Then again, what would Carrie want?
The slime ball of a patrol chief smiled. He already knew he’d won.
Insides twisting with something dark, Greg nodded. “Fine. How soon will I have Carrie back?”
“You mean, how soon will Carrie be out of prison? You’re assuming she even wants to come back here.”
Greg’s fists clenched. “The deal is only valid if you return her to me.”
“Oh, I’ll ask her if she wants to come back, but it’s my duty to lay out all of her choices for her. Make sure she knows that she has more”—Jamansky’s smile grew—“favorable options.”
“If that’s the case,” Greg said, “then I’ll only testify against Officer Simmons after she and her siblings are safely returned to me. That includes the deed to her home and her citizenship restored.”
Game was up, and Jamansky knew it.
He glared at Greg. “You do your part, Pierce. I’ll do mine. I’ll have her out by the trial. Now, here’s what you need to do.”
twenty-eight
OLIVER PACED HIS SMALL CELL. It had only been a few days, obviously not enough time for his letter to arrive, but he couldn’t help but wonder what the fallout would be, if any.
Would the feds believe him?
Would it even make a difference?
For all he knew, Reef had botched the letter, and no one would get anything anyway.
Worse than being locked up, worse than the lack of food, hygiene, soft mattresses, clean clothes, showers, medicine, entertainment, air conditioning, private toilets, or any of the other things prison deprived him of, was not knowing. That was what killed him. He knew nothing happening in the outside world. His letter. His friends. His precinct. Even the revolution. Not knowing. That was the real punishment of prison. It was enough to drive him mad.
“Tell me again how you worded the letter,” Oliver said.
Reef clasped both hands behind his head, sprawled out on the bottom bunk, one leg kicking lazily over the side. “Just like you said.”
Oliver told himself to calm down. It would work.
It had to.
He paced another moment. Normally this new government turned a blind eye to corruption among their own. President Rigsby’s entire cabinet reeked of corruption at the highest levels. They didn’t care one bit if their local leaders were fattening their own pockets with under-the-table deals. But when those local leaders started stealing from them, cutting into their profits?
Oliver hoped it was enough.
It had to be.
His ulcers flared. He rubbed his stomach, missing his antacids. Maybe he could give this plan a little nudge.
“Any chance you’d be willing to send another letter?” he asked.
“You know,” Reef said with a pointed look, “you’re rather gutsy for a scrawny guy. I’m only allowed two letters a week. What makes you think you get both?”
“This one is equally important, life or death.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong here,” Reef said, “but you don’t exactly have much left to offer.”
Oliver couldn’t argue with that. The first letter cost him every other meal. He couldn’t offer to do Reef’s work detail because they didn’t even work in the same areas. Plus, the guards didn’t let inmates help other inmates.
Figuring he could survive on one meal a day, Oliver said, “What do you want?”
“Hmmm. What do I want? I’ll figure out the price later. First, who is this next letter for? It better be some hot chick, because I’m not wasting another letter on another lame government agency.”
“No,” Oliver said. “This letter is for a friend.” If he could even call her that after what he’d done.
“Boring.” Reef closed his eyes as if to go back to sleep.
“She’s female.”
The second Oliver said it, he regretted it. Prison created lonely men desperate for any kind of entertainment, even in the form of stories. Female encounters and past escapades seemed to be a favorite topic, especially with Reef. The tales Oliver had heard made him want to scrub his ears out with bleach. Most of the stories were revolting, disgusting, and greatly exaggerated.
Reef lifted his head. “Is she hot?”
With a sigh, Oliver nodded. Ashlee Lyon was pretty. Very pretty. Even she knew it.
It was a one in a million chance he wasn’t too late, one in a million chance she would even get a letter from him. But he had to try. No one else he knew received mail—at least, no one he could trust. Plus, he had been the one who dragged Ashlee into his nightmare. She had just been an innocent bystander, someone trying to help a friend—or rather, a coworker. Now he had to help her, warn her somehow. Assuming it wasn’t too late.
Reef rubbed his hands together. “A nice, hot babe. Alright. Let’s talk price.”
* * * * *
Ashlee Lyon pulled the borrowed t-shirt up over her nose. Stinky goat smell still seeped through.
“I’ve been to Bristol’s Home for Girls,” she said through the shirt’s fabric, “so I can definitely find the way to that one. But I’ve never been to the one in Campton Hills. Sorry, Braden. No idea where it is.”
“No, it’s okay,” Braden said. “This is good. Are you sure you want to go with us to find Amber and Zach—I mean, when Richard is ready?”
Ashlee wasn’t, but she nodded anyway. She knew how to get to two of the four places. She had to help.
The goat suddenly jumped and tried to back-kick Braden. He grabbed her hind leg and gently set it on the ground.
“I know it’s different here in Ferris,” he purred, stroking the goat’s caramel-colored back. “But you’ll get used to it. Just give it time.”
Ashlee wondered if he was talking to her or the goat.
The whole clan had squished into three homes in this Ferris place. She’d been put in with May and CJ Trenton’s group, which she liked. The older couple had been nice to her. The goat and chickens roamed the yard behind.
Once the goat settled down, Braden started milking her again. In perfect rhythm, milk squirted into the empty bucket. Ashlee watched in amazement, wondering how Oliver had ever befriended these people.
She’d always pictured illegals to be hairy, homeless vagrants who wandered the backwoods with filthy faces and no shoes while their kids ran wild and unsupervised. True, the clansmen had beards and longer hair than most men she associated with, but they were also highly-educated, hardworking, relatively-clean people. They were former lawyers, college professors, and financial analysts who refused to yield to President Rigsby’s overreaching laws. They’d lost their homes in the Collapse. They’d stayed anyway, squatting illegally on government property ever since.
Because they had fought to survive together, these neighbors had a bond she’d never seen before—or experienced herself. Sure, her parents loved her like parents were obligated to, but she lived her life, and they lived hers. For all she knew, they didn’t even know she was missing yet. Would they stage a state-wide search for her like these people were for the Ashworths? The clansmen weren’t even related to Carrie or her siblings, yet they’d turned their lives upside down to find them. The whole thing left her in awe.
The only part that irked her was that she hadn’t heard much about helping Oliver. Maybe because he wasn’t officially part of their clan. But Oliver had been hiding their clan for years, protecting them in a way they couldn’t protect themselves. Didn’t his freedom matter to anyone? Oliver had always been a quiet, awkward guy. But the more she learned about him and what he’d been doing, the more she admired his courage and selflessness. Didn’t those qualities count for anything? Why didn’t they care that he was locked away in JSP because of what he’d done for them?
If only she’d been able to get into her computer.
She and Oliver had started a file on the main network, throwing everything in there that might expose David Jamansky and Mayor Phillips for the lying, corrupt scoundrels they were. If she could just figure out how to
access that file and send it along to the feds…
“What’s the building like in Bristol?” Braden asked.
Ashlee might not know anything about goats, chopping wood, or washing clothes by hand, but she liked being the clan’s new informer. In her own unique way, she was helping these people, too.
“I only visited Bristol’s Home for Girls once, a long time ago,” she said. “My cousin was staying there when it was still a regular girls’ school.” Ashlee’s mom had tried to get her to transfer, but Ashlee had made the cheerleading team at Shelton High, propelling her to the top of the social food chain. “From what I remember, it’s three stories tall with large gardens around it.”
“Was it fenced?” Braden asked.
“I don’t remember, but I’m sure it is now.” Ashlee pulled her blonde hair off her hot, sweaty neck and fanned herself. “That place might not technically be a prison, Braden, but it might as well be. The government knows they’ve stolen people’s kids. Richard might be able to visit Amber—if we’re lucky—but it’s going to be almost impossible to get her out. I’m sorry.”
“As long as it’s almost and not completely, I can live with that.”
Braden sat back and wiped his brow. “I just wish Richard was available already. I know he has to help Greg. I know Carrie’s sick, so that takes priority over the others. It’s just…” He sighed. “It’s hard waiting.”
Ashlee nodded. She liked Braden.
“I wish I had my green card with me,” she said. “A green card is one level higher than Richard’s yellow citizenship. Being a government employee might even be enough to get me in to see Amber.”
Braden turned. “Is your card still valid?”
She put a hand on her hip. “David might have locked me out of my computer, but he better not have revoked my citizenship.”
He shot to his feet, nearly toppling the bucket of milk. “Then let’s get it. Where is it?”
“In my purse, which wasn’t where I left it in the office. I checked when Greg and I broke in, but it was gone. David probably took it—jerk. But come to think of it, I have a spare card at my house.” Her eyes widened. “And my house is on the way to Bristol.”
He smiled. “How far is your house from here?”
These people kept wanting her to give them distances in miles. She only knew times. “Ten minutes of highway driving.”
If she stopped off at home, she could even grab a few things, like decent clothes and makeup. Maybe even some chocolate—oh, how she missed chocolate.
“And Bristol is beyond Sugar Grove?” he said. “You don’t have a car, do you?”
“No. David usually gives me a lift to work. Him or another—”
“Where’s Ashlee?” she heard someone call. “Where is she?”
Twisting back, Ashlee saw Greg running around the side of the home with Richard close behind, looking frantic.
“I’m here,” she called with a wave.
“Rockford,” Greg said, breathlessly reaching them. “Carrie’s in Rockford. How do we get there?”
Ashlee’s eyes darted between Greg and Richard. “David came back?”
“Yeah,” Greg said, “but I’ve no clue where the women’s camp is in Rockford. Do you know?”
He handed her CJ’s small map of Illinois. She stared at it, wracking her brain. Unlike Bristol, she’d never been to Rockford before.
Her stomach clenched but she tried to smile. “That’s great news. You know where Carrie is. That’s really, really…” She trailed off.
David had returned.
She had nearly followed Greg to Logan Pond today. Not that she wanted to talk to her ex-boyfriend—ever again. Her bruises had barely healed. But for some reason, she felt desperate to catch a glimpse of him. She couldn’t figure out why he was so obsessed with Carrie. She’d put up with him chasing other women before, but Carrie wasn’t even his type.
“Hey.” Greg tugged on the corner of her sleeve. “Where’d you get this? This is Carrie’s shirt.”
Ashlee glanced down. The stained, faded yellow t-shirt fit her ten times better than those ugly sweats had. “Sasha said I could borrow it since—”
“Find somethin’ else,” Greg said stiffly.
She glared at him. “Sorry. I didn’t have time to pack before I fled for my life. What would you have me wear anyway? I refuse to put that green uniform back on again.”
“Greg,” Richard said. “Carrie wouldn’t mind her borrowing it.”
Greg looked like he minded—especially as his eyes narrowed on Ashlee’s bright, red lips.
“Don’t even think about it,” Ashlee said. “The lipstick is all mine. I grabbed it when we broke into the office.” At least that emergency stash had been where she’d left it. The bright red color made her feel like herself again. Maybe that’s why Greg hated it. He’d never liked her much—her fault for hitting on him way back when—but even this was over-the-top rude. “It happens to be the only thing in this place that is actually mine, so deal with it.”
His brows rose, but then he nodded. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just stressed.”
Everybody was.
“Did Jamansky tell you where Amber and Zach are?” Braden asked anxiously.
“Not yet,” Greg said. “But he’ll post the info on Richard’s door when he finds out. Terrell’s gonna check back every day to see while we’re gone to Rockford.”
“Or I can,” Braden said eagerly. “And you think Richard can get in to see Carrie?”
“That’s the hope,” Richard said, looking a bit older every day. “At the very least, a visit and a plea for medicine. I should probably warn CJ that we’ll be gone for a few days.”
“A few days?” Braden’s expression fell. “That long?”
“At least,” Greg said. “We’ve gotta assess the situation and see if there’s a way to break Carrie out. I don’t wanna have to wait two weeks for her release.”
Ashlee’s head jerked up. “Two weeks? How will Carrie be released in two weeks?”
Greg’s mouth opened but snapped shut again.
Richard folded his arms. “Go ahead, Greg. Tell them what bargain you struck with Chief Jamansky.”
Ashlee’s stomach plummeted. “You made a deal with David?”
Greg and Richard O’Brien glowered at each other. Obviously the two didn’t agree, which meant it was bad.
Really bad.
“It’s…complicated.” Greg said. “So, do you know where in Rockford this place is?”
Ashlee wasn’t about to be sidetracked. “What bargain did you strike with David? Does it have to do with me?” Her voice caught. “Are you…exchanging prisoners?”
He rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t even know you’re with us.”
That was something, at least.
“Then what is it?” she said.
Guilt flashed across Greg’s tanned face. “I…” He kicked the grass softly. “I might have to testify against Oliver.”
It took a second for Ashlee to understand. “What? No! You can’t do that.”
“You’d actually turn on Oliver?” Braden said. “Don’t you have a problem with that? Don’t you think Carrie will have a problem with that?”
“Yeah.” Greg scrubbed a hand down the side of his face. “In her mind, it’ll be unpardonable. But what else can I do?”
“Something else—anything else,” Richard said. “Oliver has done a lot for us.”
Greg whirled. “Exactly. And what would he have told me to do? If Oliver was right here, right now, would he have left Carrie in prison to save himself? No, not even save himself. Just to have one less testimony against him?”
Ashlee dropped her gaze to the grass. Would Oliver really sacrifice himself for Carrie? Did he love her that much?
“That’s irrelevant,” Richard said. “You can’t stab Oliver in the back and expect Carrie to forgive you for it. Not even for Amber and Zach.”
“Wait.” Braden whirled around. “We’d get Amber and Zach
, too?”
Greg nodded soberly. “Jamansky agreed to return all three. Plus, they get their house and citizenship back as well. We could get all of them back.”
Braden looked floored. “All of them?”
“Everyone except Oliver,” Ashlee pointed out angrily. “I thought you people were better than the others. Better than Mayor Phillips and David. But you’re not. You’re just as selfish.” Her eyes felt hotter than her sun-cooked skin. “If you testify against him, you’ll ensure he never leaves prison. How can you be so…so…evil?” And here she had been thinking they were next to perfect.
“Hold up,” Greg said, shooting her a dark look. “Before you throw us all under the bus, things aren’t quite so cut and dry. As part of the deal, Jamansky agreed to let me meet with Oliver, face to face.”
That took a second to sink in. “You’d get to see Oliver?” she said. When?”
“A week from today,” Greg said. “When I’m there, I’ll see if there’s any way to break him out.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head.
“We know where Carrie is,” Greg said. “Tomorrow we’ll know where Zach and Amber are. That gives us a week to break them all out. Then next Wednesday, I’ll head to JSP and meet with Oliver, see how I can get him out as well. Then it won’t matter what Jamansky thinks I’ve agreed to. They’ll be free, and we’ll all disappear.”
“You can meet with Oliver, but not the others?” Braden said. “Why?”
“Jamansky only arrested Oliver,” Greg said. “He claims that he doesn’t have the same kind of access to the others.”
Ashlee studied Greg, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. The guy was obsessed about finding Carrie, but he wouldn’t forget Oliver. They’d find a way to get all of them.
Somehow.
But how?
“What about Carrie’s house and citizenship?” Ashlee asked, still leery. “If you don’t testify, Jamansky won’t have them restored.”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 108
