Regress (The Alliance Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  No one asked me what I wanted. I visualized living in a foreign land with artists surrounded by people who admired them. Was it so bad to want a future I planned? Shouldn’t I decide whom I loved?

  “Ko, ¿Tru pasaran la noche? Ya es tarde.” Ko's mom called her from the kitchen, letting us know it was near curfew. Ordinarily when it got this late, I stayed overnight. Even so, I promised my parents I'd be home on time.

  “No, Mami!” Ko zipped the duffel bag and held out her arms for a hug. “It’ll work out, Tru. You’ll see.”

  I disagreed, but I refused to argue. “Okay, sure. The first free day you’re available, I’ll be there.” Both my heart and head ached. Ko was a big part of my life. How would I face my long, gray days without her?

  “Hurry and get to the station.” Ko reached up and patted my shoulder. She sniffed back her tears. “You shouldn’t be out past curfew.”

  Cracks of rosy light framed the clouds. Transparent pearls of rain covered the window. If I hurried, I might catch the last railcar back home.

  The New Order imposed nighttime curfews, which were supposed to eliminate crime and homelessness. After 7 p.m., the drones took to the air. Street cops checked citizens who were scanned by the drones. Being out after curfew required documentation, usually work papers. Without the proper documents, a person earned a jail sentence. No hearing, no charges. Shootings, beatings, and even torture were part of the New Detroit Police’s reputation. Finding out if it were fact or fiction, was not on tonight’s itinerary.

  “Friends forever?” I held out my pinky and waited for our little ritual.

  Ko nodded and wrapped her pinky around mine. “Friends forever.”

  Thou shall not act upon personal biases.

  —10 Commandments of Personal Conduct, Thaxton Bible, 2021

  My Inoculation Day orders were heavy on my mind as I dragged my feet toward the rail station. Maybe I could pretend I never got them. Transmissions got lost all the time. Right. If I had ignored the text, the excuse would work. Time to evaluate my real choices. Failure to report ended in arrest. Hiding out for the rest of my life was not a probable choice. If I were sick, would they still administer the vaccine? Would they wait until I got better? The drone police patrolled the border preventing illegal crossings into Canada. Many people, runners, tried without success. But even a life spent in a penitentiary seemed better than having my soul yanked away.

  The train whistle cut through the night air. Damn! I’d missed it. My parents would kill me, if the police didn’t do it first. If I hadn’t been thinking about that damned text, I might have made it on time. Dwelling on it wouldn’t change the situation. I picked up my pace and started walking home.

  My scarlet leather jacket offered little protection against the frigid night air. Tonight I should have listened to Ko. My high-heeled boots, my last attachment to my old life, were an impractical choice for a long walk.

  I crossed West Grand Boulevard. The four-lane street was deserted. There was no way I could walk the entire way home. Maybe I’d get lucky in the warehouse district. If someone had a motorcycle, I’d be home in no time.

  I walked around the corner of an abandoned two-story building. Before I crossed the alley, I heard the low electronic hum of the drone police. I froze. A rustling out of the dark abyss lifted the hair on my neck. My heart raced. I should’ve listened to the little voice in my head. I would be safe in Ko’s house instead of looking for a hiding place. Ignoring it might cost my freedom. Or my life.

  The drone police neared. I spotted an old dumpster in the alley alongside the building. Make a choice. Fast. Ignore whatever waited in the alley or ignore the drones. One choice offered hard labor. The other one was a mystery. Either way, the odds were not encouraging.

  Broken glass crunched under my feet as I ran for the dumpster. My shoulder bumped the rusty side as I ducked behind it. The pungent smell of rotting food surrounded me. I buried my nose in my sleeve. The drone reached the alley, stopped, and scanned the area. My heart pounded. I pressed my back against the brick wall. It gave way, and something or someone pulled me inside.

  “Our leaders have the right to enact any law which does not impede the New Order’s established religion or doctrine. No state of the Republic may create religion, doctrine, or form of speech contrary to the government.”

  —Bill of Trust, the American Republic, 2020

  “What the hell?” My butt hit the cement floor hard. I felt around me and put my hand in something cold and wet. Man, I hoped it was just icy water.

  A husky male voice penetrated the darkness. “Sorry. You were, uh, almost caught.” He spoke as if English wasn’t his first language.

  The intense odor of decaying animals and stale urine assaulted my nose. I swallowed a mouthful of bile and scrambled off the ground.

  “Where am I?”

  “Shhh. Wait a minute,” he warned.

  Time inched along while we waited in the dark. Small feet scurried by us with intermittent chewing sounds, making me twitch. That noise did not come from me chomping my gum. It was better not to consider what else might be in the room with us. My skin crawled as the wind whistled through the cracks in the building. After what felt like hours, the drone police continued its patrol.

  A lightness spread through my chest. “Okay. Who are you, and where am I?”

  “How about a thank you?”

  “Thank you.” No one ever claimed I had great manners. Besides, who said anything about being kind to a stranger? “Now if you—”

  Squeaky footsteps crossed the cement floor. Click. A bright light shone in my direction allowing me a glimpse at my rescuer—a tall Asian guy dressed in dark jeans and a black leather jacket. He seemed familiar somehow, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. He kind of reminded me of one of the characters I’d drawn. Thinking about my drawings made me laugh.

  “What’s so funny? Y’know I did save your ass.”

  “Sorry.” The scene, hot guy rescuing damsel in distress, came straight out of my books. “Who should I thank for saving my ass?”

  “The name’s Z. Yours?”

  “Tru.” Wait a second. I knew a guy whose name began with a Z. No. He couldn’t be the same one.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously,” I replied.

  He laughed.

  I didn’t appreciate his laughter. At least my name consisted of more than a letter. “Thanks again. I’m out of here.” I turned and strutted back toward the exit.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Home.” I glanced over my shoulder. Z stood there with his flashlight aimed at the ground.

  “Do you have a death wish? The drones will catch someone like you.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “Have you looked in a mirror?”

  “Have you?”

  Z pointed at me. “You look like a party girl. Not a fighter.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”

  “I guess we’re stuck with each other. Come on. Watch your step.” Z aimed the light on the floor and ambled away from me.

  Thou shall not believe anything not documented and proven by evidence.

  —10 Commandments of Personal Conduct, Thaxton Bible, 2021

  Was he kidding? I would not spend the night in some old rat-infested, creepy building.

  What the hell? He left me in the dark where anything might jump out at me. Common sense said head home. But the drones in the area made that unrealistic. Something small scurried across my foot. I screamed and ran after Z.

  We walked past trash and piles of rubble, stopping at a small office with puke yellow walls and a gray cement floor. An ancient incandescent bulb highlighted the dust covering everything. Old wooden crates and a black metal desk outfitted the room. On top of the desk lay a rough-looking gray bedroll. I wondered if someone slept here.

  “What is this place?”

  Z clicked off the flashlight. “It used to be some kind of factory.”


  Cobwebs hung from the doorframe and the corners of the walls. My foot slid on the dirt and crumbs of food covering the floor. The putrid smell of decay lingered in the air. I thought about spiders and rats, which might be living in the building. Of course, the idea of spending the night with a stranger was just as troubling. But I hung out with plenty of dubious types in the Underground. Small, unknown creatures were more of a threat than Z.

  “I should get home. My parents will worry about me.”

  Z sat cross-legged on a crate. “Then call them. Tell them you're staying with a friend. Y’know, it's not safe outside ‘till daybreak anyway. You’re an easy target for the drones.”

  I scrunched up my face. “Dang, will you stop saying that!”

  I hated when cute guys were irritating, especially the ones who looked like Z. His chiseled features, dark hair, and smoky eyes had a familiar appeal. Even his dangerous vibe contained a déjà vu essence. Too bad I couldn’t place where I’d seen him.

  It was time to get my head out of the clouds and focus. Z considered me a target. He shouldn’t underestimate me though. Being a regular in the Underground made me experienced at taking care of myself.

  I kept one eye on him while I called Mom. No answer. “Odd. No one picked up.”

  “Does your family sit around waiting for you to call?”

  “No, they don’t.”

  I brushed off a crate before sitting down. A knot twisted in my stomach while my heart thumped wildly. Conflicting voices in my head screamed at me. One said beware this guy might be a serial killer, sizing me up as his next victim. The other voice wanted to recall where I’d seen Z’s full lips and mesmerizing eyes. Especially his eyes. I couldn’t figure it out. Z caught me staring, a corner of his mouth lifted.

  “Why are you out after curfew?” My stomach tensed. Did I want to know the answer?

  “I'm always out. I, uh, live out here.” Z leaned his head against a soot-covered wall.

  “No way.” I moved my purse to my lap. “The New Order got rid of the street people.”

  “You’ve been programmed well. We didn’t go anywhere.”

  “The curfews and drone police prevent people from living on the streets.”

  Z shook his head. “So you fell for the propaganda?”

  Great. My luck to be stuck with a smart ass. Z would soon learn I was nobody’s pushover. I crossed my arms and stared at him.

  “I didn’t say I believed anything. I’m merely stating a fact.”

  “Sure.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Whatever.” Spending the night with this guy was a terrible idea. Maybe I should have taken my chances walking home. “Why were you in the alley?”

  “Curiosity.” Z pointed at my feet. “I wondered who was stomping around.”

  Point taken.

  “Then, why do you care whether I get caught by the drones?”

  Z leaned toward me. “How about you answer some of my questions, Truly Shepard?”

  My mouth fell open. He knew me? “How did you know my last name?”

  Z raised his eyebrows. “I know a lot about you.”

  “Such as?” A lump wedged itself in my throat. Something said get out. I leaned forward, ready to bolt for the exit.

  “You turn seventeen in ten days.”

  I froze, perched on the edge of the crate.

  “Your parents are Harriet and Frederick, and your brother, and his wife live with you.”

  My fingers hurt from gripping the crate’s edge so tightly. I contemplated running for the door. The drone police might be gone. I couldn’t spend the night here with a potential serial stalker. “Wh-what are you doing? Stalking me?”

  “No. Common knowledge.” He pulled a phone from his jacket pocket. He accessed the screen and tossed the phone to me. “Anyone can get the info.”

  Chills crawled down my spine like the feet of a centipede. My picture and personal info were on the screen. Fear turned to panic. What if the CHA sent him? They knew I was a Creative. Anybody could be my executioner including this guy. My lucky streak may have met its final curtain call. I bit my thumbnail. “How did you get this?”

  Z pointed at the bright blue band on my left wrist. “You’re a walking file cabinet.”

  “What are you talking about?” I tossed his phone back. Stay calm.

  “Your bracelet…” Z slid the phone in his pocket and leaned back against the wall. “What do you think it is?”

  I held my arm out. “Duh, it's my Health Tracker. Everyone wears one.”

  I hadn’t noticed it before, but his wrists were bare. How was that possible?

  “It's a lot more than that. There’s GPS and your complete government file. Everything and anything about a person is on a chip.”

  Mom and Dad gave me my Tracker when I turned twelve. The color of the band matched each person’s security clearance level. Riza wore black. Medical and technical workers wore green. Laborers wore bright blue. Criminals wore red.

  “My parents said it contained my records,” I muttered.

  He shook his head. “The truth is, no one should carry that much info with them.”

  I folded my arms over my stomach. Nothing he said made any sense. “Why would the government have a file on me?”

  “Everyone on the grid has one.”

  Proof of his lying. “My family isn’t on the grid.”

  “Guess you have faith in the Easter Bunny, too?” He chuckled.

  “I guess you think I’m willing to sit here and continue listening to your insults.”

  “I’m sorry.” Z raised his hands. “I should’ve said, if you’re wearing a Tracker, you’re on the grid.”

  “And why should I trust you?” I slid off the crate and walked to the door. Enough. I should go home. “I’ll—”

  “Okay, you don't believe me. But what if I said Inoculation Day is a cover up?”

  “What did you say?” I hadn’t met anyone else who considered Inoculation Day a conspiracy.

  “Now that I have your attention, wanna hear me out?”

  My instincts screamed caution, but he piqued my interest. Ko told me sharing my opinion about the vaccine was dangerous. My head said run. My gut said stay, listen. He might know something beneficial. I sat on another crate closer to the door.

  “Fine. What makes you think it’s a conspiracy?”

  “I have proof.”

  “Unless you explain yourself fast, I’m out of here. Drones or not.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Let me finish. I promise you’ll get your explanation.”

  Z crossed the room and sat beside me. Terrific! He didn’t need to sit so close. I assumed some of the unpleasant smells in the building came from him. Wrong. He smelled like a spring day after a morning rain mixed with a hint of sandalwood. Intoxicating. Street people didn’t smell so good.

  “You finished?” He sat there with his arms crossed and a cocky smile plastered on his face.

  Busted. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, I may live on the streets, but I still practice good hygiene. Take off your Tracker.”

  Z removed the chip from the Tracker. He transformed his folding phone into a tablet and inserted the chip. A few keystrokes later, he handed it to me. The screen displayed my name, birth date, blood type, and American Republic Identification code. It even had a list of classes I took at the learning center.

  “Is this for real?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  There must be some type of mistake. My family had always been Adnan. The file said we were reclassified from Dezye. “I don't understand why we were reclassified.”

  “Do you know about the classifications?”

  “Riza’s our military. The Dezye are first-class citizens and the Adnan are second class.” The vast majority of New Detroiters belonged to the latter.

  “You’re forgetting the poor and the illiterate. Those with genetic defects and those who carry disease are also Adnan.”

  “Well, now I know why we’re Adnan. We ca
rry the Sickle Cell gene. So, how could we have been Dezye?”

  “Your mother’s terrorist actions got you reclassified.”

  Thou shall remember that evidence must be proven.

  —10 Commandments of Personal Conduct, Thaxton Bible, 2021

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I jumped up. “My mother is not a terrorist!” Mom, the saint, had never done anything wrong in her life.

  “No. She’s not a terrorist.” He stopped me before I reached the door. His eyes met mine. “She’s guilty of terroristic actions. Any activity not condoned by the New Order is a threat. Her actions got your family reclassified. It's punishment.”

  “I don’t trust you. It’s not possible to be Dezye if you have a genetic defect.”

  His eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “Okay. Let's say you’re right. We know the New Order cured Sickle Cell five years ago. All carriers received vaccines. Classifications started four years ago. Your family is no longer carriers. Reclassification unnecessary. You could live wherever you chose.”

  I wrenched away from Z and plopped down. “How do you know this?”

  “Y’know, I’m homeless. Not stupid.” He eyed the floor.

  “Didn’t answer my question.” I glared at him. He wasn’t entitled to hurt feelings.

  “It's confidential,” he huffed.

  “Bull!” My breathing came in shallow waves. Z’s arrogance was unfathomable. “I’m supposed to take for granted everything you’ve said without proof?”

  He continued staring at the floor.

  “Let’s play fair here. How about a trade? You tell me something about you. I’ll answer a question.”

  His posture sagged. “Where should I start?”