Survivors of PEACE Page 4

  “Probably not. But I’ll call her. I’m sure she’d be willing to help. She and Tripp got pretty close before she decided to transfer up to the rebel operation in the North Pacific region.”

  “That would be great.”

  “It’s the least I can do. Actually, I’d like to come and see him myself.” Her eyes shifted away from the camera, and her voice was softer when she spoke again. “I’ve been really busy since we took over the compound, but I should have been there for him. I just thought he would be okay, you know? He’d been doing so well for so long. When he disappeared after Ryku’s sentencing, I figured he was just upset and needed some space. I never guessed he would start using again.”

  The regret in her voice reflected all the guilt Zira carried inside herself, and instead of feeling frustrated with the other woman’s excuses, she sympathized. “I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

  “Good. I’ll come this weekend then, and I’ll try to bring Rita with me. I’ve got to get back to work, but send me your location when you get a minute, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

  Zira disconnected the call. Relief enveloped her like a blanket as she leaned back in her seat. Today was Thursday. She just needed to get Tripp through tomorrow. One more day, and then someone who actually knew what they were doing would come to help him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After Zira left, Jared turned on the projector against the wall and flipped through channels. There weren’t many to choose from, but he settled on a news broadcast and stretched his legs out on the couch to watch. In the bed on the other side of the room, Judah—no, Tripp— still slept, something for which Jared was grateful. He wasn’t looking forward to the awkwardness that was sure to arise once the man woke up, and that wasn’t even accounting for the unpleasant withdrawal symptoms he’d start experiencing before too long. It had already been at least six hours since he’d last shot up.

  On the news broadcast, a woman named Angela Yang was proclaiming her candidacy for president. Ever since President Bradshaw had announced that he’d be giving up his position after the new constitution was ratified, potential candidates had begun to emerge from all over the country. Jared had taken a curious interest in these developments. Though it was sometimes hard not to think of the rebels who’d taken over the country as the enemy radicals he’d been taught to hate and fear his entire life, Bradshaw at least seemed to be a man who stuck to his morals. He didn’t just talk about giving power back to the people; he was actually willing to do it by stepping down and allowing them to choose their own leaders once formal elections could be held. After so many years spent serving a chairman who sought to obtain more power for the sake of some greater good, Jared respected Bradshaw’s decision to give it up for the same reasons.

  A story about the man himself came on just a few minutes later as a reporter gave an update on recent events. “President Bradshaw’s security team released new details this morning about the man they apprehended last night after he managed to get into Republic executive offices with a concealed firearm.” A picture of a balding man with a pasty complexion appeared over the reporter’s shoulder as she continued to speak. “Forty-five-year-old Shawn Carlson was laid off from work during the implementation of the Republic’s Employment Opportunity Program three months ago. According to a family member, Carlson became frustrated when no one would hire him due to three prior arrests for domestic violence. The President’s security team stated that Carlson has made it very clear that his intention was to kill President Bradshaw, and he identifies himself as a strong supporter of the PEACE Restoration Movement. No one was injured in the altercation, and additional security measures will be put in place to prevent similar incidents in the future.”

  Jared shook his head. Events like this made him understand why the Project’s founders had decided to conduct most of their key operations from within a nearly impenetrable concrete fortress. The way he saw it, the rebels had been a little too optimistic about how the public would accept their new government. Although most people had been willing to accept the Republic’s leadership, it wasn’t a significant majority. Many were simply indifferent, but some still supported the Project outright and believed the rebels were criminals and traitors who had created more problems than they could ever hope to solve. The PEACE Restoration Movement had emerged from among these individuals.

  Dedicated to restoring the PEACE Project as the governing body of the nation, the PRM had been growing in influence over the past several months and now boasted multiple cells of varying sizes throughout the country. Over the past month or two, they had become more audacious, actively targeting government operations and facilities to destabilize the Republic’s already too-fragile hold on the country. Thus far, the Republic had been unable to track down anyone responsible for these activities. Or at least, not with enough evidence to get a criminal conviction. Not by their own self-imposed regulations, which required a much heavier burden of proof than what had been standard under the Project’s governance.

  The irony would have been amusing to Jared if it wasn’t so dangerous. The Republic had rewritten the nation’s laws to allow the freedoms they claimed to have fought for. But in doing so, they’d also provided robust protections for their enemies—free speech, probable cause, proof of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. The way things were going, President Bradshaw and the Republic may have sabotaged themselves before they could make any real progress towards all the things they wanted to accomplish.

  And that was where the danger came in. If the Republic failed, the country would be more divided and unstable than it had ever been before. Those who saw the best in what the Republic had to offer and wanted democracy to succeed would never again be content allowing the PEACE Project or any similar oligarchy to strip them of their freedoms and exert strict control over their lives. Even among those who believed the PEACE Project was the only real answer to providing national stability and security, there were differences of opinion.

  A new faction of the PEACE Restoration Movement had recently emerged, one that asserted the Project had functioned at its best under Chairman Ryku’s leadership. Where the PRM simply wanted to reestablish the Project as it was originally designed, this other faction—the True PRM—believed Ryku should be reinstated as the sole chairman of the entire Project. Jared suspected Bradshaw and the other rebels hadn’t anticipated that level of support for Ryku when they’d decided not to execute him—a mistake they couldn’t undo now.

  A groan from the other side of the room pulled his attention back to his surroundings. Tripp’s eyes blinked open, and he turned his head to look around. Jared remained perfectly still. After the way Tripp had reacted to seeing him last night, he didn’t want to give the man any extra reason to be startled by his presence, especially since Zira wasn’t here to talk him down. When Tripp’s gaze eventually fell on Jared, he muttered something to himself as his head fell back on the pillow.

  Jared wasn’t sure what to say or how to begin. How was he supposed to introduce himself to the man he’d once hunted for execution? A friendly greeting seemed a little absurd, but it was all he could come up with. “Good morning.”

  “No. Not really.” He glanced around the room again. “Where are we? Where’s Zira? Or did I just imagine that part?”

  “We’re at a motel not far from where we found you. Zira had to go meet with her parole officer. She asked me to keep an eye on you until she comes back.”

  “Of course she did. What a great idea. Leave me locked in a room with America’s most wanted fugitive, who also happens to be the man who once tried to kill me.”

  His tone was openly hostile, and Jared wasn’t sure how much of that was actually him and how much was irritability due to the early stages of heroin withdrawal. “Sorry,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry for trying to capture you for Ryku.”

  Tripp snorted. “Okay, sure. An apology from an assassin. Why not? I don’t suppose either of you
happened to grab the rest of my dope when you dragged me out of that house.”

  “No.”

  “Fantastic. And I’m guessing Zira told you to keep me locked in here, too.”

  “She’s trying to look out for you.”

  Tripp pushed himself up to a sitting position and glared at Jared. “Well excuse me if I’m not exactly thrilled to be forced into quitting cold-turkey like this. Neither one of you has any idea how awful it is to go through withdrawal on this stuff.”

  Jared clenched his jaw. This guy was supposed to be Zira’s closest friend? “No, we don’t. But you don’t get to be pissed at her for trying to save your life. You overdosed. You could have died. Then we showed up at the hospital to pick you up, and you’d already run off to get high again. She was terrified, and she stayed up most of the night just to make sure you kept breathing. So you and I are going to sit here together, and you’re going to be as miserable as you have to be to get through this. I’ll help you however I can if you just tell me what you need. But you don’t get to blame her for any of this.”

  Tripp’s eyes widened, then he blinked a few times and nodded. “You’re right. Sorry.” He hugged his knees into his chest and shook his head. “Damn it. I was going to stop before she got out. Or I told myself I would. I didn’t want her to have to deal with this.”

  “She wouldn’t bother if she didn’t care about you.”

  “I know. She’s a good kid. How is she, aside from wasting her time worrying about me? And how did you two end up together?”

  Jared told him about Revolver and how he’d come to meet Zira upon her release from prison. “As for how she’s doing, you’d probably be able to answer that better than I can.” She had always been difficult to read, hiding her vulnerabilities behind armor made of pride and fierce tenacity. It had been almost two years since they’d had close, regular contact with each other, and while he still recognized the girl behind that armor, she’d also changed in ways he hadn’t yet been able to identify. “How did she do in prison?”

  “Okay, I think. You know Zira. She’s not the type to let something like that break her down, or let other people push her around. She didn’t look great the few times I saw her in there, kind of tired and tense. But I doubt anyone is really at their best in prison.”

  “Probably not.”

  For a few minutes, they were both silent, listening—or pretending to listen—to the news broadcast still playing from the projector against the wall. Then Tripp looked at Jared. “I know this is going to sound hypocritical, coming from the junkie who’s already created a whole set of extra problems for her, but I’m going to say it anyway. She doesn’t need any more complications right now.”

  “You’re right—that did sound hypocritical.”

  “I wasn’t just talking about you. But you didn’t see her after she left the Project. I didn’t know exactly what had happened at the time, and she wouldn’t talk about it. But I found out later, and now I understand why she was so messed up.”

  Jared clasped his hands together and looked down at the floor. “I know I hurt her.”

  “You didn’t just hurt her—you almost broke her. That’s not something she’ll ever bring up or talk about again, but someone needs to. She cares about you, too. She might try not to, or pretend she doesn’t, but she does. You need to really think about what you’re doing and whether you’re here for the right reasons.”

  “I have.” Ever since Zira had asked him to help Aubreigh escape the compound, he’d done almost nothing but reflect on his bad decisions and how he could make amends. “I screwed up. I just want to try to make things right.”

  “Glad to hear it. And what exactly are your expectations?”

  “Nothing.”

  Tripp raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Jared sighed. The protective nature of the friendship between Zira and Tripp apparently went both ways. “Obviously, I would like it if we could be on good terms again. But I don’t expect anything.”

  “Good. Make sure you keep it that way. If you hurt her again, I might have to consider hurting you, and I really don’t want to have to do that.” He looked Jared over from top to bottom. “I’m pretty sure you could snap every bone in my body in about three seconds flat.”

  “If I did, Zira would kill me.”

  “Oh, definitely. That’s what family’s for, right?” He grimaced and pulled his knees in tighter to his stomach.

  “You okay?” Jared asked.

  “Stomach cramp,” he responded through gritted teeth. “Looks like we’re getting to the fun part.”

  “Is there anything I can do? Do you want some water? Something to eat?”

  Tripp shuddered and shook his head. “No, absolutely not. Keep food as far away from me as you can. Maybe just shut the curtains, keep the lights out.”

  Jared stood and went to the window to close the curtains. He also turned down the volume on the projector. “Better?”

  “Yeah. Look, all of this would go away if I could just get some more heroin. And I want to. Pretty soon, I’ll want it more than anything.” His voice shook a little, and he gathered some of the blanket into his fists. “It’s going to get worse, but I have to get through it. Zira was right. Don’t let me leave this room.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  By the time Zira made it back to the motel, daylight was already starting to fade, and gray winter clouds were advancing. She knocked on the door to be let in. Jared opened it, and she stomped the snow off her boots as she entered. Tripp wasn’t anywhere in sight, but a narrow strip of light shone out from beneath the closed bathroom door.

  “How is he?” she asked.

  Jared winced at the unpleasant retching sound that came from behind the door. “About as good as can be expected, I guess.”

  “So terrible, then.”

  “Yeah.”

  She shook her head. While she sympathized with Tripp’s discomfort and remained eager to help him however she could, her initial fear for his wellbeing had worn off somewhere on the road between here and the parole office. Now, another set of emotions had infiltrated the mix. Frustration. Disappointment. Anger.

  How could he have been this careless? He’d been clean for six years. Six years. And now he was going to have to start all over because he’d decided to go out and start using again the moment something bad happened.

  The increasingly familiar guilt about her own role in his relapse began to gnaw its way back into Zira’s heart, but she forced herself to ignore it. It didn’t do her any good, and it certainly wasn’t going to help Tripp. The first day was almost over. They just had to make it through tomorrow, and then Alma would come, hopefully with this Rita woman who would know how to fix everything.

  If only it could really be that simple.

  Tripp came out of the bathroom. He glanced at Zira and raised one arm in a weak wave, then crawled back into bed and tucked his body into the fetal position with his back to both of them.

  Zira walked around to the bed and sat at his feet. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

  “Terrible.”

  “I called Alma. She’s going to come by on Saturday, and she’s going to try to bring an old friend of yours with her. Rita Jefferson?”

  Tripp groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tight. He muttered something incoherent through his teeth.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “You shouldn’t have called her.”

  “I had to call someone. I don’t know how to deal with this on my own.”

  “They have other things to worry about.”

  “So what? Alma feels bad she wasn’t there for you in the first place.” As she rightfully should. “And I’m sure Rita wouldn’t want to see you like this after all she did to help you through it the first time.”

  “Tell them not to come. I’m a waste of their time.”

  Why wouldn’t he just take the help? Did he not want to get better? She wasn’t about to let him give up on himself. “You have to let peopl
e help you.”

  “Whatever. Stop bothering me.”

  She sighed and ran a hand over her face. They hadn’t really had a chance to talk yet. They hadn’t really had a chance to talk in the better part of a year, and she just wanted her friend back. But forcing a rational conversation out of him now was useless. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked in a softer tone.

  “Get me some heroin.”

  “I’m serious, Tripp.”

  “Me too.”

  “You know I’m not going to do that.”

  “Then leave me alone.”

  Zira stood and walked away with clenched fists. She swallowed the knot in her throat and blinked against the tears that burned at her eyes. She hated this. She hated everything. She hated the drug that had taken her friend—her brother—away from her. But most of all, she hated that she was so damn incompetent and incapable of doing anything to really fix it.

  “Try not to take it personally,” Jared said as she sat down on the second bed.

  She forced herself to nod, but didn’t dare speak yet for fear that all her emotions would come bursting out before she could stop them.

  “He was doing better this morning. We even talked a little. He was irritable, but also worried about you.” He sat on the other end of the bed, leaving a few feet of empty space between them. “He’s still in there somewhere. You just have to be patient.”

  Patience had never been one of Zira’s strengths, but she didn’t have any choice in the matter now. Thinking about it just made her more bitter and frustrated, so she hurried to change the subject. “You probably shouldn’t be around when Alma comes. Not in here, anyway.”

  “I can just get another room. Besides, there aren’t enough beds in here for all of us.”

  “Is that okay? You don’t even have to stay if you don’t want to. You’ve already done a lot for us, and if you don’t want to pay for another room…” Flustered, she trailed off. She didn’t want to make it sound like she was trying to get rid of him, but she wasn’t willing to admit she wanted him to stay, either.