Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  Amber folded her arms, irritated with the whole quarantine thing. “How’s May?”

  “Worse. So is Carrie.”

  That wasn’t good. At least Greg was there. He would know what to do.

  “Have you checked on Braden again?” Amber said.

  Richard grabbed the water bucket. “Last I heard, he just had a slight fever. Nothing to worry about yet.”

  “Yet?”

  What kind of word was that?

  “Tell you what,” Richard said with a smile, “after I get May some water, I was going to make the rounds and check on everyone anyway, including your sister and Braden. If you’d like—”

  “Yes! I’ll go,” Amber said, jumping forward.

  Richard chuckled. “I was going to offer to give them a message for you.”

  “Oh, please can I come? I promise to stay far back away from everyone.”

  “Alright,” Richard said. “Give me a few minutes.”

  Amber washed her hands and finger-combed her hair even though she wouldn’t be allowed to see Braden. She’d never seen her clan so paranoid about germs.

  Once Richard finished, Amber followed him a safe distance down the street.

  “Is this really that serious, Richard? I thought Carrie and the others just have colds or something.”

  “It’s hard to tell,” Richard said. “It’s spreading rapidly, so we thought we’d better be safe, especially without doctors or medicines.”

  Amber thought about the number of graves in the cemetery. Most of those had started as simple illnesses, too. A wave of panic swept through her. Braden promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to her—wouldn’t let her die—but he had never promised the same for himself.

  Or anyone else.

  While Richard grilled Mrs. Ziegler, Amber stayed on Braden’s driveway, fretting and watching the upper window. After a few seconds, Braden appeared. He looked tired but gave her a tiny wave, flashing his red bracelet. She wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it as she waved back.

  * * * * *

  Greg ended up on Carrie’s front porch, too wound up to nap like he should have. After several nights of fitful sleep and a full day in Carrie’s unbearably hot room, he was on edge. His leg and shoulder were on the mend but still ached, so he closed his eyes and let the summer breeze cool his damp skin.

  He left the front door cracked open so he could hear if Carrie called him. Not that she would. Really, he was just waiting for her to fall asleep so he could sneak back into her room.

  He spotted Richard and Amber coming down the street. Richard waved and stopped on Carrie’s sidewalk fifteen feet away, their determined “safe distance.”

  “How’s Carrie?” Richard asked.

  Greg frowned. “Still declining, but she finally woke up for a few minutes. She’s burnin’ up and squints a lot. The light really bothers her eyes, more than it should for a simple fever.” He sighed. “How about Grandma?”

  “About the same,” Richard said. “Has Carrie said anything about being dizzy?”

  “No, but she hasn’t exactly been upright.”

  “Your grandma can hardly walk. She says the room keeps spinning. CJ hasn’t left her side, so he’ll probably start with it next.”

  So would Richard with the amount of time he was spending at his in-laws. Greg still wasn’t convinced that he hadn’t given this to everyone. Who knew what he’d been exposed to in his time away. Except he hadn’t been sick during training, not even once.

  “Braden didn’t seem too bad,” Amber said behind Richard.

  He’ll get there, Greg thought.

  “Well,” Richard said, “your grandma agreed to go to the hospital if she’s not feeling better in the morning. She put up a fuss about money, but I reminded her that you and your mom aren’t paying taxes anymore.”

  Greg nodded. Now for the problem of getting them there. Ten miles, one way. “Don’t suppose Dylan’s back?”

  “He came back to report, but no sign of Oliver. Dylan’s back in town again, watching for him.”

  If Oliver didn’t show up soon, Greg would have to move to plan B, regardless of what he’d promised Carrie. But that still didn’t solve the transportation issue—unless Isabel had a car she might lend him, but he wasn’t sure how to get a hold of her either.

  “Carrie refuses to go,” Greg said. “She wants to sleep it off, but if she’s not better by morning, I’m makin’ her go with Grandma. Any suggestions how to get them there?”

  Richard jerked back. “Carrie? She’s an illegal. She can’t go.” When Greg said nothing, Richard shook his head tiredly. “What grand scheme are you planning now?”

  Greg folded his arms. “Carrie has papers. She’s legal.”

  “What?” Richard and Amber said at the same time.

  “How?” Amber added.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Greg said. “Oliver got them for her a few months back. She just found out.”

  Richard let out a long breath. “If that’s the case, we really need to find Oliver. Don’t do anything until we’ve talked again, Greg. Amber and I are making the rounds to make sure no one else has contracted it. Then I’ll head back to your grandmother’s and stay the rest of the evening. We’ll talk again in the morning.”

  Morning seemed like forever away, but Greg nodded. “Alrighty. Thanks for keepin’ an eye on them for me.” He rubbed his weary eyes. “Hey, Amber, before you head around, can you find me a couple nails? Ron Marino should have some. Just leave them on the front porch.”

  “Okay,” Amber said, giving him a weird look. “Catch you in a bit, Richard.”

  Richard watched her go but didn’t leave. When she was out of earshot, he turned back.

  “Greg…” he said in a slow, fatherly tone, “I know you’re worried, but Carrie will be fine. Sometimes these things just need to run their course.”

  Like Kendra? Greg wanted to snap. Like everybody else?

  He wasn’t risking it.

  “Carrie is strong, young, and healthy.” Pausing, Richard waited until Greg looked at him. “You won’t lose her, too.”

  Too.

  A horrible word.

  Greg stared down at the cement.

  “I don’t know what craziness you’re planning,” Richard continued, “but whatever Carrie has, whatever this is, it’s not the same as—”

  “Check on the others,” Greg interrupted. “Let me know if anything changes.”

  With a sigh, Richard nodded.

  Greg watched him go, feeling more sleep deprived by the minute. He kept snapping at people, but his nerves were strung too tight. There was something off about this illness, about the way Carrie squinted and shook like crazy, that told him this was more than the simple flu.

  Heading back inside, he crept upstairs and found Carrie where he left her: curled up under her mass of blankets in a room that could melt metal with its trapped heat. She was out cold, but the heels of her hands were pressed against her eye sockets to block any light.

  He went to Zach’s room and grabbed the last blanket. Amber dropped off the nails a few minutes later. Then Greg found a rock and nailed up the blanket to block Carrie’s window. The blanket wasn’t quite big enough to cover the window, and a small sliver of sunlight still streamed in, but hopefully it would help.

  She hadn’t even budged with his hammering.

  Crossing the room, he checked Carrie’s forehead hoping her fever would break. Maybe then he could crack open a window. But her forehead stayed red-hot and the rest of her stayed ice-cold, making him wonder how long she could maintain a fever that high.

  He ran a finger along her parted lips. They were no longer moist and soft. They were cracked and hot. The dehydration was worsening.

  That got him moving.

  “Carrie?” He nudged her. She needed to drink. Food would be even better. “Carrie?” he said more loudly. “C’mon, you gotta drink somethin’. Up and at it.”

  She moaned but gave in.

  Helping her u
p, he got a few sips of water in her before she started to reach for her pillow.

  “Wait. How about some food?” he said. “Noodles? Soup? What sounds good?”

  She grimaced. “My head hurts.”

  “I know, but you should eat anyway. Or maybe more water?”

  But she was already curling up under her blankets. With a sigh, he let her go. Maybe sleep was for the best. Sitting next to her, he brushed some damp hair off her forehead.

  Her eyes fluttered open, squinty and pained. “Thanks, Dad,” she said with a weak smile.

  Greg’s hand froze.

  Pressing the heels of her palms to her eye sockets again, her breathing returned to a soft hush-hush in the silent room while his pulse drummed in his ears.

  Thanks, Dad.

  Her father had been dead for five years.

  He shook it off.

  Tired, hot, and ornery, he lay down on the carpet next to the mattress he’d stolen from Tucker’s brother. His eyes drooped under the strain of the day, the week, the year. Giving in, he closed them, but sleep still escaped him as he thought about what Richard had said.

  You won’t lose her, too.

  An ironic statement because you couldn’t lose something you never had. With her lashes on her cheeks, her light hair spilled across the pillow, he pictured lying beside Carrie every night for the rest of his life.

  She was going to be just fine.

  He would make sure of it.

  Commander McCormick never specified what kind of special privileges came with Greg’s green card, but it had to include ways to get around government red tape. Wiggle room. If Oliver didn’t show up soon, Greg was going to need a lot of wiggle room. He just hoped it was enough. If needed, he’d go into town and borrow the phone there. One call to Isabel. That was all it would take.

  Hopefully.

  He didn’t realize he’d dozed off until he heard an engine outside. Even then, it took his sluggish brain a moment to realize who it was.

  Oliver!

  Finally.

  Greg rubbed his eyes, wondering how long he’d slept. The small sliver of light shining in Carrie’s window had a golden, early evening hue to it. He ran downstairs and whisked the door open before Oliver could knock.

  The patrolman couldn’t have been more shocked to see Greg, of all people, standing in Carrie’s doorway. Oliver wasn’t dressed in uniform but looked more casual in jeans and a button-down shirt. He held a handful of wildflowers, flowers that seemed to droop at the sight of Greg emerging from Carrie’s house, blurry-eyed and disheveled.

  Greg stepped onto the porch and shut the door, forcing Oliver back as well. “Finally. Where the heck have you been?”

  “Nice to see you, too,” Oliver said. “Nice to know you’re not dead. I don’t suppose you could have warned me before I received your death notice and had a heart attack? I assume there’s a logical explanation why the government thinks you’re dead?”

  “Yeah. Long story.” It felt like years since he’d last seen Oliver. Too much to explain now. “Thanks for helpin’ my mom, by the way. Richard said you’re the only reason she made it home alive, so I’m eternally indebted to you. However”—his muscles tightened—“I have a beef to pick with you. A few beefs actually.”

  “Don’t you always.” Oliver eyed Greg’s messy hair. “Look, I’m sorry to have interrupted…whatever, but I really need to see Carrie. She invited me to dinner, so I’ll talk to you another—”

  “Dinner?” Greg cut in. “Dylan didn’t find you?”

  “No. I’ve been in Joliet all day for some training. Why? Was he looking for me?”

  Greg’s temper flared. Oliver was here for a date.

  Date number two.

  “Follow me,” Greg said, starting down the sidewalk towards Oliver’s car.

  Oliver huffed. “I’m not in the mood for this, Greg. I really need to talk to Carrie.” And yet he followed.

  When they were far enough away from the house that Carrie couldn’t overhear, Greg whirled on him.

  “What were you thinkin’ taking Carrie into public?”

  Oliver’s brows shot up, but only for a moment. Then his jaw set. “I understand your concern, but I didn’t know my boss was going to show up. I assure you that Carrie was safe the whole time. She handled Jamansky perfectly.”

  Greg’s blood pressure shot through the roof. “She met Jamansky? The slime ball who murdered my mom!”

  Oliver took a step back. “Nothing happened.”

  “Nothin’ happened, huh? Like her getting sick?”

  Oliver blanched. He glanced back at the house. “Carrie’s sick?”

  “Yeah. Real sick. My grandma, Braden, and Terrell, too. If this continues to spread, we could have an epidemic on our hands, only unlike you people,” he spat, “we’re helpless to deal with it.”

  “Carrie’s sick?” Oliver repeated. He stared down at the ground as if trying to pinpoint the exact moment she had caught something on their date. Greg could have, and he wanted to punch the guy for it.

  “Look, Greg,” Oliver said, “I realize you’re mad at me—which you have every right to be—but let me help her.”

  “No. I will take care of this. You will stay away from her from now on.”

  Oliver went rigid. “That’s not your choice to make.”

  “You’re right, but it’s hers, and she’s made it.”

  Mostly.

  Greg knew he was pushing it, but the lack of sleep and trauma of everything else made civility impossible.

  “She said that?” Oliver said, sounding hurt. “That…that I should stay away from her?”

  When Greg couldn’t respond truthfully, the tall patrolman glared at him.

  “I didn’t think so. Need I remind you that you’re dead, Greg. You’re in no position to help her financially or legally, but I am. I can take her to a doctor. Let me see her.”

  Deep down, Greg knew Oliver was right. That was the reason he’d sent Dylan into town, but Greg couldn’t give it up—give her up.

  Not again.

  Arms folded, he blocked the sidewalk. “You’re not goin’ in there. The house is quarantined.”

  “Quarantined? What does she have?”

  “She says it’s the flu, but it’s different. She’s actin’ weird. Even if it is just the flu, it could easily turn into…” Greg trailed off when Oliver’s face went white. “What?”

  “What are her symptoms?” Oliver asked suddenly.

  “Crazy high fever, migraine, aches, chills, and she’s slept for two days straight. My grandma’s dizzy, too. Why?”

  “Is her neck stiff?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Is her neck stiff?” Oliver said, practically shouting. “Does she have pain behind her ears?”

  “I don’t know! I think she mentioned somethin’ about her neck.”

  Oliver backed up, shaking his head. Then he straightened with a sudden look of determination. “I have to see her.”

  He started around Greg, but Greg grabbed his arm. “Nobody’s allowed in there.”

  Yanking free, Oliver shoved a finger in his face. “Don’t touch me again. I’m going in there, and you will not stop me. You have no idea what’s going on here.”

  Oliver pushed past and ran through the front door, taking the stairs two at a time. With his bad leg, Greg struggled to follow while his mind spun with those words, You have no idea what’s going on here. By the time he caught up, Oliver was kneeling next to Carrie’s mattress.

  “Carrie?” Oliver whispered. “Carrie?”

  No response.

  “Carrie?” he said a little louder, shaking her gently.

  “She’s only woken up a few times,” Greg said. “And it’s getting harder to wake her up.”

  Oliver grabbed her hand. “Carrie, I’m really sorry, but can you try to wake up?”

  Her lashes flitted open. She squinted hard and finally noticed someone crouched in front of her.

  “Oliver?” she c
roaked.

  “Sorry to wake you,” Oliver said. “I just need to—”

  “Dinner,” she moaned. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I just need to ask you something. Greg said your head hurts. Can you tell me where?”

  She closed her eyes. “Everywhere.”

  “I know, but does it hurt one place more than another?”

  Though it took a moment, her hand slipped out of her blankets and patted a spot behind her ear. Oliver’s eyes flew to Greg in a panic. That panic transformed into sheer terror for Greg, and he didn’t even know why. Was that not a normal place for a migraine?

  Oliver turned back to her. “Is…is your neck stiff?”

  “Yeah.” Her words were slow and slurred. “Sorry…dinner.”

  He managed to smile down at her. “Don’t be. Go back to sleep, okay?”

  Standing, Oliver walked past Greg, down the stairs and all the way out to his car. Greg limped behind, feeling himself going numb with dread.

  “What is it?” Greg asked. “What does she have?”

  Oliver paced in front of his car, hands running over his thinning hair. “No, no, no.”

  “What is it?”

  Back and forth, Oliver went until Greg grabbed his arm.

  “Oliver!”

  “I think, I think she has G-979.”

  “Which is…?”

  “I hadn’t heard of it until a week ago. They said”—Oliver swallowed—“it’s similar to meningitis, but more severe. The brain swells. Symptoms include a high fever, neck stiffness, and…a horrible headache behind the ears.”

  Meningitis. From the little Greg knew, meningitis wasn’t great, but it was treatable. At least, he hoped.

  “So, what do we do?” Greg asked.

  Oliver stopped and stared at him, looking suddenly ten years older. “I don’t know. I heard rumors. I mean, I heard things during training that this…this isn’t…”

  “Isn’t what?”

  Oliver started pacing again, faster, nearing the hyperventilation stage. “I think the government created this, Greg. I think it’s their newest weapon. They…they tweaked the disease, messing with it to make it purposely deadly. They never said as much, at least not officially, but…” He shook his head. “But why else warn us about it? Why give us so many shots? People were talking, Greg, and, and…”