Rescue (The Alliance Chronicles Book 2)

by SF Benson

  His lips quirk into one of those slow, sexy smiles, beckoning me. The sand buries my feet as I walk toward him. My feet slip from under me. The sand has turned to ice.

  Zared is standing there, but pain fills his smoky eyes. The perfect sky darkens. Icebergs float into the sea.

  “Tru,” he calls out. “Focus on me, babe.”

  A loud crack cuts through the air. Zared’s drifting away on an iceberg. My voice catches.

  Paradise is lost, replaced with Antarctica. No amount of creativity can save me from this. Bitter cold seeps into my bones.

  It’s not real.

  Hands are on me, pressing into my flesh. One soldier holds me down while the other one pours water over me. My fingers and toes go numb.

  My teeth chatter like a jackhammer. My skin burns. It hurts to breathe.

  Not being able to hug myself makes the situation worse. Tears leak from my eyes but freeze on impact. My mind slows down and sleep calls for me. Fight. Stay strong.

  A blanket of spiders would be nice right now. At least I’ll be warm. I try to flex my fingers. They won’t budge. Holden won’t let me die. Would he?

  Just sleep. You’ll feel better.

  Who said that? My eyes dart around the room. A shadowy figure stands in the corner. I open my mouth. No words come out.

  It’ll all be over soon, minha filha, my darling daughter.

  Shit. I’m losing it. Mom’s dead. Am I dead, too?

  A blanket of warmth surrounds me. I snuggle into it. Thank God it was just a nightmare.

  I open my eyes, and my heart sinks. Holden sits beside me.

  “Do you now understand how serious I am?” he asks.

  I sit up, wrapping the thick down comforter around me. It wasn’t a dream. “Yes.”

  “Good. Let’s talk about your options,” he says.

  “I have those?” I mutter.

  “We all do. You just make life hard on yourself. I’ve tried being nice to you.” He fingers a strand of my tangled hair.

  Fear grips me, but I bury it. The little girl needs to grow up and deal with the circumstances. If leaving this place is what I want, I have to move beyond fear and think my way out of this.

  “Seriously? I’m a prisoner here. I’ve had one meal. I can’t remember the last time I showered. Let’s not even talk about my need to use a proper bathroom.”

  As if on cue, the sharp scent of urine fills the air. We both peer at the bucket in the corner.

  He looks in my eyes. “And why should I give you privileges? You’ve been nothing but uncooperative. You’re a traitor to your country. Traitors don’t deserve privileges.”

  I swallow hard. My heart and mind agree for a change. Reuniting with Zared requires making some choices, whether I like them or not.

  “Being a traitor wasn’t my intention. I merely wanted to avoid the vaccine.”

  Holden’s eyes soften. “We’re all guilty of making poor decisions.”

  “Exactly,” I whisper. “I’m just a kid. I can’t be held accountable for everything I do. Give me a chance to prove I can be a model citizen.”

  “I’d like to give you that chance.” He reaches out and caresses my cheek. My stomach turns. “You’ll marry me. We’ll be wed tomorrow.”

  Why is this man so obsessed with marrying me? His family has nothing to gain from our union. People like Holden don’t choose to marry someone like me. They’re hitched to debutantes or influential women, not the daughter of a traitor and a civil servant.

  No. Marrying Holden is the ultimate betrayal to Zared. There must be a compromise.

  “What’s the rush? We don’t know each other. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

  Holden scrunches up his face. He stands and crosses the room.

  “I have a proposition,” I say quickly.

  “I’m listening.” His voice is full of curiosity.

  Breathing in distress and exhaling resolve, I picture a plan. I have to appeal to his ego in order to get out of here.

  I force a smile and pray it’s convincing. “We have the time, and we’re already engaged. Let’s be retro and date. We can have our meals together. Take walks around this place. Get to know each other. I promise I won’t give you any trouble.”

  Holden faces me, tilting his head as he speaks. “Like you upheld your last promise to me?”

  He had to bring that up. I purse my lips and shrug. “It was a stupid mistake. Zared pushed me to do it. There’s nothing here to distract me. I’ll keep my word.”

  “I’ll consider it if you wear my ring.” He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the thing.

  Damn, why is he such a stickler on symbolism? I can’t let a stupid piece of jewelry derail my focus. He could have requested something far worse.

  “Okay. I’ll wear it once I’ve had a shower and a change of clothing. And not some hideous prison uniform. Real clothes. And a meal.”

  Holden sits beside me and chuckles.

  “What’s so funny?” I challenge.

  “You’re probably the only prisoner who would have the audacity to dictate the rules of her own imprisonment.”

  I lift my shaking chin. “Well, I’ve never been conventional. I’m not about to start now.”

  He slaps his thighs and stands. “I’ll see to your requests.”

  “Oh, and Holden?”

  His face tightens. “What now?”

  “I want a real room. A real bed. I want something to keep time. A window would be nice. A small one will suffice.”

  Holden asks through clenched teeth, “Anything else?”

  This is going better than I thought. How far can I push things? “Any chance you could get me my iPod?”

  “No can do.” He wipes his hand across his face. “We can give you something to stream music.”

  “I want mine.” I scowl. “It has the music I like to listen to. Not that synthesized garbage.”

  “Banned music isn’t something a model citizen should listen to. Besides, haven’t you had enough of music?”

  Point taken. I raise my eyebrows. “Who would know besides us? It could be our secret.”

  He tilts his head back and gazes at the ceiling. “If I do this, I want total cooperation from you. You’ll become the ideal fiancée. Understand?”

  “Sure. No problem. So when do I get the things I asked for?” I pissed him off, yet I don’t care. Getting him to retrieve my antique iPod is important.

  “Tomorrow,” he says.

  I shrug. “When’s that? Remember, I don’t have any way of judging time.”

  Holden pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes tight. “You’re exasperating. It’s five o’clock now. I’ll have someone bring you a meal and a clock within the hour. Expect your requests to be fulfilled by tomorrow morning.”

  “When?” I ask.

  He mutters something unintelligible and stares down at me. “Must you have an exact time?”

  “Well,” I twirl my hair around my finger. “I like to have something to look forward to.”

  “Nine.” He frowns.

  “Including my iPod?” I ask.

  “No.” His Adam’s apple bobs.

  The thought repulses me, but it needs to be done. I slowly walk toward him with a smile plastered on my face. I allow my fingers to stroke his forearm, brushing my body against his.

  “May I please have my iPod? My brother gave it to me. It’s all I have left of him. Besides, I’d be very appreciative.”

  Holden’s skin flushes. His tongue darts out as he licks his lips. He clears his throat. “How?”

  I run my finger across his lips. “Extremely appreciative.”

  “Show me.” Holden grasps my arm and pulls me close. “If you want me to retrieve your things, including your precious iPod, show me your appreciation.”

  I haul in a breath and my body tenses. Remember your goal. I swallow the bile working up my throat, circle his neck with my arms, and let my lips graze his.

  He remains poised f
or a beat or two, not letting my actions affect him. Then he greedily attacks my mouth. I fight the urge to shove him. Soon, he breaks off the kiss.

  “I’ll get your things,” he mumbles and leaves the room.

  My victory disturbs me. I slouch against the wall. Is my freedom worth the degradation?

  Asking for my iPod is risky. How long it takes him to return will give me a good idea where he’s holding me.

  I lie back, calculating routes and times. I need confirmation of where I am in order to plan an escape. Otherwise, I might actually be in Antarctica. If I’m in the Upper Peninsula, it will take about seven hours to reach New Detroit.

  I close my eyes, letting my mind create. I can see the majestic Mackinac Bridge. The image is replaced by Zehnder’s Holz Brucke, a covered bridge, in Frankenmuth, along with the quaint Bavarian shops. I can see beyond the ghost towns of Flint, Pontiac, and Troy. Children play happily on the streets. Grandmothers tend the gardens with lead-free water. Holden wouldn’t appreciate the landscape on the seven-hour drive. No one does anymore. It only exists in my mind.

  But if he’s driving up from New Toledo, there’d be nothing to see. A new route enters my imagination. The war decimated the city, leaving hollowed-out buildings along the Ottawa River. The Shoreland neighborhood became a military installation for the Ohio militia. If he cuts through Summit Street, though, he might take in the stately mansion owned by military generals, gracing the river front.

  Not likely. Holden would plow through the area like all residents of Michigan racing for the state line. Border patrol would overlook a speeding ticket since he’s a government employee. He’d be back in New Detroit in under an hour.

  Either way, I’ll have an answer, and possibly I can make a plan.

  “The Alliance is the road to socialism.”

  —Karla Marx-Hamilton, AR economist & philosopher

  Zared

  I exit the railcar on a college campus. Street cops are practically on every corner. My heart thumps. I need to blend in and fast. A dollar store, a few feet away, offers salvation.

  I grab a plastic basket at the door and roam the aisles searching for what I need. No time to dwell on Leon and Griffin’s conversation. I’ll dissect it later with Asher. I grab a backpack, a pair of shades, a beanie, and a university hoodie. I run a hand across my face and remember to pick up a container of baby wipes, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a bottle of shampoo/conditioner, and a jar of moisturizer.

  The cashier, a matronly woman, eyes me suspiciously as she rings up the merchandise.

  She places everything inside the backpack. “Anything else for ya?”

  “Cut the tag.” I jerk my head toward the glaring orange piece of plastic hanging from the backpack zipper.

  The woman clips it and smiles at me as I step away from the counter.

  Outside, I walk past a closed antique store and notice an automated laundry on the corner. I duck inside. An overweight man with thinning red hair stands in front of a dryer. My eyes dart around the room. No one else in sight.

  I head for a washroom toward the back and lock the door behind me. Fortunately, the room is clean. There’s a wooden chair in a corner. I toss the pack on it and dig out the alcohol and baby wipes. First thing is to get this damn facial hair off.

  “Damn,” I mutter. Alcohol burns like a motherfucker.

  A few minutes later, my face is clean but red in spots. I slather on the moisturizer and hope for the best.

  I leave the fake tats and piercings and pull off the hoodie. I turn on the tap and stick my head under the water. When all the gel is gone, I dry my hair with the discarded sweatshirt. I put on the hideous royal blue and gold hoodie and tug on the black beanie. Griffin’s sweatshirt goes into the trash bin. The Ruger and the ammo go into the backpack. A quick glance in the mirror. I’m passable. I put on the shades and walk out.

  The place is silent. Empty. Perfect. I pull out the phone and call Asher.

  “Ash? It’s Zared.”

  “Dude,” he says enthusiastically. “Where are you?”

  “At a laundry on a college campus. How far away are you?” I sit back on a hard plastic chair, facing the street.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m coming to you,” he says decisively. “Give me the location.”

  “Railcar station’s out front.” I look out the window. “University and Wellington.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  An engine revs. “How’s Ko?”

  “She had surgery. Her shoulder’s compromised, but I think she’ll be okay with rehab. Where’ve you been?”

  I raise my hand to my face and stop. No need aggravating it. “I went to the Ubernet café looking for Tru. I met this cold fish who gave me a note. Followed her to an address and she gave me the tech.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing, right?”

  “Not really. She introduced me to her crazy-ass brother. I did find out that Tru’s up in North Woods.”

  “North Woods. Got it.” He pauses for a beat. “Get back to the brother for a minute.”

  “Only thing you need to know is this guy wants the tech and he wants me dead. He’s got a stepfather who wants to turn Tru and me in for a reward.”

  “Names, Zared,” he probes.

  “Griffin and a man named Leon.”

  The line goes silent.

  “Ash, you still there?”

  The door to the laundry opens. I look up. Asher’s walking toward me. “That was fast.”

  “Five minutes away.” He smiles lopsidedly.

  I know my friend. He didn’t do the speed limit. I shove the phone in the bag. “Let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”

  Asher parks the black Mustang at a motel and leads me back to his room. For such a staunch follower of rules, he’s a slob when it comes to his living space. The curtains are drawn. A dim lamp casts a yellow gloom over the room. Clothes are strewn over one of the beds. The other bed is unmade. The small trashcan is overrun with empty food containers. Sweat and old socks permeate the air.

  An open duffel bag sits on the table. I push it to the side and sit down, ripping into a bag of burgers we picked up on the way.

  He sits on the side of the unmade bed. “Tell me more about these two guys.”

  I remove the pickles from the burger. “I don’t know what else to say. Griffin used to be Riza. He trained to be a scientist.”

  “Red hair, funky blue eyes?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest.

  “Yeah,” I say around a mouthful of food. “You know him?”

  “We served together.” Asher stares off into space for a beat. Scorn flashes across his face. “What about the other guy?”

  “The one that looks like Santa Claus’ fucking twin?”

  Asher nods.

  “His name’s Leon. I don’t know what he does. Just know what I heard.” I take another bite and wash it down with an orange pop. “Does the AR really want me dead?”

  He purses his lips and nods. “There’s a reward for your capture. You’re fortunate no one picked you up.”

  “I’ve been in disguise.” I ball up the wrapper and shove some fries into my mouth.

  Asher laughs as he speaks. “So that’s what happened to your face?”

  “Is it that bad?” I get up and go to the dresser. My skin looks like I got a bad case of road rash. “Well, cops won’t be looking for this face.”

  “Why don’t you lie low while I go pick up Ko? She’ll be happy to see you.” He picks up the key fob and walks to the door.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Change of clothes in the closet, if you want to shower, relax.” He jerks his head toward a corner. “Be back in a few. We’ll talk more then.”

  I close my eyes. Some of my stress is gone. Once I get Tru back, I might be able to relax.

  The Alliance is the enemy of thinking people.”

  —Karla Marx-Hamilton, AR economist & philosopher

  Zared

  Familiar voices wake me. I
sit up and roll my neck. Asher closes the door behind him. Ko stands next to the bed.

  “Zared, it’s good to see you.” A smile creases her face.

  “Same here.” I move off the bed and let her sit down. “You okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. Asher’s filled me in. We need to get to Tru as soon as possible.”

  Asher sits at the table. “Been thinking about that. We need to leave tonight. Fewer patrols after dark. What we can’t do is go through Michigan.”

  I sit across from him. “What’s the plan?”

  He whips out his phone and swipes across it a few times. “Riza’s patrolling the border now. So we go through Canada. It’ll take a few days to get to North Woods.”

  His words irritate me. “Tru might not have a few days.”

  Ko interjects,” “Zared, listen to him. We worked out a plan. It keeps you safe.”

  I drum my fingers against the table. Ko doesn’t need to be involved. She should be in some rehab facility and let Asher and me handle this.

  “Dude, you listening?”

  “Speak,” I say sharply.

  “We leave tonight and go through Toronto. I’ve got a contact who’ll meet us in Sudbury. We’ll cross in Sault Ste. Marie. It’s not perfect, but we won’t have to deal with AR officials or Riza.”

  “Who’s the contact, Ash?”

  He replies slowly, his eyes evading mine. “Not important.”

  “Ko, give us the room for a minute,” I say.

  Her eyes dart to Asher. “Guys, we don’t need—”

  I command, “Give us the damn room.”

  She jumps off the bed and runs to the bathroom.

  “Was that necessary, Z?” he asks quietly.

  “Who’s the contact, Asher?” I don’t need any more surprises. “If you don’t tell me, I go alone.”

  He runs a hand across his face. “I forgot how pigheaded you can be. It’s Mark. Mark Carter.”

  Anger shakes my voice. “No. Damn. Way.”

  “I’ve already called him, Z. We need his help. If you think I’m letting you do this without backup, you’re wrong.”

  I slam my hand against the table top. Mark Carter is an asshat I never wanted to cross paths with again. But I want my girl back. My life’s empty without her. Fine. If I have to put up with Carter, so be it. “Remember he’s your friend, not mine.”