Survivors of PEACE Read online

  “It’s fine, really,” said Jared. “Don’t worry about the money. I’m not rich, but I have enough to last a little while. How was your meeting with your parole officer?”

  “Fine. Boring.” Her eyes wandered over to the news playing on a projector against the wall. The volume had been muted, but captions ran along the bottom of the broadcast. She read them in silence for a few moments.

  So far, these cyberattacks have mainly targeted government agencies, especially those newly established by the Republic. In most cases, the PRM has been forthright in claiming responsibility, though authorities have been unable to identify individual perpetrators. The National Security Department issued a statement earlier today assuring the public that these activities are being investigated.

  Jared nodded to the broadcast. “They’re getting bolder.”

  Zira frowned. Bolder indeed. She’d read about the attempt on Chase’s life during her return bus ride, but this was the first she was hearing about any cyberattacks. She hadn’t been able to keep up on much of the goings-on in the outside world from prison. What little information she and her fellow inmates did receive was usually provided by those just coming in, and they weren’t always completely reliable. There had been whispers about the PRM since the Republic’s earliest days, but they were few and far between. Even towards the end of Zira’s incarceration, no one gave any indication that the pro-Project movement was gaining this much traction.

  “They’re going to turn this whole country upside down if the Republic doesn’t do something about them,” she said.

  “You and your rebels already did that,” Jared replied.

  “They’re not my rebels. And something needed to be done. Ryku was out of control.”

  “That’s one perspective.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t actually still think we’d all be better off under his leadership, do you?”

  “No. But was the PEACE Project really so bad?”

  “If it actually worked the way it was supposed to? Maybe not. But people deserve to have a say in how things run and who their leaders are. They should get to choose where they live, where they work, what kinds of opportunities they take advantage of.”

  “Sure. In an ideal world.”

  Zira rolled her eyes.

  “I’m just saying the situation is complicated. Everyone’s just fighting for what they believe in, including the PRM.”

  “Yeah, well some people believe in the wrong things.”

  “Maybe.”

  She recognized the uncertainty in his eyes. It was the same expression she’d seen on her own face right after she returned to the Project, when she’d looked in the mirror day after day questioning everything she’d grown up believing. It had taken her a long time to redefine her own personal values and sift through the truths and lies in all the Project had taught her. Some days, she still felt lost. But it satisfied her to see Jared going through that same process, to see him questioning and challenging his old beliefs and coming to terms with new ones. It had certainly taken him long enough.

  “It’s better this way,” she said. “It’s better that people have the right to speak up when they don’t agree with what the government is doing. Even the PRM.”

  “Probably not quite the happy ending you all were hoping for, though.”

  Zira shrugged. “For Chase and Seth, Alma, Tripp—no. Probably not. I think they knew it would be hard, but they believed the public would support them more than this.”

  “What about you? What did you want out of all of it?”

  Zira thought about it for a few seconds. “I just wanted be safe, make sure the people I cared about stayed safe.” She hadn’t done a very good job of that in the end. Aubreigh was dead, Tripp had relapsed, and Jared had spent weeks in a cell enduring whatever torture Ryku had inflicted on him. “We weren’t safe with Ryku in charge. I’m not sure we’re completely safe now.”

  “Probably not.” Jared glanced over at Tripp. “I’m sure he hates the three of us more than he hates anyone else in the country, except maybe President Bradshaw.”

  He didn’t say it, but Zira suspected he was thinking the same thing she was. It left her with a creeping sense of unease, an icy chill in the back of her mind that had diminished with time but never fully thawed. Even in a prison cell, Ryku was dangerous. None of them could rest easy as long as he was alive.

  CHAPTER SIX

  To Zira’s dismay, Tripp’s discomfort only seemed to worsen the following day. His skin became cool and damp with sweat as he shuddered and moaned through the pain wracking his entire body. Watching him suffer so much proved to be more overwhelming than Zira had anticipated, and she was grateful to be able to leave him with Jared periodically so she could step out and clear her head.

  They sat by Tripp’s bedside, unable to do much but offer moral support and encouragement. On the rare occasions he mustered the energy to speak to them at all, he was outright hostile. Sometimes, he would ask why Zira was doing this to him. More often, he begged her to go get him some heroin and cursed her when she refused. Once, she thought she heard him mutter that he just wished he was dead, and she hated herself for what this was doing to him.

  When night finally came, Jared headed to the second room he’d paid for to sleep, but not until after Zira promised to call or come get him if she needed anything. Once he was gone, she dragged her bed in front of the door and window so Tripp would have to climb over her if he got any ideas about going out to buy drugs. She watched his crumpled silhouette in the other bed until her eyes refused to stay open any longer.

  A chime from her CL woke her the next morning. She squinted against the light as she opened and read the message from Alma. Our plane just landed. See you in about an hour.

  She shot Jared a quick message to let him know Alma was coming and to stay out of sight, then glanced over at Tripp. The muscles in his face were taut, but his eyes were closed and his side rose and fell in slow, even breaths. The fact that he’d finally been able to get some sleep was a small mercy, and she silently pleaded with him to hold on just a little longer as she got up and tried to make herself look reasonably presentable for their guests.

  A few minutes later, Tripp stumbled out of bed and made a clumsy dash past her to the bathroom to throw up. Or try to. Between gasping efforts, he muttered as many curses as he could possibly fit in before the next bout started.

  Zira padded across the floor and flicked on the bathroom light. Tripp knelt on the floor with one hand grasping the sink for support. He glanced over his shoulder at her for a moment before turning back to the toilet and heaving again.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He shook his head and retched. “Please go away.”

  She closed the door. At least he’d said ‘please.’ Maybe he didn’t completely hate her today.

  Alma and Rita would be arriving any minute. She returned the bed to its original position away from the door and pulled the covers back into place. As she was finishing, Tripp came out of the bathroom and watched her for a few seconds.

  “I liked your little setup last night,” he said. “Made this place feel a whole lot more like a prison, locking me in like that.”

  She pursed her lips. “You’re welcome to go out for some fresh air whenever you’d like.”

  “With you watching my every move, right?” He shook his head. “I think I’ll just crawl back into bed and wait for the sweet release of death.”

  Sarcasm? Maybe in part. She rolled her eyes at him in mock annoyance. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  He grunted in response, then turned his back to her, laid down, and pulled the blankets up to his neck. Zira finished placing the pillows back on the bed and took up what had become her usual spot on the couch to wait.

  She didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, a white car pulled into the parking spot just outside their door. She watched through the window as two women got out. Alma was bundled up in a heavy winter coat, scarf, and
knit hat. She carried a bulging canvas bag in one hand. The other woman, Rita, was similarly dressed, with short-cropped white hair just peeking out beneath the edge of her hat. Zira went to the door to meet them.

  Alma smiled when she opened the door and ushered them both inside. “Zira, it’s so good to see you. This is Rita.” She set her bag down on the floor.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Rita, reaching out to shake Zira’s hand. She was a tall woman with harsh, narrow facial features, but her voice was kind and gentle.

  “You too,” Zira replied. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  Rita looked past her to the bed where Tripp lay. “Tell me how he’s been doing.”

  “Not good. He’s been really sick and in a lot of pain.”

  Rita nodded. “Quitting heroin is awful, especially just being cut off all at once like this.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You did fine, honey. There’s not much else anyone could have done for him. Back in my day, we might have tried medical detox, but the Project deauthorized that option years ago. Got rid of just about everything else that might help, too. They said addiction’s a choice, not a disease, and why should we help people who choose to do this to themselves? Easier to just ignore it or throw them all in prison and forget about them.”

  Alma put an arm on Rita’s shoulder. “Maybe for now we could just focus on helping the person you came here to help.”

  Rita waved a hand at her. “Oh, you know I need to get up on my soapbox from time to time. You’re close to the president, and I have to get my message to the right ears however I can.” She turned to Zira with a bright, conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “I’ve been pestering the Republic to reexamine drug policies and fund some addiction recovery programs for months now, but they seem to believe things like trade and energy regulations are more important than actually helping people.”

  Alma just shook her head and sighed. “I’ll be sure to pass that on to President Bradshaw.”

  Seemingly satisfied with this response, Rita walked over to the bed and crouched down beside Tripp. She gently shook his shoulder. “Are you actually asleep or just trying to ignore the rest of us?”

  “Rita,” he muttered. “It’s been a while.”

  “It has. You looked a lot better the last time we talked.”

  “And you looked a lot younger.”

  “I’m still spry enough to whip you into shape. You want to tell me what happened here?”

  Alma leaned over to Zira. “Let’s give them some space. I’ve got something else I want to talk to you about.”

  Zira grabbed her jacket from the bed and followed her outside.

  “You want to go find something to eat?” Alma asked. “I didn’t get breakfast.”

  “Me either.”

  “Let’s go then. I think I saw a pancake place just up the road a little way.” They started walking, their footsteps crunching against the hard-packed snow. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?”

  “Aside from this? And prison?”

  “Stupid question. Sorry.”

  Zira sighed. This wasn’t Alma’s fault, and although it was a little late, she was doing her best to help. “No, it’s fine. Things aren’t perfect, but I’m glad to be out.”

  “I brought you and Tripp some stuff in that bag I left in your motel room. Clothes, winter coats, hygiene stuff, other things I thought you might need.”

  It was a thoughtful gesture, and very much needed. “Thanks.”

  They walked in silence for a while before Alma spoke again. “Look, I understand why you’re upset about the whole prison thing. It might have been fair, but that doesn’t mean it was right, and the way we all failed to take care of Tripp…” She shook her head. “That definitely wasn’t right. I’m sorry.”

  “What happened? Seth just told me he disappeared after Ryku’s sentencing and everyone assumed he needed some space.” She had a hard time accepting that was the full story.

  Alma nodded. “That was what we all thought, but we should have known better. This sounds awful, but I think it was easier for all of us to just let him leave. There were so many other things to deal with at the time. Chase was busy working on the new constitution, the PRM started giving us a lot more trouble, and I ended up organizing and running a new division of the National Security Department.” She looked at Zira and shrugged. “That’s not an excuse. At least, I don’t mean for it to be. I just wanted you to know it wasn’t our intention for any of this to happen to him.”

  “I know.”

  Alma reached up to adjust her hat, then looked back down at the sidewalk. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  She sounded nervous, and Zira gave her a sidelong glance. “What’s is?”

  “The PRM. I assume you heard about the man who tried to kill Chase the other day?”

  “Yeah.” She wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with her.

  “They’re getting out of hand. It’s not just talk anymore—they’re actually trying to disrupt our work. We’re still struggling to keep the country together. One wrong move and everything we fought for could collapse.”

  “Did you think it was going to be easy?”

  “No, but maybe a little easier than this. Anyway, Carlson—the man who tried to kill Chase—he’s saying he did it for Ryku.”

  “Meaning what? That Ryku asked him to kill Chase?”

  “We’re not sure. Maybe Ryku ordered him to do it. Maybe he just did it out of loyalty to the Project. We don’t know. But if Ryku is directly involved with this, it means he could be involved with the PRM, and that’s a big problem.”

  A problem that could have been avoided if they’d just executed Ryku after taking the compound, but Zira resisted the urge to comment on that. They couldn’t go back, and executing Ryku now after he’d already been tried and sentenced wasn’t even remotely an option. Not under the new laws the Republic had established—laws they couldn’t go back on without destabilizing the shaky trust they’d struggled to build with the public.

  “Look,” said Alma, “I know things didn’t exactly go your way after we attacked the compound, and you don’t owe us anything. But we need to find out if Ryku is involved in this, and you know him better than anyone else we’ve got on our side. I’m asking you, as a friend. I need your help.”

  Now they were getting to it—the part where they assumed Zira could help them somehow just because of her former connections to the PEACE Project or the skills she’d learned there. Never mind if she even wanted to, which she didn’t. But she was curious nonetheless.

  “Help with what, exactly?”

  Alma sucked in a deep breath before making her request. “I’d like you to talk to him.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Zira’s step faltered for a moment, and she stared at Alma with wide eyes. “Talk to him? What’s that supposed to accomplish?”

  Alma shrugged. “I thought you might be able to see through his lies. And maybe seeing a familiar face will help us get some real answers out of him. Maybe he’ll just want to shake you up and he’ll say or do something he normally wouldn’t. I don’t know, but we have to try something.”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t even thought about it.”

  “I don’t have to think about it. It’s insane. No. I’m not doing this.”

  “Zira, please. We wanted to ask Tripp, too, but there’s no way he’ll agree to it if you don’t.”

  “Good. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t have to talk to someone he’s spent years trying to hide from. You realize that’s a big part of the reason he relapsed, right? He’s afraid of Ryku.”

  “I know, and I remember how scared he was when Chase brought him to us in New York. But I also remember how intensely he fought for a free America. He wouldn’t want it to fail now.” She nudged Zira in the side with her elbow. “Just don’t answer yet, okay? Let’s go eat, talk about something else, pretend we’re just two n
ormal friends having breakfast together on a Saturday morning. Can we do that?”

  “I guess,” Zira muttered. She saw right through Alma’s tactic, trying to get all chummy with her so she’d be more inclined to agree to her absurd proposal later on. It wasn’t going to work.

  They found the pancake place a few blocks later and went inside. The building was old and cramped, with seating set up in such a way that Zira felt claustrophobic immediately upon entering. The cushions on the chairs were faded and worn, and the wood tables were in need of a fresh coat of varnish. The scent of sausages and maple syrup was enticing, but she wasn’t nearly as hungry as she had been just minutes before. When a waitress came to take their order, she picked something at random from a short list of daily specials.

  While they ate, Alma caught her up on what Seth, Chase, Trinity, and some of the other rebels Zira had worked with had been up to over the past eight months. They were all doing big, important things she didn’t particularly care about, and she found herself tuning most of it out. She ate her pancakes without really tasting them, too distracted by her own thoughts to be much of a conversationalist. Which was probably just what Alma wanted, but no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on something else, her mind kept going back to the same place.

  Even from behind bars, Ryku remained a threat. A threat that had the potential to be magnified a hundred times over if he truly did have the support and cooperation of the PRM. Just the thought of interacting with him in any way made her stomach churn, but she couldn’t think of a good reason why talking to him should bother her so much. Sure, they had a history, and he’d done some awful things to her and the people she cared about. But that was over now. He’d lost. And if Alma thought Zira had a chance to find the answers they needed, shouldn’t she at least try?

  Aubreigh would have wanted her to try.

  She drizzled some more syrup over her pancakes and took another bite, but the taste and texture were suddenly all wrong. She forced herself to swallow and took a long drink of water, then pushed her plate to one side.