Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  She uncurled slowly.

  “Ow,” she moaned.

  Opening her mouth brought a dryness of its own.

  “Amber?” she called in a whisper that barely crossed her parched lips. Somehow it was day again. Amber shouldn’t be asleep. Hopefully she was home. Carrie sucked in a little more air and tried again. “Amber?”

  “What do you need?”

  Carrie tensed. Not only was that not Amber’s voice, but it came from inside her bedroom, down by her feet. She knew that voice anywhere. Deep. Southern. She lifted her head and saw Greg sitting at the foot of the mattress.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. More importantly, how long had he been there? She hadn’t heard him come in. The sun cast afternoon shadows on her wall, even though she distinctly remembered it being night not that long ago.

  “You doin’ any better?” he said, crawling over beside her mattress.

  Mattress?

  Carrie looked underneath her. She no longer lay on the hard carpet like she’d done since losing her mattress in the raid in March.

  Swallowing against the dryness, she asked, “Where did this come from?”

  “The better question is why you didn’t have one in the first place,” Greg said pointedly, “but I’ll lecture you about that later. How do you feel?”

  “Lousy.”

  She threw an arm over her head, partly for relief to her feverish forehead, partly to block the painful light streaming in from her window, but mostly to hide. If she had looked bad on the porch, she could only imagine how horrible she looked now. Her hair was plastered to her head from sweating.

  “I’m not surprised,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me how sick you were?”

  “Oh.” It finally dawned on her why Greg was in her room. “Are you ready to go?” That seemed like weeks ago, but she tried to sit up.

  He pushed her back down. “Don’t you dare. We already went. There was nothin’ to see, and Zach couldn’t remember which direction the kids came from—at least not enough to be helpful. The kids meet again in a few days, so we’ll just have to wait. Now…where are you the sickest?”

  “Mostly my head.” She closed her burning eyes.

  A second later she felt something cool and wonderful on her cheek. Greg’s hand pressed against her skin.

  “You’re so cold,” she said. Like he’d dunked his hand in a bucket of ice. It felt divine.

  “No. My temperature is normal. Yours…is not.”

  She jumped as his hand slid onto the side of her neck. Checking her temperature or not, the gesture felt too intimate. Whatever her temperature had been before, it spiked now.

  A worry line pinched between his bushy brows. “I’ll grab a cool washcloth. What else do you need? Somethin’ to eat? I’ve got noodles downstairs. How about water?”

  Noodles?

  Carrie pulled the blanket around her shoulders, wishing she’d changed back into her pajamas. She was still in her jeans and blue blouse, dressed to go with Greg and Terrell. Now the clothes felt rough on her skin, though not enough to leave the warmth of her blankets to change. Fevers always baffled her. One part burned while the other froze. She was certain if she had five more blankets, her toes would still feel like blocks of ice. But that would have to wait until Greg left and she could get Amber.

  “Carrie?” he pressed. “What do you need?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He scowled. “You’re not fine, so just tell me what you—Carrie!” he said, interrupting himself. “You’re shivering.”

  He grabbed another blanket from somewhere and piled it on top of the others. With a huff, he knelt beside her again. “Now, will you please tell me what you need?”

  He was mad at her. That didn’t seem fair considering her condition.

  “I just need to sleep it off,” she said. At least she hoped she could. As a child, she’d received antibiotics for bigger illnesses. She just hoped Greg didn’t catch it.

  Her burning eyes flew open. “Greg! You have to get out of here.” Her desperation came out weak and pathetic. “You’ll get sick. You have to go.”

  “Not gonna happen. I woulda already caught it. Now, what do you need?”

  True. Greg would have already caught it. Sadly, though, she couldn’t bring herself to regret those kisses.

  But still…

  She squinted up at him. “I need Amber actually. Where is she?”

  “Amber and Zach are at Tucker’s. They’re gonna stay there until you’re better.”

  Tucker’s? Not at Maddie’s or Lindsey’s with their “dreamy” older brother? Great. More Braden drama. For now, at least her siblings wouldn’t catch this. Then again, that left her all alone. Or worse…with Greg. She didn’t want him seeing her like this. Not now.

  But then he left.

  He walked out of her room—or rather limped. Her own muscles begged for another position, but it seemed like too much work. She couldn’t even turn her head. So she settled onto the soft mattress and reentered the wonderful world of unconsciousness. She woke to a cold washrag being placed on her forehead. Her body let out an involuntary sigh. She vowed right then never to take good health for granted again.

  “Serves me right for going back into civilization,” she said.

  He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Dinner with Oliver.”

  “Actually…” He stroked her cheek with his wonderful icy fingers. “I think I gave this to you.”

  She peeked an eye open. “Are you sick?”

  “No, but…” A corner of his mouth tugged up. “I’m pretty sure we exchanged a few germs.”

  She was too tired to blush. “I had a headache before Ferris. I think I got this on my date with Oliver.”

  His countenance did a one-eighty. He growled under his breath. “Another reason you shouldn’t have kissed that guy.”

  That barely-there kiss from Oliver couldn’t have done much more than make her and Oliver uncomfortable. Besides, she saw Oliver all the time, and he’d never gotten her sick before. This had to be from shaking hands with his coworkers, touching doors, booths, or who knew what else.

  Greg sighed deeply. “Now for the last time, will you please swallow some pride and just tell me what you need?”

  Considering she was tempted to suck the water out of the wash rag, she decided to ask. “I could…use a drink.”

  “Dehydrated. Great.” He grabbed a cup of water already waiting on the floor next to her. With effort, she propped herself up. The first gulp made her wince with pain. After that, she had the dilemma of pain or thirst. She chose thirst knowing the pain in her throat would only be momentary. She finished the glass with a quiet “ouch.”

  As she lay back down, Greg stared at her, face suddenly devoid of emotion. “Is it just your head, or do your lungs hurt, too? Does it…” He paused. “Does it hurt to breathe?”

  He almost looked scared. Traumatized, maybe. And no wonder. Kendra and his mom both died of breathing, coughing issues.

  She took a slow, deep breath. It hurt everywhere, but not in the way he meant. “No. It’s just the flu or something. I just need to sleep it off.”

  “No. People used to die of influenza all the time. You need to get to a hospital. Now.”

  She moved the washcloth off her eyes. Unfortunately, he wasn’t teasing. “I’d rather be sick than arrested, Greg.”

  “You won’t be arrested, remember?”

  Right. Stupid papers.

  “You need medicine,” he said, “and I’ve gotta plan.”

  Of course he did.

  “If anyone needs a doctor,” she said tiredly, “it’s you. I’m just going to sleep it off.”

  “Fine. You’ve got until morning. If you’re not better by then, you’re goin’ to the hospital in Aurora. I don’t care what you say.”

  She pressed the washcloth to her eyes, too tired to fight such a ridiculous idea. She hated Aurora. Six years ago, her family nearly starved there in a tiny government apartme
nt they shared with nine other people. She refused to go back.

  He stood. “Alrighty. I’ll let you sleep now.”

  Only instead of leaving, he moved to a folding chair—her kitchen chair—in the corner of her room. Then he sat, elbows on his knees, and watched her, clueless about how awkward it was to sleep with a guy staring at you.

  Go away, she begged silently.

  Absentmindedly, he twirled something in his hands. When she realized what it was, she wanted to slink under her covers. His NY Yankees hat. Thankfully it wasn’t under her pillow anymore. She could only imagine how he’d exploit that. But still…

  “Please go, Greg,” she whispered.

  “Not a chance.”

  “I don’t want you to catch this.”

  “I’m not leavin’.”

  “But—”

  “Carrie,” he said, “just sleep, alrighty? Let me know if you need anything.”

  Embarrassed, exhausted, crusty-haired, and all-around unsociable, she tucked her face inside her dark cave. Her skull pulsed and stabbed, making sleep difficult, but she faded in and out, sometimes jerking awake and sometimes being roused by the pain. Her mom used to get migraines, but Carrie had never fully understood them until now. The light in the room inched across the far wall. Even that much was painful, so she stayed hidden beneath her dark blankets. Mostly. Each time she woke, she had to check. Greg still sat in her corner, twirling his hat.

  More miserable than she could ever remember being, her thoughts wandered to her mom, suddenly missing her like crazy. Isn’t that what moms did? Take care of sick kids? At least Greg had sent Amber and Zach away. The last thing she wanted was for anyone else to catch this. Gratefully she hadn’t been around anyone besides Greg and…

  “May,” she croaked.

  He straightened. “You awake again?”

  “Greg,” she said, frantic, “I sat by your grandma at the adult meeting. She held my hand the whole time. What if she gets this?”

  His face darkened.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “Grandma started with a headache and chills last night.”

  Carrie fell back on her pillow. May was sick. If it really was strep or the flu, then a few days—maybe a week—and Carrie would feel back to normal. But May was old. She would have a harder time recovering. It could easily turn into pneumonia or something worse.

  “Anyone else?” she whispered.

  Sighing, Greg tossed his hat onto the floor. “Braden woke with a pounding headache, and Terrell started a few hours ago.”

  “But…but how did they get it so fast? I only started feeling lousy yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” He looked at her. “Carrie, you’ve been in bed for almost two straight days. Who knows how long you were sick before then.”

  “What?”

  With a slow nod, his eyes seemed to lose focus. “Everybody keeps sayin’ this infection just needs to run its course, but there’s no way to know for sure. It could turn into somethin’ far worse.”

  That’s why Amber was at Tucker’s. Carrie had talked to Braden behind the pond—and then walking home—and she’d been with Terrell the whole Watercrest day. Who else had she been around? She closed her eyes, feeling nauseated on top of everything else.

  “For some reason, Amber and Zach haven’t shown any symptoms,” Greg went on. “Neither have I, even though we’ve all been exposed to you—some more than others,” he added with a tiny smirk. But just as fast, he sobered again. “We’ve got y’all quarantined to be safe, but even then, we could have a serious epidemic on our hands.”

  Her migraine pulsed. May could get medical help if desperate—and now Carrie could, too, thanks to those stupid marriage papers. But what about Braden and Terrell who were completely illegal? Then again, CJ didn’t have extra money. He might not even have enough to treat his wife, let alone others.

  “Please go, Greg,” Carrie said desperately. “Please?”

  For a second, he looked hurt, but then he nodded. He stood and stretched in a way that made her wonder how long he’d been there. But instead of leaving, he came over and knelt by her mattress again.

  He pressed his palm to the side of her neck and then moved the washcloth away to feel her forehead, but her thoughts were far from her own temperature. She studied the worry lines around his bruised face.

  When his eyes met hers, they didn’t blink or twitch. They just stared through her like a lost, scared soul. He looked worse than she felt, and she couldn’t help but think how awful the last six weeks had been for him. His mom’s death and everything was still too raw. She could see in his face that he couldn’t handle one more thing.

  She slipped her hand out of her blankets and found his. Squeezing it, she said, “I’m fine. Really. We’ll all be fine.”

  “You’ve got twelve hours to prove it. If not, you and Grandma are goin’ to the hospital. I’ll take you myself if I have to.”

  “With what citizenship? You’re dead, remember?”

  His jaw tightened.

  Something clicked in her head. I gotta plan, he had said. Isabel told him if he ever changed his mind, he could fabricate a story about his disappearance, and he’d be reinstated. Special Op. Green card.

  Greg, the spy.

  He said that card gave him special perks—perks that even Oliver didn’t have.

  “No!” she yelled. The outburst stabbed her brain, making his face go in and out of focus, but she continued anyway. “You can’t give yourself up for something like this, Greg. If we get desperate, we’ll find Oliver.”

  He stroked her cold fingers without looking at her. “Dylan’s been camped in town since last night. No sign of Oliver.”

  “Are you nuts? Dylan doesn’t have his citizenship—and neither do you. Neither of you should be anywhere public.”

  Greg just kept stroking her hand.

  What was he thinking, taking such huge risks for such a simple illness? He’d just barge into some government hospital, ask for a phone to contact his former commander who would cart him off before he could even check Carrie and May in. His wounds hadn’t even healed yet.

  Though it hurt to do so, Carrie fixed him with a steady gaze. “Twelve hours isn’t long enough to get over this, so don’t do anything rash. Please. If your grandma gets worse, we’ll find Oliver. Just swear to me you won’t do anything stupid. Please.” Her throat started to close off. “They can’t have you back.”

  “I haven’t decided anything yet,” he said softly.

  It was a lie. She could see it in the set of his clean-shaven jaw. He would turn himself in, get his card and whatever money his commander owed him, and then spend the rest of his life—however long that was—in their control. All for what?

  The flu?

  “You can’t do this to me,” she said, tears welling in her burning eyes. “You almost left once without telling me. You can’t do this again. Promise me, Greg. Promise.”

  His shoulders lowered.

  “Promise,” she said fiercely.

  “I won’t do anything without tellin’ you first, but I won’t promise anything beyond that. If you’re not better by morning, you’re goin’, and that’s final.”

  “We’ll see,” she muttered.

  She lay back. If the light from the window would quit stabbing her temples, she could sleep deeply enough to recover and show him that she would be fine. Terrell and Braden would be fine, too.

  But what if May kept declining?

  What if they couldn’t find Oliver?

  Her stubborn side dug in. Greg wasn’t the only one who could come up with crazy plans. He and Carrie had switched roles. She was the legal one now, which meant she’d take May to the hospital herself. She’d scrounge up the last of CJ’s money and…walk to Aurora? She didn’t know how she’d make the long trip, but she’d find a way.

  If only she could stop shaking.

  Hunkering down, she pulled the blankets tight and clenched every muscle to stop shivering. It didn’t
help. Greg tucked her hand back under and pressed down on her arm to help combat the shaking.

  “Tell me what to do,” he said. “Can I rub your arms to warm them up? Cuddle close? Build you a fire? What?”

  “Stay dead,” she said. “Stop overreacting. Stop scaring me to death.”

  “The greater good, Carrie,” he whispered.

  She glared at him. “Right. Which means no destroying neighborhoods or killing my friends—including yourself. We need this rebellion to succeed if we have any hope of a future. So whatever happens tomorrow, one month, five years, or five decades from now, you find a different way, Greg. You stay free.” The burning in her eyes won out, and tears spilled down her hot cheeks, blurring his bruised, haunted face. “Promise me.”

  With a long sigh, he finally nodded. “I promise.”

  Breathing easier, Carrie sank into her pillow, finally ready to sleep.

  After a minute, she felt Greg shift away from her. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “I’m gonna let you sleep now,” he said. Then he leaned down and kissed her. A long, lingering kiss that made the room spin. Even as he broke off, the room continued to swirl around her. But before she could scold him for exposing himself to more germs—or breaking his agreement to give her space—he stood.

  “I’ll be downstairs. Holler if you need me.” Then he slipped out of her room.

  It wasn’t until he left that she realized his kiss had the chilling sentiment of someone saying goodbye.

  His promise meant nothing.

  fifty

  AMBER SWEPT OUT THE nasty-smelling chicken coop, plotting ways to make Zach pay for this. It wasn’t her fault Carrie had found out about his escapades. But she kept sweeping because she promised Greg things would get taken care of while Carrie was sick.

  Richard slipped out of the Trenton’s back door, heading for the well. Amber dropped the broom and started over to him.

  “Not too close,” Richard called, waving her back.