Suddenly it was just the two of them crouched over unconscious men—men who wouldn’t be unconscious for long.
Pulse spiking, Greg grabbed her arm and started for the woods.
forty
ISABEL WAS FASTER THAN GREG. Her injuries were only surface deep. Noticing he was falling behind, she backed up and put an arm around his waist to shoulder some of his weight. They darted in and out and sideways through the trees to avoid straight lines that could be tracked.
“Why did you come back for me?” Isabel huffed.
“You’d do the same for me,” Greg said through gritted teeth. His broken leg wasn’t going to last much longer.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“You just did.”
Greg tripped over a fallen stump and cried out. Isabel grabbed him before he could crash all the way down, but pain still shot through his whole body. He tried to stifle a yell and managed to swallow half of it.
“You were home free,” she said, struggling with more of his weight. “You could have run.”
He didn’t want to admit that he nearly had.
“I’m sorry I told them everything,” he said after another labored minute.
At that, she stopped and looked at him sharply.
“Not sorry for me,” he amended. “Not sorry for the rebellion. They need to know what’s comin’. But I’m sorry I jeopardized your life—present and future.”
Turning, her eyes roamed the thick woods. “I understand why you did. Honestly, it probably saved our lives. It gave me time to distract my guy. But…well…just don’t do it again.”
Again.
The word knotted his stomach as the full extent of what he’d done hit him. Not only had he gone back to Isabel, but he’d gone back to his job. How much would Isabel tell McCormick? What price would Greg pay for what he’d divulged—what price would his loved ones pay? The best he could hope was for McCormick to assign him to another clan. The worst was unthinkable.
His head pounded, his body begged to be off its feet, but they kept trudging onward.
“Where are we headed?” she asked as Greg urged her to the right.
“Back to the original camp,” he said. “The second those radios were destroyed, McCormick should have been alerted. Maybe he’s already on his way.” Not that Greg wanted to see the commander, but he needed to get off his leg. How could something be so numb and excruciating at the same time?
They were still a ways off when they heard shouting. McCormick’s voice.
“Isabel!”
Isabel heaved a sigh of relief. “He found us.”
“Just a bit farther,” Greg said.
Isabel suddenly dug in her heels. Her fingers clamped on Greg’s side to stop him. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
She looked up at him, dark eyes urgent. “Don’t come with me, Greg. I’ll tell McCormick they killed you. You can run—well, not literally, but you can get away from here.”
His brows shot up. “What?”
She grabbed his hands. “Go home, Greg. You don’t belong here.”
“Why would you do that?” Yet with only two seconds of time, he’d already allowed himself to hope, to envision another life.
Her dark eyes shone. “You saved my life. Let me return the favor. You’re dead now, so go.”
“But…”
“Isabel! Pierce!” McCormick shouted again. “Spread out. They couldn’t have gone far.”
Greg’s mind raced through every possible outcome of being “dead” including losing his citizenship, income for the clan, a future with money, stability—or as much stability as patrolmen ever had. But after all he’d seen, he knew those rebel groups had a chance. But they needed Greg and his knowledge out of the way to do it. Which meant by leaving, Greg was actually helping his own clan, possibly permanently.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m dead.”
“Good. Just know that once you lose your green card, there’s no getting it back. You’ll be dead as far as the government’s concerned—although I suppose if you got truly desperate, you could fabricate some story about how I thought you were dead, but Kearney just captured you and—”
“ISABEL!”
“I want nothin’ more than to never be heard of again,” Greg whispered in a rush.
“Then go.” She smiled. “Tell your mom hello for me. And tell Carrie I hate her guts.”
He laughed. But as he turned to leave, he had one last thought. He leaned close. “Rethink which side you wanna be on—which side Pete would want you on.” Her eyes widened, but he went on. “It’s not too late. If you wanna truly help these people, find a way to give them back the liberty they were born with, and find a way to do it peacefully. Then convince your uncle to do the same.”
She looked stunned but nodded softly. “Good luck, Greg.”
“Same to you.”
He took off, lumbering through the brush in the opposite direction of the search party. As soon as he was out of sight, he heard Isabel call to her uncle. Curiosity won out again. For whatever reason, idiotic as it was, Greg needed to see. He crept back until he saw Isabel and the others through the trees.
“What happened?” McCormick said. “I saw your bags. What did they do to you? Where’s Pierce?”
Isabel turned on the waterworks. “They shot him. They killed Greg right in front of me.” She collapsed onto her uncle’s shoulder and sobbed great sobs. “He’s dead, and I thought I was dead, too.”
“Alright,” McCormick said, patting her back. “It’s okay now.”
Good enough.
Greg backed away, heart racing faster than his feet could as he set out on a path headed straight west.
* * * * *
Oliver jumped as someone’s hands clamped down on his shoulders. Jamansky squeezed hard, pinching the muscle just below Oliver’s neck as he leaned down to whisper, “How are you coming on that little project, Simmons?”
The project involved making three sweep-acquired stashes disappear from the record books. Oliver loathed it. Jamansky and the mayor were working the black market again, but Oliver hadn’t figured out how to prove it without getting himself killed.
“Fine,” Oliver said.
“Good.” Jamansky stood back, releasing his shoulders. “So…how’s Carrie?”
Oliver tensed all over again. He managed an indifferent shrug.
Jamansky picked up a random file from Oliver’s desk and pretended to flip through it. “How about you give me her address and I’ll find out for myself.”
Oliver’s breath hitched.
From across the room, Ashlee’s head whipped up. He told himself Jamansky was just trying to get under his skin. The guy couldn’t seriously be interested in Carrie. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He better not.
“Excuse me,” Oliver said, snatching his file back. “I’m busy.”
Jamansky sat on the corner of his desk. “She’s a pretty girl. Sweet, too. I like that. Tell me, what was a guy like you doing with a girl like her anyhow?”
“We were just catching up,” Oliver said dumbly.
Jamansky’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. I think you want Carrie. I think you’re making a play for her, which is too bad because I want her, too. She seems like the nice, innocent type. Could be fun.” He rubbed his hands together. “Could be a lot of fun. So, what’s her address? Or is she rich enough to own a phone? I’ll just call her instead.”
Oliver ground his teeth so hard they could have cracked. But before he could respond, he heard heels clipping across the floor.
Suddenly Ashlee was in front of them. She slapped David Jamansky flat across the cheek. The sound echoed through the office. David’s head snapped back.
“You jerk!” Ashlee yelled.
Jamansky held his cheek, frozen with shock. Then his face reddened with rage. He grabbed Ashlee’s arm. “Who do you think you are?”
She tried to squirm free, but his hand tightened on her arm until she
yelped in pain.
Oliver jumped up. “Let her go!”
“Stay out of this!” Jamansky threw his elbow out, catching Oliver squarely in the jaw. Oliver fell back into his chair with a crash. His head spun, his vision swam, but he jumped to his feet again, fists balled.
Jamansky whipped Ashlee around and held her in front of him as a shield. She was crying.
“Go ahead,” Jamansky taunted. “Take your best shot, Simmons. She won’t even feel a thing.”
“What is going on?” someone yelled.
Two federal patrolmen ran inside, pulling out their guns. Jamansky immediately dropped Ashlee. She fell to the ground, gasping.
Breathing heavily himself, Jamansky said, “Sorry, officers. We were just messing around. What can we do for you?”
Before they could answer, Ashlee rammed her high heel into Jamansky’s toe. He yelped and swore. Then Oliver saw him whirl, foot swinging back.
“Jamansky!” Oliver yelled.
Jamansky’s foot stopped inches from Ashlee’s ribs. His jaw worked a moment before he gingerly put his foot back down. Throwing a look of pure murder at his girlfriend, he stepped over her and went into the front area to greet the two men in black uniforms.
As soon as he was gone, Oliver dropped to a knee. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
“Yes. Thank you,” Ashlee said. “Who is Carrie anyway? Her name sounds familiar.”
That was because Oliver had slipped Carrie’s paperwork into Ashlee’s pile of stuff to be signed and documented.
“Just my friend,” he said, taking her hand to help her stand up. “Jamansky’s just trying to bother me. Don’t worry about it. He didn’t mean what he said.” At least, he better not.
“I hate him,” she whispered, wiping her eyes.
“Me, too.”
“All men are jerks.”
“I know.”
Brushing off her pants, Ashlee said, “Thanks, Officer Simmons.”
His mind sparked with a sudden idea. He’d been thinking about it for a while, but he wasn’t sure how to implement it. Now, with Jamansky distracted and Ashlee hating her boyfriend, Oliver lowered his voice.
“Would you be interested in helping me with a little…project?” he whispered.
“What kind of project?”
His skin tingled with fear, and he checked on Jamansky again. “I need to document some things. Some things that might prove…other things. Things that might get certain people in trouble.”
Ashlee’s green eyes widened. “You want to take David down?”
Pressing a finger to his lips, Oliver nodded. “The mayor, too. I just need proof. I need help with some files, only it might—”
“Looky-looky, Ash babe,” Jamansky called from the front room. He waved some papers at her, all smiles again. “Come see what those feds just delivered. This is a huge I told you so. Man, justice is sweet!”
Ashlee turned back to Oliver, eyes lit with fire. “Count me in.” Then she walked into the front room and said, “What is it, hon?” as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them.
Oliver stared down at the floor, thoughts racing. Ashlee would help. That was a huge hurdle. Now he just had to find enough evidence to prove the level of corruption in this office. But even if he could prove it, who would he report to? Federal patrolmen? Who was to say they weren’t just as bad? He decided to worry about that later. Until then, he had a lot of digging to do.
He started for his desk when a sudden scream split the air. Female.
Ashlee.
Oliver whipped around, adrenaline spiking for a second time, but Jamansky hadn’t attacked her again. Instead, she clutched the papers the patrolmen in black had delivered.
“No, no, no!” she cried.
Oliver sprinted for the front room. “What happened?”
Jamansky snatched the papers and handed them to Oliver. “Remember this guy?”
Oliver scanned the short note quickly:
DEATH NOTICE ENCLOSED FOR Gregory Curtis Pierce :
Inform family that son was killed in action. Please deliver enclosed death notice to: 541 Denton Trail, Shelton, Illinois.
Special Patrols Unit
Oliver went numb.
Greg.
“That’s the troublemaker you drove to Naperville,” Jamansky said with a wide grin. “I knew he’d never survive.”
Greg was dead.
Oliver reread the notice. It couldn’t be true. It had to be something else. A mistake. A trick of Greg’s. Something.
He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Death notice. What would Carrie do when she found out? What about Richard, May, and CJ, who had already lost Mariah?
Oliver stumbled to the wall and leaned against it to hold himself up. It couldn’t be true. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Ashlee was on her knees, hands covering her face. Seeing her crying there sent a horrible realization through Oliver. If he’d never suggested Greg get his yellow card, this wouldn’t have happened. This was Oliver’s fault. Carrie would never forgive him for this.
He would never forgive himself.
Jamansky smacked him. “What’s your problem?”
Oliver took two slow breaths. His legs felt shaky and weak, but he straightened. But when he opened his mouth to respond, no sound came out.
Greg was dead.
Jamansky glared at him. “Inform his family. If they give you any problems, bring them in. I’ll take care of them myself.”
forty-one
CARRIE STOOD NEXT TO the knee-high corn stalks. With the recent rain, the garden was finally flourishing.
Braden Ziegler walked through May’s gate. His eyes stayed on Carrie as he picked up a shovel to start on the goat manure. Anytime she looked back, he was still watching her, as if to get her attention. After giving Amber the cold shoulder for several weeks, Carrie tried to ignore him.
Rhonda Watson stood with an overflowing basket of peas. “They’re not much to look at, Carrie, but I’ll wash them up and distribute anyway.”
“Thanks,” Carrie said. “I’ll have the corn weeded soon.”
Rhonda left, leaving Carrie and Braden alone in May’s backyard. He shoveled one last load into the corner for composting and then approached her. Carrie kept weeding, pretending not to notice Braden’s shadow hanging over her.
“Hey, Carrie,” Braden said. “Can I talk to you?”
She really didn’t want to be dragged into the Amber-Braden drama, but she sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Can we talk somewhere private?” he asked, looking around. “Maybe behind the pond? Not now, but after you’re done working?”
“I don’t know, Braden.”
If Amber spotted them alone—regardless of the reason—she’d flip out.
“Please. This is important.”
Sighing, she nodded. “Okay. I can go now if you want.”
“No!” Once again, he scanned May’s yard for any observers. “I’ll meet you behind the pond when you’re done. I’ll be waiting for you.”
She’d never seen Braden act so strangely, but she agreed, hoping an explanation was coming.
By the time she finished, Braden was already behind the pond in a spot deep in the trees, hidden from the homes. He sat on a fallen log but stood the second he spotted Carrie.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “Here. Have a seat.”
Reluctantly, she took the log he had vacated. He started pacing in front of her, hands clasped behind him, eyes down on the dirt and weeds.
“I want to ask you some things,” he said, “but I need to know that what I say won’t get back to Amber. Is that okay?”
“Braden,” Carrie said, “you have to know that I’m completely loyal to my sister. I can’t hide things from her.”
Especially not now.
“I know, but I don’t want to have to edit my thoughts. Please?”
Carrie was torn but said, “Okay. If I have any p
roblems keeping something from her, we can talk about it after.”
“Fair enough.”
He faced her and started right in. “What do you think of patrolmen—like what they do and how they live? People around here hate them so much, but after Oliver—and now Greg—I just…” Braden ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair. “I’d like to know what you think. You’re the most level-headed person I know on this subject.”
Her shoulders lifted. “I guess they’re just doing their job. Some of them abuse their power”—she shuddered, thinking of David Jamansky—“but I hope those are few and far between. Then again, who knows? Oliver is…well, he’s different.”
“Yes, and without him our life would be miserable, right? And he’s done more for us than we could have done for ourselves, right? So why do people hate him so much?”
She could think of several reasons, but she suddenly pieced together where he was headed. Her stomach tied itself in knots.
“Do you want to become a patrolman, Braden?”
His gaze swept over the pond. “Yes. Quite seriously.”
“But how? You’re illegal.”
“The government is desperate for help right now. I think they’d take volunteers if I offered.”
Yes! her mind screamed. To fight the rebels. To arrest people like us! Somehow she managed to respond calmly. “May I ask why?”
He threw his hands in the air. “Because I don’t want to live like this forever! I’m an adult now, Carrie. I need to plan for my future. I want to have a home—my own home—where I don’t have to worry about my family’s safety every single second of the day. Is that too much to ask?”
“No,” Carrie said, heart breaking for the next generation—her generation.
“I keep reasoning that being a patrolman wouldn’t be so bad if I could help people like us. Maybe I could focus on the real bad guys, the ones killing and stealing and hurting others.”
“Only Amber doesn’t want you to,” Carrie said, putting the final piece into place.
He picked up a stick and peeled off some bark. “Amber hates patrolmen. The things she says about Oliver…I just don’t get it.”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 71
