Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  Her strength was returning, but not as quickly as she needed it to. She needed to get out of this place. She needed to make sure her friends weren’t following her fate—or worse.

  “Seventy percent?” Greg suddenly said loud enough they all turned.

  Horrified, Greg turned to Carrie.

  The emotions hit her all over again and she had to look away. Her hand went to her left ear even though no amount of tugging made the sound improve. Seventy percent hearing loss in one ear was better than one hundred percent in both—or so she told herself. It just made her feel lopsided, like she was turned sideways.

  “Is it permanent?” Greg asked.

  “Appears to be,” the doctor said. “Miss Ashworth’s heart and lungs are strong, her vital organs are functioning normally, however she’s experiencing residual effects in her hearing, vision, and vestibular-related functions. We’ll run some tests to give us a better idea of the damage.”

  Tests sounded expensive—too expensive for their situation—but both Greg and Oliver nodded.

  “When will her father be visiting?” the doctor asked.

  Father? Carrie shot Greg and Oliver a look. Her father had passed away five years ago.

  “Not sure,” Greg said evenly, “but he sent more money, around four hundred.”

  “That should be enough to start the tests,” the doctor said. “We’ll begin within the hour. If her father wishes to speak to me directly, I can be reached at extension 1205.”

  As the doctor and nurse left, Carrie fell back against her pillow, wondering how many lies it had taken to get her there–or how much money it was going to take to get her out. Her father? She shook her head—a bad idea considering her vestibular-related issues. Obviously Oliver hadn’t caught her up on everything.

  Greg came to her side and squeezed her hand. “You okay? Your coloring is a little better.” He spoke louder than necessary, and she tried not to let it irritate her.

  “Yes,” she said. “Where did you go?”

  “I’ve got a gift for you. For both of you, actually.” He grabbed the bag he’d dropped by her door and pulled out two white boxes. He handed one to her and one to Oliver. “There’s enough medicine in there to treat sixteen people. If we need more, I was told that I can come back anytime.”

  “Sixteen?” Carrie stroked the box. She couldn’t believe it.

  “You didn’t set any fires to get these, did you?” Oliver asked, opening his box to peek in.

  “Not this time,” Greg said.

  “This time?” Carrie’s head lifted, suddenly noticing the dark smudges on Greg’s clothing. Oliver really had told her nothing. “What happened?”

  Greg shot her another smile. “Ah, you missed out on some fun. But no fires for these. I just made a couple new friends. They gave me a new hall pass, too.”

  He lifted his lanyard to show off a new ID badge. Though it hurt to do so, Carrie squinted to make it out. His new badge was green like the other, but more square-ish with the word HOUSEKEEPING written across the top. Somehow, his small picture was in the corner.

  “How did you get that?” she asked. Then again, how did Greg do anything?

  “Apparently, there are a couple nurses here who are front-row fans of the rebellion.”

  He sat next to her on the bed and lopped an arm up behind her, almost around her shoulders but not quite. As he kicked his feet up on her blankets, he was the picture of complete ease. While she still had a thousand questions, a smile crept up on her. Greg was back—her Greg was back.

  “If people back home stayed quarantined,” he continued, “sixteen should be plenty. It makes me wonder if we should take my grandparents home now. They’re not gettin’ much treatment here anyway, plus they’re just burnin’ through money we don’t have.”

  “Do you know how to give shots?” Oliver said, fingering one of the syringes.

  Greg grimaced. “Kinda. I’m not a huge fan of needles, so I might have to convince somebody else to do the stabbing, but the nurses explained it three times and swore it wasn’t hard.”

  “Then,” Oliver said, “maybe it is a good idea to salvage some money. If Richard and your grandparents are up for it, I can drive them home now.”

  Home.

  That was all Carrie needed to hear.

  “I’m coming, too,” she announced.

  She sat up too quickly, and the room spun violently. Gripping the blankets, she squeezed her eyes closed until she felt steady again. By then, Greg was pushing her back against the bed.

  “Hold on,” Greg said. “You’re stayin’ until you’re better.”

  “I am better,” she said.

  “You’re barely better, and still worse off than anybody else. No. You need to stay and get those tests.”

  Tests.

  That solidified her decision.

  “We don’t have money for tests,” she said, “and the doctor already said the damage was permanent. Amber and Zach are home alone, and I don’t want to be here anymore, so I’m leaving.”

  Greg’s expression softened. He stroked her arm, sending warmth through her. “Zach and Amber are fine, and you won’t be here alone. I’ll stay with you. We’ll just stay long enough to see—”

  “Don’t fight me,” she whispered. “Please don’t fight me on this.”

  “Carrie…”

  Her throat started to burn, and she felt her energy wane. But Greg was one of the most stubborn people she knew, so she turned to Oliver instead. “Will you please take me home, Oliver?”

  Oliver glanced nervously at Greg. “Um…I think he’s right. I think you should stay while…” His mouth kept moving, but the rest of his quiet plea faded into hearing-loss oblivion.

  Hot tears of frustration filled her eyes, but she gritted her teeth and swung her feet over the other side of the bed. “Fine. I’ll walk.”

  She waited for the dizziness to pass and then planted her bare feet on the cold floor. At the same time, she started peeling off the white tape on her hand to remove her painful IV.

  “Wait,” Greg said, trying to snag her arm.

  Scooting out of his grasp, she ripped off the first row of tape. Her skin stung.

  “Carrie, wait,” he said, grabbing her shoulder instead.

  That didn’t stop her. The next row of tape took her arm hair with it, but she was almost free.

  Greg sprinted around the bed and grabbed her hands before she could yank the IV out. “You crazy woman, will you just listen to me?”

  Poor choice of words. Listening hurt. Everything hurt.

  She tried to squirm free.

  Greg bent down and looked her directly in the eye. “Look, I know you wanna go home, and I know you’re worried about your siblings, but for cryin’ out loud, you don’t know what it took to get you here!”

  She stopped.

  She could see the weariness in his eyes, the mused hair, the wrinkled, soot-stained clothes. In his face, she saw the absolute, complete, and utter desperation Greg had experienced—Greg and Oliver had experienced.

  She would have died.

  A chill ran through her that she felt to the depth of her soul. Without them, she would have been grave number nine in their clan’s cemetery. Her gaze dropped to the yellow citizenship card in the lanyard around her neck, to her picture, her name, and her liberty that still seemed like a dream.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t know.”

  She felt him exhale.

  But before he could get too comfy, her gaze lifted to his. “But I also can’t forget the future, Greg. Money means taxes, and taxes mean houses and gardens and safety for thirty-four people that I love.”

  “But—”

  “You left the clan to save it,” she whispered, squeezing his warm hands. “Let me go home to do the same.”

  Greg looked at Oliver. Looked back at her. He grunted, shook his head, growled a little, but finally dropped his shoulders.

  “Fine,” he said. “But only if we do this the right way
. The nurse unhooks your IV and gives us the green light before we do a single thing, alrighty?”

  “Alrighty,” she echoed with a smile.

  Straightening, he ran a hand over his brown mop of hair. “You know, you’re gettin’ bossy in your old age, Miss Ashworth.” He tried to give her a stern look, but she could tell he was fighting off a smile.

  “I learned from the best,” she said.

  That won her a chuckle.

  “Well,” Greg said, turning to Oliver, “you go find Richard, and I’ll track down Carrie’s nurse to see what it takes to get us the heck outta here.”

  * * * * *

  “How did we all fit before?” Carrie asked, shielding her eyes from the bright overhead sun that seemed to pierce right into her head. It had taken two full hours, but with paperwork signed and money paid, they were finally free.

  Almost.

  They stood in the hospital parking lot around Oliver’s patrol car—or Greg and Oliver stood while Carrie, Richard, May, and CJ leaned against Oliver’s hot car, needing something to keep them upright.

  With each hour, Carrie felt a little stronger, but walking took a crazy amount of energy. She had nearly toppled down a flight of stairs. At the top of the hospital stairwell, a huge wave of dizziness assaulted her. Greg kept tight hold of one hand while she gripped the handrail the whole way down. By the time they made it to the first floor, she felt like she’d walked a tightrope in a tornado. If they didn’t solve the car situation soon, she’d sink down to the hot asphalt for relief.

  May and CJ claimed they were feeling better, but both looked pale and drawn and needed help walking as well. But Richard concerned Carrie the most. He’d hardly said a word and wore a pained expression she felt. Anytime they stopped, he found a wall or car to lean against. Richard got the first shot when they made it home.

  If they made it home.

  Oliver unlocked the car doors, and trapped summer heat rushed out.

  “You three sickies take the back again,” Greg said.

  Richard, May, and CJ didn’t argue. Richard slumped against the window as soon as he slid in. That left two seats up front for three adults. Carrie’s head pounded from the bright sun.

  Greg opened the front door for her and then turned to Oliver. “Pop the trunk.”

  “Wait,” Carrie said, “can’t we just squish? I’m not letting you ride in the trunk again.”

  “I’m all for squishing, but you’d have to ride on my lap,” Greg said. “You okay with that?”

  Oliver shot Greg a dark look. “Or you can ride in the trunk, Greg.”

  “Whatever we do,” CJ said, “we should do quickly. That larger security officer is watching us.”

  “Get in,” Carrie said to Greg. Then she added, “Which is your bad leg?”

  “Neither.” Sitting, he took her hand and pulled her after him. She sat on one of his knees and leaned as far forward as she could, resting her heavy head against the hot dashboard.

  He mumbled something she couldn’t hear.

  “What?” she said.

  He shifted to speak in her good ear. “Sit back. C’mon. Get comfortable. It’s a long ride.”

  Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her legs across him and leaned her sideways into his chest. She pressed her cheek against his forehead, and somehow, all squished, he got the door shut. She felt herself blush at their close proximity—especially when she noticed Oliver watching them.

  As they drove home, the exhaustion set in. And yet overshadowing it, Carrie felt peace. And gratitude. And love, relief, and so much more. Even better, Greg seemed genuinely happy. His mom had begged him to fight for happiness, and he had. For reasons Carrie didn’t completely understand, his happiness included her. She relaxed against him.

  Greg’s grandparents and Richard slept in the back, and she couldn’t help but drift in and out herself. She woke when they reached the neighborhood.

  Oliver stopped at the Trenton’s house first.

  “Sorry,” Greg said, shifting beneath her, “but I should probably help get them inside.”

  “I’ll help, too,” Oliver said.

  Carrie would have offered, but in her state, she’d only make them more unsteady. Back stiff, she climbed out of the front seat to let Greg out. The quick rise made her head spin, but he gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

  “I’ll be right back,” he whispered. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  As if she could.

  Gripping the seat, she lay back and closed her eyes until the dizziness passed. When Oliver and Greg came out a few minutes later, she started to scoot up to make room, but Greg just grinned and climbed in the back seat.

  He seemed to be smiling a lot.

  By the time the three of them reached her house, Amber and Zach were on the porch, waving wildly. They looked perfectly healthy—how, Carrie didn’t know, but she was thrilled to see her two goofy siblings again. Sasha Green stood on her front lawn with the little boys, and Jada Dixon stood further down, stretching up high to see. The whole neighborhood had come out to see their return.

  Carrie got out and gave a little wave. She wanted them to know that the medicine was working, and help was on the way.

  “Carrie!”

  Turning carefully, she saw Amber barreling down the sidewalk. Amber would have knocked her over if Oliver’s car hadn’t caught her fall. Amber squished her in a huge hug. Zach joined in, too, creating a giant tangle of arms.

  “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay!” Amber squealed.

  “Alrighty,” Greg said, prying them off. “Go easy on her. She’s still wobbly.”

  They backed off, and Greg took their spot, wrapping an arm around her to help her up the sidewalk.

  They only made it halfway to the house when Carrie suddenly stopped. Her feet refused to go another step. She looked up at her two-story brick home. Then she scanned her jungled front yard.

  “What’s wrong?” Greg asked.

  Her house.

  Her yard.

  “This is mine,” she said in awe.

  “Yeah it is,” he said with another smile.

  She looked at every spot, every crack in the cement, every overgrown bush and tree that had sprouted in the grass the last six years. She could weed. She could plant vegetables. She could fix leaky roofs and broken doors. She could even hang pictures and do anything she wanted because this was hers. The house she had lived in her whole life. The yard she’d played in as a kid. Tossing baseballs, skipping rocks, singing Christmas carols, and every other wonderfully ordinary moment with her family. It had all been lived here.

  The memories. Her parents. Her pond.

  “This is mine,” she said again as her eyes filled. And not just hers. It was the clan’s, too. Twice the food. Twice the space. Twice the safety. Plus citizenship for her siblings.

  “What’s wrong?” Oliver said, joining them.

  Carrie was too overwhelmed to answer, so Greg did.

  “I think she’s tryin’ to figure out where to put her new vegetable garden. Possibly a swimming pool.”

  Smiling, Carrie broke away from Greg and threw her arms around Oliver.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  For a moment, Oliver froze, arms suspended mid-air. But then he relaxed and patted her back. “You’re welcome.”

  After a minute, he released her and cleared his throat. “Well, I should get to work. I’ll be back to check on things later.”

  As Oliver drove off, Greg helped Carrie the rest of the way up the cement stairs to the porch. At the doorway, he stopped and pulled her close. He tipped her chin up and leaned down for a long kiss. It was the kind of kiss that would have made her head spin regardless of her vestibular-related issues.

  When he pulled back, she slid her arms around him and lay on his chest to steady herself.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

  “Does this mean I gotta move that tomato plant of your
s?”

  She smiled. “No. I just might have to plant a hundred more.”

  “Why so few?”

  Laughing, she cocked her head back to look up at him. She intended to say something witty and hilarious—not that she knew how, but she wanted to make some joke about her garden spilling across the street into his yard. But then everything hit her all over again. What she had. What Greg had done for her. Oliver. Her family. Her home and her wonderfully perfect life.

  Her eyes pooled.

  “Thank you,” she whispered again.

  Greg squeezed her close. “Welcome home, neighbor.”

  epilogue

  OLIVER DIALED THE OFFICE as soon as he was on the road, dreading the next round of reprimands. Jamansky had paged him six times in the last hour, but Oliver had ignored every one. How many more excuses could he create before his boss fired him?

  “More car problems?” Jamansky said by way of hello.

  “I’m sorry, chief,” Oliver said into the phone. “I thought the mechanic had fixed the problem, but apparently—”

  “How was the hospital?” Jamansky interrupted.

  Oliver nearly drove off the road. He hit the curb and swerved back onto the street. “What?”

  “Did you have a nice visit? Tell me, it must be quite difficult to drive a broken-down car all the way to the medical unit in Aurora, don’t you think?”

  Jamansky knew. How did he know?

  How much did he know?

  Oliver’s pulse raced.

  “You will be here in five minutes,” Jamansky said, low and deadly. “Not a second more. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m already in Shelton.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  By the time Oliver screeched into the station, it had only been two minutes, but he was sweating up a storm. He resisted the urge to run inside and instead walked calmly up the front steps.

  Jamansky stood against Ashlee’s desk, arms folded, eyes cold and turbulent. Officers Portman and Bushing were there, too, and for some reason, so was Mayor Phillips. Ashlee Lyon was nowhere in sight.