Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  Greg nodded softly. “I know. But I’d rather get Oliver. It’s what Carrie would want anyway.”

  Ashlee took this all in. It sounded good.

  A little too good.

  “No offense, Greg,” Ashlee said, “but you’re not the first person who wanted to break their loved one out of prison. You’ll never pull it off.”

  “Yeah, but how many of them have been through special op training?” he said. “Surely they taught me somethin’ useful in Naperville. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just barge in and rattle off my numbers. Isabel’s already been alerted that I’m back, so I’ll just march in as if I’m on assignment and demand they release all of them to me.”

  Richard grunted under his breath.

  “What?” Greg said. “It could work.”

  Ashlee watched Richard. The gentle, older man didn’t trust this plan of Greg’s. Honestly, the longer Greg talked, the crazier it sounded. Crazy. Desperate. The two weren’t all that different. There were too many holes, too much potential for failure. He couldn’t expect to work with someone like David Jamansky and have it end well. It would be like picking up a ticking bomb and expecting it to wait to go off until the one who threw it at you decided to defuse it.

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Ashlee pressed. “What if you can’t break out all four of them in time?”

  Greg’s shoulders fell. “We have to. For now, we’ve gotta get to Rockford. Richard will try to get in and see Carrie, get her medicine, while I scope out the place.”

  Ashlee couldn’t let it go. “And if you can’t get her out?”

  Greg looked back at Richard.

  Richard shook his head, and Ashlee knew. Greg would do it. He’d do anything he could for his precious Carrie and her siblings. Even if it meant helping David Jamansky. Even if it meant Carrie wouldn’t forgive him for it. Even if it meant testifying against Oliver Simmons.

  “I thought you were better than this,” Ashlee said. Her throat burned. “I’m disappointed in you. In all of you.”

  Greg sighed. “I really don’t care. With luck, I’ll be back in two days with Carrie. So…how do we get to Rockford?”

  twenty-nine

  “HOW MUCH FARTHER?” GREG ASKED.

  “That last sign…” Richard said, huffing with their brisk pace, “said four miles. That was…ten stomach growls ago.”

  “Then we should be close,” Greg said.

  He wiped the sweat from his face. Poor Richard’s t-shirt was drenched, front and back, even though it was still early in the day. July could be brutal. They’d have to find a stream soon before they dropped of dehydration.

  They’d traveled late into the night last night and started off early again this morning, only stopping for a few hours. Richard assured Greg that the work camp wouldn’t allow visitors in the middle of the night anyway.

  Greg had counted seventeen different fires on the twenty-mile journey, mostly to the west. One sent up huge plumes of black smoke. He hoped that meant the rebellion was still going strong and Kearney’s band had grown in size and power. Maybe someday they would have the manpower to launch an all-out assault on President Rigsby. Until then, they were just annoying the heck out of the government. Which was good.

  “When are you…going to tell me your newest plan?” Richard said, huffing.

  Greg considered his choices to the beat of their footsteps. There weren’t many, none good.

  “My first idea is the least complicated. It involves convincing the prison guards—or judge or whomever—that you and Carrie are married.”

  “That’s your least complicated?” Richard said. “I’m old enough to be her father.”

  “That’s the next plan,” Greg said.

  Richard shot him a sideways glare. “I see that three hours of sleep did nothing to enhance your brain cells.”

  “Or I can turn myself in right off the bat,” Greg fought back. “Just walk into the prison and demand they release Carrie.”

  “Sure. Right after they clap you in handcuffs and schedule your court-martial. What else?”

  Greg frowned. It wasn’t until yesterday that anybody, including him, realized that Carrie had taken the bulk of the clan’s money with her. That left them nearly broke. Richard held the rest, less than one hundred dollars. It would never be enough to bribe any guard to do anything.

  “If they believe my special op status, maybe I’ll just convince them that Carrie and I are married, which would give her citizenship. Although I’m not sure who will be harder to convince. The guards…” Greg’s chest constricted. “Or Carrie.”

  Richard pulled him to a stop. “Carrie still loves you.”

  “No, Carrie loved me before she lost her two siblings because of me.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, son.”

  Greg turned at the familiar term. Technically, Richard had only been his stepdad for six weeks, a short time before Greg’s mom passed away.

  Son.

  “There are a lot of powers at play here,” Richard went on gently, “that have nothing to do with you or Carrie. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but the corrupt system we live in.”

  Greg ran a hand over his hot, shaggy hair, wanting to believe it but not quite able. “I should’ve been there, Richard. I coulda stopped this.”

  “It would have just been you instead of her.”

  “Exactly! Me instead of them. I deserve to be behind bars. But they can’t…and she won’t be able to…” More disturbing images popped in his mind. Starving. Beaten. Abused. Dead. “Not Carrie. Not her.”

  Richard’s expression softened. “Don’t underestimate her. I watched her take care of her siblings after her parents died. She did it on her own, day after day, fighting to survive. She has been everything those two kids needed, so don’t underestimate her. She’s stronger than you think.”

  Greg couldn’t even nod. He knew Carrie was strong, but so were his mom, Kendra, Carrie’s parents, and millions of others now lying in graves.

  A few minutes later, their wooded trail ended. Nothing but open space sprawled between them and the Rockford Women’s Penal Institution. It stood, broad, gray, and impossibly large, enclosed by two separate barbed-wire fences. All trees and bushes had been cleared around the building for half a mile in every direction, which meant every person coming and going could be easily spotted by one of the guard towers.

  “Any message you want me to relay to Carrie,” Richard said, checking his yellow card in his pocket, “should I happen to get in and see her?”

  “Should you happen?” Greg turned. “You gotta get in. That part is not optional. She has to know we’re tryin’ to get her out.”

  “I will if I can.”

  Greg grunted. “Fine. If you can’t commit, I’ll go myself.”

  “Listen,” Richard said, “I will use every power within my means to see Carrie. Now, what message would you like me to give her?”

  Greg swallowed. “First, get her the medicine. That’s a must. Then tell her that I’m sorry, and we’re tryin’ to get her out, and we’ve got plans in the works, but she’s gotta hold on a bit longer—she’s gotta keep fightin’ until we can get her out. And tell her that we’re lookin’ for Zach and Amber, too. And Oliver. We’ll have them all back in no time.” His mind was a torrent, trying to remember everything. “Tell her that I’m here, and I’ll stay right here the whole time until she’s released if she wants. But whatever you do, don’t tell her about Jamansky or any of what I’ve agreed to.” He couldn’t bear for her to know his backup plan. Not yet.

  Mercifully Richard didn’t add commentary. He just nodded. “Anything else?”

  A thousand more things, but Greg handed him the small box of syringes, enough to treat Carrie for another five days.

  “Hurry,” Greg said.

  As Richard started for the building, the slideshow in Greg’s mind started again. Starving, beaten, abused, dead. Greg had been in the government’s claws before. He knew what it was like. And just in case he migh
t have forgotten, they left him with a back and shoulder covered in scars.

  No matter how much he wanted to believe Richard about Carrie being strong enough, Carrie was everything his grandma said about her: a gentle soul living in a harsh world. She was delicate, tender, and very, very breakable.

  They all were.

  Richard entered the gray fortress through the front doors, clasping his citizenship card. It was a sign of his stepson’s frantic state that he hadn’t wondered if Richard’s citizenship had been revoked along with the others. Richard was worried, though. Who knew what Oliver’s arrest had set in motion?

  Insides tied in knots, he strode up to the front desk and to the guard dressed in black.

  “I’m here to visit a prisoner,” Richard said, trying to sound as if he’d done this a dozen times.

  “Card,” the guard said, holding out a hand.

  Richard slid his yellow card across to him, then he held his breath. The guard examined it first, eyes darting from Richard’s face to the card again, before swiping it through his verifying machine. When the little light turned green, Richard nearly shouted for joy.

  First hurdle cleared.

  The guard picked up a binder. “When is your appointment?”

  “I actually don’t have one,” Richard said, “but—”

  The guard slammed the binder shut. “No appointment, no visit.”

  “My apologies, sir. I wasn’t aware I needed an appointment. But I don’t need a long time with the prisoner. Just a few minutes.”

  “No exceptions. Come back when you have an appointment.”

  “Please, sir,” Richard said. “I’ve come a long way. I can wait all day if you can squeeze me in somewhere. Even if it’s later today or tomorrow, I just really need to speak with her.”

  The officer glared at him. It was the kind of look that said, I dare you to ask me one more time.

  Richard blew out his breath. “Fine. May I schedule an appointment, please?”

  The guard handed him a small slip of paper. “Call this number.”

  But I’m right here! Richard wanted to yell. “Yes. Thank you. However, I don’t have a working phone.”

  “Not my problem.” The guard went back to his book.

  The government and their stupid red tape.

  Dreading Greg’s reaction should he reappear empty-handed, Richard decided to be pushy.

  “Officer Baron,” he said, reading the man’s name tag, “I really have come a long way on foot. I don’t have access to a phone, and since I’m already here, could you possibly make an exception, just this once?”

  The guard reached below his desk and grabbed out an awfully large rifle. He pointed it at Richard.

  “Come back when you have an appointment. Understand?”

  Heart thundering, Richard stared into the end of the rifle. He didn’t have any children of his own. Greg was the closest thing he had. But beyond that, Carrie was the orphaned daughter of Richard’s old friend, Tom Ashworth. Carrie didn’t have a father here to speak for her. She had no one.

  But him.

  Slowly, he reached into his back pocket and felt around for a red, crisp bill. With the care of a soldier disarming a grenade, he slid the new currency across the counter.

  “Please, sir, I’d really like to set up an appointment. Now.”

  The guard’s face reddened. “You think you can bribe me with twenty dollars?”

  “Sorry.” Richard fumbled for another bill. He placed a fifty on top of the first.

  The patrolman’s eyes widened before darting around the room. Fast as a cobra, the money disappeared.

  “What’s the inmate’s name?”

  thirty

  CARRIE KNELT NEXT TO DONNELLE and felt her forehead. Inhumanly hot.

  “Ha!” Crazy Marge said over Carrie’s shoulder. “She’s not going to make it.” She fingered Donnelle’s black, frizzy hair. “I’ll keep this for my collection.”

  “Marge,” Carrie said, waving her off. “Leave her alone. Please.”

  Thankfully, Crazy Marge backed off.

  The other women still slept around the cell. It seemed like the morning wakeup call should have already come, but maybe it just felt like morning already because Carrie had spent all night fretting over Donnelle.

  Donnelle had declined rapidly the day before. Working alongside her, Carrie noticed the woman growing quieter and quieter until she stopped talking altogether. A definite warning sign.

  Guards kept yelling at Donnelle to keep up. Anytime they caught Carrie helping her, they shouted at her instead, threatening her with punishment if she didn’t go back to her own station. By the end of the shift, Donnelle looked like an old woman, pale and hunched over. She’d even started shivering even though the workspace was hot enough to cook eggs.

  Sadly, Carrie wasn’t far behind.

  Her energy was depleted, and she could no longer ignore her growing migraine. For the first hours after Jamansky left, she’d felt hopeful. He could help her. He could do it. But the more people she talked to and the longer she thought about it, the more she realized the impossibility of ever leaving this place. Donnelle didn’t know a soul who had been released—and Donnelle knew everyone. The only people who left were in body bags. And Jamansky wasn’t exactly a man of his word.

  More empty promises. More lies. No medicine had come, and knowing none would sapped her strength faster than the illness itself. If this virus followed the same path as last time, she would start a fever soon and then…

  She rubbed the back of her skull, hating how stiff she felt. Her neck. Her muscles.

  There had to be a way to get medicine. Next time the guards returned, she would ask—no, beg—for help. Someone would have compassion. They would see Donnelle and know. Until then, Carrie had to stop the progression of the virus.

  Crazy Marge climbed back onto the top bunk where she perched on a corner like a vulture waiting to strike.

  Carrie stood and stretched her back, impossibly achy from sleeping propped up against the metal bed frame.

  The sink in their cell had, at best, a small trickle of water at any given time. Carrie didn’t have anything to soak, so she wet her hands and went back to Donnelle, wiping her wet hands across Donnelle’s brow to cool it down.

  Donnelle didn’t budge even though Carrie repeated the process every few minutes.

  As she worked, her thoughts wandered to where she would have been today. If she had calculated correctly, today was Friday. She would have been in Delaney’s clan, discussing trading. Would Greg go without her? She hoped he would move on and press the clan forward. The farmers’ market had become his dream as much as hers. At least one of them should achieve it. But she worried about Greg. When he lost his sister, he’d shut down. When he lost his mom, he nearly had again. Closing her eyes, she begged him to not shut down again. To not become even more bitter and hate the world.

  Her heart ached from missing him so much.

  Kneeling next to Donnelle again, she closed her heavy eyes, trying to envision Greg free, safe, and meeting with the Sprucewood leaders. Would they meet on a Tuesday? Would they meet in the woods? What would that clan offer that Carrie’s didn’t have?

  Would Greg find a way to be happy again?

  Would he find her siblings?

  Would he find her?

  Even if he did, would she live long enough to find out?

  As she leaned against the thin, smelly mattress, questions continued to tumble around with no answers or consolation.

  Two minutes.

  Her entire life had been destroyed in a matter of two minutes. She’d walked out her front door that morning, holding Greg’s hand, her siblings following. They had been happy. She had been heading into town for liberty for Amber and Zach, to make them safe from the clutches of the government.

  How could a life—a family, a couple—be destroyed in a matter of two minutes?

  “Is Donnelle any better?” someone asked.

  Sniffing, Carr
ie looked up too quickly. Pain stabbed her temples. Lisbeth stood above her, another cellmate with oily brown hair and a high, quiet voice. Lisbeth looked far too young to be incarcerated. Barely older than Amber.

  Carrie wiped her eyes. “No.”

  “Me neither. I’ve started a headache. How…” Lisbeth twisted her hands in front of her. “How long do I have, Carrie?”

  Those words knotted Carrie’s stomach.

  Yesterday, before Donnelle took a turn for the worse, she admitted that Carrie had only joined their particular cell because there had been a vacancy. Their previous cellmate, Sherry someone, had died the day before with the same symptoms. They’d taken her body out a few hours before Carrie arrived.

  How many people had Sherry spread the illness to?

  “I don’t know,” Carrie said honestly.

  “Maybe it’s a blessing,” Lisbeth whispered. “Live free or die, right?”

  No! Carrie wanted to shout. There had been too many deaths already. Her parents. Jenna and Mariah. How many people would she kneel beside as they slipped away? How long before it was her?

  People needed to fight this. They needed to beat it somehow.

  A sharp clank sounded in the cell as the guard came by, hitting his nightstick against the bars. The wakeup call. Finally.

  Donnelle still didn’t stir.

  “No work duty today, ladies,” he said. “The prison is on lockdown until further notice.”

  “Really?” Lisbeth said.

  Carrie’s shoulders lowered in relief. No work. A blessing for Donnelle. She wanted to ask if lockdowns were normal but didn’t have the energy.

  Taking her morning washrag from the guard, she went to the sink and wet it as much as she could. Then she laid the cold rag across Donnelle’s feverish forehead. Trying to stop this virus from progressing felt like trying to stop a tornado with an umbrella.

  “Sir,” Carrie called suddenly. With effort, she pushed herself up and went to the bars. The guard had moved to the next cell, handing out more washrags. Carrie’s cellmates liked this particular guard. Supposedly he was nicer than the others. His name was Eddie, but they usually called him Headie Eddie because of his dark, shaved head.