Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

“No.” Carrie straightened. “I already talked to them, and they said we’ll plant the last of the seeds in the ground.”

  In six weeks.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Amber moaned.

  Carrie left her pathetic plants and crouched next to her little sister. “We already talked about this, Amber. The raid wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yeah, it was,” Zach said from the table.

  “Shut up, loser!” Amber shouted.

  “Who’s the loser, huh? You’re makin’ Carrie take the blame for somethin’ she didn’t even do.”

  “I know. I know! I hate myself!”

  “Hey!” Carrie called. “Knock it off, you two. Zach, be nice to Amber. And Amber, be nice to—”

  Carrie stopped. She strained to listen. Sure enough, she heard an engine purring down the street. She hopped up and ran to the window as a patrol car turned onto Woodland Drive.

  Oliver.

  She took her first good breath in days. Every muscle in her body relaxed. Seeing his car somehow made everything else okay. The clan. The cold stares. However, Amber jumped off the floor and flew up to her bedroom so fast her feet barely touched the stairs.

  “Oliver doesn’t hate you,” Carrie called with a smile.

  “Yeah, right!” Amber slammed the bedroom door shut.

  “I hate her,” Zach noted. “Does that count?”

  Carrie tried to glare, but she was too thrilled. “No. Back to work.”

  She ran to the front door and whisked it open before Oliver even made it to her porch. Surprised, Oliver took a step back.

  “Hi,” Carrie said, breathless.

  “Hey,” Oliver said, hands thrust deeply in his pockets.

  For a moment, they stared at each other. Oliver’s beige tie was askew, his dark, thinning hair uncombed, and his gray eyes fell to her bare feet like they had before. Seeing him so forlorn plunged her back into despair. Add Oliver to the list of things she had ruined.

  “I would have come sooner,” Oliver said, “but…but I didn’t want to scare anyone.”

  “Oh, Oliver,” she said. “No one’s scared of you. How could we be? We owe you so much, and I don’t even know how to thank you for everything. This week was…it was…” Her throat clogged. “We’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “It’s not like that. I mean, you don’t need to. That’s not why I’m here. I, uh…” He fidgeted with a gold button on his uniform. “I should have come earlier, but I didn’t want to come until I had something. Something to offer.”

  She looked up. “Offer?”

  “Yeah. May I come in for a minute?”

  twenty-one

  “HE FOUND OUR STUFF?” Sasha cried.

  Greg stood against his typical wall, arms folded, leaning on his non-bruised shoulder. He was as surprised as the other adults gathered at his house. Oliver had found their stuff.

  Impressive.

  “Not all of it,” Carrie clarified. “The patrolmen still burned a lot, but Oliver found where they stashed the rest and he’s getting it back.”

  “How?” Greg asked.

  She shrugged, although Greg figured she had a hunch.

  “From what he told me,” Carrie went on, “he mostly found clothes and dishes. But it’s something. He’ll bring it by tomorrow or Saturday, depending on when he can find a truck and sneak away.”

  “A truck?” Sasha grinned at her husband, Dylan. “He must have found a lot if he needs a truck.”

  “What about mattresses?” Jeff asked.

  Carrie shook her head. “Because of diseases, they burned all the bedding, and he didn’t say anything about the guns either. He, well…” Her eyes roamed the group as if to say more, but then she just shrugged. “I guess that’s it.”

  The room broke into immediate chatter. Greg kept watching Carrie. Of anybody, she should have been the happiest. Oliver just saved her hide—and Amber’s. Yet there was no sign of her large smile, no light in those blue eyes. There was more to the story than she let on.

  “We should do something for Oliver,” his mom said to the group. “We could throw him a party or make him a real nice dinner.”

  “Yeah,” Carrie said, “but what do you do for the person who keeps saving your life?”

  How about not breakin’ his heart, Greg thought.

  He had a lot of work to do.

  “I suppose it’s providential I haven’t left to get supplies yet,” Terrell added.

  “Providential, my foot,” Greg muttered. He was the one who told Terrell to wait for this very reason. Greg wanted to pat himself on the back for nailing another person on the head. He’d known Oliver would find a way to restore things for his precious Carrie. Greg felt downright cocky. This clan needed him. And his intuition.

  Speaking of which…

  He rubbed his sore shoulder as he ran through the plans he’d been mulling over. After hearing Oliver’s latest move, Greg knew his reasoning was sound. He just needed time to run his ideas past the clan. Thanks to Carrie, he had the perfect opportunity.

  “With this happy news,” his grandpa said to the adults, “there’s one last thing I’d like to discuss. Three weeks ago, my daughter and grandson found their way here. What a…” He paused to clear his throat of any unwanted emotion. “What a wonderful day that was.”

  Greg’s mom and grandma hugged each other, both predictably teary.

  “I think they’ve proven themselves well enough,” his grandpa continued. “I propose we move up the vote. Does anyone object to having Mariah and Greg join our clan permanently?”

  Greg didn’t love the word permanently, but he scanned the room. The older man, Richard O’Brien—who ironically sat next to Greg’s mom—didn’t move to object again. Neither did Jeff who had come to the adult meeting without Jenna. Greg’s gaze stopped on the girl with the honey-colored hair, wondering if he’d made a new enemy since arriving. Carrie had more reason than anybody to kick him out. He would have in her shoes, but when she caught him looking at her, she simply blushed and looked away.

  “Wonderful!” his grandpa said. “With that taken care of, we’ll let you know when Oliver returns. See you all—”

  Greg jumped forward. “Hold up, Grandpa. Before everybody takes off, I’ve got a few ideas I’d like to discuss, if that’s alright.”

  “You do?” his grandpa asked in surprise.

  “With all that’s happened, I’ve been thinkin’ of some ways to improve things around here. Since there are no kids around to interrupt, I figure now’s as good a time as any to discuss them. It won’t take long.”

  His grandpa moved to the side. “Be my guest.”

  As the adults watched him, curious, Greg wished he had a chalkboard, a whiteboard, or even better, a smart board to sketch on. As it was, he started right in.

  “I’ve just got four suggestions for the clan today, things which should improve your way of life.”

  “Four suggestions?” Jeff snorted. “Who does Beardless think he is?”

  “My grandson,” May retorted. “And don’t call him Beardless. Go ahead, Gregory.”

  Greg ignored both of them. “My first suggestion is to dig some new wells. Clean water is too vital and only havin’ the one well here has to be a pain. Plus, it’d be good to get water closer to your homes ‘cause, no offense, but y’all stink.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence and then laughter erupted around the room.

  Terrell elbowed his wife. “Hear that, babe? Greg thinks you stink.”

  Jada glared at Greg, but Greg didn’t back down. It was true. Some stunk worse than others.

  Richard O’Brien raised a hand. “If I may, Greg, we dug two other wells the first year, but the patrolmen destroyed them a month later. I hate the thought of investing that much time and energy into a massive project which could be undone in a raid like this week.”

  “Yeah,” Greg said, “but you’re forgetting somethin’. We’re never havin’ a raid like this again. Right, Carrie?”<
br />
  Her cheeks flushed from the sudden attention, but she nodded. “Right.”

  “So, for a second,” Greg continued, “put this week outta your mind. Every Thursday Carrie’s watchdog boyfriend tells her when the raids are and if he’s scheduled or not. With that kind of warning, we’d have time to camouflage the wells before the other patrolmen came through. I hear Oliver is scheduled for most raids anyway. If we hide them well enough, nobody’ll ever know the difference.”

  Richard sat back. “Interesting. Where do you propose putting these new wells?”

  “Actually, that takes me to suggestion number two.” Again, Greg wished for a chalkboard or even a simple map to draw it out. “There are thirty-eight homes in the neighborhood. Only twelve are occupied—maybe thirteen if my mom and I move outta here.”

  His mom’s head snapped up in surprise. He hadn’t mentioned any of this to her, but she had to know he was dying under his grandparents’ roof. If his grandma made one more comment about perfect-little-Carrie, he’d pluck out all his eyebrows—or what was left of hers. She’d practically picked out the names of their kids.

  “The thirty-eight homes are spread out over the three streets,” Greg said, “which about killed us during the raid. So I propose y’all move into the cul-de-sac on Woodland Drive. With fourteen homes between here and the Ziegler’s, there’s plenty of room for everybody.”

  Angry murmurs broke out, mostly from the women. Greg wasn’t surprised. Giving people fresh water was one thing, but making them leave their beloved home behind—the same home they refused to abandon five years ago—was another.

  He continued over the grumblings. “Consider for a second how nice it’d be to consolidate our resources. Every time anybody has somethin’ to distribute—Jeff’s wood, Ziegler’s butter, Zach’s eggs—it takes an hour’s time to run around the three streets. But with y’all on Woodland Drive, it’d cut that time in half. Obviously my grandparents will stay here on Denton Trail, since they own this house, but they’d be the only ones. With the way Denton Trail runs perpendicular to Woodland Drive”—he brought his right hand to his bandaged one, making a ‘T’—“this house would be the dot on the ‘I’ and the first occupied home any patrolmen encounter in a raid.”

  In spite of a few lingering grimaces, Greg noticed some people nodding. He took that as a good sign and continued.

  “With that in mind, we’d put all four wells on Woodland Drive, makin’ each home one or two houses away from fresh water. If you ask me, that’s much more acceptable living conditions.”

  “What about fireplaces?” Jeff asked.

  “The homes without them can either use coals from another’s fire,” Greg said, “or we’ll put our heads together and design somethin’ that won’t burn the houses down.”

  “We’ve lived without a fireplace this whole time,” Sasha said. “We’ve survived fine.”

  They also ate at Dylan’s parents’ every night and slept there in the winter, but Greg wasn’t about to argue.

  “What about space?” Richard said. “No offense to anyone, but when you see the same thirty-six people day after day, year after long year, a little privacy becomes a necessity of life. Most of the homes are set on close to an acre, but for some people, even that isn’t enough space.”

  Several people chuckled appreciatively. It didn’t escape Greg’s notice that Richard O’Brien, the old widower and former college professor, lived by the North Entrance, the farthest from everybody else.

  “It’s a definite tradeoff,” Greg said. “But there’s an even bigger reason to consolidate.” He paused and said simply, “Security.”

  The room went dead silent.

  “If y’all had been livin’ on Woodland Drive,” Greg said, “we coulda had everybody here in two minutes, tops. But as it was, we nearly lost a fourth of the clan.”

  People looked around as if trying to guess who would have been arrested. Greg could have pointed them out easily enough. One of them rose to his feet.

  Jeff’s face flushed. “I thought Careless Carrie promised no more repeats of last week.”

  “Right,” Greg said, “but there’s another thing.” Once again, he looked at Carrie. She wasn’t going to like what he had to say, but it was time she and the clan dealt with reality. “What happens when Oliver turns on us?”

  “He won’t!” Carrie snapped.

  “He might, but fine,” Greg said. “What happens if he gets sick of helpin’ us? Or if he decides it’s too dangerous? Or too hard? Or what if he gets transferred, or fired, or whatever the reason? Y’all have no backup plan. Every other clan in America has to post guards or hole up in a house like this around the clock. I’m guessin’ y’all don’t wanna move back in here, so the next best thing is to move everybody down on Woodland Drive. It’ll make guarding the sub a million times easier since all the homes would be hidden from the entrance.”

  “That’s actually not true, Greg,” his grandpa said. “Woodland Drive is still visible from the South Entrance.”

  Greg held up his good hand. “Sorry. I haven’t mentioned that part yet. My third proposal is to block off the South Entrance. Havin’ two ways in makes this neighborhood impossible to guard. The South Entrance is only four houses from here. But I figure the next major windstorm could blow a few giant trees over the road—or so we’d make it look. That’d seal off the southern route, and we’d be set. The patrolmen would have to enter from Hunter Ridge Road, which is—as near as I can tell—a quarter mile from here. Plus, from the North Entrance, we can see down the main road another mile or two. With the right warning system, it’d be enough.”

  Once again, Greg stood in front of a sea of stunned faces. The only exception was his grandma who smiled up at him like he was giving a speech for his kindergarten class.

  “So,” Greg said, “that takes me back to what I was sayin’. If there ever comes a time when Oliver’s no longer able to help”—he looked pointedly at Carrie, daring her to disagree—“we’d have plenty of time to get y’all here.”

  When nobody objected, Greg took a quick breath. “Another idea I’ve got is—”

  “Hold on,” Terrell interrupted. “Should I be taking notes?”

  People chuckled appreciatively, but Greg tapped the side of his head. “No need. I’ve got it all up here. I was just gonna make one last suggestion, and then I’m done.”

  “It’s about time,” Jeff quipped.

  That brought another round of laughter.

  Greg folded his arms, waiting for everybody to quiet down. His last proposal could prove the hardest. The hardest and yet the most essential.

  “We’ve gotta find a doctor,” Greg said. “Or at least access to one.”

  Silence permeated the room. That one struck a nerve. Too many casualties through the years. Carrie’s parents. Richard’s wife. Kendra. Zach’s ankle.

  “What do you suggest?” Vanessa Green asked. “Any of us besides May and CJ—and you and your mom now—will be arrested if we step foot inside a hospital. Not to mention, we don’t have any money.”

  “Especially now that CJ is paying double the taxes,” Jeff added with a dig.

  “I’m not talkin’ about doctors in hospitals,” Greg said. “I’m talkin’ about reaching out to other clans. Networking. There’s gotta be somebody somewhere who has medical knowledge who’s not workin’ for the government now. If we can find them, we could offer a trade. Eggs, crops, or whatever. Y’all got plenty of things other clans only dream about. I say it’s time to market them.”

  Greg heard some whispers of dissent, but he was unwilling to lose out on this because of a few stubborn heads—or bad memories.

  “What do you think, Terrell?” Greg asked. “You’ve done the most tradin’ of anybody. Is it possible to find somebody with medical training?”

  “Possible, yes,” Terrell said. “We traded with other clans the first two years, but we never came across anyone with a medical background. The government tagged those people early on. The
y were too valuable.”

  Carrie spoke up, sitting by Greg’s grandma’s feet. “What about Gayle Harrison, my mom’s friend in the Ferris clan?”

  Terrell shook his head. “She was barely a paper pusher in a doctor’s office. Look at what she did to Zach’s ankle. No, I don’t think there’s anyone, Greg.”

  Greg folded his arms. “That’s unacceptable. From what I understand, we’ve got a pregnant lady who had complications with her last birth. Isn’t that right, Jeff?”

  Jeff looked surprised by the sudden attention. He rubbed his unruly beard. “Actually, we hadn’t told everyone yet, but yeah…if you haven’t guessed, Jenna’s pregnant again and not doing well.”

  It was obvious from the lack of reactions that people already knew. Puking behind the pond gave that away.

  “Just one more reason to reach out,” Greg said.

  When nobody spoke, Greg nodded. “Alrighty then. Those are my four proposals: wells, consolidation, South Entrance, doctors. I’m done.”

  He moved back and leaned against the wall.

  A low hum started as people mulled over his ideas. He knew it was a lot to take in on top of everything with Oliver, but in a way, it was the best time to make changes. People were scared. It was time the clan saw the world for what it was.

  His grandma leaned over and said in a voice only she would think was a whisper, “See, Carrie. I told you my Gregory is a sharp one. He has his grandfather’s brilliant mind. Don’t you think Gregory is brilliant?”

  Brilliant? It’d been awhile since anybody called Greg that.

  Even more surprising was to hear Carrie agree.

  “Yes. He’s very smart.” Then she made the mistake of checking to see if Greg had heard. No skin tone could contain her embarrassment, let alone her fair one. But, unfortunately for Carrie, his grandma wasn’t done. She just moved on to the next person.

  “I don’t know what Carrie’s waiting for, Mariah. She needs to snatch Gregory up before someone else does.”

  Greg had never seen Carrie so red. On anybody else, it would have been splotchy and unflattering, but on Carrie, the color was actually—