Traitors.
A large sign hung on the guard tower next to them:
Joliet State Penitentiary.
Maximum security.
five
OLIVER WASN’T COMING BACK.
Dead.
Carrie covered her face as the grief consumed her. Oliver had barely dropped her off an hour ago. She had hugged and thanked him for buying her house—her liberty. He pretended like it was no big deal, like he hadn’t been saving his meager paychecks for years to buy a life-saving gift for a woman who wasn’t even in love with him. He said he would come back later to check on her.
He said he was coming back.
“Whoa, hey,” Jamansky said. “Hold on, Carrie. I meant to say that Oliver isn’t coming back for a while. Don’t cry.”
She looked up through blurred tears. “What?”
“Officer Simmons had to go away for training, that’s all. With the rebellion in our area, the federal government wanted to give some of our patrolmen specialized training in Virginia. Oliver is my eldest officer—without rank—so I had to send him. Think of this like a …promotion.”
“A promotion?” she said, wiping her cheeks. That was not how Jamansky had made it sound before. But he nodded.
“I tried calling him all day to let him know, but he was with you at the hospital. That left him no time to say goodbye. He had to rush home and pack because he leaves for Virginia first thing in the morning, even before the sun is up. But he’ll be back soon, so no tears. I can’t bear to see you unhappy.”
More lies. First, he announces Oliver would never be returning, making it sound like he was dead, and suddenly he says he would be back soon? Yet desperation forced her to consider the possibility that Oliver wasn’t hurt or in prison or dead. He was heading to training.
A promotion.
Greg had left for military training and almost hadn’t made it back. And even more, Oliver never would have left for that long without telling her—not willingly. He wouldn’t leave them to fend for themselves, or worse, be stuck in the hands of David Jamansky, his vilest enemy. Not without a warning.
What game was Jamansky playing? She didn’t know, but she decided to play along.
She rubbed her pounding head. “How long will he be gone?”
“Two months. Maybe longer. But enough about him. I’m worried about you. You look miserable. I can’t believe he let you leave the hospital. Did he run out of money or something? Wouldn’t surprise me with the way he overspends.”
She shook her head against the arm of the couch.
Jamansky’s expression darkened. “No point in covering for him, but whatever. I’ll just take you back.”
“Back?”
“To the hospital. At least until you’re steady on your feet.”
If she ever would be again.
Standing, he extended his hand to help her up. “Can you stand on your own or do you need me to carry you to my car?” Then he smiled. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Before she could answer, a loud thump sounded overhead. Both of them glanced up at the ceiling.
Jamansky’s hand flew to his gun. “What was that?”
Carrie’s heart jumped in her chest when she realized what it was—who it was.
“Oh, that’s my…my cat,” she said lamely.
“Your cat?”
She nodded desperately. Her two hundred pound, overprotective cat that was going to get them both killed if he didn’t calm down. Fast.
Too late.
David slid his gun out of the holster and, gripping it in both hands, inched backward—not toward the front door, but to the corner of her living room. His eyes darted around her house, to the stairs, to the window.
“Thank you for your offer, David,” she said, desperately trying to redirect both men, “but the hospital sent me home with plenty of medicine. I’m better off resting here. Please.”
For a long tense minute, there was no sound. Not upstairs nor down. She didn’t know if it truly was silent, or if her thundering pulse covered up what little she could hear. Greg could be shuffling toward the stairs for all she knew. David Jamansky stayed tensed in the corner, gun drawn, scanning every inch. If Greg stepped into the open, he was a dead man.
Terror clawed through her. “Please, David.”
David Jamansky’s gaze finally came back to her, although with none of the cordiality from before.
“I know everything, Carrie. Oliver told me about this house. About your…situation. I even know about your friends.” He motioned to the ceiling.
She felt the blood drain from her face. “What?”
His eyes narrowed in a challenge.
Game over. Bluff called. Her clan. He knew everything.
No, not everything.
The room spun because there was no way he knew that “dead” Greg Pierce had been the thumper, nor that Ashlee Lyon, David’s bruised girlfriend, now hid in Carrie’s bedroom. Because if he did, there would be war.
She gripped the couch. She had to keep him from searching her house—or better yet, get him to leave.
“Look, Carrie,” he said, louder than necessary, “I’m the new protector for your clan, so you don’t need to worry, and neither do your friends. I know your clan is peaceful, so I’ll take care of you—all of you—like Oliver has done. Only I’ll do it better.”
He reached out to take her hand, but she flinched back. His other hand still gripped his gun.
His brows lowered. “Oliver asked me to watch over you, so tell your buddies upstairs that everything will be fine while he’s gone—if not better because I’m the boss. I call the shots in the precinct. I know your clan isn’t part of the rebellion, so I’ll keep you safe. I’m your new protector.”
She felt like she was swimming upstream, water gushing over her. She couldn’t get above the surface long enough to see where the shoreline was, where true safety was.
His eyes hooded with concern—and annoyance. “You don’t trust me.”
“I…”
“I saw one of your illegal friends down the street,” he said, nostrils flaring, “but I left him alone, didn’t I?”
She knew she should nod—knew, but couldn’t.
For a moment, they stared at each other. Then, with a parting glance of the stairs, he put his gun back in the holster. “How about in an act of good faith, I tell you something so you know you can trust me. The next government sweep through here is Friday. My two youngest patrolmen are scheduled to do it. They’re inexperienced and idiotic, but I’ll make sure they don’t search any homes owned by citizens. To my knowledge, that’s this house and the Trenton’s, right?”
She nodded slowly.
“Good. It should be Friday, late evening. Does Oliver tell you anything else?”
Her mind was mush. She didn’t respond, but that didn’t stop him.
With a forced smile, he said, “Good. With time, you’ll see that I can be your greatest ally—more than Oliver ever was.”
“Thank you, David,” she said softly.
It seemed wrong to thank him—not after what he’d done to Mariah, Greg, Ashlee’s face, Scott Porter’s house, and potentially to Oliver as well. But she couldn’t think of anything else, so she refocused on her one goal: his absence.
With shaky legs, she pushed herself up. “I should sleep now.”
She struggled to the front door. Though it took a moment, he followed.
Jamansky stopped in her doorway, tall body looming over her in a way that made her feel claustrophobic—almost trapped—against the door. His uniform, with far more bands and patches than Oliver’s, only made him more intimidating. His eyes locked on hers, deep and penetrating, like he was searching for more deep, dark secrets within her. She lowered her lashes and waited for him to take the hint and leave.
Finally, he stepped back. “It’s nice to know where you live, Carrie. And you live so close to the precinct, too. Tell you what. Since you won’t let me drive you to the hospital, I’ll come back a
nd check on you tomorrow. I work until 6 p.m., so I’ll stop by after that. I’ll even bring you dinner—something far better than that awful burger Oliver got you at Harvey’s Deli.” He smiled. “How’s that sound? Do you like Chinese? There’s this place in Sugar Grove that makes some mean Szechuan chicken. Sound good?”
In a sudden rush, her brain kicked back into gear. She realized what he was offering. Jamansky would visit her tomorrow, and then what? The next day? The day after that? Becoming their protector, their friend, their…Oliver?
The hair on her arms stood up. This was wrong. This was very, very wrong.
“No, David,” she said, “you don’t need to check on me. Really.”
Ever again.
He smiled, but there was a hardness to it, almost a warning that sent another chill through her. “Oh, but I want to.” He dipped his head. “See you tomorrow, Carrie.”
Even with her impeded hearing, she heard his dark chuckle as he strode out to his car.
six
“IT’S TIME TO ABANDON Logan Pond,” Greg said.
When nobody responded, he turned. The healthy adults had congregated by the muddy pond. In an effort to maintain a safe distance, they stood several feet from the person next to them, making it a spread-out group. Every one of their mouths gaped. Every one, that is, but Dylan Green who scowled at Greg.
“What about the garden and chickens?” Jada Dixon asked. “What about our homes? When this patrol chief comes back tomorrow, can’t we just hide in the Trenton’s like we always do?”
“Who’s to say he won’t come back any minute with his whole squad and search warrants?” Greg said. “No. I say we leave now.”
“But if Carrie isn’t here when he comes back,” Sasha Green said, adjusting squirmy Jonah Kovach on her hip, “won’t that look more suspicious?”
“More suspicious? He already knows everything!” Had nobody listened to a word Greg had said? With the sun lowering, he felt time running out. It would be hard to move people in the dark. “Look, safety comes first. That’s been your motto from the beginning, so I say it’s time to abandon ship. The question is, where do we go? Maybe we just set up camp in the woods until we get a better grip on things, put the sickies in one spot and the healthy ones in another.”
“Greg…” Jada Dixon said carefully. Her husband, Terrell, was one of the sick ones, so she had come alone. “I think you’re overreacting a little. It sounds like this patrolman was friendly to Carrie. He left Dylan alone and he even told Carrie when the next raid is.” She turned to the group “Can you imagine what it would be like to have the patrol chief on our side? We wouldn’t have to hide anymore.”
Murmurs of agreement swept through the group.
“I say we wait to see if he makes good on his promise about the raid on Friday,” Sasha said. “Why else would Oliver have told him about us?”
Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oliver didn’t tell him. Oliver. Didn’t. Tell. Him!”
“What makes you so sure?” Dylan said, pointing at Ashlee Lyon. “Oliver told her. Oliver probably told his whole precinct about us.”
Ashlee stood near some brush, even farther from the group than the others. With each illegal who had gathered, she seemed to take another step back, looking out of place with her dyed-blonde hair, smeared make-up, and government uniform. Her chin dropped at Dylan’s words.
“Oliver didn’t tell Ashlee about us until he asked our permission,” Greg said. “But Oliver never trusted his boss. Not once. Not ever. For cryin’ out loud, Oliver was behind this guy’s arrest last spring! Since Jamansky was released from prison, he’s done nothin’ but make Oliver’s life miserable. I’m tellin’ you, whatever this patrol chief knows, he knows by force and force alone. Oliver’s not in some government training in Virginia. He’s either dead or behind bars.”
People gasped—ironic reactions considering none of them had been particularly friendly to Oliver Simmons. The only clansmen who really knew him, the only people who knew enough history between Jamansky and Oliver to understand the gravity of the situation, were too sick to attend the meeting.
Desperate, Greg turned to Ashlee. “Jamansky’s your boyfriend—or was until an hour ago. You know him better than any of us. Am I overreacting?”
“No, you can’t trust him,” she said. “He’s definitely lying. You should stay away from him.” Hugging her herself, she added softly, “We all should.”
“Says the spy,” Dylan said. “We’ve got green cardies all over the place. Maybe they’re trying to force us out because they know we’ll give them a fight.”
“Yeah. If we leave our houses now,” Sasha said, quick to agree with her husband, “we might never come back. They’ll target Logan Pond, maybe even turn it into government housing. These are our homes, Greg. We can’t just abandon them.”
Greg threw his hands in the air. After the financial collapse, these people hadn’t wanted to abandon their homes, not even after foreclosing. But they had—until President Rigsby tried to force every American into the slave camps he called municipalities. Now they’d rather go down with their houses than use common sense.
It was ridiculous.
“Listen,” Greg said. “If y’all are right, there’s no harm in sleepin’ somewhere else for a few days. But if I’m right, if Jamansky’s out for blood and we don’t leave, then we spend the rest of our miserable lives in prison.”
“Can’t we at least see what he wants first?” Sasha asked.
Greg’s gut clenched, and fury flooded his veins all over again. “I already know what he wants.”
“Oh, I get it,” Dylan said, shaking his head in disgust. “Is this about the safety of the clan, or because some guy made a pass at Carrie?”
Greg folded his arms. “The safety of the clan. Obviously. This guy is out for revenge on Oliver, and he knows Oliver loves Carrie. He also knows the rest of us are two hundred bucks a head if he turns us in.”
“If that’s the case,” Dylan said, “why didn’t you take him out today? He came alone. You could have easily ended this before it escalated.”
The comment stung because he was right. Greg should have ended this. Justice for Jamansky.
Then again…
“Carrie could have been caught in the crossfire,” Greg said. “Same with the others. It wasn’t worth the risk.”
Dylan grunted. “I say we take this patrol chief out when he comes back. Ambush him before he ever reaches the sub.”
“We could cut him off on the main road,” Greg said, nodding. “In training, they taught me how to—”
“Gentlemen, please!” Ron Marino interrupted with a dark scowl for both of them. “Taking down the chief of patrols will only bring down the wrath of the entire government on us. We have to think this through rationally.”
Rationality felt just out of Greg’s reach. He’d only slept a handful of hours over the last two days. Now he felt every lost hour of sleep.
“What does Carrie think?” Ashlee Lyon asked softly.
Good question. Carrie wouldn’t mind everyone else abandoning the neighborhood—anything to keep them safe—but she wanted to stay and confront David Jamansky about Oliver’s whereabouts, as if calling the guy out on his lies would go over well. As if one flimsy little yellow card could protect her when a green card hadn’t protected Ashlee—or Oliver.
Greg stiffened all over again.
Jamansky had pulled his gun within feet of her.
Szechuan chicken.
If Greg got his way, David Jamansky would never see Carrie.
Ever again.
“Carrie and I didn’t talk long,” Greg said. “She practically passed out once Jamansky left. Which reminds me.” He stopped to scan the group. “Has anybody else started with this virus?”
Thankfully, people shook their heads. That was something. He had meant to run around and check on everybody after the hospital, and then everything happened. Hopefully with their quarantines in place, they had stopped the spread
of the disease.
Greg turned to Amber. “How did the shots go?”
“I’m almost done,” Amber said. “Your grandma woke up for a second when I poked her. Terrell asked what took you so long. I just have Braden left.”
“Alrighty. Then let’s get all the women and kids out now, before it’s fully dark. The men and boys stay behind to pack up the rest of the homes.”
“And the sick people?” Jada asked.
“We’ll take them with us,” Greg said. “Try to keep them separate somehow.”
Although the thought of moving Carrie when she was already so wiped out sounded daunting. And she was a day ahead on medicine from the others.
Ron Marino shook his head. “I’m still not comfortable deciding anything without CJ, May, or Richard. What if we meet again in the morning, Greg? The patrol chief isn’t coming until tomorrow evening. Maybe the medicine will kick in enough that the others can voice their thoughts.”
“I agree,” Sasha said.
Others nodded with them.
In other words, they didn’t trust Greg’s judgment.
“Fine. We post guards starting now, with everyone on high alert. In fact, I’d feel better if everyone piled into the two legal houses. Then we meet first thing in the morning,” he said. “As for now, there’s still enough daylight for me to head into Sugar Grove.”
Ashlee Lyon’s head snapped up. “Sugar Grove? Why?”
“See if I can figure out where Oliver really went.” He hated the thought of dragging out his already-long day, but it had to be done. “Where does he live?”
“In the government housing, not too far from my house,” Ashlee said. “But you can’t go there, Greg. It’s too dangerous—and too far.”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 91
