Weeping Justice
Stealing Liberty Trilogy
Jennifer Froelich
Contents
I. Off the Grid
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
II. On the Map
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Authors Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Untitled
Weeping Justice
by Jennifer Froelich
Published by Clean Reads
www.cleanreads.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
WEEPING JUSTICE
Copyright © 2019 JENNIFER FROELICH
ISBN 978-1-62135-846-6
Cover Art Designed by CORA GRAPHICS
For Tara,
With more love than I can put into words.
Part 1
Off the Grid
1
Reed
I wake up at sunset, shivering. Dried mud covers my legs, hands, and face. Grit has worked its way into my hair, under my fingernails, and inside my damp clothing, covering every inch of me. I swear, I have never been this dirty in my life.
That’s not the worst of my troubles.
As quietly as possible, I push up on one elbow and unzip my sleeping bag, trying not to wake Riley. During the day she must have shifted in her sleeping bag too, burrowing underneath my arm while we both burrowed underneath the roots of a massive tree. When lightning lit up the sky last night and rain started falling in sheets, we scrambled inside this cobwebby dry spot under the roots where years of erosion had pulled the earth away, creating a kind of cave. We both fell asleep, huddled in the middle, trying not to think about spiders.
Still, I’d rather be here than back at Windmill Bay, the secret detention school where we spent most of the past year starving, working like slaves, force-fed propaganda and, in the case of Riley, almost beaten to death by the sadistic school director, Wanda Kino.
No doubt about it. I’d rather sleep with spiders.
Still, my head is throbbing tonight, echoing the lightning that stopped hours ago, even though my ears feel like they are plugged shut. The rain has finally stopped too, but I can’t hear anything, not even Riley breathing. For a minute, her stillness makes me panic. I lean closer and hold my breath, listening for hers. There it is. Soft and faint, but steady.
Proof she’s still breathing. Proof we’re both still alive.
I shouldn’t be this way, freaking out about life and death from one day to the next. But I can’t shake the idea that I am responsible for each breath we take. I wrestle with that burden every day while we try to sleep, and wake with it every night when we try to cover as much ground as possible. This is our new life—our new reality since leaving our friends at Fort Unity two weeks ago and heading east in search of Riley’s sister, Lexie.
Tonight, my aching head, damp skin, and prickly throat compound my fears, but I try to shake it off. I’m not getting sick. I’m just hot and dehydrated.
Stretching farther to my right without dislodging Riley, I retrieve our water bag, which I hung on a bush near the base of the tree. We’ve been sleeping for six hours, maybe seven, which was enough time to collect more than half a cup of rain water. I take a sip, but it fights my swollen throat for passage. I can almost feel it making a plinking sound in my empty stomach. There’s only a handful of dehydrated fruit left and neither of us are good at fishing, no matter how easy Neil claimed it would be.
“Learn to fish,” he said. “Running out of food is the worst thing that can happen.”
I settle back down next to Riley, but don’t sleep. I’m still sweating, and the ache in my throat feels like it’s seeping into my chest. I can’t deny it anymore. I’m getting sick.
“Don’t get sick,” Neil said. “That’s the worst thing that can happen.”
According to Neil, anything that can happen is the worst.
General Kelly introduced us to Neil Franklin the day after I told him our plans to look for The Rose, the service ranch where Lexie was sent after only a brief stint at Windmill Bay. There are service ranches all over the place, apparently, though they’re not on any maps. Filled with young women—escorts, they call them—these are the places where officers serving the United Democratic Republic spend their free time, where the UDR sends the prettiest people from their detention schools, labor camps, or army ranks.
But in truth, Lexie’s at The Rose because of me, which is why I am determined to help Riley rescue her. The general tried to talk us out of going, but the only person more stubborn than me is Riley, so he eventually gave up. Pushing away from his desk and rubbing a calloused hand over his clean-shaven jaw, he sighed, then pierced me with dark eyes. “You’ll need some survival skills. I guess I better take you to Neil.”
I don’t know why I thought survival training might be fun. It turned out that nothing about Neil was fun. General Kelly had barely introduced us when Neil interrupted him.
“How are you planning to pay for this?”
Neil glared at me, his wiry, gray hair sticking out in all directions. Most Resistance fighters at Fort Unity were housed in an underground bunker, but we met Neil in a shack about a mile from the gate. It was ancient and almost hidden by the trees, but also well-equipped, the walls covered from floor to ceiling with all kinds of weapons and equipment.
For a second, I just stared back at him, not understanding. “Pay for…?”
Neil snorted. “Typical. Kids from the Sand think everything is free—that everything’s just going to be handed to you. There’s no such thing as ‘free’, kid. You know that, right? Someone’s paying for all that ‘free’ stuff you’ve been getting all your life.”
“I don’t—”
“You don’t what? Know how to carry your own weight? Provide for yourself? No, I bet you’ve never had a meal that wasn’t cooked for you. A bed that the blessed State didn’t provide.” He turned to General Kelly, who looked weary, like he’d heard this all before. “I shudder to think how this generation is going to handle things
in the future, Ed. At least I won’t be around to see it.”
Riley’s jaw tightened. “Listen, we don’t love the State. And we don’t expect―”
“This isn’t summer camp, kiddos,” Neil interrupted, completely ignoring her. “If I’m going to train you and let you borrow my gear for your little search and rescue operation, I’m going to need something in return.”
My hands had worked themselves into fists. I hated him already and wanted to turn around and find another way. Who did this guy think he was, judging us? Acting like he knew how we thought? What we believed? Neither Riley nor I were the clueless teenagers he’d just described, and it rankled. Riley’s red face told me she felt exactly the same way.
But we had already been at Fort Unity for almost a week, which was long enough to see how these rebels lived. Day to day, hand to mouth. No luxury, no waste. Just working to survive under the constant threat of detection. If General Kelly said Neil was our only option for help, I believed him. So I shook out my hands and took a deep breath, swallowing the words I most wanted to say.
“Did you ever read about General Washington, sir?” I asked. “Or Patton?”
Neil scowled at me. “Are you serious, boy?”
“They had scouts,” I pressed on. “Spies they sent out to patrol, report on their findings.”
“If I was Washington—or Patton—I wouldn’t hire a child to spy for me.”
“You’d hire someone with experience, no matter their age.”
His eyes narrowed. “You think I buy that story about you stealing the Liberty Bell by yourselves? A bunch of kids? Ha! No, you had help—and more than your share of luck, I’d wager.”
The heist he spoke of was famous by now, just like me, Reed Paine, labeled by the UDR State Press as the “mastermind” of the entire plot. With the help of Riley and other friends we made at Windmill Bay, we pretty much stumbled on the opportunity to steal the Liberty Bell when we found out it was being sold by the government and transported by a train that traveled right by our prison school. Our escape from Windmill Bay was not part of the original plan, which feels pretty obvious now since we ended up leaving two of our best friends behind to face who-knows-what kind of punishment. The different possibilities have been haunting my dreams and most of my waking hours too, which was one of the reasons I was so mad at Neil for doubting us, and also why I struggled to keep my voice even.
“We had plenty of help. But I also spent months spying at Windmill Bay. And that’s what I’m willing to barter.” I turned to General Kelly. “I’ll send you scouting reports from wherever we land along the way, including The Rose.”
“The Rose?” Neil snorted. “What do we care about what happens at a brothel in the middle of the Dirt?”
Riley started toward him. “Now look―”
“Riley.” I touched her arm. She glared at me but took a step back.
“It’s frequented by UDR officials, right?” I asked the general. “Surely there’s something there worth knowing.”
General Kelly agreed and offered to fund our expedition. For the next half hour, he and Neil bartered while I stood nearby, biting my nails. Meanwhile, Riley wore a path in the shed’s dirt floor. In the end, Neil agreed to train us and provide us with gear—his oldest and most threadbare stuff, of course.
“Be here tomorrow. Six a.m. sharp.” He was already turning away. “If you’re late, the whole thing’s off.”
I nodded and walked away. I think Riley stayed to glare at him a few seconds longer, but eventually she caught up with me near the bunker.
“Reed, wait.”
“What?” I don’t know why I was acting irritable to her. Old habits, maybe. She didn’t seem to notice.
“That guy is horrible.”
I leaned against a tree and pushed my hands through my scrubby hair. “I know.”
She looked past me, then down at her feet. Things had been weird between us since I told her I would help her find her sister, right after we delivered the Liberty Bell to Fort Unity. Well, longer than that, but I didn’t let myself think about the kiss.
Which is another way of saying I thought about it all the time.
“Are you sure you want to help me? Absolutely sure?” Riley turned toward me, but the sun was setting behind the hills, casting long shadows across her face.
“I’m sure.”
“Oliver and Paisley…”
“Xoey, Adam, and Sam are already working on a plan to rescue them—and they’ll have help from Bess, which is better than the leaky tents and broken fishing rods we’ll probably be stuck with.”
Riley’s frown deepened. “If there was any other way—”
“There’s not. And we can deal with whatever he dishes out for a little while, right? I mean, we survived Kino, we can survive Neil Franklin.”
She tilted her head, allowing a ray of sun to light up a small smile that balanced on the edge of her mouth. Something in my gut tightened in response. Riley had every reason to hate Kino forever. Even more than she hated me. Could this mean she was starting to heal?
I pushed away from the tree. “Let’s just focus on the goal: Finding Lexie.”
It was a struggle, but we both swallowed our resentment and did our best to follow Neil’s instructions. He had a lot to teach us, even if everything he said dripped with resentment. I knew it affected how well I listened to him, but it wasn’t until Riley and I had been out on our own for several nights that I realized I should have disregarded his attitude completely and focused only on what he taught us. Now we’re two weeks into our quest, out of food, and behind schedule. I can’t help thinking Neil would be laughing if he knew.
Another hour passes before Riley bolts up from her sleeping bag, pushing away from me before she’s fully awake. For a moment, her eyes meet mine. It’s a moment too long. They are red-rimmed with guilt, like always. Guilt we both still feel for choosing Lexie over Oliver and Paisley.
Oliver, who saved my life.
Paisley, who saved us all.
We both turn away. She stares east and I stare west.
“We can go back.” She says it every day, her voice always hollow. She pushes her sleeping bag aside and stares at the darkness beyond the tree roots. The unknown place where she hopes to find Lexie.
“No.” It’s what I always say. “We stick with the plan.”
Riley nods. We crawl out from under the tree and start packing our gear, dividing it between our packs without comment, then we start walking east through the darkness.
We don’t speak for the next half hour, which isn’t unusual. For the millionth time I wonder if Oliver and Paisley are still alive. If they managed to avoid detection—if they are still working like slaves, fed like pigs, indoctrinated like drones at Windmill Bay. I sometimes let myself believe it’s possible—probable, even. I picture them avoiding the cameras, using Sam’s program to go offline from the Cit-Track, finding their way back to our Hidden Library where we read forbidden books, listened to forbidden music, and planned for a forbidden future.
Other times I’m more of a realist. I was the one who told Kino that Oliver was involved in our escape. It wasn’t an act of betrayal, but a plan Oliver devised himself, confident as always that everything would go as planned—that he would escape with the rest of us. But he didn’t, and the thing I imagine most is Kino marching him out to the flagpole and shooting him in the head, just like she shot Zak Wythe last winter.
I close my eyes and wish. Then I force my eyes open and keep walking. Wishing doesn’t make anything come true.
I stumble on a tree root and grab a branch to steady myself. The moon has emerged from the clouds and shines like a spotlight on the two of us through the trees. Riley frowns at me. Seeing something she doesn’t like, she steps toward me and touches my head.
“Reed! You’re burning up.”
I lift my eyebrows. “You’re saying I’m hot?”
She doesn’t even roll her eyes. “How long have you felt sick?”
/> I pull away from her cool hand. “Riley, come on. You’re taking that crash course in first aid too seriously.”
“How long?”
“Stop fussing.” I step around her and keep walking. I had hoped we would clear the next ridge before dawn, but my feet feel heavy. Maybe too much mud is crusted on the bottom of my boots? I kick one against a tree and almost lose my balance.
“Whoa. Hang on.” Riley is suddenly under my arm, guiding me to a fallen log where she pushes me down to a sitting position. “Here. Drink some water.”
We sit there for half an hour because Riley insists, getting angry every time I try to stand up. Still, we don’t talk. We both know this trip is taking longer than it should, that we should have reached The Rose last week. Not that we weren’t warned our expectations were too high. We were just too naïve to listen.
And everything has only gotten harder since. I still touch the tragus implant in my ear all the time, expecting Luna to tell me what time it is, even though my comm link has been disabled for weeks. It’s weird having no connection to technology—no way of messaging Xoey, Sam, or Adam. To find out how they’re doing, or if they’ve started their own journey back to Windmill Bay to rescue Oliver and Paisley.
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