hartman, and if Mei decided to kick Zira out because of her involvement in his death, so be it. Zira called it eliminating a threat, but she knew Mei would only see it as murder. Still, she was willing to face whatever consequences came after.

  Zira pushed her body as hard as she could in the next two weeks to get ready for her mission. Her strategy didn’t rely on a great deal of strength or speed, but if things didn’t go according to plan—and she was no stranger to plans failing—she wanted to be ready. She relearned abilities she had taken for granted before and began jogging as soon as Mei cleared her to do so, but the more complicated maneuvers she’d been able to perform before would take some time to master again. Still, by the time Hartman was supposed to return for his drugs, Zira felt adequately prepared.

  Mei, on the other hand, was an emotional wreck. She tried to hold herself together with fake smiles and constant activity, but there were dark circles under her eyes that no amount of makeup could cover and deepened wrinkles in her face that Zira hadn’t noticed there before. Sometimes, Zira was tempted to comfort her, to promise her that everything would be all right. She didn’t, though. She knew if she said anything about her plan, Mei would talk her out of it. They’d be right back where they started, and Ethan would probably be dead within the week. This was the only solution. Right or wrong, she owed it to Mei to do whatever she could to save her son’s life.

  It was seven o’ clock on the morning of Mei’s two-week deadline when Zira got out of bed and began getting dressed. The sun wasn’t up yet and wouldn’t be for another three hours. She slipped on a few layers of clothes to shield herself from the cold outside, then fastened the necklace Jared had given her around her neck. It was stupid, but somehow, she felt a little better having that small part of him with her, like she wasn’t going into this completely alone.

  She turned to the nightstand beside her bed and pulled the bottom draw open. Everything she needed to kill Hartman lay inside. Both of her handguns, which had been returned to her with her other weapons shortly after the radicals left—albeit without ammunition. A plastic bag containing the two bottles of opioids Mei had tried to give Hartman two weeks ago, which she’d stolen from Mei’s room just hours ago while the old woman slept. A large syringe filled with a clear liquid that she’d mixed right after she stole the drugs, made from about a dozen crushed pills dissolved in water. Zira put all of it in the deep pockets of her coat and crept upstairs.

  Mei sat at the dining room table with her back turned to Zira, staring out the window. She looked so old and fragile. Zira walked up behind her and put her arms around her shoulders. Mei seemed surprised at first, but patted Zira’s hand and gave her a hollow smile. “I’m going for a run,” said Zira. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Don’t forget your gloves,” Mei said. Her voice sounded more like an echo.

  Zira grabbed her gloves from the table near the door, as well as a hat and a long knit scarf, then went outside. At the road past Mei’s yard, she turned left, which was the direction Hartman would be coming from since the other way led to a dead end. She jogged along the desolate street, feet plunging into the snow again and again with a rhythmic, muffled crunch. She stopped about a mile from Mei’s house, close enough to the main road that she could see any approaching headlights.

  She pulled her hat down lower over her ears and hoped that Hartman would hurry up. The last time he’d come to visit Mei, they’d been eating breakfast, so she was counting on him showing up in the morning again. Having spent her entire life in a much warmer climate, Zira was unaccustomed to the intense winter cold of this region. Every moment she spent outside shortened her temper. She’d wait all day if she had to, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy it.

  About thirty minutes later, she saw lights on the main road. The vehicle turned onto the street she stood on now. It had to be Hartman; Mei was one of just a few people living this far outside of Grayridge, and the only other house on this road had been unoccupied for years. Zira pulled a gun out of one pocket and the plastic bag of pills from the other, then walked into the middle of the street and turned to face the headlights.

  As expected, the autopilot system brought the car to a halt about five yards from where Zira stood. She stepped out of the glare, then aimed the gun at the windshield with one hand and held up the bag in the other. The pale, middle-aged man inside the car beckoned her closer. He cracked the window open as she approached, and Zira barked an order before he could speak. “Unlock the door.”

  “Who are you?”

  “If you want the rest of your drugs, you’ll let me ask the questions.”

  That caught his attention. A few seconds later, the doors unlocked with a sharp click. Zira opened one and slid into the back seat right behind Hartman. “You’re going to do exactly what I say.” She nodded at the autopilot console in front of him. “Set that thing to take us to Grayridge. Somewhere on the outskirts of town, but closer than here.”

  “Where are the rest of my drugs?”

  “What did I say about asking questions?” She pressed the gun to his temple and paused to let that sink in a moment. “Don’t do anything suspicious. If you even look you’re going to try and ask for help, I’ll shoot you.”

  He pressed a few buttons and the autopilot confirmed their intended destination. The car turned itself around and headed back to the main road. Hartman glanced at her in the mirror a few times, but seemed to have taken her threat seriously and didn’t try to get any answers from her. They drove through Grayridge in silence until they reached a closed bar on the far side of town.

  “You have arrived at your destination.” The autopilot’s cheerful voice sounded out of place in the tension that filled the car.

  “Will you please tell me what’s going on?” Hartman asked.

  His tone was considerably more civil than it had been the first time he’d spoken to her, but that did nothing to improve Zira’s opinion of him. “You make me sick.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  “Mei. The old woman you’ve been manipulating.” She took the painkillers out of their bag and tossed the bottles in his lap.

  “I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t give me that crap. You’ve been threatening her son’s life so she’ll get you these drugs. She’s too afraid to stand up to you, but I’m not.” Hartman’s expression was one of angelic innocence, but Zira could see the fear behind it. Retribution had finally caught up with him. She leaned closer and jammed the gun against his head. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “This has all been a terrible misunderstanding,” he said shakily. “I’m sure we can work something else out.”

  “Mei already tried that, remember? You refused.”

  “Like I said, a simple misunderstanding.”

  “Wrong answer.”

&nb
sp; Hartman’s mouth stretched in a thin line. He wet his lips with his tongue. “If you kill me, she’ll be the first person they blame.”

  “A nice, seventy-year-old lady? No one’s going to believe that. They have no reason to suspect her. Not unless you’ve been going around telling people how you’ve been threatening a doctor in order to get drugs illegally, and I’d hate to think anyone’s that stupid.” She gestured with the barrel of the gun. “Set the autopilot to drive you back home, but don’t start it yet.”

  He did. “You’re just going to let me go?”

  “Turn and put your hands behind your back where I can see them.”

  He shifted on the seat and Zira unwound the scarf around her neck. “What are you doing?” Hartman asked. Zira didn’t answer. She put the gun down and worked quickly to bind his hands, not so tight as to leave an obvious mark, but tight enough that he wouldn’t be able to get free.

  The plastic bag that had held the drugs lay open on the seat next to her. She grabbed it and yanked it down over Hartman’s head, cutting off his air supply. He kicked at the windows, but they wouldn’t break. He tried to throw himself back on top of her, but Zira braced her forearm against his back and her leg against the door. It took all of her strength to hold him there as he struggled, but she managed.

  A feeling that was dangerously close to guilt rose up inside Zira as she listened to his frantic gasps for air. A small part of her wanted to pull the bag off his head, let him live. Perhaps he’d be terrified enough by this whole thing to leave Mei alone.

  Perhaps. Zira couldn’t accept anything less than a guarantee, and that would only come once Hartman was dead.

  She forced herself to watch his face in the mirror, composing her own features in an expression of cold indifference as she fought the roiling in her stomach. Hartman’s eyes were wide and panicked, reminding Zira of a rabbit she’d had to snare and kill once as part of a survival training exercise. Years seemed to pass before he went still. Zira knotted the back of the bag. He was passed out; it would take a few more minutes of oxygen deprivation to kill him.

  She climbed over the seat to sit beside him and untied his hands, then used the scarf as a tourniquet around his upper arm. She took the syringe from her pocket, uncapped the needle, and found a large vein in Hartman’s arm. Her hands shook as she lowered the needle to his skin. A few deep breaths stilled them. She hit the vein on the first try and pushed the plunger, sending a lethal dose of opiates into his bloodstream.

  She could have given him the drugs first and let him die from the overdose. Maybe that would have been a little more humane, a little less filled with pain and terror. It also would have been much slower, which put Zira at a higher risk of being seen with Hartman since she didn’t dare let him go until she knew he was dead. This was the best she could do. With any luck, everyone would assume he’d died from a drug overdose based on the evidence she left behind, and that would be the end of it. An autopsy might show the true cause of death, but even if one was performed, there was nothing that could connect her or Mei to his death.

  She pulled the bag off his head and removed the scarf from his arm, then sat him up straight in his seat. The bottles of pills had been knocked to the ground sometime during his struggle, but Zira found them and put them neatly in the tray of the center console beside the empty syringe. She got out of the car and leaned back inside to push the button that would start the autopilot. “Warning,” it said. “Door ajar.”

  She closed the door and the car rolled away; it would carry Hartman safely home. She tucked the gun inside her coat and started jogging along the roadside back to Mei’s house, just a regular girl out for her daily morning exercise.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mei said nothing to Zira when she walked in the front door shortly after sunrise, and Zira offered no explanation for her whereabouts. She took a shower and put some clean clothes on, then went upstairs to help Mei with lunch. The news reports started coming in a few hours later. A relative had found Hartman dead inside his car at his home in Anchorage, and the words ‘drug overdose’ were already being pandered around as the most likely cause of death. All things considered, her mission had been a success. Hartman was gone, Ethan would live, and murder wasn’t even being hinted at.

  Mei watched the news with a flat expression. She didn’t seem happy, relieved, or any of the things Zira thought she’d be upon hearing about Hartman’s death. Zira’s mouth went dry as she continued to watch the old woman for a reaction. Mei was smart, and Zira had known from the beginning that she would put the pieces together at some point. She just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

  She turned to Zira, eyes full of disappointment. Zira lifted her chin, holding her head high and defiant against the pounding in her chest. She’d saved an innocent man from a fate he didn’t deserve, and she’d saved Mei from years of threats and manipulation. She refused to apologize for that.

  Mei sighed and shook her head. “You’re a beautiful girl, Zira, and a good person. But if you continue down this path, it won’t be long before your soul is tainted by the same blood that’s on your hands.”

  Zira’s eyes shifted to the floor, her confidence shattered in an instant. No explanation she could offer would erase the hurt in Mei’s eyes, and for some reason, that crushed her more than she could have ever imagined it would. She suddenly felt very out of place in the house that had become her home over the past two months. “I’ll go,” she said. “I’ve been enough of a burden on you already. I shouldn’t be here.”

  “If you had somewhere to go, you would have left already. I told you before that you could stay here as long as you needed to, and I meant that. No one is forcing you to leave.”

  Zira nodded, still unable to meet her gaze. There was so much left unsaid between them, but nothing Zira knew how to say. She went to her room, feeling Mei’s eyes like icicles in her back even after she closed the door.

  * * *

  Despite the old woman’s hospitality, Zira knew she couldn’t stay with Mei forever. She didn’t belong here, a fact that had become even more apparent since she’d killed Hartman. She kept Mei at a distance out of guilt and discomfort, wedging a stifled silence between them that seemed to grow with each passing day. She needed to leave, but where would she go? Physically, she didn’t feel ready to go back to the Project yet, but maybe that was her only choice.

  She still hadn’t found an answer to that question a few weeks later when she accompanied Mei to the distribution center to get her rations. As they neared the building in the center of town, they exchanged curious glances. Something big was happening.

  The street was crowded with what appeared to be every citizen in Grayridge. Armed, uniformed officers stood shoulder to shoulder on each side of the street, looking on with stoic faces. About a third of the officers wore blue bands around their left arms—the cobalt bands of unit P. Zira took some comfort from their presence. Unit P’s job was to protect, and judging from the scene before her, the citizens gathered here might need a little protection. They had no weapons, but they shouted at the officers around them and pushed forward towards the distribution center. A small spark could turn into a blaze in an instant, but with unit P here to keep things under control, Zira was sure the demonstration would come to a peaceful end soon enough.

  Mei pushed her way through the throng until she found a friend. Zira followed. “What’s going on?” Mei asked. She had to shout her question in order to be heard over the commotion.

  “It’s the Murphy girl. She died last night—starved to death.”

  Mei’s mouth turned down in a deep frown. Zira glanced behind them. They hadn’t gone very far into the crowd, but it seemed to have swallowed them up somehow. More were arriving every second, but they couldn’t possibly all be from Grayridge. Perhaps some of the people from neighboring towns had come as well. After all, Tripp had said this entire region was suffering from the food shortage. They might want to join the protest, too.

  Protes
t. Zira’s fingers felt numb. That’s exactly what it was. The shouting crowd, the march towards the distribution center, the armed guards. Protests were considered an act of treason and punished accordingly. It was only a matter of time before the officers shut the whole thing down, by force if necessary.

  Zira leaned closer to Mei. “We need to go.” She searched for a way out, but she was too short to even see over most of these people. Not wanting them to get separated from each other, she took Mei’s hand. “Come with me.”

  Mei allowed Zira to lead her. They tried to stick to the outer edge of the crowd but ended up being swept deeper into the center as the entire group marched in unison. A man pushed right through them, breaking Zira’s grip on Mei’s hand and nearly knocking her to the ground. This was more dangerous than Zira had originally thought. Not for her, but for Mei. The old woman was stronger than most her age, but not strong enough to avoid being seriously injured in this chaos. If she fell, Zira doubted anyone would even notice. The thought of what might happen to Mei after that terrified her.

  “Mei!” Zira could barely hear her own voice. “Mei!” She raised herself up on her toes but still couldn’t see anything. It was no use, and it was too hard trying to push her way through the crowd. After being almost knocked down a second time, Zira changed tactics and began walking with them. She could only hope Mei would have the sense to do the same.

  After a few more minutes, they all stopped. Some started to jump, fists in the air as they shouted at the officers around them. Zira’s pulse quickened. She had to find Mei and get her out of here.

  She spotted a gap and darted through it to the edge of the crowd. The officers watched the protesters with darting eyes, guns raised, fingers poised on their triggers. One of the blue-banded ones, who appeared to be the man in charge, rode a sleek, silver motorcycle into the outer edge of the crowd. He held up a megaphone to address them.