Jamansky’s car disappeared behind a tangle of slides and dark equipment. Then suddenly he was in full view.
Headed right for them.
Greg released Oliver’s seatbelt and braced himself for impact. “If we hit them, jump out and run straight back the way we—”
“We’re not hitting him,” Oliver said. “Hold on!”
Oliver didn’t let off the gas pedal. They raced forward, headlights to headlights. Greg had just enough time to realize they’d never survive a head-on collision. Not at this speed.
Jamansky flinched first.
He swerved hard to the right. Oliver cranked the wheel at the same moment. Greg was too stunned to duck as they sped past. Jamansky struggled to right his car. His partner screamed at them through the window. Oliver jumped the curb back onto the street, and sped back through the parking lot, heading down the same dark street.
“Kill the lights,” Greg said.
Oliver switched off his lights, throwing the street into blackness so thick Greg had to lean forward to see. He searched every tree, every house for a place to hide.
Then he found it.
“There. On the far side of that house. Park fast. We’re makin’ a run for it.”
“No! We have a head start,” Oliver said.
Not with Oliver driving. They’d never make it.
“Look,” Greg said, “I came a thousand miles on foot dodgin’ patrolmen. Get me off the roads, and I’ll keep you alive. You have my word.”
Oliver considered it a second, then he slammed on the brakes. He screeched up a driveway, drove over more grass, and slid to a stop on the far side of a dark, abandoned house.
They jumped out of the car. Oliver started to run away from the school, but Greg grabbed him and yanked him back in the opposite direction.
“Head toward them,” Greg whispered. “Patrolmen never expect you to run toward them. They’ll never spot us.”
“Are you crazy?” Oliver hissed.
“Yes, but I’m right.”
Crouching low, Greg crept up to the dark house that looked like it had been deserted since the Collapse. Weeds, twigs, and branches sprung out of everywhere, preventing them from hugging the house like he wanted to. They did their best, clambering below the bulk of the overgrown hedges.
Jamansky’s car slowed to a crawl on the road to spot where they’d dumped the car.
Greg paused, panting heavily.
Oliver stopped behind him.
The bushes lining the house were chest high. The clouds were out, obscuring the moonlight. It would have to be enough. Greg lowered himself, crouching as he crept back toward the school. Oliver got even lower and used his hands to keep from slipping on the slushy wet grass.
They were to the corner of the house by the time Jamansky spotted their car and screeched to a stop. Jamansky didn’t bother parking behind Oliver’s car. He left his car in the street and jumped out with Nielsen, guns high and alert.
Greg dropped. Oliver did, too. They lay prostrate on the wet grass as Jamansky and Nielsen sprinted up the driveway, fifteen yards away. Greg was counting on their eyes needing time to adjust. They’d been in a car with dashboard lights. Hopefully they’d miss the two dark shapes on the front grass.
He held his breath and heard Jamansky whisper orders to Nielsen. One of them whisked open Oliver’s car door. When it slammed shut, they shouted at each other to check the house. They tried the door and then kicked it.
“Stop!” Jamansky hissed, trying to be quiet but failing miserably. “If the house is locked, Simmons didn’t break into it, did he? He’s not that bright. He must have headed for the woods out back. Let’s go. Quiet.”
Patrolmen were so predictable. They assumed people ran as far and as fast as they could in a straight line. They never looked up or down or behind.
As soon as they were out of sight, Greg started moving. He army-crawled along the frozen grass. Slow. Methodical. Back toward the school. Branches snapped behind the house as the two patrolmen barged into the woods. That was Greg’s cue. He jumped up to a crouch and crab-walked across the next driveway, barely glancing behind him to make sure Oliver followed. When they reached the second house, Greg slid behind a tree trunk and motioned for Oliver to do the same.
They waited.
Greg worked to slow his breathing to silence. Oliver nudged him to make a run for it, but Greg refused. At times like this, patience was the difference between life and death. Instinct was kicking in hard, and instinct always told the human body to run. But instinct also got people killed.
Another minute of listening to the two men clomp recklessly through the woods before Greg moved. He crab-crawled across the damp grass again. Next driveway. Next tree.
They were nearing the school parking lot when a shout went up.
“Simmons!” Jamansky’s voice echoed through the neighborhood. “Simmons, I know you’re out there!”
Oliver stopped, eyes wide. They were far enough away from the patrolmen that Greg didn’t push it. He stopped, too.
“So help me, Simmons,” Jamansky yelled, “if our stuff isn’t back before 6 a.m. tomorrow, you’re a dead man! You hear me? Tomorrow morning or you’re dead!”
Oliver’s eyes darted back and forth between them and Greg. His chest heaved huge breaths that were far too loud for their predicament.
“Come back now,” Jamansky continued, “and we’ll work something out. We won’t hurt you. We’ll even help you get the stuff.”
Oliver seemed to deliberate. Greg grabbed his arm.
“We can make it,” Greg whispered. “We’re almost home free.”
“Simmons!” Jamansky yelled again. “I know you can hear me! Answer me or the deal’s off! Answer me or you’re dead!”
“I can’t help Carrie if I’m dead,” Oliver said in a strained whisper.
“They’ll be arrested by morning,” Greg said. “We’ll hide you in the clan until then. C’mon. Don’t back out now. You can do this. You can win.”
Though it took effort, Oliver finally nodded. “Okay.”
“Alrighty,” Greg said. “Stay low and close.”
“Thanks, Greg.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” They still had a long night ahead of them, one that had nothing to do with patrolmen. Greg motioned to the school. “Let’s go.”
fifty-one
BY THE TIME GREG AND Oliver reached Logan Pond, Greg’s legs were burning and his mind sluggish. His hands and feet felt frozen, or at least they were an hour ago. Now they felt like twenty-pound weights he dragged through the North Entrance.
Leaving Oliver’s car behind.
Not so smart.
The two of them entered the empty house next to Richard’s. Jeff didn’t even raise his scraggly head in the candlelight. Terrell and the other men had Jeff cornered and tied up. Sasha was there, too. But not Carrie. Though Greg wanted Carrie there—purely selfish reasons—seeing Jeff like this, knowing what was coming, Greg was glad Carrie had stayed home with the little boys.
Jeff’s eyes were open, but he looked half dead in the flickering candlelight. His hands and feet were tied with old, ratted rope. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, but the men carrying the rifles still stood at attention.
The last time Greg had glanced at the dashboard in Oliver’s car, it had been nearly one in the morning. That had been forever ago. The men in the room looked as beat as Greg felt. They all dreaded what was coming. The sooner they got it over with, the sooner they could all move on.
They still had Jenna’s body to bury.
“Braden,” Greg said, “go stand guard outside of Richard’s house. Watch the street for any activity.”
In the flickering candlelight, Braden’s brows rose. “Why?”
“We’ve had a complication.” Greg was too tired to explain. Nobody cared about Oliver’s life anyway, not with another’s on trial. “Sound the alarm if you see any headlights comin’ up the road.”
Greg was fairly certain Jamansky and
Nielsen hadn’t spotted him with Oliver. If they had, Jamansky would have shouted at Greg, too. Still, he couldn’t take the chance they knew Oliver had gone to Logan Pond to hide.
Braden seemed grateful to escape and left without a word.
Greg rubbed the welt on the side of his head. It killed to touch it, but he couldn’t stop rubbing it.
Normally his grandpa ran meetings like this—or would have if they’d ever needed a trial before. But his grandpa was in no condition to go anywhere. Terrell stared at Jeff, holding one of the two rifles. Dylan held the other. Even Richard was there on the night of his wedding, looking too overwhelmed to say anything. Sasha’s eyes were red and puffy.
That left it up to Greg.
“After Jeff attacked my grandpa,” Greg said to Oliver, “he clubbed me pretty bad. Another blow or two to the head, and he coulda killed me if Carrie hadn’t stopped him.”
“Carrie,” Oliver whispered for the hundredth time.
Had they not been running for their lives, Greg would have found a better way to break the news. Once Greg had mentioned that Carrie had been attacked, everything else had been lost to Oliver. Still was apparently.
“We didn’t know it at the time,” Greg tried anyway, “but the rifle wasn’t loaded. Jeff’s intent was to threaten, not kill.”
Jeff didn’t blink. He didn’t speak. He just continued to stare at the candle shadows dancing on the floor.
Greg hesitated. He didn’t know if he should say it, but he needed Oliver’s wisdom, which meant Oliver had to know what Jeff was capable of.
“He choked Carrie pretty bad and told her she deserved to die for what happened. She has some nasty bruises now. He also threatened to expose the clan, even to expose you. Said he’d tell your boss how you’ve been helpin’ us.”
“Carrie…” Oliver repeated.
Greg gritted his teeth. “She’s fine! Shaken, but fine. We just don’t know what to do with Jeff now. He…” Greg blew out his breath. “He wants us to kill him.”
Jeff’s head came up. “Nobody came. She hit her head, and nobody came. She died in my arms. I yelled for an hour and nobody came. Jenna died, and it’s my fault. No one else’s. Not Carrie’s. Not Greg’s. Just mine. She told me she didn’t feel well, but I still made her help move the couch. So get it over with. I don’t want to live without Jenna, so do it. Shoot me!” His dark eyes rose, meeting Greg’s for the first time since the attack. “Do it!”
Greg felt himself age a few more years. He looked over at Oliver. “Suggestions?”
Oliver jolted. “You want me to decide?”
Greg didn’t respond. He couldn’t think past his pounding, throbbing headache.
“Wait.” Oliver’s eyes narrowed in the candlelight. “You brought me here to arrest Jeff, didn’t you?”
Greg studied those around the circle. Terrell nodded. So did Sasha. The others watched Jeff, staying uncommitted.
“Honestly,” Greg said, “we don’t know what to do with him.”
Oliver’s jaw tightened. “You know what I do, Greg. You know my profession. You know my quota is due next week and my job is on the line. There’s only one reason you would have brought me here. You want me to arrest Jeff.” His voice hardened. “I just want to hear you say it.”
Greg looked at Jeff, at his downed head, scraggly beard, and hollow eyes. In that moment, Greg couldn’t think past anything but Carrie. Not what she’d seen. Not what Jeff had done to her or anybody else. But what she would do in Greg’s place, as Jeff’s judge.
Would she send Jeff to a work camp where he’d never see his kids again, never see anybody again, and never taste freedom again? Where he’d be worked and starved so badly he’d wish he had been shot? Or…would she give into Jeff’s wishes and shoot him now?
Would she destroy Jeff’s life because he almost destroyed hers?
“Greg?” Oliver said. “Say it.”
Greg gave a long, deep sigh. “No. I don’t want you to arrest Jeff.”
Every head in the room came up, including Jeff’s. Jeff stared at Greg in dismay. He’d begged them to end his life only moments ago, but now he looked terrified that they might actually go through with it.
Swallowing, he lowered his head in submission.
Greg watched him a long hard minute before turning back to Oliver.
“I just need you to tell me that I’m doin’ the right thing.”
* * * * *
Carrie wasn’t asleep when the knock came. She couldn’t have slept for the world. Their family room was warm thanks to Greg’s wood. The fire had died down to nothing, but with the blanket blocking the entrance to the family room, the heat kept well enough.
Little Jeffrey and Jonah were curled up on Zach’s mattress since Carrie still didn’t have one. Amber slept on her own mattress that she’d dragged downstairs, and Zach was conked out on the floor like Carrie should have been. She had lain close to the boys, staring at the red embers for hours. She was glad it was a cold night and they had the excuse to sleep in the family room. She needed everyone close right now.
Though Jonah fell asleep immediately, it took Little Jeffrey a long time to settle down. She’d nearly taken him back to his house and his own mattress, but her stomach wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t go back there. Not until it was cleaned up. Possibly not ever. For all she knew, Little Jeffrey felt the same way. She didn’t know if he’d see his mom fall, if he’d seen her hit her head and breathe her last breath. She didn’t know anything because he refused to speak. So Amber told Little Jeffrey every fairy tale they knew. Carrie would have, but her throat was raw and swollen. Zach even created a few bug stories until Jeffrey’s eyes started to droop. Then Carrie rubbed his back until he nodded off. She’d lain beside the boys ever since, staring at the fire. Her stomach felt like it weighed a hundred pounds even though she’d vomited twice. Hearing a soft knock on her front door made her feel like throwing up again.
They had reached a decision about Jeff.
That was the only reason someone would knock on her door in the middle of the night.
Greg was coming to report.
Carefully, she rolled away from the boys and slipped around the blanket. She crept down the hall toward the front door. Closing her eyes, she offered a brief prayer that they hadn’t killed Jeff. It was the best she could hope for at this point. Then she opened the door slowly.
Even in the dark, she could tell it wasn’t Greg.
“Braden?” She looked behind him, but Braden was alone. Tears pricked her eyes. It was so bad, Greg couldn’t even tell her.
“Sorry to wake you up,” Braden whispered. “I know it’s late.”
It was beyond late. Late was several hours ago. Now it was early.
Hoping to keep the boys asleep and out of earshot, she stepped onto the porch and closed the door. The cement still had a skiff a snow, freezing her bare feet. She hugged herself against the night and asked the only word she could manage.
“Jeff?”
“He’s safe,” Braden said. “Oliver didn’t arrest him, but they didn’t kill him either. I knew you’d want to know.”
“He’s safe?”
Braden nodded.
Her breathing sped up. Jeff was safe. Not dead. Not arrested. Safe.
“But he’s leaving,” Braden said. “We’re sending him away. He needs time to cool down—we all do. We all thought Greg brought Oliver to arrest him, but at the last second Greg said Jeff was free to leave the clan in peace. So sometime tomorrow, Oliver’s going to drive him to the border of Illinois and let him go. Jeff will have to make it the rest of the way on his own.”
Her exhausted brain couldn’t make sense of anything beyond the fact that Jeff wasn’t dead. She felt like she was in a dream, wading through thick pudding.
“Why the border?” she asked. It hurt to talk, but she had to know. “Where is he going?”
“He’s going to North Dakota to find his parents. He hasn’t seen them since the Collapse. He doesn’t even k
now if they survived. He’s going to walk there like Greg and Mariah walked here. Hopefully he’ll make it.”
She stared at Braden. “What about…” She swallowed and tried again. “What about his boys?”
“They’re staying, at least for now. It would be too hard for him to travel with them, especially since he doesn’t know where he’s going.” Braden shrugged. “I don’t know much beyond that. Greg and Jeff are working through the details. Jeff’s still in shock, but I think he’ll come back for his boys at some point, if he’s able.”
“Greg saved Jeff?” she whispered.
Her eyes burned with gratitude.
“Yeah. He’s worried the clan is going to be furious when they find out. He thinks we should have voted, but I’m glad we didn’t. I don’t think they would have let Jeff go. But it’s done now.”
She didn’t care what the clan said or thought. She pressed her fingers to her lips to stop them from trembling. Greg had more reason than anyone to punish Jeff—to kill him—yet he saved him.
“He doesn’t blame you, Carrie,” Braden said. “Jeff doesn’t. He said it himself. He knows the whole thing was an accident. He doesn’t blame anyone but himself. He wants you to know that, and he said to tell you that he’s sorry for everything.”
A lump surged in her tender throat. She nodded.
“I was on my way home from standing guard,” Braden said. “I figured you’d want to know.”
“Standing guard?” she said, confused.
Braden glanced sideways and lowered his voice. “There’s been some kind of complication. I’m not sure what. But when Oliver and Greg showed up, Greg was pretty worried some patrolmen might have followed them here.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I don’t think so. Oliver’s in some kind of trouble and…” Again, Braden’s eyes flickered sideways. “He’s actually here right now, and …um…he needs a place to stay tonight. Greg’s taking over guard duty, so he’s not home. Richard offered to take Oliver, but it’s his wedding night. My parents don’t trust Oliver—at least not enough to let him stay at our house. Nobody does. So Greg thought maybe…”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 38
