Oliver stormed away without a backward glance.
Greg was still staring at his crisp white letter when he heard Oliver’s car pull out of the neighborhood with Carrie inside.
fourteen
“WHAT HAPPENED TO your head?”
Carrie studied Oliver as he pulled out of her driveway. The cheek facing her had several small, fresh scratches, but that wasn’t what concerned her. She leaned forward to see the nasty gash above his eyebrow that he was trying to hide from her.
Oliver turned further away. “I…ran into a door.”
“You must have hit it pretty hard,” she said. “Does it need stitches?”
“It’s fine.”
She leaned low and stretched sideways, but he stubbornly kept it turned away, facing the car window.
The others hadn’t come. Zach was still grounded, and Carrie was tired of Amber’s games. So it was just her and Oliver. She would have been nervous if she wasn’t so distracted by his injuries.
As he neared the North Entrance, she said, “Wait. Do you mind if we stop for a minute?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Without any other cars around, Oliver stopped right in the middle of the road.
“May I please see your head?” she asked.
When he didn’t budge, she grabbed his chin and turned it toward her. Startled, he flinched back and stared at her. They never touched. Ever. She nearly let go of his chin, but she was too determined. Gently, she urged his face toward her.
Then she gasped.
The cut above his left eye looked deep, with dark blood threatening to ooze out. “Oliver, you just got this. This isn’t just from running into a door, is it? What really happened?”
His small, gray eyes studied her with so much sadness, her heart ached.
“I ran into a door,” he repeated softly.
It bothered her that he wouldn’t tell her. Who would attack a quiet, sweet man like him? If it had been an altercation with an illegal, how did he get away? And more importantly, what kind of life did he really live? Bad enough that he hid the truth from her.
She turned his chin every which way, studying the wound. “I think you need stitches.”
Grabbing her hand, he lowered it gently. “It’s fine, Carrie.”
He held her hand a moment too long, held her gaze an extra second, and her nerves prickled. Then he seemed to catch himself. Muttering an apology, Oliver put the car in drive and started down the road, pulling out onto Williams Drive, the first non-Logan Pond road.
After six years, riding in a car felt foreign and familiar at the same time. The hum of the engine. The slight jarring with every bump. She and her family often used to take Sunday drives, and instead of letting herself stress about what she was doing, she tried to soak up all the colors: pink flowering peach trees, white dogwoods and pears, and lime-green buds sprouting on everything else.
Yet the tiniest things brought back the past with a vengeance. They passed Rikard Elementary where her mom had run a dozen fundraisers, and Maren Stephen’s house on the corner, an old tennis friend. Zio’s Pizzeria. Banks. Stores. Everything was broken down, boarded up, and abandoned. It looked like the town had prepared for a massive hurricane and never returned.
“I figured it would be bad, but this…” She was at a loss for words.
“You really haven’t seen Shelton since the Collapse?” he asked.
“The first few years we wandered out of the neighborhood to visit different—” She almost said clans but caught herself. Sometimes she forgot Oliver was a patrolman. While she trusted him with her clan, he made a living arresting others. “—places. But we always took the back woods, not the roads.”
“Sugar Grove looks a little more alive since patrolmen live there. We even have our own stores.”
“Stores?” She smiled sadly. “I hardly remember what those are like.”
They passed Frank’s Hardware where her father had spent every weekend for a year trying to finish their basement. Now that basement was empty and cold.
“Sometimes,” she said, “it feels like we’ve returned to caveman days of growing food and finding shelter, only unlike the cavemen, we don’t have a clue what we’re doing.”
“That’s not true. I’ve always admired your clan’s resourcefulness.”
Only Oliver could find something to admire in enemy territory.
They wound farther from her neighborhood on a direct route for Main Street. Oliver swerved here and there, dodging potholes in the asphalt that had probably been there for years. They didn’t pass a single other car, which she expected. Fuel was another commodity no one could afford. It was like driving through a ghost town, and yet she realized Shelton might not be as dead as it looked. Other clans could be surviving, just hidden from view. There had to be at least a few if Oliver still had a job. The thought encouraged her, and she started searching for different signs of life. In the process, she spotted something in the far distance, a dark, wispy trail in the sky.
“Is that smoke?” she asked.
Oliver followed her gaze and nodded.
Leaning forward, she tried to gauge where it was coming from. Not Chicago. She’d heard about the smoke there, but this was coming from the south, and it didn’t seem like just a simple fire.
“That looks bad. Do you know what it is?” she asked.
“There have been a few…disturbances lately.”
What kind of disturbances caused fires large enough to be seen from miles away? But before she could ask, he said, “By the way, my partners and I are doing our first sweep through Logan Pond on Saturday. So…yeah.”
“Partners?” she repeated. “You have more than one?”
“Two, but I’m in charge, and we only have one car between the three of us, and it’s my car, so I think I can keep them away from your neighborhood other than for sweeps. Hopefully it won’t disrupt things too much. You shouldn’t have to post guards, at least not yet, so if you don’t hear from me, you can assume you’re safe.”
Safe. Carrie always felt safe with Oliver.
Maybe that was the problem.
She thought about what Greg had asked her to do: open her eyes and see what Oliver could offer her. But after two seconds, she huffed. Greg thought he knew everything. She had known Oliver and the life he lived for a lot longer than Greg had. It was time for Greg to get over it.
Oliver slowed down. “Here we are.”
For a second time, he stopped in the middle of the road, this time at the head of Main Street. A thousand more memories slammed into her: homecoming parades, exploring the eclectic shops with her mom, snacking on cookies from the bakery. There was so much to drag her back into despair, and yet she smiled broadly.
Overshadowing the boarded-up buildings was the most gorgeous display of spring she’d seen yet. Tree after tree stretched down both sides of Main Street, loaded with white blossoms. The trees grew straight and tall, hiding the abandoned shops, cars, and trash-lined sidewalks. It was even more breathtaking than she remembered.
More than anything, she wanted to roll down the window and soak up the sun, to take in the full scent of spring, but she wasn’t that daring. Or naïve. But seeing the trees made her think that all wasn’t lost in the world—or with Greg. He’d wanted to bring a piece of their beauty back to her. That had to mean something. And even though they were losing their blossoms, she couldn’t bring herself to throw them out.
Then she saw a small, abandoned building on the far end of Main Street.
“Can we drive down there?” she asked.
“Sure.”
As Oliver started rolling forward, she leaned every which way to see through the mass of blossoms. Not that she needed to read the sign to know. She had only mentioned Buds and Roses once in passing to Greg, one of those silly dreams she never expected to happen, but then Greg had come up with a whole plan to make it a reality.
What happened with the mayor that turned Greg from ambitious dreamer to giving up on everything? The farme
rs’ market was still a great idea. They just had to find a way to make it work. They could sell chickens, eggs, vegetables, and even seeds. Of course, they’d need a bigger garden. They barely had enough room as it was. Maybe if they got a male goat, they could breed Butterscotch and—
A sudden movement caught her eye. A man ran out of a building down the block, waving his arms frantically over his head. At them. Carrie jolted when she saw the green uniform.
A patrolman.
Oliver slammed on the brakes. “What is he doing here? They were supposed to go to Sugar Grove.”
Carrie dropped low in her seat, instinct taking over. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might beat right out of her chest. She couldn’t see anything scrunched down, but had the patrolman seen her? He’d been fifty yards away, easily in viewing distance. Was he coming toward them?
Go! she wanted to shout.
Oliver looked scared, but he just waved to his coworker, a stiff, forced wave. Then he let his foot off the brake and turned left, pulling down the first side street. He drove too slowly for her frantic nerves. He should have been speeding away. Whether she had fake travel papers or not, one wrong move, and she’d lose Amber, Zach, and everything.
She couldn’t breathe.
Go, go, go!
Oliver turned down another side street before he glanced down at her, scrunched low. “I’m sorry, Carrie. They weren’t supposed to be here. Nobody is supposed to be around today.”
“Is he following us?” she asked, adrenaline still surging through her veins.
He checked his mirror and his grip loosened on the steering wheel. “No. Sorry, I just panicked.”
He had panicked? Her whole body trembled. Slowly, she crawled back up into her seat and checked for any sign of life. The streets looked dead.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“One of my new partners.”
“Did he…see me?”
“I hope not—I mean, I don’t think so,” Oliver amended quickly. “I’m sorry I startled you. He just surprised me, that’s all.” His eyes flickered to her. “Carrie, you know you’re completely safe, right? That I’d never let anything happen to you?”
In theory.
She felt stupid for doubting him, ducking and hiding like a child, but what if his new partner followed them? What if he became curious about the woman in Oliver’s front seat? Her pulse struggled to resume its normal pace. Too many years of hiding.
“Do you want to head home or keep driving?” he asked.
They were winding through old vintage homes with enough trees in bloom to remind her of why he’d wanted to bring her. Checking once more behind them, she forced herself to breathe normally.
Oliver would keep her safe.
He always did.
“Maybe we can go a little farther,” she said. “Then I should get home to—”
A loud beeping cut her off. She jumped, and her heart picked up right where it left off.
“What is that?” she cried.
“Sorry. This will just take a minute.” Clearing his throat, Oliver pressed a button on his dashboard. A speaker crackled to life.
Technology. A phone.
“Yes?” Oliver said.
Carrie clasped her hands tightly in her lap, begging herself to calm down. She just felt so out of place, so out of practice with real civilization.
“Sir!” a man shouted over the speaker. “Why didn’t you stop? I was trying to wave you down!”
“What’s wrong?” Oliver said. “Why are you in Shelton?”
“We have a situation with that illegal you arrested. He’s going nuts. We need you to come back right now.”
Over the static, Carrie heard a man yelling in the background.
When Oliver spoke again, anger colored his voice. “I told you to take him to Sugar Grove. Why didn’t you obey?”
“He completely freaked out in the car! We wouldn’t have made it to Sugar Grove. Please, sir. You have to come back. We don’t know what to do with him.”
Carrie pieced it together. The gash above Oliver’s eye. An arrest that hadn’t gone well.
Worried, Oliver glanced at her. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“No, sir. Now! The guy is trying to—” More yelling, this time from someone else. It sounded like utter chaos in the patrol station. “We think he’s trying to kill himself, sir.”
“What?” Oliver slammed on the brakes, sending Carrie flying into her seatbelt.
“He’s already knocked himself out once, sir, bashing his head against the wall. Now he’s going crazy, screaming nonsense. Do we have your permission to shoot him?”
“No! Whatever you do, do not shoot him!” Oliver yelled.
“We don’t know what else to do!”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Oliver said. “Just wait.”
“He won’t be alive in twenty minutes—not if he has anything to do with it. You have to come back now, sir. Please!”
Oliver looked at Carrie again.
“Go,” she mouthed. She’d just duck down on the floor in the parking lot or hide somewhere else. Her hands shook in her lap, terrified of being spotted again, but she clenched her fists. A man’s life was at stake. “Go!”
Oliver gave her a pained look, but in the end, he shook his head. “Don’t do anything,” he said into the speaker. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“But, sir! You can’t—”
Oliver punched the button, ending the call. Then he pressed the accelerator to the floor and sped down the road.
“Oliver, I can hide,” Carrie said. “You go back, and I’ll just hide.”
“No. It’s not safe. I promised I’d keep you safe.”
He took the next turn at full speed. She grabbed the door to keep from sliding off her seat.
“Then drop me off here, and I’ll walk,” she insisted. “I can take the back trails home, through the woods. I know the way. Please. You have to go back.”
“No. No. No. I have to get you to safety.”
She tried to argue further, but he didn’t hear, so she held on and watched the road fly by too fast for her comfort. Her stomach wasn’t used to speed, and it turned end over end, threatening to empty itself.
By the time he screeched into her driveway, she was ready to jump out, but he grabbed her arm. Not hard, but any contact from Oliver was unexpected.
“There’s something I have to tell you, Carrie,” he said. “Something about Greg. He’ll kill me for telling you because I swore I wouldn’t, but he already hates me, and I have the feeling he’s not going to tell you, and you deserve to know what could happen to him—or rather, what’s about to happen to him.”
fifteen
OLIVER SPRINTED INTO THE patrol station. It was quiet. Too quiet.
He slid to a stop.
Portman and Bushing carried the red-bearded man by the feet and hands, dragging him out of the holding cell. The man’s ear and right side of his head were bloody, his shoulder twisted out of its socket. The face behind the red beard looked ashen gray.
Dead.
Oliver searched the man’s body and saw two dark spots on his chest.
“I told you not to shoot him!”
Bushing, his nineteen-year-old partner, looked at Oliver with red-rimmed, haunted eyes. “We did him a favor, sir. He was going to kill himself one way or the other, and he was making a mess of it.”
Oliver looked around. The cement floor and walls of the holding cell were smeared with blood. Quickly, he turned. His stomach still pitched. He grabbed his desk to keep from losing it.
“Why didn’t you stop, sir?” Portman asked.
“You were to obey my order!” Oliver said, sidestepping the question. “I told you not to—”
Portman dropped the bearded man with a thud. “Why wouldn’t we shoot him? These rebels are dangerous. He was yelling nonsense about burning the whole country down.”
“He threatened to kill President Rigsby, sir,�
�� Bushing added. “What would you have had us do?”
It sounded more like a test of Oliver’s loyalty than an actual question. Bushing and Portman were young, too young to be shooting illegals or questioning his authority. So he used his seniority to say exactly what he wanted.
“How was he a threat to Rigsby? He couldn’t even walk when I left him.”
“Sir!” Portman straightened, standing erect in his new uniform. “We followed protocol. With all due respect, sir, why aren’t you?”
Oliver stared at the dead man. At the young husband and father.
When it was clear that he wasn’t going to answer, his partners dragged the body the rest of the way outside. All he could think was that he couldn’t save both of them: Carrie, and the man he didn’t even know.
His migraine spiked.
As he turned to find some ibuprofen, he caught sight of something in the holding cell, something dark red. Four words had been finger-painted onto the farthest wall.
Live free or die.
The man’s dying words, painted with his own blood.
Oliver was still staring at those words when he heard his chief’s voice boom just outside.
“For crying out loud, don’t leave that body there. You want every citizen writing complaints? Take it around back until I can get Sanitation to dispose of it.” Chief Dario swore loudly. “Idiots!”
Oliver forced his eyes down to the blue carpet only to see more dark smears of blood.
“What in the world is going on, Simmons?” Chief Dario said, storming inside. “There’s blood everywhere!”
“I’m not sure what happened,” Oliver said, “but I plan to find out.”
“How do you not know? Aren’t those your partners dragging that body outside?”
Oliver realized his mistake too late. His head pounded like a bass drum, and he could hardly think straight. But then he remembered. “The squatters attacked the dogs. I had to take them to Trainer Jerry.” He hoped his boss didn’t try to verify the timing.
“Hey.” The chief grabbed his arm. “What happened to your head?”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 51
