Renegades of PEACE (Secrets of PEACE Book 2)

by T. A. Hernandez

  Clearly, the rebels had thought this through, but Zira still wasn’t convinced it would be as simple as Chase made it sound. “How exactly do you plan to take the compound? They have a really big wall, and they can sit up there and pick your people off one by one all day long. You’d better be sure you can get inside.”

  “We can. Especially now that we have Tripp’s help.”

  “There are kids in there.”

  “We’re not going to hurt or punish the children.”

  “Not intentionally, but they could easily get caught in the crossfire.”

  Chase gave her a wry smile. “So many questions. You can’t give a guy a break, can you?”

  Some of the others snickered at this, but Zira remained impassive and waited for Chase’s response.

  “We plan to give Ryku a warning and a chance to surrender before we go in. Hopefully the children will all be somewhere safe when the fighting breaks out.”

  “Hopefully,” Zira muttered. A blizzard in the desert was more likely than Ryku ever surrendering the compound.

  “We’ve weighed all our options,” Chase said. “Right now, this plan is our best chance at success. If there was a less dangerous option, don’t you think I’d take it? I don’t want to see anyone get hurt, but I believe what we’re trying to accomplish is worth fighting for.”

  Zira nodded and kept the rest of her doubts to herself. Chase was doing the best he could, and it wasn’t as if she had any better suggestions. No matter what they did, there were going to be casualties on both sides, and some of those might be innocent people. But they couldn’t just stand back and do nothing, either. The longer they waited, the more people would die at Ryku’s hands, and many of those people were innocent, too.

  “If no one has any other questions,” Chase said, “Alma will take you to the concourse now. There should be a hot meal waiting for you there.”

  Alma left Tripp’s side and walked to the front of the group. “Follow me,” she said. “We should hurry. The cooks tend to get a little grouchy with people who show up late for supper.”

  * * *

  The concourse was a large, open area underneath what Ezekiel kept referring to as Grand Central, though as Zira understood it, the above-ground portion of the building had collapsed when the city was bombed. A long counter held pots of still-steaming food, and tables and chairs had been set up in every available space. There was even a projector playing a news broadcast on one wall. Most of the tables were occupied by rebels—men, women, and children of all ages. Some of them stared at the newcomers as they got their food and sat down. Others smiled and waved to them.

  They crowded around a small table together with their food. The quantity and variety of it surprised Zira. There was a dark, hearty stew with meat and vegetables, a biscuit with grape jelly, and some home-canned green beans. It was the first decent meal she’d eaten since leaving the compound, and she had to stop herself from scarfing it all down at once. “Where does the food come from?” she asked between bites.

  “We grow what we can above ground,” said Alma. “It gets canned and stored for the winter. We have some chickens up there too, and sometimes we hunt deer that wander through the city.”

  “What about the electricity?” another young woman asked.

  Alma shrugged. “They got the plumbing and electricity working before I got here. I don’t know much more than that. A group of people smarter than me keeps it all running, and they’re pretty strict about how much we’re allowed to use.”

  After they’d all finished eating, Ezekiel stayed behind while Alma led them out of the concourse and back downstairs to a series of platforms. Makeshift shelters had been constructed on these, but the area that had been set aside for the new arrivals was farther along the tracks. It was similar to the others they’d seen, another platform divided into smaller sections that served as rooms. Some had blankets or tarps hanging over the doorways, but many were left open, with mismatched mattresses, cots, and sleeping bags inside. There were even a few shelves and dressers in some of the rooms.

  “I hope you don’t like privacy,” Alma said. “It’s pretty cramped down here. We’ve had so many people pouring in lately we’ve had to double up in most units just to hold everyone.”

  She divided them into pairs and assigned each pair to a room. Tripp and Zira ended up together, adjacent to the unit Seth shared with a former member of unit P. “I’ll leave you to get settled in,” Alma said. She turned to Zira. “And I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  Zira and Tripp shuffled into their tiny space. There was a toddler mattress along one of the walls and a sleeping bag on the other side with just a few inches to walk in between. Zira tossed her bag onto the mattress. “That one’s mine,” she said. “I don’t think you’d fit on there anyway.”

  “I know you’re short, kid, but you’re not that short.”

  Zira shrugged and laid down. Her feet and ankles hung off the end, but she was comfortable enough. “It’s not too bad,” she said. “As long as you don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

  Tripp shook his head and set his bag at the foot of the sleeping bag. “I’ve slept on the floor for most of the past sixteen years,” he said. “If they gave me a bed in a mansion, I’d probably be tossing and turning all night.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Five days, Aubreigh guessed. Maybe six. It was almost impossible to mark the passage of time in her cell. There were no windows to let in the sun, and meals were served at random, irregular intervals. There was a toilet in one corner and a metal bed with no mattress bolted to the floor in the other. She could take exactly three strides from one concrete wall to the other, and the only view she had of the outside world was through the narrow panel of glass in the door.

  She had seen the E-2s bring in two other prisoners after her, but there might have been more. And then there was Jared. The only explanation she could think of for his arrest was that Ryku had found out he hadn’t killed Zira. Did that mean Zira had been caught? Did it mean she was dead? She’d tried calling out to Jared that first day when she thought no one was around. She just wanted answers. A tall woman with a black armband had come in, grabbed her by the throat, and pinned her against the wall. “Shut up! You don’t talk to anyone in here, understand?” Aubreigh could still feel the bruises around her neck. She hadn’t tried communicating with anyone after that.

  She sat down on the bed with her face in her palms. A part of her wished she could go back in time five months, to that night when Seth had shown up at her door and asked for her help. She would have told him to leave before he could ask her to tamper with Natalie Steele’s records. She would have refused his later offer to join the rebellion. If she had just kept her head down and stayed out of trouble, she wouldn’t be here right now.

  The bitterness in her chest swelled, and tears burned at the back of her eyes. She felt like a coward for thinking it, for wishing she hadn’t put herself in this position, but it was the truth. And considering she probably wouldn’t be alive much longer, she figured she should at least be honest with herself in her final days.

  Despite these regrets, a braver part of her still took pride in the choices she’d made and the things she’d done for the rebellion. She’d helped people. In her own small way, she’d made a difference. Truthfully, if she had been able to go back in time, she liked to think she would have done everything the same. She held onto that thought like it was a candle in the dark, the only thing she had to comfort her now that everything else had fallen apart.

  A shadow fell through the glass in the door. “Up against the wall,” said a woman outside.

  Aubreigh blinked away her tears and walked to the back of the cell, where she stood with her palms and forehead pressed against the concrete. The door opened behind her and shut again. She started to turn around.

  “Did I say you could move yet?” said the woman.

  Aubreigh froze. Normally, the guards just set her food on the floor and
left, but she recognized the speaker now that her voice wasn’t muffled through the heavy metal door. Cecilia. She took two long steps towards Aubreigh and leaned against the wall to look at her. “I brought you a surprise,” she said in that same mocking tone she had always used with Zira. “You can go ahead and look now.”

  Aubreigh turned. Revolver stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. She hadn’t seen him since the day he put Jared in his cell, and hadn’t spoken to him in what she guessed was over a week. She started to take a step towards him, but Cecilia threw an arm out to block her. “Stay right there.”

  Aubreigh looked at Revolver helplessly. “Talk to me,” she said.

  He didn’t respond. His eyes seemed to have lost whatever warmth Aubreigh had once seen there.

  Cecilia grunted. “You’re still going to pretend you care after the way you used him to get information?”

  Was that what they were telling him? It would explain why Revolver hadn’t so much as acknowledged her the last time she’d seen him. Even now, he stared blankly ahead at a spot on the wall behind her. Aubreigh shook her head and kept her gaze fixed on him. “That’s not true. You know it isn’t. I do care.”

  Cecilia cackled like this was the best joke she’d ever heard. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. You’re exactly the kind of idiot who would waste your energy on people who don’t give you anything in return. Look at him. He’s not even capable of caring about anyone. And what about Zira? She’s the one who got you into all of this, but where is she now?”

  The fact that Cecilia had to ask where Zira was meant the Project hadn’t found her. She was still alive. Aubreigh couldn’t help smiling a little.

  “What are you so happy about?” Cecilia growled. “You’re going to be dead soon. I just wish I could be there to see the look on Zira’s face when she finds out Ryku killed you.”

  Aubreigh’s smile fell. She swallowed hard and fought to keep her expression neutral, determined not to show how much the reminder of her imminent death terrified her.

  “She killed Lucas, you know.” Cecilia’s voice cracked a little, but she maintained a fiery expression. “He was her family once, and she just shot him like it was nothing. We’ll see how she likes it when we take away the people she loves.” She shoved Aubreigh on her way out and paused to kick the tray of food on the floor as she passed. Some of its contents spilled out to form a thick puddle on the concrete.

  “Revolver—” Aubreigh said.

  “Come on!” Cecilia barked. Revolver turned and followed her without a word, and the door shut with an echoing clang behind them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Over the next week, Zira became accustomed to the daily routine at the rebel base. Each morning began with a blaring alarm that echoed throughout the entire tunnel system and jarred her awake. She always walked to the concourse with Tripp to have breakfast, and after that, they each went their separate ways to complete their respective work assignments.

  The rebels had divided themselves into squads and trained above ground in an area of the city they’d cleared for target practice. Spring was still a few weeks away, and the air was uncomfortably cold, but Zira enjoyed the time they spent under the open sky. She was the sixteenth member of her squad, and aside from Alma, none of the others had extensive formal training in combat or firearms. With Zira’s help, they began to show some improvement, but she doubted it would be enough. Besides actually getting inside the compound, capturing Ryku was arguably the most important part of the entire operation, and these were supposed to be the best people the rebellion had to offer. They weren’t completely incompetent, but getting them trained to a level of proficiency adequate for taking down a few E-2 operatives on their way to Ryku would take a miracle.

  She voiced these concerns to Alma after her third day. “You’re right,” Alma responded. “Honestly, I’d settle for just making sure they get out of this alive.”

  “Okay,” said Zira. She didn’t tell her that was probably going to be impossible, but she didn’t have to. The other woman seemed to understand that already.

  “Everything you said to Chase was true,” said Alma. “We’re not soldiers, and some of us are going to die—maybe a lot of us. I know that, and I’ve accepted it, but I have to give them a fighting chance. Even if it’s hopeless, I have to try. I need your support, but most of all, I need you to help them believe they can do this.”

  “Of course,” said Zira. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  They spent the next few days reviewing the basics, starting with gun safety before moving on to actually firing the weapons. A few people in the group were annoyed when Alma made them practice ejecting their magazines and reloading for an hour one afternoon. “If you can’t do it now, you’ll never be able to do it in the middle of a firefight,” she said. “It should be automatic. You won’t have time to fumble with your magazine because you’re too panicked to remember where it goes.” No one complained about their drills after that.

  When Zira wasn’t working with her own squad, she was often called on to assist others with their training. If anyone needed extra help, she would work with them one-on-one or in smaller groups. In the evening hours, she was free to do as she pleased. Everyone in the base had been put on a rotating schedule for baths and laundry. She did both one night before bed and felt like an entirely different person afterwards. Trinity came to visit her and Tripp another night, and they talked like old friends for hours until the lights flickered twice to signal that they were about to be shut off. By keeping herself busy and her mind occupied, Zira could avoid thinking too much about Aubreigh and Jared. Besides, she couldn’t do anything to help them right now.

  One evening, after a particularly long and frustrating day of training, Zira made her way to the concourse to wait for dinner. Considering how close it was to serving time, the area seemed unusually empty. Then she noticed the crowd clustered around the old projector on the far wall. A woman ushered several children away from the group. As they passed by Zira, one of the older ones began to complain. “You didn’t make Kelly leave, and I’m almost as old as she is.”

  “Trust me, this isn’t something you want to watch,” the woman chided.

  Curious, Zira made her way towards the crowd. She spotted Tripp’s lanky figure among them. He turned his head to respond to something the person behind him had said and caught sight of Zira. She smiled at him. He did not smile back. Instead, his face paled as he pushed past a few people to get to her.

  “What’s going on?” Zira asked.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see this.”

  “See what?”

  He put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push, attempting to steer her away from the projection. She pulled away from him and scowled. “What is it?”

  He seemed to be at a loss for words, but the mixture of fear and sadness in his eyes was enough to convince Zira she needed to see whatever it was he didn’t want her seeing. She ducked under his arm and shoved her way through the group of rebels until she stood directly in front of the projector.

  It was a live broadcast from the compound. Chairman Ryku faced the camera with the orange glow of sunset as a backdrop, reading off a list of crimes committed by the people lined up beside him. Aubreigh was among the accused, and next to her, at the end of the row, stood Jared.

  Aubreigh’s long hair draped over her shoulders in a disheveled mess. Her clothes were dirty, and her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying for hours. She wasn’t crying now, just glaring straight ahead at Chairman Ryku as he continued to read his list. Jared’s clothes were similarly unkempt, and his posture lacked its usual confidence. Instead, his shoulders slumped, his arms hung limp at his sides, and his eyes were downcast.

  A cold, heavy feeling clamped down around Zira’s heart.

  They’d been caught.

  Neither of them would be in this situation if it weren’t for her. They were going to be executed, and it was
all her fault.

  She didn’t want to see it, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She just stood there, helpless, watching it all play out right in front of her, but too far away to do anything to stop it.

  * * *

  Chairman Ryku was nearing the end of his speech. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Jared took a long, deep breath of clean air and savored the warmth of the sun on his back. The sensation made him deliriously giddy. It was insanity. Given the circumstances, he probably should have been feeling something much darker, but he couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t seen the sun in what must have been over a week now, and if he was going to die, he was glad he’d had one more chance to breathe in fresh air before it happened.

  Beside him, Aubreigh stood tall with her chin thrust forward in defiance, but slight tremors ran through her body every now and then. It made Jared feel even more helpless. He’d wanted to tell her he was sorry when Revolver marched them all out here, but he hadn’t been able to get the words out. They seemed pitifully empty, anyway.

  Ryku finished reading the list of all their crimes. He turned away from the camera and the crowd of onlookers gathered behind it. Revolver, standing just to his right, did the same. “Kneel,” the chairman commanded them.

  None of the prisoners complied. All six of them had been arrested for various forms of treason and conspiracy against the Project, and no one seemed to regret their actions in the slightest. None of them except Jared. He’d chosen the wrong side for far too long, and now he would die before he had a chance to make things right.

  Ryku nodded to Revolver, who then marched behind the captives and forced each of them to their knees one by one. When he got to Aubreigh, he paused. She looked at him, pleading with him, but his moment of hesitation passed. He shoved her forward, then went to Jared and did the same. The concrete was as hard and cold as a block of ice under his knees.