by SF Benson
“Have a nice day.” The man doesn’t smile. He must hate his job.
Asher closes the window and drives away from the checkpoint. We’re officially back in the AR. My skin prickles. Either luck will be on our side or a date with disaster looms ahead.
“Loose talk costs lives! Shhh! The Alliance may be listening!”
—A communiqué from the Bureau of Homeland Protection
Tru
The crisp air chills me to the bone. As long as I keep moving, I’ll be okay. Otherwise, I’ll become a frozen piece of the Upper Peninsula. My eyes take in the area—stubborn leaves of gold clinging to trees, grass resembling hay. There was a time when people made commercials about this place. If I close my eyes, I can imagine the vacation wonderland with lighthouses to explore, the roar of the waterfalls, hiking the pristine forests, and boating the Great Lakes. Days gone by.
I glance up at the gray sky. The clouds, a little darker in spots, are thick without their usual fluffiness. Snow clouds. I need to get a move on.
Taa warned me to stay off the main road as much as possible. The homes dotting the sparse landscape provide few hiding places, though. I cross in front of an abandoned supply building and cut down a side street. Best bet? Move quickly and stay alert.
My numb fingers make gripping the slip of paper difficult. How long have I been walking? The sun is no longer overhead, and the sky pales. My best guess? I’ve been walking for an hour. According to the note, I’m on the correct street. I look at the houses and check for addresses.
A lone dog chained to a tree barks at me. I sympathize with the Rottweiler. Forcing anyone, or any animal for that matter, to remain in one place is wrong. Whoever imprisoned him should endure his punishment. Would he or she appreciate being able to walk only as far as the chain’s length?
Sorry pup. If I were able, I’d free you.
Snowflakes land on my sleeve. Not good. We could get a light dusting or a major storm. My tight leg muscles cramp with each step I take.
According to the address, I should be at the safe house. I stop in the middle of the road, turning in a circle. None of the houses face a lake. Up ahead, tucked in a grove of trees, is a white house with an old wooden porch. The address matches. It’s the safe house. Thank God!
The front door is locked. I run to the back of the house and try a sliding door. Unlocked. The frosty air follows me inside. I shiver and pull my jacket closer.
I remove the gun from my waistband and step into a kitchen. The dark house smells musty like it hasn’t been aired in a long time. It appears vacant. The wind howls outside. My limbs tingle. No time for nervousness.
I tiptoe from room to room. A quick check upstairs confirms I’m alone. I return to the wood-paneled living room.
It’s tempting to switch on the overhead light, but I settle for a small lamp away from the window. I notice a wood pellet stove set in a stone fireplace. This brings back memories of being a kid and camping with my parents and Cris. We’d rent a house off the lake. Those were the days before our lives got flipped upside down, and we moved to the ‘A’ Towers.
I check the hopper and the burn pot. Both are full of pellets. I flick on the igniter switch and head back to the quaint kitchen.
The fridge has food in it. A fresh head of lettuce is on a shelf next to a loaf of bread. Jars of homemade strawberry jam and peanut butter are in a cabinet. A quick search of the drawers turns up a knife. I quickly make a sandwich. Unfortunately, I don’t enjoy the bland meal. Killing people takes the joy out of eating.
I take what remains of my sandwich and explore the rest of the house. Upstairs, I find three meagerly furnished bedrooms and a bathroom with a tub and separate shower. I think back to my last bath, which reminds me of Holden. I shake my head. He won’t ruin the experience for me.
I sit on the side of the tub and finish my sandwich. It’s been awhile since I’ve been alone indoors. My time at the compound either had me in someone’s company or somebody observed me from a distance.
Alone with my thoughts… I want to relax and stop worrying, but something bugs me about Taa and that card. I want to trust her, but that little voice, the one I never listen to, keeps telling me not to trust anyone. I have to wonder if it’s time I started listening to it.
How much grief could I have saved myself from had I listened to that voice? Maybe the night with Holden wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps the man I killed would be enjoying dinner with his family. If I had listened, I wouldn’t have run into Zared again.
I’ve changed a lot since Mom’s death and my time with Holden. I don’t think I’m as reckless anymore. If anything, I’m calculating. I might even be vindictive. I don’t like this new version of me. At one point in my life, my greatest fear fixated on being alone with my memories. The likelihood of spending eternity with my new self is a new fear, a new nightmare.
I wipe the crumbs off my lap. Taa said help is coming. I hope it’s Zared. This place won’t feel safe until he’s here with me. If someone else shows up instead… well… Don’t blame me if shit happens.
“Your country needs you. Report for your inoculation day.”
—An announcement from the Centers for Human Advancement
Zared
I wake up with Ko’s head on my shoulder. We’re in the middle of nowhere; darkness and snow surround us. The heat’s blowing full blast, but I can’t get warm against the bitter cold.
“Zared, welcome to North Woods,” Asher announces and points to the right of the vehicle. All I see is a line of trees.
“Where is it?” I croak.
“Call it beauty in planning. The facility is behind the trees. The locals know it exists. If you’re not a local and you know where it is, it’s not because you’re on a guided tour.”
“How long before we’re at the safe house?” I ask.
“From here? Twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes before I’m back with my girl. My heart quickens. It seems like forever since the last time I tasted those full lips and gazed into her warm eyes.
Ko lifts her head off my shoulder, wiping at some dried drool.
I smile at her indulgently.
“Where are we, Ash?” she asks sleepily.
“Just passed the North Woods compound. We’re close to the safe house.”
“Good.” She yawns. “You forget I might need a restroom?”
Asher chuckles. “Sorry, sunshine. You’ve been asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Whatever. Wake me up when we get there.” She snuggles closer to me.
All of this sleeping Ko’s doing concerns me. I hope it’s just her body trying to heal itself. We aren’t prepared for any complications, medical or otherwise.
“Zared?” Asher calls out.
“Yeah?” I notice the black Mustang parked at the edge of the road.
Asher pulls the truck over in front of the car.
“If Tru is safe, why do we need him?” I ask, raising my voice.
“Well, since you didn’t want me to kill Griffin,” he says harshly, “we’re going to need muscle if he or Leon shows up.”
Mark taps on the window, interrupting us.
“What took you so long?” he grunts.
“It’s not like we could fly down the road. Did you order the snow storm?” Asher asks.
“Funny, man.” Mark looks in the truck. “I’ll follow you.”
Mark returns to the Mustang, flashes the lights, and we continue down the road.
“Ash, I won’t put up with his attitude around Tru. She doesn’t know about what went down with Mark or what happened with my father. The news should come from me, not him,” I say.
Asher taps his finger against the steering wheel. “I know, I know. He won’t say anything to her.”
“What makes having this guy so damn special?”
“He was on the team with me years ago,” Asher replies.
“Is this about what happened with Griffin?”
“Affirmative.” He pr
esses his lips together and slips back into Riza mode—short answers, divulging information on a need-to-know basis.
I don’t care as I continue to press the issue. “Why would you want a hothead like Mark with us?”
Asher glances at me. “Mark and Griffin are cousins. They used to be close. Then, Griffin met Gena. She dated Mark before marrying Griffin.”
I slam my fist against the door. Ko jumps.
“And you wanted to kill him!” This situation is royally fucked up.
“Trust me. I should have,” Asher mumbles.
I don’t like this scenario, not one damn bit. If things get out of hand, we need weapons not a negotiator. Asher should have told me about Griffin and Mark. I wonder what else he might be hiding.
“Keep calm and support the New Order. We support you.”
—A communiqué from the Bureau of Homeland Protection
Tru
The snow continues to fall. The trees along with the porch and walkway hide beneath a pure blanket of white. What should be calming now unnerves me. Being all alone reminds me of the White Room.
I sit in a chair near the pellet stove, still wearing my jacket. With my gun in my hand, I keep a post near the window, prepared for whatever happens. Anyone trying to approach the property will be easily seen, but if the storm continues, footprints will be covered. I have to stay alert.
Something scratches at the window, catching my attention. I jump to my feet and ready my weapon.
Just a tree limb too close to the house.
I slump against the wall. My hands shake. Not a good thing holding a firearm. It seems so long ago when I hated these things. Now, the weapon’s an extension of my arm.
It’s all about survival… Strategy. Our lives depend on it, the new normal. The New Order cronies work hard to keep Creatives disheartened. If we want to survive, we have to make better, solid plans. No more wishes. No more hopes and dreams.
Actually, it might be easier to live the life they want for us. What the New Order has in mind is an empty existence without pain or sorrow. A life worth living for Cogents. Not the life I want to live. I’ve come this far, and I’ll continue to fight to see the world as I choose.
I wake up to the sensation of something crawling on me. I slap at the imaginary spiders. Will the hellish images ever leave me alone?
It’s dark, and the snow has stopped. The old-fashioned knit blanket slips to the floor. I sit up, gripping the gun, and survey the room. Nothing’s out of place. How long have I slept? My stomach growls in response.
I go to the kitchen and raid the cabinets, finding containers of soup—chicken noodle, split pea, chili, and ham and bean. I place the ham and bean inside an antique inverter oven. A familiar hum emanates from the appliance.
The wind howls outside the house. My skin prickles. Someone’s watching me. A brief scan of the kitchen doesn’t reveal anything. I hurry across the room and check the sliding door.
Unlocked. Impossible. Perhaps I forgot to lock it. Fatigue messes with my memory.
Ding. I flinch. Just the inverter’s timer. Then, I notice the headlights.
From the front window, I observe three figures exiting a dark pickup truck. A black sports car parks in front of it. A girl dressed in a questionable outfit, a biker wearing a bandana, and a guy with spiked hair move toward the house. I cock my gun.
The front doorknob rattles. When it fails to open, the intruders head around the side of the house. My leg muscles tighten with fear as I dash through the kitchen.
One of the figures uses a knife to pop the lock on the patio door. I aim my weapon. The door slides open.
“Take one more step, and I’ll make you regret being born,” I announce.
The biker guy raises his hands. “Don’t shoot. Tru, it’s me, Asher. Ko and Zared are with me.”
“Asher?” I question, keeping my weapon aimed at his head. “Prove it.”
“I told you about Shiloh,” he mutters.
Shiloh.
The brother Asher lost during the Street Wars. When I lost my mother, Asher told me about him. He gives me a crooked smile. I exhale. “Thank God.”
I lower my weapon. The guy with the crazy hair steps from the shadows.
I gaze into his smoky dark eyes, and my heart stutters. I place my gun on the table and move toward him. If I’m dreaming, I don’t care.
Zared’s in some sort of disguise—fake piercings, dark eye makeup, and dark clothing. He isn’t the Emo type.
His luscious lips quirk up, and he says in a voice so husky I barely hear him, “Babe.”
It is all the invitation I need. Quickly, I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around Zared’s waist. My vision blurs; I press my face into his muscular chest and let the tears fall.
Zared buries his face in the crook of my neck. “I missed you.” His voice catches as he squeezes me tight.
Everything I’d endured—the mental torture, the harsh living conditions, Holden’s brutality—all seem to pale in this moment. Warmth radiates through me. I’m right where I want to be, safe in Zared’s muscular arms. I can lay down my burdens, my worries and bask in… wait… There it is… a hint of sandalwood. Now, I am home.
“I thought I’d never see you again.” I sniff.
“Same here.” He steps back, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me.
It seems like an eternity since our last kiss, but we haven’t lost our rhythm. His tongue ravishes mine, sweeping me away.
Someone clears their throat. Ko. “Hello, Tru.”
I drag my lips away from Zared’s and face her. She holds her head high and pushes her shoulders back. I see the grimace. Something’s wrong.
I move away from Zared and hug her. There was so much animosity between us the last time I saw her. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Ko winces before returning the hug. “Me, too.”
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” My gaze darts from Zared to Asher and back to Ko.
Asher squeezes my shoulder. “Plenty, but I’ll let your boyfriend tell you. I need to hit the head.”
I point down the hall. “There’s one upstairs, too.”
“Great.” Ko follows Asher out of the kitchen.
I say to Zared, “I guess you want—”
“Just let me hold you for a minute.” He closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me.
I need this moment. Being back in his arms feels so right. The horror of the past few days recedes, and reality sets in. I’m here with Zared. Maybe all will be right with the world.
But I need more. We’ve been apart for so long. I want to forget things. I need to forget so much. My brazen hands probe his body. When he pulls back, I eagerly kiss him.
Zared backs me into the wall. His tongue skims my trembling lips. I stroke his hair and my fingers land on his over-gelled hair.
My lips lift in a smile. “Want to tell me about your new look?”
He intertwines his fingers with mine. “Can we sit?”
I pick up the gun and lead him to the living room. He sits down on the sofa, pulling me onto his lap. I straddle him, run my hand along the back of his neck, and place the gun on the end table. The things I desire to do to him, but I can’t keep a straight face.
“What’s so funny?” He asks, his voice low and husky.
I can barely contain my laughter. “Your getup is hilarious.”
Zared can’t contain himself either, and we both fall back laughing. “I’m not fond of it, but it got me across the border.”
Thank God. I press my forehead to his. My voice shakes. “Zared, I’ve missed you so much. There—”
“Shhh. Not now.” His mouth brushes mine.
I return his kiss half-heartedly. After so much time away from Zared, I want nothing more than to languish in his arms, but I need some answers.
He bites my lower lip softly for a second and pulls on it. Damn, I don’t want him to stop. Zared breathes heavily. “You want to know about Ko?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“She was shot.”
I gasp. “By whom?”
Zared hugs me and mutters, “My father.”
His body is trembling. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Bad things happen when he bottles up his emotions. I recall how he wrecked a room on New Belle Isle when he learned his father was alive. It’s best to get things out in the open. If Zared tells me now, we won’t have to manage his anger later.
“Talk to me.” I caress his cheek.
“I killed him, Tru,” his voice cracks. “It happened so fast. A gun went off, and Ko’s body jerked. I reacted.”
I wasn’t a fan of Katsuo Aoki, a twisted man who put his research before his family. He couldn’t have been an easy parent to love, but he was Zared’s father.
“It’s okay, Z,” I soothe. “We’ve all done horrible things to survive.”
He searches my face. “Care to share?”
My heart plummets to my stomach. “Well, I killed a man to get here, but I had no choice. He wasn’t going to let me walk away, and I wasn’t going back to the compound.”
“Compound?”
“The place I was held prisoner.” I bow my head. “There’s more.”
He squeezes my hand.
“Holden…I, uh…” Words hang in my throat. The memory brings tears to my eyes.
Zared cups my chin. “Hey, it’s not necessary. I don’t have to know all the details. Just tell me, was it life or death?”
Was it life or death?
Other than some self-serving need on Holden’s behalf, did his actions serve any real purpose? At the time, I thought they did. I believed fighting him would have cost me my life or the chance to escape. Maybe it was just a last shred of foolish recklessness. Whatever it was, stupid decision or reckless act, it allowed me to escape. Get over it.
“Yes,” I mutter.
“If the situation presented itself again and your life wasn’t at risk, would you do the same thing?”
“No way,” I sniffle. No. I’d find a weapon and blow Holden’s fucking brains out or carve out his heart or…
