Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  “A weapon?” Greg’s stomach dropped to the cement. “As in…biological warfare?”

  Pale and terrified, Oliver nodded. “President Rigsby’s way to win the war.”

  fifty-one

  GREG THOUGHT ABOUT ALL THE shots he’d received during training. He’d assumed they were immunizations, and maybe some were, but they also gave him boosters before he left with Isabel. And now he wasn’t sick even though he’d been exposed to Carrie more than anybody.

  Neither was Oliver.

  He put a hand on Oliver’s car to steady himself.

  Swelling of the brain.

  What did that even mean?

  “No,” Greg said. “You gotta be wrong.”

  Oliver didn’t respond. He didn’t even hear as he paced in front of his patrol car.

  Something Isabel had said suddenly sparked in Greg’s mind—or maybe it had been Commander McCormick—about them delivering a weapon to the rebels, even if they couldn’t get information. Isabel and Greg had been more than spies. They were hosts of some virus, some plague of President Rigsby’s creation. And it made sense. Rigsby couldn’t find all the illegals, so he’d wipe them out through simple strategy. Introduce a new strain of a disease, and let it spread among people with no access to medical help. Immunize those you want to save. Let the rest die. No guns would be fired. No civil war. They’d be peaceful, seemingly natural deaths.

  Genocide.

  How could you do this to Carrie? Greg wanted to scream, but he didn’t because he could have exposed her—and the others—just as easily. And maybe he had. His grandma had gone downhill so fast, she probably caught it from Greg, not Carrie.

  How many others had he infected? What happened when it spread through the clan?

  West Chicago?

  The whole rebellion?

  “It wasn’t supposed to be in this area yet. It wasn’t supposed to be,” Oliver said, rambling. “It’s deadly—purposely deadly. They said we had time, but-but-but obviously…”

  Greg looked up. “Tell me there’s a cure.”

  Oliver’s eyes darted back and forth over the driveway. “I don’t know. We received immunizations, but I don’t know if there’s anything they can do once you have the actual disease.”

  Greg grabbed him by the shoulders. “Tell me there’s a cure!”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

  “What in the world is going on?” Richard said, running up to the two men. Amber was right behind him.

  Releasing Oliver, Greg fell back against the patrol car, unable to speak. As Oliver filled Richard and Amber in, a single word kept chanting in Greg’s mind: Genocide. Genocide. Genocide. By the time Oliver finished, Richard looked like Greg felt. Amber burst into tears.

  “How long do they have?” Richard asked.

  If that didn’t sound like a death sentence…

  Greg pinched his eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after everything.

  “I don’t know,” Oliver said softly.

  Richard eyed his stepson. “They need doctors, Greg. Real doctors. Oliver, can you take them to the medical unit in Aurora?”

  Greg whirled. “Can they even treat it when it’s this advanced? Carrie started symptoms two and a half days ago.”

  “That long?” Oliver whispered.

  Amber whirled and started for the house. “I have to see her,” she said. Richard grabbed her, but Amber fought against him. “I want to see my sister!”

  “Not yet,” Richard said. “We can’t have you getting this, too. Just wait a minute, and let Oliver and Greg figure this out.”

  Greg stared at Oliver, feeling more despondent by the second. Brain swelling. Even if they could treat it, Carrie and the others could already have permanent damage. A thousand questions swirled in his mind with a thousand possible outcomes. None good.

  “Take her,” Greg said to Oliver. “Carrie already knows about her papers, so go. Take her!”

  Oliver’s jaw dropped. “Carrie knows?”

  “Yes. Go! You gotta take my grandma, too. She’s sick and Braden’s sick and…” His hands ran over his hair, ready to pull it out. How many would they lose? How many people would Greg watch die while he went on living a healthy life alone?

  “But, but,” Oliver stammered, “her papers haven’t been processed yet. They still need Carrie’s signature. She has to sign them before I can—”

  “Give me the blasted papers!” Greg roared. “I’ll sign them myself.”

  “Greg,” Richard said. “Let’s not do anything rash.”

  “Like killing millions of Americans? This is genocide, Richard. He’s gonna win. He can’t win!”

  “Who?” Richard asked.

  Greg pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to find some semblance of control. “President Rigsby will not take another person from me. Give me the papers, and I will forge Carrie’s name myself.”

  Though it took a second, Oliver nodded. He opened his car door and bent over the glove box a moment before handing Greg a set of folded documents.

  “Let me find a pen,” Oliver said.

  As Oliver searched his car again, Greg unfolded the papers. He read the title and froze. “What is this?”

  Oliver was still digging through his car.

  Greg scanned the words. The papers weren’t a marriage license or even citizenship papers. They looked like business papers, real estate papers. He pulled them close in the fading sunlight and scanned the heading once, then twice to be sure.

  His head whipped up. “You bought Carrie’s house?”

  “He what?” Richard cried.

  “Let me see.” Amber practically climbed over Greg to get to the papers.

  Greg finally had enough sense to swat her back. “What are you doin’, Amber? I’ve been exposed. You wanna die, too?”

  Amber held out her arms. “I’ve been around Carrie, too. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Greg cursed under his breath. Still, he backed away from her and stormed over to the patrol car.

  “This isn’t a marriage license,” he said, holding it up.

  Oliver’s brows shot up. “Why would it be?”

  Greg reread the tiny print. He’d never read a deed to a home before, but that’s the only explanation for what he saw. He’d assumed Oliver went the same path Greg wanted in getting Carrie legal, but Carrie wasn’t married. She was a homeowner. Like his grandparents.

  A yellow cardie.

  “Holy heaven almighty,” Greg breathed. “You bought Carrie’s house. How?” It’s not like patrolmen made oodles of money. They got a small living stipend for food and clothing.

  Oliver’s face turned red. “I’ve been saving for a while.”

  “How long?” Greg asked.

  Oliver shrugged, which Greg took to mean years.

  “I started the paperwork after that raid a few months ago,” Oliver said, “but…but it takes a while for the government to clear homes. I got the final papers last week.”

  “Why didn’t you tell her?” Greg asked. Why didn’t you tell me? he thought desperately. She was free.

  She’d been free this whole time.

  “I don’t know if she wants this,” Oliver said. “Look at what your citizenship did to you, Greg. This could backfire.”

  All Greg could think of was another home for the clan, another yard for a garden, chickens, goats, or whatever they wanted. All without ties to Oliver. Carrie was free in more ways than one. And she wasn’t the only one.

  His gaze lifted to Amber.

  “Does this mean what I think it does?” Amber whispered. When Greg nodded, her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh! I love you, Oliver!”

  “This is amazing,” Richard added, looking at the paperwork.

  “No!” Oliver insisted. “You don’t understand. This deed is nothing without Carrie’s signature, and processing, and cards, and so much other stuff we don’t have time for. Everything takes time, and it’s the weekend, and I can’t d
o it without—”

  “I’ll forge her name,” Greg said, snatching the pen from Oliver. He’d never seen Carrie’s signature. Heck, he’d never even seen her handwriting before, but he could fake a few girly loops. “Where do I sign?”

  Oliver pointed out the spots, but before Greg could write, Amber yanked the pen from him.

  “Let me. This is my house now.” Amber pushed the papers against Oliver’s patrol car and signed every spot he pointed to. “Now what else do we have to do to get my sister legal?”

  “I have to get this processed,” Oliver said, “and then somehow get her a yellow card—which is a whole new set of paperwork and signatures and—”

  “But you were gonna show these papers on the drive,” Greg said. “Why not in the hospital?”

  “Because the hospital’s different,” Oliver said in exasperation. “They track patients through their cards—their actual cards. They use scanners to disperse medicines and payments and everything. Your grandma already has her card, but I can’t fake Carrie’s or tell them that her paperwork is being ‘processed.’ We have to do this the right way, Greg.”

  “Which means…?” Richard prompted.

  Oliver ticked off the list on his fingers. “I need Carrie’s picture, several signatures, and so much paperwork that I just…we just can’t…” His shoulders sagged. “That’s not even the worst part. I’m out of money. This house drained my resources. If I pay Carrie’s taxes to get her the green light, I won’t have enough for the hospital.”

  “CJ has money,” Richard said.

  But it wouldn’t be enough. Greg knew it wouldn’t be enough to treat Carrie and his Grandma—plus more people as this kept escalating. He just shook his head. “Forget the money. You get Carrie through those hospital doors, and we’ll figure out the rest.”

  “But it’s the weekend,” Oliver said. “The township offices are closed until Monday. I don’t know how to make this work in time.”

  Time.

  Something they didn’t have.

  Greg had been trained all about citizenship scanners. If Carrie’s card didn’t turn the light green, officers were required to take her into immediate custody, no questions asked, no exceptions. She’d never get through the hospital doors, let alone treatment.

  “Please,” he begged. “You gotta help.”

  “Please, Oliver,” Amber added, tearing up again. “There has to be a way.”

  Oliver thought for a moment, and then his head rose. “What about Ashlee?”

  “Yes!” Greg said. “Ashlee will help. Bribe her if you have to.”

  “Okay. That might help with processing,” Oliver said. “But I still need Carrie’s signature at least a dozen more times, plus her picture. Do you really think she’s up for a trip into town?”

  “I’ll go with you,” Amber said suddenly.

  All of them turned.

  “Why not? This is my house, too,” Amber said. “I can sign Carrie’s name as many times as Oliver needs. I can help him with anything else, too.”

  Greg considered it before looking at the others. “Well?”

  “No way,” Richard said adamantly. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “But isn’t Amber protected by that deed, too?” Greg asked.

  “That’s right,” Amber said. “I am.”

  Oliver nodded slowly. “Having you there would help. Are you okay with being gone a day or longer?”

  Greg tensed. “Carrie doesn’t have that long.” Not with her brain swelling. “You gotta make this work tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Oliver choked.

  “Yes.”

  “No problem,” Amber said, taking Oliver’s arm. “We can do this. Right, Oliver?”

  Oliver didn’t seem to share her optimism.

  “I have my card now, too,” Richard said. “If it will help, I can accompany you tonight—and also to the hospital when it’s time.”

  “It’s probably best for you to stay with May and CJ for now,” Oliver said. “But it will help having you at the hospital.” Scanning their small group, he finally squared his shoulders. “Alright. I still need a picture of Carrie for her ID card.”

  Greg studied Amber’s dark features at the same time the others did. Unfortunately, the Ashworth sisters looked nothing alike, and this wasn’t something they could fake.

  “Do you have a camera with you?” Greg asked.

  Oliver frowned. “A lousy one on my phone.”

  “Good enough.” Greg turned to Richard. “Have Grandma ready to leave the second they get back. Amber, run around and tell everybody they’re on house arrest until further notice. Oliver, grab your phone. Let’s go see if we can wake up Carrie.”

  Amber tugged on Greg’s arm before he could leave. “What about Braden? You can’t forget Braden and Terrell. They’re only a couple days behind Carrie, and if anyone else gets this…”

  “We’ve gotta see if this works first,” Greg said. “Then we’ll work on the next step.”

  Her dark eyes filled. “Which is…?”

  Another burst of rage shot through Greg as he thought about President Rigsby and his plan to kill millions of his own people. Worse, McCormick and Isabel had known about it, too.

  It was unforgivable.

  “If there’s a cure,” Greg said, “we’re gonna have to steal it. A lot of it.”

  Oliver gasped. Richard did, too. But Amber threw her arms around Greg. “Thank you. Tell Carrie that I love her.”

  “I will.” Greg looked her in the eye. “I’m countin’ on you to help Oliver to be bold and bossy. Don’t let him take no for an answer. Ashlee’s gotta get this processed tonight. Make it happen.”

  “I will,” Amber said.

  “Good.” Greg motioned to Oliver. “Let’s go.”

  fifty-two

  “KNOCK LOUDER,” AMBER HISSED from the dark bushes.

  Oliver grunted under his breath. Amber was bossier than Greg, if that was even possible. A few hours together, and he was ready to handcuff her to the car.

  His hand rose to knock again but stopped as he glanced around the dark neighborhood. House after white house of government housing sat with porch lights on like this one. His own house was a few streets over. It was nearly midnight. If Jamansky was staying at Ashlee’s tonight, Oliver could kiss this whole plan goodbye.

  “Come on!” Amber whispered impatiently.

  Oliver’s muscles tensed as he went through everything that could go wrong, but he knocked louder than before. Seconds later, he heard soft footsteps inside Ashlee’s small home. The footsteps stopped on the other side of the door.

  Oliver stood directly in front of the peephole.

  “Ashlee,” he whispered as loud as he dared—at least he hoped it was Ashlee. “It’s me, Officer Simmons.”

  The door cracked open and Ashlee peeked out with puffy, sleep-weary eyes. “Oliver? What are you doing here?”

  “Is David here?” Oliver whispered.

  “Yeah, he’s asleep.” She tightened her pink bathrobe. “Do you want me to get him?”

  “No!” If Jamansky caught wind of this—especially who Oliver was doing this for—they’d all be dead. Amber grunted from the bushes, and Oliver took a deep breath. “No. I’m here for you. Is there any way you can help me? As in, right now?”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. But I have a life or death situation.”

  Eyes widening, she scanned him head to toe. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. I, I…”

  Why hadn’t he practiced?

  Moths buzzed around the porch light as he struggled with how to ask her. From the bushes, Amber rolled her hands, urging him to use the excuse she’d created, some contrived story about the Shelton township office catching fire.

  Oliver lowered his voice and asked straight out. “Can you come with me to Shelton right now to process some paperwork? It will only take a few minutes. Well, an hour. Maybe two.”
>
  Ashlee eyed him. “Have you been drinking, Officer Simmons?”

  “No.”

  He knew this was a bad idea.

  “Ohhh,” she said slowly. “Is this about that project?”

  “No.” If only it was something so easy. Feeling his options dwindling, he said, “I just really need your help, but we can’t discuss it here. I’ll explain in the car. No one can know about this, especially David.”

  She glanced over her shoulder as if she was actually considering his insane request. But if she waited much longer and David Jamansky woke up, Oliver would have a whole new set of problems.

  “We can wait until you’re able to sneak away,” Oliver said. “Actually, we can’t wait very long because it’s an emergency, but if you need a few minutes to—”

  “We?” Ashlee whipped around and searched the darkness.

  On cue, Carrie’s dark-haired sixteen-year-old sister stepped out from behind the bushes.

  “Hi,” Amber said with a friendly wave.

  Ashlee jumped back with a cry of alarm. She clapped both hands over her mouth and closed her eyes until she regained control. Then she glared at Oliver. “Officer Simmons, what kind of mess are you in?”

  More than he could handle.

  “I swear I’ll explain,” he said. “Please. We need to hurry.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Barefooted, Ashlee stepped onto the cement porch, pink robe and all, and quietly shut her front door. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  Oliver gaped at her. “Really? You’ll help me?”

  “Yes. Don’t ask me why.”

  “What about David?” he said. “What if he wakes up and sees that you’re—”

  “Oliver!” Amber hissed from the grass.

  “What?” he said.

  It was a valid question.

  “David is a deep sleeper,” Ashlee said. “Plus, he can go to hell. Where’s your car?”

  * * * * *

  “How long are you staying?” Tucker asked.

  Zach settled on Tucker’s floor, trying to find a comfortable spot. Tomorrow Tucker would take a turn on the floor. Zach twisted onto his back again. “I don’t know. Until Carrie gets better, I guess.”