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“Yes.”

  “In last night’s dream, things changed…”

  Grandpa Ed walks with his rifle ready to take down the first evildoer who crosses our path. My foot lands on something soft. I glance at the ground, crouched low, and see the leather bracelet.

  I run my fingers along the layers of black leather strips. It’s a simple cuff Shiloh and I made together when I was ten. I have one, too. My stomach lurches, and I puke all over the asphalt.

  Grandpa Ed walks up to me. In his arms is my battered body…

  I open my eyes and exhale. “Can you tell me why I keep dreaming that I’m dead?”

  Dr. Lee taps the tablet screen. “Do you remember how you felt the next day after your family died?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Tell me about it,” she encourages.

  “The first thought I had was why did I survive. I lived, and good people died.”

  “Did you think you deserved to die?”

  “Shouldn’t I? My whole family was taken from me in one night. Do you know how many times I’ve questioned that over the years?”

  Dr. Lee taps away on her tablet. “I think we’ve found the reason for your continued nightmare.”

  I sit up and look over at her. “What?”

  “It’s called survivor’s guilt or remorse. It’s a common emotional reaction.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “Sorry. I’m not buying it. I got over the remorse. All I’ve wanted is revenge.”

  “I beg to differ with you. Asher, you’ve never truly handled your guilt or remorse. You told me you became a juvenile delinquent turning to drugs, alcohol, and crime after your family died. According to the file, your paternal grandparents tried to get you help. Is that right?”

  “Yeah. A counselor named Ramirez.” I pause for a moment and study Dr. Lee. “You look a lot like her.”

  She holds her head high and pushes her shoulders back. “Thank you. My father has told me I resemble my mom. It’s comforting when others see it.”

  “Mrs. Ramirez is your mother?”

  Dr. Lee frowns. “Was. We lost Mom to cancer about a year ago, so I’ve some experience with survivor’s guilt.”

  “Sorry to hear about your mother.”

  She nods. “I have a confession. After our first meeting, I went through her old files and read up on your case. Mom said the only regret she had in her entire time as a counselor was that she couldn’t help a troubled teen. She said he had so much potential, but he couldn’t see it. He was burying his grief with drugs and alcohol, thinking those things would take away the pain. Mom hated writing you off as a lost cause.”

  Wow. No one had ever said that to me before. Grandpa Ed implied it, but he never actually uttered the words.

  “So, how do I deal with this? The survivor’s guilt?”

  “Recognizing it is half the battle. I suspect you never mourned your family. Did you even shed a tear?”

  “Before the funeral,” my voice cracks as I remember it. “I went numb the day we buried them.”

  “It was the way you chose to cope. Did you speak to anyone other than my mother about it?”

  “My best friend, Mark, and eventually, my wife. Everyone else just got the highlights, so I didn’t have to discuss my feelings.”

  She sighs. “You know the saying ‘rest in peace’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s work on living in peace. Take some time and mourn your losses. Maybe consider having a memorial service for them. We’ll work and discover your identity together.”

  Her timer goes off.

  “Before you leave, Asher…”

  I stop with my hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

  “How’s your writing going?”

  “Funny you should ask. I bought myself another composition book last week.”

  “Good for you,” she exclaims. “Can I ask what you’re writing about?”

  Winking, I say, “Next time, doc.”

  —

  I arrive home to find Mama Sibley in the kitchen with my very pregnant wife. We’re expecting a son in two short months. When Viyan was born, I barely had time to appreciate her birth. This time, I plan to be around for every possible moment. What’s even nicer? My father-in-law finally accepts me as Rihana’s husband. I reluctantly forgave him for his part in Rihana’s kidnapping.

  My grandmother sets a plate of cookies on the counter and asks, “How was your session today, Asher?”

  I kiss Rihana’s cheek and swipe a cookie. “I learned some things.”

  “Like?” Rihana asks.

  “Dr. Lee thinks I’m suffering from survivor’s guilt. I told her about my dreams.” My eyes dart between my wife and grandmother. “I never told either of you about them… My dreams are always about my family dying.”

  “We kind of figured that, Asher,” says Mama Sibley.

  “Yeah, but in my dreams, I die in Shiloh’s place.”

  Blank stares come from my grandmother and wife. Finally, Rihana places her hand over mine. “What can we do to help?”

  “Dr. Lee says I should properly mourn their deaths. Maybe a memorial service?”

  Mama Sibley smiles. “I think we can arrange that.”

  —

  And a week later, that’s exactly what happens.

  Grandma and Grandpa Jones make the trip across the country. My grandmother still dresses in her respectable fifties-style outfits with sensible heels while my grandfather looks like he stepped out of a fifties movie. I don’t suspect they’ll ever change.

  Thankfully, Mama Sibley is cordial. We have a small service at a local chapel and then come back to the compound. While everyone’s eating and drinking and reminiscing, Grandpa Ed pulls me to the side.

  “If I haven’t told you, I’m proud of you, Asher.”

  My jaw drops. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to make him feel that way. “Thanks.”

  He stares down at his cup of punch for a long minute. “I’m serious, son. You’ve been through a lot of shit in your young life, and somehow you managed to keep it together.”

  If he only knew.

  “You’ve got a beautiful family, too. It’s what your mom and dad wanted for you—a stable life.” Grandpa Ed taps my shoulder and moves on.

  “What did that old fool want?” Mama Sibley says coming up to me.

  “He just wanted to say he was proud of me.” Honestly, I’m still a little flabbergasted.

  Mama Sibley squeezes my arm. “If he starts some shit, you let me know.”

  Chuckling to myself, I think that the only person who might start something just walked away.

  EPILOGUE

  “I got my start through the Riza Corps. Our leaders spoke of how rewarding Riza would be, yet they had no military experience. My advice? Keep the hell away from it.”

  —from “Reflections on Riza” by Lt. Asher Nicholas Jones

  Six months later…

  Six months later and my family has grown—Viyan is going on three years of age, and Mahdi Shiloh Ahmad is four months old.

  With Dr. Lee’s help and the not-so-gentle urging of my wife, I am now a self-published author. The composition book I first received grew into a second one. Each tome was filled with my reflections on being a member of Riza. Although creative endeavors stalled in the American Republic during the New Order’s regime, the idea of publishing books never became a relic. I decided to publish the non-fiction book under my imprint Phoenix Publishing. The imprint along with the book reflects how I rebuilt my life after coming to terms with some long-buried shit.

  It delighted Dr. Lee when I told her I’d made the decision to become published. She said it was the right step in discovering my identity.

  Besides being a happily married man, a proud father, and a best-selling author, I’m also adding ‘best man’ to my identity. Zared and Tru are planning a fall wedding. It’s about time since they have another kid on the way.

  Fortunate for the country, the New Order is no longer in power. The Unite
d Nations’ Security Council found the leaders guilty of numerous crimes against humanity. They all are serving concurrent sentences in an undisclosed prison. I say they got off easy.

  Mama Sibley’s friend is no longer interested in running the AR. She said there’s too much work to be done. In the meantime, Riza continues to preside over the unruly citizens. Sadly, the issues our country faces will take many years to fix. Maybe a military-run government is the right thing for a while.

  There are lessons we can all take from the chaos our former leaders caused. What have I learned from all of this? Fear is the greatest determining factor. It can be used to influence people’s thoughts and behavior, encouraging rebellion and toppling countries. That’s too much power for any one person or even a group to wield. Fear is like a nuclear weapon waiting to cause mass destruction. If the citizens are smart, we’ll never let it take hold again.

  It’s why I hope the AR is never restored. Going backward serves no purpose—it won’t make our country great again. This sorry state we find ourselves in developed because of a bunch of old men and women bickering about their interest groups and their lame causes.

  We, the people, deserve more than politicians driven by their own panic over change. We should never go back. Instead, we must redirect our moral compasses and stand up for what’s right while trampling injustice. Until that happens, the American Republic will continue to flounder and be nothing but a mere shadow of its former self.

  —

  Tru keeps in touch with Ko, who still lives in Michigan to be close to her mother. Sadly, Ko’s mother wants nothing to do with her daughter, but Ko keeps hoping that will change. Out of respect for my wife and my marriage, we don’t speak about the woman. All I know is that she’s still looking for a way to serve her country. I wish her the best of luck.

  Mark disappeared shortly after we wrapped up the final mission. Last I heard, he was going to Michigan to help Ko, but then he fell off the radar. He still has a place with the team should he ever wish to reclaim it. Something tells me my renegade friend won’t be looking for proper work anytime soon. Grass just won’t grow under his feet. He said he had to go to Canada and pay his cousins and step-uncle a visit since Griffin and Leon aren’t permitted entry into the American Republic. If caught, they’ll serve prison time for their roles working with the Alliance and later the Network; both organizations have been dismantled.

  All seems right with the world until one night. My phone buzzes with a Michigan area code. “Hello?”

  A man responds, “I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a jackass who’s been frequenting my bar nightly. He left his phone behind, and you’re the only number listed as an emergency contact.”

  Mark.

  I ask the stranger, “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s been fighting with customers. Basically, he’s a regular pain in the ass. I suggest you step in and help your friend, family member, whatever he is to you… Next call I make is to the authorities. I’m doing him a favor since he’s former military.”

  “Thanks for the call. I’m not in Michigan, though. It will take me eight hours to get back there. Can you just hold off on calling anyone else? Give me a chance to get there?”

  “Ain’t making no promises.” The phone call disconnects.

  Rihana, carrying Shiloh, comes to my side. “What is wrong?”

  “It’s Mark. I think he might be in trouble.”

  “Aza, he is your friend.” Rihana touches my shoulder. “Go to him.”

  “Come with me,” I say, taking the baby from her. “We’ll pack up the kids. My grandparents haven’t met Shiloh. It’ll be a chance for them to get to know all of you.”

  I suspect my family has one more adventure before we fade off into obscurity.

  Read on for a sneak peek of

  RENEGADE

  the alliance chronicles

  book six

  by

  SF BENSON

  CHAPTER

  one

  “Wanna know why loving your best friend is hard? It only takes one push to either make you fall harder or destroy your friendship.”

  —from “It Happens: When Friendship Turns to Love”

  by Dr. E. Rich

  Mark

  November 2028

  I’m a shitty friend—the shittiest.

  Who disappears for nearly two years without an ounce of communication, but as soon as all hell breaks loose he doesn't hesitate to reach out?

  A shitty friend like me that’s who.

  I claim to be his best friend, but the only thing Asher Jones can count on me for is staying in trouble. I’ve always been a bit of a magnet for tricky situations. When I ran the streets with my older cousin, Griffin, we thought nothing of committing petty crimes like shoplifting and jacking cars—and getting bent.

  Then I started hanging with Asher. He balanced out my rough edges—when I listened to him. Most of the time, though, we were just two delinquents killing time together and enjoying each other’s company.

  “Callahan, don’t you have something else to do besides staring at me? Like a date with a fucking scrub brush and a bar of soap!” I scream from inside the dusty, dank jail cell which is surprisingly cleaner than my jailer.

  “You’s lucky ya got friends in high places, Carter.” His backwoods twang grates my ears. “Shoulda let my men beat the shit out of ya.”

  The leader of the Ohio militia tilts a tattered, navy baseball cap back on his greasy head and spits a wad of something brown on the floor. My eyes follow the ambling movements of the man dressed in oil-smeared jeans, a ripped flannel shirt, and a jacket encrusted with layers upon layers of dirt. When his hand grips the bars of the cell, I notice the filth beneath his nails.

  “Ya know, I don’t let folks come up in here tearing my town apart. Ya damn lucky I say.”

  The foulness ejected from Callahan’s mouth sits in my line of vision. I walk to the far side of the jail cell, trying to ignore the grossness, but I swear the substance grows legs and follows me.

  I take a seat on the rusty metal bench fixed to the wall. My thoughts race back to the bloodied and battered man I left on the floor of the bar. It wasn’t like the fool didn’t have it coming. He shouldn’t have shot his mouth off, just walked away when I warned him. Can’t blame me for his stupidity.

  “Can I at least get something to drink?” It would be at least eight hours before Asher arrives in Defiance. “And not any of that tainted water either.”

  Callahan’s lips twist, revealing a mouth full of decay. “Guess ya gonna be parched then. See ya when the sun comes up.”

  He turns off the lights and leaves me with the glow of the moon, just enough light for me to see my breath. I zip my leather jacket all the way up and dig my hands into the pockets.

  Callahan’s a nasty ass prick.

  I slide into the corner, cross my arms over my chest, and close my eyes. Maybe I’ll dream of some place hot.

  —

  Morning comes too damned soon, and with it comes the smell of rotting garbage and rank ass.

  Callahan.

  Shit! I hoped my being in Defiance was all a dream.

  My eyes flutter open in time to see him unlocking the door.

  “Ya savior’s here,” he says, cackling. “What’s with ya pretty boys? Y’all stick together no matter what.”

  Pretty boy?

  I chuckle to myself—I haven’t been a boy in a long time—and hold my breath while walking as far behind the man as possible.

  Asher’s waiting for me at the lobby front desk. His hands rest on the worn wooden counter. The steely look in his eyes and his firm jaw let me know how he feels about this impromptu trip. Last thing I need is his attitude piled on top of my own guilt. He’s the only person who would help me, no matter what.

  My best friend favors his older brother. Shiloh, a handsome man who died too young, was the type of guy who appealed to nearly all the girls and even a few guys in school. He got into a lot of trouble wi
th my cousin and almost flunked out of school. The good-looking kid from California did some seriously stupid shit, but he always maintained his distance from me.

  Probably a wise decision.

  “Callahan, like, are we good?” Asher asks the weather-beaten man.

  The leader is off to one side of the lobby sorting through cardboard boxes with a few of his men. There are cans of food, bottles of water, clothes, toiletries, and ammo. “Yup, we’re more than good Lieutenant. Just make sure ya friend don’t come back this way.”

  Asher cuts his eyes toward me. “Not a problem. We’re heading out of town. Carter’s definitely not coming back this way.”

  —

  No words are exchanged until we’re inside a fancy black SUV with more bells and whistles than a jet plane. There’s a driver, dressed in fatigues, escorting my friend around like he’s somebody important.

  “What gives, Ash?” I run a finger along the wood grain door panel. “Is this the way successful authors get around?”

  Yeah, I might be a little jealous. My best friend has had two bestsellers on the nonfiction list. Plus, I heard he’s been doing consulting for the new government’s military. Who would have thought people would be interested in his former life as a Riza lieutenant? Yeah, I know he got an upgrade to his rank and the powers-that-be stole it from him. So, officially he retired as a lieutenant—nothing more.

  “My grandfather set it up. It’s still not safe to travel through the territories unescorted,” he says and waves his hand in the air, dismissing my envy.

  I guess Asher has gotten closer to Steve Winters, his grandmother’s second husband. Not so long ago, he called the man his step-grandfather.

  Asher drums his fingers against the seat. “What did you do this time, Mark?”

  “Just a little disagreement,” I lie.

  Actually, it was one big ass fight. Unfortunately, my dubious reputation precedes me. Some asshat thought he was gonna get lucky, and he propositioned me. I took one look at the scrawny redhead and told him I wasn’t interested. He didn’t take no for an answer. I tried to teach him some manners. A few of Callahan’s men were in the bar and stopped things before I killed the man. I guess he got lucky.