Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  “So what are your plans?” he asked. “You gonna leave the clan with Oliver or stick around for a bit longer?”

  She threw her hands in the air. “It was one date and one kiss that wasn’t really even a kiss. I just thought you deserved to know. I don’t have any plans beyond this moment. I’m taking things one day at a time because any time I get my feet under me, life knocks me down and I have to figure things out all over again.”

  “Tell me about it,” he muttered.

  For the second time, her words registered three seconds too late.

  “Oh…” he said slowly. “You weren’t expecting me to come back.” Every muscle in his body tightened with complete and utter betrayal. “Sorry to have made things awkward for the two of you.”

  For the first time, her eyes flashed with red-hot anger. “I wanted you to come back, Greg. I’ve wanted nothing more since you left. You should have been here with your mom. You should have been here with me! But what was I supposed to do? You told me to give Oliver a chance, so I did, and now you’re mad at me. But if I hadn’t, you would still be mad at me. Just what was I supposed to do?”

  His anger dissipated. “Exactly what you did. It’s fine. I’m happy for you.” It just stunk big time on his part.

  His mom would tell him to keep fighting for her, but between losing his mom, the mess with the rebels, his leg, shoulder, Jamansky, and everything else, Greg had no fight left in him.

  “At least tell me we’re still friends,” he said lamely.

  “Always,” she whispered. “Always, always.”

  Friend.

  The word turned to acid in his gut. Neither could seem to find words to fill the space between them as they started off.

  Finally, she slowed down. “Wait, I think we’re close. We enter the neighborhood over there.”

  Greg followed her gaze and spotted rooftops. A twinge of nervousness cut through everything else. With all the civil unrest in the area, it was probably time to pay attention to their task at hand. He could worry about Carrie and Oliver some other time.

  He lowered his voice. “I’m not a huge fan of tromping into some clan without a way to defend ourselves. What were you thinking, comin’ by yourself unarmed? Had I known, I woulda grabbed the rifle.”

  She scowled at that. “This isn’t West Chicago.” Turning back, she surveyed the scene. “I hope.”

  Ten minutes later, Carrie still crouched with Greg behind an old shed on the far corner of the Ferris neighborhood, watching for any signs of life.

  Greg crouched several feet away, keeping a safe distance like he’d done since she told him about Oliver. The way he moved and hid seemed government trained, almost stealth. He’d followed her all that time without a sound. Even now, he looked like he’d be more comfortable with a gun, making Carrie wonder how much someone could change in six weeks.

  While they watched, she should have been trying to remember names and homes, but her thoughts were a muddled, disjointed mess, vacillating between what Greg had told her about training and what he’d just done to her. She begged her pounding head to sort it out later.

  But that kiss…

  Even as brief as it had been…

  Goosebumps ran down her arms. Had she not turned to mush the second he touched her, she would have stopped him like she had stopped Oliver. For preservation of her fragile heart alone, she should have. But all she kept thinking as he leaned down was, Impossible. He can’t want this.

  Once his head cleared and he properly grieved for his mom, he’d realize Oliver had taken his place, and he was no longer obligated to her. But right now, with her skin in a constant state of chills, she relived the brush of his lips on hers.

  Why did he do that to me?

  Blinking back to her surroundings, she focused on the Ferris neighborhood. Carrie wondered how painful it would be to see her mom’s old friend. Watching Greg go lose his mom had brought Carrie’s grief for her own parents back to the surface. At least having Greg there would simplify getting him help. Gayle could look at him right here and determine if he’d broken any bones—assuming they made it to Gayle before sundown.

  “Looks harmless to me,” she whispered, trying to urge him on. “Gayle’s house is on the farthest street. Let’s just go.”

  “Our neighborhood looks dead this early in the morning, too,” Greg said. “I wanna watch a bit longer, and if all stays quiet, we’ll head over.”

  Another minute crouched behind the shed, and she said, “You know, Richard and I walked down the middle of the street and called out to see if anyone was around.”

  Greg’s dark brows shot up. “And that works?”

  “Pretty well, actually,” she said.

  “Well, it’s not my style. Still too traumatized by that last clan.”

  Her smile faded as she studied his injuries. His brown hair hung over his bruised forehead, longer than she’d ever seen, and he kept his arm close to his chest. His whole body was thicker, more muscular than when he’d left, making her wonder how many men it had taken to hold him down in that attack. She shuddered, remembering what he’d said, about how this week wasn’t the only beating he’d endured.

  Her eyes traced the lines of his muscle along his back and shoulders, down his arms and up again to his jaw line. Absentmindedly, she wondered how long after she had left May’s house that he had shaved. Knowing him, probably minutes. She didn’t mind, though. She liked seeing the angles of Greg’s face, feeling of the soft skin of his neck. His lips.

  How was she supposed to get over him now?

  With a sigh, she sank onto the grass and leaned against the shed, not caring what spiders might be lurking. The morning sun pierced straight to her brain, and she closed her eyes to ward off the headache she’d woken with after tossing all night with worry.

  “How much longer?” she said. “Zach and Amber don’t know I left or where I went. Did you tell anyone you left?”

  “Nope.”

  Great. The whole neighborhood would be out searching for them. What rumors would circulate then? After punishing Zach for the same thing, she decided to speed things up.

  Standing, she brushed off her jeans. “These are peaceful people, Greg. Let’s go.”

  He stayed crouched, watching, scanning.

  “Gayle’s husband is their clan leader,” Carrie tried. “When my parents died, Gayle and Frank came all the way over to pay their condolences. They’ll remember me, I promise. So…I’m going, okay?”

  She started forward, heading out around the side of the shed. Greg followed reluctantly.

  They only made it a few steps when her eye caught hold of something. “Look at that,” she said.

  Two yards down, back beyond the original property line where the leftover grass grew the thickest, she spotted something among the weeds. She squinted, making her head pound harder, but she definitely saw huge, yellow flowers.

  “What is it?” Greg asked.

  “A garden,” she said with a smile. Then she took off, darting across the yards.

  “Carrie, wait!”

  She ran until she reached the spot. Crouching down, she fingered the massive leaves. Squash plants. The bright yellow flowers were so eye-catching that no clan could think they had hidden them well.

  She stood and turned, taking in the rest of the area. Beyond the squash, tomato plants rose above other weeds. Maybe these clansmen hoped patrolmen didn’t know their plants, but to her it was obvious this was a vegetable garden. A weedy, disorganized one, but still.

  When Greg reached her, she pointed to the nearest squash plant. He noticed what she had and immediately stiffened.

  “People still live here?”

  “Yes, but…” She circled the area. “These aren’t planted in rows. It’s like someone took a handful of seeds and tossed them into the air.” Which was fine if they were trying to hide their food, but they’d done a bad job of that, too.

  Then she spotted some pea vines and a strange wave of dizziness washed over her
. They were filled with old pea pods. Bulging, dry, and yellowed. Unused.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  “How long ago was this garden abandoned?” Greg asked, putting together what she had.

  “They planted summer crops but never harvested their spring ones, so…May-ish? Then again, they could have abandoned it last summer. Without anyone to harvest the crops, some seeds could have sprouted this year on their own.” She felt sick. “What kind of people abandon perfectly good food?”

  “Dead ones.”

  The thought got Carrie moving. She walked into the middle of the backyard.

  “Hello?” she called loudly. “Hello! Is anyone here? I’m Carrie Ashworth from the Logan Pond Clan.”

  Greg crept up to the nearest window and peeked inside. “There’s stuff in there. A small table. A few books.” He pounded on the window. “Hello?”

  They both waited, tensed for a response. When none came, Greg stood back. “How long ago did y’all have contact with Ferris?”

  “Gayle helped with Zach’s ankle three years ago. Maybe six months after that.” The hair on her arms prickled. “Is it possible this clan consolidated like we did and moved to a different part of the sub?”

  “Yeah, but why abandon perfectly good food?” He glanced nervously around. “Where’s Gayle’s house?”

  “The end of the next street.”

  Unable to wait for Greg’s bad leg, she broke into a run, passing home after abandoned home. Gayle Harrison couldn’t be gone. Carrie’s mom was gone. Mariah was gone. Every other clan was gone. Not this one, too. She had to reach Gayle because right now it felt like their clan was the last one left.

  Turning a corner, she skidded to a halt, nearly tripping on the paved road.

  A house sat, blackened and charred, in front of her. Mostly the garage, but parts of the rest of the house had been burned as well.

  Exactly as Oliver had described.

  Only Carrie recognized this house. She hadn’t seen it—or at least noticed it—in six years. But those tall white pillars. The long, circular driveway. She’d come here once in high school for a study group. Because Scott Porter invited her. His house had been so fancy inside, and she’d been mortified because she dropped a fruit smoothie on their white carpet. Scott just laughed it off.

  Scott.

  Oliver.

  Her knees went weak.

  Greg caught up to her. “What is it? What’s wrong? Oh,” he said, spotting the blackened home. “Is that Gayle’s house?”

  She shook her head. “No. Oliver.”

  “Oliver? Where?”

  The call in the car. The crazy man screaming in the background. Scott Porter. Dead. The world spun.

  “Sit,” she said. “I have to sit down.”

  Greg helped her to the nearest curb and crouched in front of her, waiting for an explanation.

  Her head fell into her hands. “Oliver did this. He had dogs and his boss made him…” The whole story was a giant blur of emotion, but Scott’s voice, so hysterical over the speakers, echoed loudest in her mind. Oliver’s partner had said that Scott was trying to kill himself, so they shot him. Because Oliver hadn’t made it back in time.

  Because of her.

  “I killed Scott,” she said, choking on the words.

  Greg’s eyes widened. “Who’s Scott?”

  With throat swelling and raw, Carrie explained. The real cause of Oliver’s injuries that day. Brooke’s baby—Scott’s baby. Jamansky’s order to burn the house.

  “I heard Scott,” she said. “I heard him, and he’s dead, and Brooke doesn’t know, and I told her I’d help find him, but I can’t because he’s dead.” Her breaths grew painful. “Oliver would have been there without me.”

  “This Scott guy,” Greg said, “was in the same clan as your mom’s friend?”

  “No.” She paused, considering. “I didn’t even remember that Scott used to live here until I saw those pillars. I don’t know why, but he and Brooke weren’t in the Ferris Clan when we had contact with it.”

  Greg stood. “Then let’s go. We need to figure out what happened to your mom’s friend.”

  “They won’t be there, Greg!” A sob of terror rose in her chest, begging for escape. “No one is here. Oliver did this.”

  He’d arrested them, all of them. Him or one of his coworkers—what did it matter? She wanted to take the blame for Scott’s death, but if Oliver hadn’t arrested him, Scott couldn’t have died in the station, and Brooke wouldn’t be alone now. And what about Gayle and the others? No matter what she thought of Oliver the person, Oliver the patrolman was still her enemy.

  “You stay here,” Greg said. “I’m gonna check out the last street.”

  “No!” She got to her feet. “I’m coming.”

  They started slowly and then, without discussion, sped up into a trot.

  “This is it,” she said, huffing at the end of the last street. Out of breath and out of answers, she ran to the front door and pounded on it.

  “Frank? Gayle? Emma? Maggie?” She pounded so hard on the door her fist hurt. “It’s Carrie Ashworth. Please be here. Please.”

  Greg tried the handle. Locked. He searched for something and grabbed a large rock. Carrie would have stopped him, but she was feeling the first effects of the shock numbing her. What the rock didn’t break of the window, he kicked in. He climbed in and disappeared inside. A moment later he unlocked the front door for her.

  One step inside, and Carrie knew the house had been deserted for years, even longer than Scott had been gone. The air was stagnant, oppressive, and musty. Maybe that was good. Maybe Gayle and her family had left of their own accord. Maybe Oliver hadn’t arrested her mom’s best friend.

  “They had kids?” Greg asked.

  “Two. Emma was in Zach’s kindergarten class, and Maggie was…” She stopped as her eyes spotted broken shards of dishes scattered across the kitchen floor. A chair was overturned, wood brutally splintered.

  “No,” she breathed.

  Greg searched the main room and headed up the dusty stairs. Carrie followed, each step taking longer than the previous.

  At the doorway of the first bedroom, she dropped to her knees. A few girl clothes were scattered on the floor. A Barbie without a head. Everything had been left behind. Their family hadn’t packed up and moved out. They’d been arrested.

  By Oliver.

  Or David Jamansky—it didn’t matter.

  The dizziness assaulted her again. She found the wall and held on. One raid gone wrong and this could be her. Zach. Amber. They would become wards of the state, gone forever, like Gayle’s kids now were.

  “Want me to search the other homes?” Greg asked.

  She shook her head. “No. They’re all gone.”

  Scott. Gayle. Mariah. Her parents. Every single one.

  For several minutes, the two stared at the disturbing scene. When Carrie found the strength, she straightened.

  “We should go,” she said. “It doesn’t feel right to be here, like we’re intruding on their last moments together as a family.”

  He followed her downstairs and outside, but on the porch, she couldn’t seem to go another step. She felt trapped by the looming, empty homes.

  “Do you think they’re okay?” she asked. “Do Emma and Maggie know their parents were just trying to protect them by living illegally, or have they already been brainwashed? Do they hate their parents for what’s happened to them, or are they all dead?” Her eyes burned. “Dead like Scott?”

  “Come on,” Greg said. “Let’s go home.”

  forty-five

  OLIVER HAD NEVER BEEN a praying man before, but he prayed the entire drive to Logan Pond. The death notice stayed on the seat next to him in an unmarked envelope. He had no idea how to break the news to Greg’s family or Carrie. It seemed cruel and unfair, especially coming from him since Greg’s recruitment was partially his fault. That’s why he’d put it off, hoping for different news. But when different news hadn’t
come, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

  He owed Carrie that much.

  Oliver wasn’t sure which house to try first, but he decided to obey his boss for once and headed right for the Trentons. Knocking on the front door, he stood back, mind racing with how to say it. Some days he hated his job. Other days, he loathed it.

  CJ Trenton answered the door, looking much happier than he had the last time Oliver saw him. “Officer Simmons, how nice to see you. Carrie isn’t here right now.”

  “Actually, I’m here for another reason.” Oliver stood straight in his green uniform. “Mr. Trenton, by any chance have you had contact from Greg in the last few weeks? Any at all?”

  “Yes,” CJ said. “He returned last night. Why?”

  “He’s back?”

  CJ beamed. “Yes. We’ve only heard half of his story. It sounds like a wild one, but he says he’s back for good now. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Relief washed over Oliver. You have no idea. “That is great news. Is he here? I have a note for him that I should probably deliver in person.”

  “No. He slept at his own house last night, but he was gone this morning when his grandma went to invite him for breakfast. However, Carrie’s missing as well, so…” CJ trailed off, suddenly remembering who he was talking to. “Uh, can I give him a message for you?”

  Oliver blinked. He told himself to nod. Greg was back and had disappeared with Carrie for the morning. Of course. He should be happy for her—for them—but he was lost in conflicting emotions, smart enough to know what this meant for him and selfish enough to be devastated by it.

  CJ waited for him to answer, but Oliver couldn’t even remember the question.

  “Or…” CJ said, “you’re welcome to wait here for Greg and Carrie to return.”

  Wait around to see that reunion?

  No thank you.

  Oliver handed Mr. Trenton the envelope. “Actually, will you give this to Greg? It’s confidential, so I’d appreciate it if no one else opened it.”

  “Sure. Is there a message you want me to pass along with it?”