How had Greg woken in time?
CJ shooed everyone but the adults into the basement, but Carrie hid Little Jeffrey by the window. Jeffrey didn’t want to let go of her, and she couldn’t let go of him.
“Carrie,” Amber said, still upstairs and still crying. “I have to talk to you. Right now.”
Carrie’s patience had been pushed too far. “Amber, please! This isn’t the time. Just wait until…” She trailed off as Amber completely lost it in the candlelight.
“But, but, but…” Amber stuttered. “It’s my fault, Carrie. All of this is my fault.”
Carrie stared at Amber as understanding clarified the chaos.
Oliver.
Amber couldn’t remember.
The day of the sweep.
Amber and Oliver. Oliver and Amber.
Carrie almost dropped Little Jeffrey.
fifteen
CARRIE STARED AT AMBER. “What do you mean this is your fault?”
Amber buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook.
Carrie looked at Little Jeffrey. Unfortunately, Amber needed her more right now. Even worse, Carrie needed Amber. As soon as they finished the final count, there would be a different accounting, one filled with lots of questions. Carrie needed to know the answers.
“Wait here,” she told Amber. Then she pushed through the people and handed Little Jeffrey off to Sasha.
CJ was double and triple-checking the head count. Carrie raised her hand on cue. Then she discreetly made her way to the dark, far corner of the living room where Amber huddled in a ball. Grabbing her arm, Carrie led her down the hallway into the first blackened bedroom, so dark Carrie couldn’t see anything but shapes.
“Okay,” Carrie said. “What happened?”
“Oh, Carrie!” Amber fell into her arms shaking with grief. For a full minute, she was inconsolable. Then Carrie couldn’t wait any longer. She pushed her up.
“You can’t fall apart, Amber. I need you to tell me exactly what happened with Oliver on Thursday.”
“Well,” Amber sniffed, “Oliver came and, and you know how he is. I couldn’t hear him. He’s so quiet—so, so quiet—and I couldn’t understand if he said the raid was Saturday or Sunday. I thought…” Her words began to slur. “I thought he said Saturday. I did. I thought he said…I thought…” Amber threw herself on Carrie with heart-wrenching sobs. “What if, what if, what if they took…” Her body shook. “What if…”
Carrie patted her back and tried to remember if she’d heard any dogs the night before, sleeping on May’s floor. She hadn’t.
Amber heard Oliver wrong.
Just a mistake.
The fire down the street was emblazoned in her mind, as was every petrified face in the other room. She laid her chin on Amber’s head.
A devastating mistake.
“It’s okay,” Carrie said, stroking her wet hair. “We’re safe. Everything’s fine now.”
“No it’s not! If people find out that it’s my fault, they’ll kill me! You heard Dylan. They all…and we’re going to lose everything, and it’s my fault. They’re going to kill me!”
“Yes, they will,” a deep voice said behind them.
Carrie whirled. Though she couldn’t see the face in the dark, she knew the voice well enough.
The mother bear in her reared its ugly head.
“Leave, Greg,” Carrie said. “This is none of your concern.”
“This is my room,” Greg said, unaffected.
“I don’t care. I need to talk to my sister,” Carrie said. “Alone. Now!”
Greg said nothing, but his dark shadow moved away. With him gone, Amber started where she left off.
Crying.
“I’m so sorry,” Amber whimpered. “It’ll never happen again, I swear on my life. I’ll listen to Oliver next time. I’ll be so careful. I’ll even be nice to him. I’ll talk about the weather or whatever he wants. I-I-I promise.”
Carrie hugged her. “This is my fault, not yours. It has always been my responsibility to get Oliver’s report. I shouldn’t have put that on you, so let me handle it with everyone. I’ll go talk to them right now. I’ll take the blame, alright? This is my fault.”
Amber was quiet a moment. Then she nodded.
Carrie shuddered, chilled more from the weight of the situation than her damp, cold clothes. In a way, this was good news. Their well-oiled safety machine hadn’t broken down. Oliver could still keep them safe. However…there were going to be consequences to pay.
Fierce ones.
Carefully, she made her way into the other room. Things had calmed some. A few more candles had been lit, and people huddled together to get warm as they relived their own version of the nightmare. Zach spotted Carrie and ran over. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one.
“There she is!” Jeff shouted, storming across the room. “Why was there another raid? What did you do to Oliver?”
Carrie fell back a step, stunned by his vehemence. The rest of the room came to an abrupt standstill. Everyone waited for the answer she still couldn’t believe.
“I’m sorry,” she started. Then she shook her head. “Sorry isn’t the right word. I feel sick. Devastated. When Oliver came Thursday, I heard him wrong. I thought he said Saturday, but he must have said Sunday.”
“You heard wrong?” Greg said.
“Yes.” Her eyes bored into Greg, begging for his silence. “I heard wrong and I feel horrible. I don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry.” She inhaled painfully and exhaled even more so. “This is my fault, and I take full responsibility.”
“You better believe you will,” Jeff hissed, his huge body looming over her.
“Jeff,” CJ said. “Let’s stay rational.”
“Oh, I’m rational, alright.” The anger rolled off Jeff in droves as his scraggly beard dripped rain. “What makes you think the patrolmen didn’t just come twice this week?
“Maybe they’re changing their strategy on us,” Dylan said next to Jeff, half his size, but just as furious.
“No,” Carrie said. “Did anyone hear dogs last night?”
People exchanged surprised glances. When no one responded, CJ shook his head.
“How did we miss something like that?”
Carrie knew. Too many months of safety. Too many years of peace under Oliver’s protection. Too many thoughts about Greg and things that didn’t matter. She’d become lax about the clan’s safety, and it was inexcusable.
“I should have noticed when it was quiet last night,” she said. “And I should have listened to Oliver better.” Her eyes flickered to Greg a second time, surprised by his silence. Someone like Jeff or Dylan could crush Amber at a time like this. Even Greg could, yet he said nothing. She didn’t understand. And then suddenly she did.
Amber wasn’t taking the heat for this.
Carrie was.
“Maybe it’s Oliver,” Jeff offered, turning to the group. “Maybe he’s tired of taking care of us. Maybe he thinks we’re getting too powerful so he told Carrie the wrong day to knock off some of us and get his hefty reward.”
A few people murmured their agreement.
“No,” Carrie insisted. “Oliver wouldn’t do that. Look, I couldn’t remember if he said Saturday or Sunday. Obviously I remembered wrong.”
“Obviously you did,” Jeff said, stepping toward her. He towered over her by a foot. “How could you guess on something like that? Do you have any idea what your mistake cost us? Have you seen the fire brewing in the cul-de-sac? What about Jenna and the kids? I almost lost them. What do you have to say to them?”
Carrie followed his finger to the dark corner where Jenna huddled with Jonah, her head leaned against the wall, eyes closed.
A hot lump settled in her throat. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Jeff. I don’t know what else to say.”
His expression, so close, frightened her. “Sorry? That’s all you have to say? Maybe sorry doesn’t cut it—”
“That’s enough.” Greg grabb
ed his arm and yanked him back.
Jeff whirled. “Don’t touch me, pretty boy.”
Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Then back off.”
Jeff did. At least enough Carrie could breathe again.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Greg said, “it doesn’t matter who screwed up or what happened to get y’all here. The point is, y’all are here now, so we gotta figure out what to do next. The patrolmen are gone, but I don’t think y’all should head on home just yet. They could come back.”
CJ nodded. “Greg’s right. Everyone is better off sleeping here tonight. Mariah, can you find all our towels, sheets, and blankets? It’s going to be a cold night with everyone so wet.”
“Just like that?” Jeff said. “One little slap on the wrist, and you’re letting her off the hook?” His eyes bored into her. “I almost lost my wife and kids, and you’re going to dismiss this whole thing as a…as a mistake!”
Greg stepped sideways, placing himself in between Carrie and Jeff. “Yes.”
Carrie didn’t know what Greg was doing, but she wasn’t about to let him answer for her.
She moved around Greg. “Jeff, I’m fully prepared to—”
“How many times has this happened?” May’s voice screeched over the crowd.
Jeff turned in surprise. They all did.
“How many?” May asked, hands on her bent, arthritic hips.
It took a second for Jeff to answer. “None.”
“That’s right,” May said. “Never. In five years, week after week of Oliver’s assistance, we’ve never had a single incident like this. Not one.”
“And I’m sure,” Greg added, throwing a pointed look at Carrie, “she’s gonna make sure this never happens again. Right, Carrie?”
Carrie felt the weight of every gaze on her lone shoulders, Jeff and Jenna’s most of all. Her throat burned, but she nodded. “No more mistakes.”
CJ gave a weary sigh. “Alright, people. It’s three in the morning. We’re all tired, wet, and cold. The kids are scared. The adults, too. I suggest we make the best of the situation and find a spot to sleep on the floor. Let’s get a fire started to warm up the house since there won’t be enough blankets tonight.”
“There won’t be enough blankets tomorrow either,” Sasha muttered. “There won’t be enough anything.”
Carrie closed her eyes as the grief washed over her.
“Let’s just try to get some sleep,” CJ said. “We’ll have plenty of time to discuss this tomorrow. And…assess the damage.”
sixteen
“I COULD KILL THEM, every last one of those vultures!” Terrell Dixon punched the well hard enough Greg felt sorry for the well.
Though the sun had only been up a short time, Greg had nearly finished questioning everybody about what was missing. The patrolmen hadn’t completely wiped them out—half the stuff by Greg’s calculations—but everybody’s reactions were similar to Terrell’s. Especially seeing the blackened pile of ashes in the cul-de-sac.
“What else did they take?” Greg asked.
“They smashed our table and chairs and broke down our front door. Might as well use it for firewood now,” Terrell said. “All our food is gone, and they took the kids’ clothes.”
Greg leaned against the well behind his grandparents’ home. “Not great, but it coulda been worse.”
Terrell’s dark eyes narrowed. “How?”
“Well, y’all still have mattresses to sleep on. That’s better than most.”
“Only because the patrolmen wimped out by then. Not that it matters. The clan lost fifteen mattresses. I’ll have to give mine to one of the old ladies.”
“My count has it at seventeen,” Greg said.
Terrell shook his head. “Great. I’m sleeping on the floor for the rest of my life.”
“You’re the supply guy,” Greg shot back. “Go get more.”
“Where?” Terrell said. “The government stopped making mattresses to force people into the communes. There’s no way I can get one, let alone seventeen. And what about the stolen rifles? They haven’t given out a new gun permit for years, even for legals like CJ. Guns have disappeared from the black market, too. I’d have to sell both kidneys to replace even one. Even then, it’s not enough.”
“Don’t suppose anybody here can make a decent bow and arrow?” Greg asked.
“As if. What about that slingshot of yours?”
Greg pulled his slingshot from his back pocket, where he always kept it. “This baby’s old and brittle. At some point, the tubing is gonna snap. Besides, it can’t kill much more than a few rabbits. When it comes to defending ourselves, we’re gonna need guns. There’s gotta be a way to replace them.”
“There’s not. Trust me.” Terrell blew out his breath. “So much for the second amendment.”
“Since when did President Rigsby care about any amendments?” Greg noted dryly. “Keepin’ guns outta the hands of the yellow cardies is how he prevents a revolution.”
“Maybe revolution is exactly what we need!”
Greg rolled his eyes. Last night, when the men struggled to find a comfortable spot to sleep in the cold cement basement, Jeff Kovach went off. As a former lawyer, Jeff went on about James Madison and the Constitution, getting everybody all worked up in a tizzy. One bad night and this clan was ready to start a civil war. It was ridiculous.
“We’re down to two rifles,” Greg said. “It won’t do any good to gain bravado now.”
“Bravado?” Terrell turned. “That’s a fancy word for a guy with a sling shot, eh Beardless?”
Greg huffed. He didn’t appreciate the new nickname any more than he appreciated all the griping. “Quit whinin’ and figure somethin’ out. Supposedly you’ve got trading secrets not even Jada knows about.”
A brief flash of white teeth showed through Terrell’s black beard. “That I do.” But just as quick, his rant returned. “Why don’t you get supplies, hot shot? You have your fancy yellow card now. Just take Old Rusty into town and fill it up.”
Greg looked around the side of his grandparents’ house where the huge contraption sat. “Is that what you call that death trap?”
“Hey, don’t knock Old Rusty.” Terrell wound up the heavy bucket of well water. “It took me a month to build.”
The supply ‘wagon’ was made of the back half of an old F-150 which sat low to the ground, like somebody cut off the lower half, too. The wheels weren’t original, and rust covered anywhere they’d sawed the metal. It might haul a lot of supplies, but it looked like more trouble than it was worth. Butterscotch, the smaller of the two goats, was inside the bed of the truck, grabbing leaves off a nearby tree.
“Looks like a tetanus breeding ground to me,” Greg said.
“Probably. So how about you be the supply guy now,” Terrell said. “All you’ll have to do is go into town, flash your fancy card, and say ‘please.’ Those stupid government workers will fill it right up.”
“You’re forgetting somethin’. I signed my life over for that yellow card. No more beggin’ the government for anything—not even food. Only you blue cardies get free handouts.”
Terrell gave him a strange look. “I don’t have a blue card.”
“But Grandma said…”
Terrell snorted. “I did the first year, but it was too hard to keep it current. Jada didn’t like me sneaking into the municipality fence, past the guards. Plus, the government kept upping the required check-ins. First they wanted me once a month. Then once a week. Then they were checking blue cards every day and only in the factories. If you didn’t clock in, you didn’t get a single ration. So, I ditched the idea, heard about this guy named Barry, and I’ve traded with him ever since. Hence the stash in your grandparents’ garage.”
The black market. That’s why nobody mentioned it to his grandma.
“Interesting,” Greg said.
“No, it’s a pain. Unless you know how to make soap, ammunition, and flour, we’re in serious trouble. We’re going to have to use all
our supplies to get back on our feet, leaving nothing for the future. All because of what?” Terrell punched the well again. “Careless Carrie?”
Careless Carrie.
Another nickname that had sprung up overnight, only he had heard this one five times in the past hour. He didn’t bother correcting Terrell about who was actually at fault for the raid, just like he hadn’t corrected anybody else. Really, it didn’t matter. A mistake like that was bound to happen in a setup like theirs—precisely why the clan should have never felt safe in the first place.
“Y’all took a few steps back last night,” Greg said, “but your clan is still miles ahead of everybody else. We’ll figure somethin’ out.”
“And by we you mean me?”
“Exactly.”
Terrell shook his head and dumped the well bucket into his own water bucket. “By the way, I heard your little hero stunt last night made an impression on everyone. There’s talk of letting you into the clan early—although as I remember it, I was the one who dragged Jeff’s sorry hide out of bed. Hardly seems fair you get the credit.”
Greg played with a rip in his jeans. Six hours ago, Jeff had been snoring soundly when they broke into his room. Same with Jenna. And did they get a single thank you?
Terrell sobered. “How did you know the patrolmen were here? I swear you were at my house within seconds.”
Because Greg hadn’t been asleep. Not deeply, anyway. Old habits die hard. At the first twitch of a sound, he was outside searching for the source. When he spotted the two patrol cars by the northern entrance, he had assumed that Jamansky guy had come looking for him and his mom, the two municipality fugitives who lied their way to freedom. But then Greg heard the dogs and realized what was actually happening. A raid like the one at the collapsed barn. Only this time, Greg knew the names and faces of the squatters.
He couldn’t do nothing.
“I spent five years sleepin’ with my eyes open,” Greg said.
“Good thing. I guess we all owe you. If only we’d known—” Terrell stopped as he spotted something over Greg’s shoulder. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Well, well, well. Looks like Careless Carrie is making her brother do the chores now.”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 11
