He had just enough self-preservation left to kick start his heart. He just wasn’t sure how it worked. He didn’t have a card. He was here to get a card. So what happened in the interim? Arrest, he assumed, figuring he had a two percent chance of making it out of there a free man.
With a final check of his papers, he left the safety of the brick, strode out into the open for the first time in five years, and pulled open the glass doors.
nine
GREG WASN’T IMMEDIATELY THROWN to the ground, giving him a second to get his bearings. The township office had standard-issue blue carpet, fluorescent buzzing lights, and a musty smell which dated the building. But the artificial heat felt amazing.
He scanned the side hallway, instincts serving him well. A patrolman sat in a far office in his freshly pressed green uniform. The door was closed, but Greg could see through a window that the patrolman was in a heated discussion with somebody.
With another tentative step inside, Greg scanned the immediate room. Two women stood behind a waist-high counter: one old and unattractive; the other her opposite.
“Cards,” the older woman said, using the only word government employees knew these days.
Before he could respond, the younger woman stepped forward. “I’ll take this one, Ellen.” Then she looked at Greg and smiled.
A smile was the last thing he expected.
Not that he minded. The young blonde was good-looking and rich enough to wear mascara. From the eager look in her eyes, he figured she found him equally attractive. Attractive was good.
Attractive was leverage.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes,” his mom said, waltzing in through the glass doors behind him.
Greg spun around and swore under his breath. She’s gonna get us both killed!
“My son and I are here to get our yellow cards worked up,” his mom went on.
“You’re in the right place,” the blonde said. “How can I help?”
Greg and his mom spent the next few minutes explaining their situation, their recent move to Illinois, his grandparents’ home, and their desire to become full tax-paying, law-abiding citizens willing to uphold the emergency laws and vote for the new regime—or whatever they called the supposedly democratic government these days. Meanwhile, the young blonde did her best not to drool at Greg over the counter.
“I’ve never met anyone from North Carolina, Mr. Pierce,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “I’m sure you’ll love it here.”
“So everybody keeps tellin’ me,” he muttered.
Giggling, she sifted through some papers. “I’ll need to see all your previous government identification, driver’s licenses, birth certificates, and such. From your grandparents as well. Did you happen to bring their recent tax bills and card registrations?”
Greg was impressed with his grandpa’s thoroughness. “Yeah. I think I got it all.”
“Good. That will speed things up. For today, your taxes are $372. I can take that when you’re ready.”
His mom sucked in a breath. That was double what they hoped, a fourth of his grandpa’s remaining cash.
“That much?” Greg asked evenly.
“Actually, that’s prorated until the end of the year, so I gave you a deal.” She winked at him. “Don’t worry, though. The first year is the most expensive. After that, the fees drop. Paperwork. You know how it goes.”
He didn’t, but he pulled out the wallet and counted the bills slowly. His mom nudged him with a panicked expression, but he kept counting. There was no backing out now, not unless they wanted to be cuffed and hauled off. If they ran out of money in a year, well…they’d deal with it later.
He handed over a fat wad of cash. The blonde gave him strange-looking bills for change. They were two-thirds the size of the green dollar bills, and they weren’t green either. They were reddish-brown bills with a picture of President Rigsby on the front.
“What do you think of our new currency?” she asked.
“It’s…different,” he offered.
“I know. I love it. The old bills will be phased out by July.”
“That soon?” his mom said.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” the blonde said excitedly.
What was amazing was that people still believed President Rigsby and his cronies would follow through on their promises to return to the “good old days.” It was amazing that, while they tracked citizens’ movements, money, and lives, the people didn’t revolt. Had Greg and his mom not come today, his grandpa’s money would have been obsolete by the end of summer, and they never would have known. All part of the plan, no doubt. But he bit back his snide remark. Treason wouldn’t earn him any points now.
The blonde handed him a small pamphlet. “Here’s your copy of the New Day Times. I think you’ll enjoy it. And your required check-in times are the 21st of every month. Any time before 5pm is fine.”
“Check-ins?” Greg said. “I thought only blue cardies were required to check-in regularly.”
“No. That changed a year ago. Now all cardies”—she smiled at his nickname—“have to check-in monthly. Even me. But don’t worry. It’s similar to how your blue card worked, except there aren’t any government handouts for yellow cardholders, but I’m sure you knew that.”
A leash without food. Seemed pointless.
As if reading his mind, she went on. “The corporate politicians are aware and appreciative of their supporters, specifically you upper citizens. They want to make sure your needs are being met. Since the mail services are spotty and phone services nonexistent, they found this once-a-month check-in system beneficial to citizens living outside of municipalities. There’s an explanation in the back of your New Day Times.”
He flipped through the small pamphlet. President Rigsby was on the cover—the guy’s face was everywhere these days—with a bold caption reading, “A Return to Civility.” The rest of the pamphlet was more of the same. Useless propaganda written well enough to convince a dumb blonde.
“Are you sure check-ins are once a month?” his mom asked. “‘Cause my parents never—”
Greg nudged her. He didn’t know why his grandparents didn’t have to check-in, but he could guarantee they didn’t want to start now. He couldn’t picture them making the long walk every single month, especially in the dead of winter. Maybe the government had an age limit. No. President Rigsby never showed mercy. It had to be a glitch, one Greg was sure they didn’t want to be exposed.
His mom wisely redirected. “They never mentioned that.”
The blonde employee smiled. “Yes. Personally, I love seeing the residents every month.” Her eyes fell on Greg again, fluttering slightly in case he’d missed her twenty other hints. “But really, it’s for you citizens. When you come in, you’ll get your New Day Times and all broadcast transcripts. You’ll also be able to report any disturbances or complaints. Technically today counts for your March check-in, but you’re welcome to pop in and say hello anytime.” Her smile widened.
His mom shot him a raised-brow look.
“Good to know,” Greg said, keeping it vague.
The blonde grinned and went back to her papers. “With that, I just need your blue cards and travel permits, and you’ll be all set.”
Greg went rigid. “Come again?”
“Your blue cards and travel permits.” She looked up. “You do have them, don’t you?”
They’d exchanged money and their check-in had been assigned. He assumed that meant they were free and clear.
Panicked, he glanced down the hallway. A tall patrolman paced in that far office. Greg’s mind raced through their options—although, without papers, there weren’t many. He waved a hand below the counter, motioning for his mom to back up. She shook her head slightly and dug in her heels.
The blonde looked between them. “Is there a problem?”
Yeah. About fifty. Greg wasn’t sure how to explain the whole fleeing-from-the-Raleigh-guard story. Or the night they spent un
der two feet of garbage, the last time he’d seen either of their blue cards.
Deciding to play the only card he had left, he leaned an arm on the counter. “Well, you see…” He searched for a name badge.
“Ashlee.” She smiled demurely. “You can just call me Ashlee.”
This would be easier than he thought.
“Well, you see, Ashlee,” Greg said, “we don’t exactly have our blue cards any more. It’s kinda a long story.” He tried to smile. It felt dry and awkward.
The other coworker glanced up. Her hand inched toward the phone which told Greg everything he needed to know. Flirty blonde or not, the older clerk would alert the patrolman soon.
Greg held his breath and forced himself to remain confident, almost inviting. “Our friend, Officer Simmons, assured me this wasn’t a problem. Is it, Ashlee?”
You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Not at all. Don’t you worry, Mr. Pierce. I’ll take good care of you.”
Greg had sworn off all women recently, yet he couldn’t help but think how useful a gullible blonde could be every now and then.
While she went to work processing their cards, his mom kept shooting him looks. So did the other employee. He ignored both as he signed his life away, threw his grandpa’s money away, and literally bought their freedom.
Within a few minutes, You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee handed over their yellow cards. He studied his ticket to freedom. His wings. The card looked like an oversized driver’s license complete with physical description, picture, fingerprints, and address. The outer edges were yellow, hence the nickname. Across the top read “Free Range” as if they were chickens instead of humans. But it meant they lived without fences. A major perk.
Then he noticed his picture in the corner. He nearly gagged. The man staring up at him looked like a middle-aged, weather-beaten, pathetic excuse for a man. The last year hadn’t been kind to him—the five years before hadn’t been real peachy either—and he was shocked he’d received any attention from You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee.
“I’m a little jealous,” Ashlee said.
“Why?” Greg said, still studying his picture.
“Because you can go wherever you want now. As a government employee, I only get a green card. I’m not allowed to leave the state of Illinois.” She sighed dramatically. “I’m a prisoner.”
His grip tightened on his card. She knew nothing about being a prisoner. So what that she couldn’t leave Illinois? As an employee of the state, she received food, clothes, and a heated house. There wasn’t a fence around her building or chains on her wrists. She’d never seen a boy shot outside of a barn or stood in a hospital line for days only to have her little sister die anyway. She’d never run for her life, never held her breath as patrol dogs ravaged a previous hiding spot, and she’d never been beaten when she paused to wipe her face from the long hours of grunt work in the government factory. How much more freedom could she get?
He nearly said something, but then he noticed his mom. There was a happy sheen to her eyes as she studied her new card. She was safe now. Her peace was worth his silence.
“Well,” he said to his mom, “we better go before—”
A door opened. The patrolman and another man came out of the back office, continuing their heated discussion in the hallway. The patrolman looked like a typical patrolman: clean-shaven, short-cropped hair, and a green uniform with belts holding two guns, a Taser, and a nightstick. The other guy wore a business suit. Possibly the mayor of Shelton.
Not good.
Greg grabbed his mom and took three steps back as the men entered the lobby. The men looked up, noticing them. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt.
“What’s going on?” the patrolman barked. “Who are you?”
Greg backed up farther. Five minutes of freedom couldn’t erase five years of running. But then he realized he’d backed them the wrong way. Instead of heading out the door, he’d backed them into a corner.
Not good.
The patrolman fingered the gun at his hip, and Greg’s pulse leaped. He scanned his surroundings. Four chairs. A glass window. Two possible hostages. A weak plan by any standard.
“They’re just here for some business,” Ashlee said.
The patrolman was taller than Greg, and though he had light hair and eyes, his expression was dark as he stared them down. “What business? Why are you here? Who are you?”
Greg wasn’t stupid enough to answer. He reached behind him and grabbed the corner of a metal chair. There was a window overhead. Breaking it might be surprise enough. One swipe and they could run. Except his mom looked as white as the snow outside. She’d be slow. Too slow. He’d have to drag her.
Looking more annoyed than anything, the mayor turned. “Hey, Jamansky, I have a load of paperwork. We’ll finish up tomorrow.” Then he went back to his office.
The patrolman, Jamansky, hadn’t looked away from Greg.
Greg gripped his yellow card in one hand and the chair in the other, unsure which would save them.
Ashlee laughed, a jarring sound to his tensed muscles.
“Oh, leave them alone, David. They just moved here from North Carolina. They’re our newest citizens.”
Greg’s mom chanced a few steps forward and showed the tall patrolman her card. He snatched it up and studied both sides. He motioned to Greg. “Where’s yours?”
He examined both cards longer than necessary before thrusting them back. Then he pointed at Greg.
“I know where you live now so you better not cause any trouble.” His gaze flickered back to Ashlee with an unmistakable addendum: And stay away from her. “I’ll track you down while you sleep.”
A chill ran down Greg’s spine. So much for wings. So much for not watching their backs while they slept. His mom grabbed his hand, fingernails digging into his palm. But Ashlee only tipped her head back and laughed again.
“Don’t listen to him, Greg. He’s just teasing. Aren’t you, David?”
She opened the counter and approached the patrolman. Only then did Greg spot the resemblance. Same light hair. Same striking features. David Jamansky and You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee looked like twins. At the very least, brother and sister.
She turned her brother around and gave him a gentle push toward the door. “That’s enough teasing for one day. Time to go.”
Jamansky shot Greg a last look that said, I’ll be watching you.
As soon as the door shut, Ashlee turned back. “He thinks he’s so funny. He doesn’t mean any harm. I promise.”
Easy for her to say. Her life wasn’t at stake.
“Thanks for all your help,” Greg’s mom said, voice tight.
“Oh, it was my pleasure.” Ashlee’s gaze locked on Greg. “Will I be seeing you again soon, Mr. Pierce?”
He shoved his yellow card in his pocket. “Doubt it.”
With his mom in tow, he strode out of the township office. He fought the urge to check for David Jamansky as they rounded the corner. They were yellow cardies now. Free. Wings. His resolve lasted half a second and he glanced over his shoulder. The tall patrolman was gone, but another chill coursed through Greg that had nothing to do with the weather. I know where you live now. He picked up his pace.
“I’ve ruined you,” his mom whispered. “I’ve totally and completely ruined you.”
ten
BY THE TIME CARRIE AND Zach finished the chickens, the wind had picked up to an angry howl, blowing quarter-sized snowflakes around their heads.
“If Jenna cuts my hair, I’ll freeze,” Zach grumbled. “Why can’t I have long hair like Richard’s?”
“You’ll be fine,” Carrie said. “It’s going to warm up soon, and then you’ll be glad.”
“Whatever. I’m out of here.”
Zach took off for home, leaving Carrie alone to pull the wagonload of eggs. She held her scarf around her ears and kept her nose tucked into her coat. Normally she didn’t help with Zach’s chores, but she had bought his exc
use that the weather hurt his bad ankle. Ironic, considering he sprinted for home. And what was Amber’s excuse? Carrie had a bucket of water on the wagon as well. She was turning soft.
The wagon squeaked as she crossed the street and passed the two empty homes separating her house and May’s. Life would have been easier if they didn’t have to keep everything of value they owned at the Trenton’s. She smiled, realizing she considered two dozen pesky chickens valuable. Sad how far she’d fallen. It used to be computers, her phone, or the latest technology. But in their situation, eggs were the easiest source of protein. Whether people liked them or not, they ate them every—
Her thoughts pulled up short. A pair of unfamiliar tennis shoes sat on the snow-covered sidewalk in front of her. Her reaction time was slow, and she still collided, head first, into Greg’s chest.
“Oh, I-I’m…” she stuttered falling back. “I’m sorry, Greg. I didn’t see you there.”
He folded his arms. “Obviously.”
Why he hadn’t moved out of the way or called out a warning when he noticed her head down, she didn’t know. She squinted up at him through the heavy snowflakes.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
He held out his hand, catching several flakes. “You still figure spring’s comin’ early?”
“You were waiting outside in a blizzard to ask me if spring is coming early?” The irony would have made her laugh if his expression wasn’t more frigid than the weather. It didn’t seem to bother him that his hair was turning white. He just kept glaring. Zach was already inside their house. She kicked herself for not keeping up with him.
Too cold to be polite, she said, “I should get inside. Bye, Greg.”
He shifted on the sidewalk, blocking her. “Hold up. There’s somethin’ else.”
Several awkward seconds passed of him staring her down—the guy had no social protocol whatsoever—and her waiting for him to say what it was so she could get inside and warm up. Her hands were freezing, her nose dripping, and her hair blew around her face. Yet he stared.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 7
