Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  After a minute of that, she called softly, “Greg?” Glancing over her shoulder, she said a little more loudly, “Greg, come slowly.”

  In an instant, the dogs went on high alert. Their heads turned, their ears pricked up, and another growl built in their throats.

  “Sitz,” she said more calmly than she felt. “Freund. Sitz. Freund.”

  Squinting, she thought she saw movement. A moment later, a dark shape emerged in the moonlight, crossing Jamansky’s yard with slow, easy steps. Greg’s hands lifted, as if that could ward off an attack.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” he whispered, voice strained.

  More soft growls from the dogs.

  “No,” she whispered back. “Sitz. Freund. Please don’t eat him.”

  When Greg neared them, she reached for him. “Here. Give me your hand.”

  Greg did as she asked, trusting her more than she trusted herself. Hopefully she didn’t end up ruining another of his hands. She placed his palm in front of the dogs. A peace offering.

  “Freund,” she begged quietly. “Freund. Sitz.”

  Both dogs sniffed Greg’s hand. Then their breathing started to slow.

  “Freund,” she kept whispering. “That’s it. Friends.”

  “Friends,” Greg repeated softly. “Let’s be buddies, okay, boys?”

  Finally, the dogs settled down. Bretton even leaned into Greg, begging for attention. Greg complied, scratching behind the German Shepherd’s black ear, while Carrie straightened and tried to slow her racing heart.

  While he pampered the dogs, Greg shot her a look. “You…are one crazy woman. How did you do that?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. They started barking when I tried to leave.”

  “Are they gonna freak out if I touch you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Let’s find out.” Greg reached for her in the cool moonlight, interlocking fingers with her long enough to pull her closer. When that didn’t warrant any barking, he slid an arm around her waist. Then they both waited. Panting, the dogs watched them in the muted light, looking like they cared more about a nighttime adventure than anyone’s current illegal status.

  “Alrighty then,” Greg said a little easier. “I’m wide awake.”

  “Sorry it took me so long to get out here,” Carrie said. “I had to be sure David was totally asleep.”

  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’d wait forever if I knew you were comin’. Glad you warned me about those two, though. I nearly swept you off your feet back by the patio. Doubt that woulda gone over well.”

  She shivered. “Probably not.”

  “Are you up for a walk?” he asked, squeezing her hand. “I scouted out a place that might give us some privacy. As I recall, you still owe me a moonlit walk, Miss Ashworth. And while this might not be our pond, it’ll have to do. For now.”

  Happiness swelled inside her. “Sounds perfect.”

  Greg led her and the dogs along the fence through several yards. The patrolmen’s homes were dark. A month ago, sneaking around like that would have terrified Carrie, but tonight she would have gone anywhere with Greg. Strangely, having the dogs made her feel safer, too. She just wished she knew the command for attack in case any of Jamansky’s patrol friends surprised them.

  For several minutes, they crept along the fence and low-lying bushes. Carrie held the leashes as Greg directed them toward a patch of trees behind one of the dark homes.

  Greg let the dogs enter the woods first. They sniffed the ground, curious but still seeming to enjoy the adventure. Greg followed next, shoving low-lying bushes and branches aside as he went.

  “Are your feet okay?” he whispered back to her.

  She nodded, even though the first of the twigs and dirt dug into the soles of her feet. They would be sore and scratched up tomorrow, but her eyes bothered her more. After her illness, they struggled to adjust under the thick canopy of trees. The woods swallowed up the moonlight. But Greg and the dogs seemed to be able to see well enough. She did her best to follow, pushing forward until they entered a small clearing, safely out of earshot of the other homes.

  Once they stopped, Greg turned and faced her. She waited for him to grab her hand or pull her in for another hug. But with the returning, intermittent moonlight, he looked worried, almost upset.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Are you?” he asked in return. “Are you really? And I don’t want the standard Carrie answer. Zach told me some things after dinner, and now…” He shook his head. “Tell me everything from the start. I’ve pieced together some, but I need to know what happened.”

  A darkness filled her, darker than the woods. The patrolman who arrested her. Zach and Amber being ripped away. Donnelle dying in her arms. Carrie shoved it aside before the thoughts could consume her.

  “I’m fine now,” she said.

  That seemed to upset him even more. When he had returned from military training, he’d told her everything that had happened. Everything with McCormick and Isabel. Everything with Kearney. Even the beatings. It had sickened her. Now he wanted the same, the whole story without filters. But she couldn’t. Thinking about the past weeks hurt too much. If she had her way, she wouldn’t have to remember what happened again. She needed to get Amber and Oliver safe, and then she needed to forget.

  Waiting, his brows pulled down.

  She stared down at her hands that seemed to disappear in the darkness.

  “The little Zach told me hasn’t been good,” she said. “He won’t talk about it. The whole time, I—” Her voice caught, and she struggled to continue. “I thought Zach and Amber were together, but they were separated the second I was arrested. For the first time in their life they were completely…” Her voice started to shake, as did her insides as she thought of the stories Zach told her about clearing burning rubble away, of the punishments the boys received for falling short. “They were alone. Completely alone. And to think Amber’s still stuck in the middle of it.”

  Greg reached for her hands. Finally. Willingly she gave them, but he didn’t interweave fingers like he normally did. Instead he held her hands, palms up, until they were visible in the moonlight. Once illuminated, he ran a finger over her the wounds on her wrists, healing, but still visible.

  When had he noticed?

  How could he even see well enough to know they were there? Maybe Zach had told him about her wrists, but she didn’t know that Zach had noticed either. The scars were her own fault, though, fighting against the handcuffs when she didn’t have a fighting chance. She’d barely noticed the cuts at the time of her arrest. She barely noticed them now.

  “And what about you?” he whispered. “How was it for you?”

  Something about the way his fingers ran over her wrists pushed her over the edge. Her throat constricted as she remembered the arresting officer, large and cruel. The guards searching her. Donnelle’s death. The never-ending sicknesses. Jamansky’s house. Every memory slammed into her, every smell and sound, every moment of pain and loneliness. And yet worse was knowing that Amber and Oliver were still stuck in the middle of it—plus Crazy Marge, Lisbeth, and how many others?—enduring their own nightmares.

  She withdrew her hands and let them drop back into the black, cold night where she could hide the scars.

  “I’m fine,” she said. Because she was now.

  His chest moved in and out. He shook his head, and he took a step back, putting distance between them. Only then did she realize her mistake in withdrawing her hand. She had pulled away from him, and he misinterpreted why.

  “I’m sorry, Carrie. So totally and completely sorry I sent you that day. I never thought—”

  “Don’t,” she cut in. “I’m the one who went without Richard. You told me not to go alone, Greg, but with the rain, I went anyway.”

  “Because I told you to go!” he whispered angrily. “I was so adamant about keepin’ you away from Jamansky, and now…” He took another step away fr
om her until he was swallowed up in the darkness. “Carrie, I’m dyin’ over everything you’ve been through—everything you’re still goin’ through. I don’t know how to fix it or take away the pain. I don’t know anything anymore. I just…I just…”

  “Please,” she whispered, emotions rising inside her against her will. Greg was pulling away like he had so many times before. Since the day his sister had died, Greg had developed some warped sense that he was to blame for anything bad that happened in his life. Jenna’s death. His mom’s. Things in the clan. Things at home. And right now, words were failing her when she needed them most.

  What happened, happened, she wanted to say. It was over, done, finished. It was nobody’s fault but the crooked world they lived in. She just needed him back.

  “Please,” she begged in a hoarse whisper. “Don’t.”

  “Carrie…”

  The coldness of the night pressed in around her, yet heat built behind her eyes.

  “Don’t let go of me,” she whispered. “Please. Don’t let go. Please, Greg. Please.”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks.

  “Please.”

  Slowly, Greg approached her again, but he didn’t reach for her. His hands stayed at his sides. He looked like a beaten man. She reached out instead and grabbed his hands, winding them around her. “Please.”

  His forehead fell against hers. “Carrie.”

  “Don’t let go of me,” she whispered into his chest. “Ever again.”

  They were the same words he’d once begged her. More than anything, she wished that life had allowed it to happen, letting them hold each other as long as they wanted, letting them just forget the world. She pressed her bad ear to his chest and kept squeezing, waiting, needing.

  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his arms finally responded, tightening around her until he was nearly crushing her. Suddenly it was as if he was trying to squeeze out every bit of hurt inside her. And he did. With each breath she took, more of the pain subsided and her memories receded.

  His chin rested on her hair for a long time, the two of them listening to the woods whisper around him. He stroked her hair, and she held him tight.

  Then she felt something change.

  Greg’s shoulders squared, and he stood a little taller. She felt him take in a deep, slow breath. When he spoke again, he sounded more like the Greg she knew, more like the confident Greg she had fallen in love with.

  “Care to make it official?” he said.

  Her head tipped back. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…” When the filtered moonlight caught his face, she could see him smiling. “How would you feel about becoming a Pierce, Miss Ashworth?”

  Her breath caught. “What?”

  “Marry me, Carrie.”

  His eyes steady on hers, so full of love and longing and everything in between, communicated what words never could. He was asking her if she wanted a life together, working and surviving together. Neither of them had citizenship. Neither had anything to offer besides themselves. But that was enough.

  It was more than enough.

  A smile spread through her. She wanted to shout and throw her arms around his neck, but in her current state, she was lucky to manage what she did.

  She went up on tiptoes and kissed him softly. The only response she could think of.

  When she pulled back, his eyes were alight with hope. “Is that a yes?”

  Her eyes pricked with tears. “Yes. Definitely yes.”

  fifty

  “YOU GOTTA BE TIRED,” Greg said as he stifled a yawn of his own.

  Awhile back, he had stomped down the vegetation and found a wide tree trunk for them to lean against. Then he pulled Carrie down next to him. The tree wasn’t the most comfortable thing he’d ever rested against, but having warm Carrie snuggled into his arms more than compensated. The dogs sat beside them, dozing off and on as Greg casually stroked their backs.

  Under the scattered moonlight, he caught Carrie up on his side of things. She was particularly interested in how things had developed with McCormick and Kearney, wondering if they could actually overthrow President Rigsby. He wished he knew. But anytime he pressed her about prison and her time away, she clammed up, answering only the most basic questions. The only time she opened up was talking about her friend Donnelle and the virus sweeping through the prison.

  Though Greg hated to admit it, Jamansky had saved her life, getting her out when he had.

  All things considered, heavy subject aside, he loved their time together. He liked hearing her gentle, quiet voice over the backdrop of night frogs and crickets. He loved her softness and heat pressed close. He loved the smell of her hair tucked near his face, and how incredible she looked in his lucky shirt.

  Mostly, he loved that she’d said yes.

  Already he was dreaming up the perfect way to make their engagement official.

  But the discussion eventually slowed, Greg’s back ached from the stiff tree trunk, and he was fighting his eyelids to stay awake. As much as he hated to end this small piece of perfection, they needed to sleep if they were going to function tomorrow. With luck, in another twenty-four hours they’d have Amber and be on their way home.

  “C’mon,” he said, straightening. “I know you’re tired and colder than you’ll ever admit. Time to head back inside.”

  Standing, he grabbed her hands and pulled her up beside him. The dogs jumped up, awake and ready for more adventure.

  “Do you think Richard and the others have any chance of getting Amber out?” Carrie whispered as they started back through the woods.

  “Not likely. I found out the hard way that it’s not as simple as we hoped. Unfortunately, Jamansky is Amber’s best bet.”

  She looked less-than-thrilled by that answer.

  Greg pushed aside a low-lying branch and let her pass.

  “I just feel like he’s stringing me along,” she said, choosing her steps carefully to save her feet. “What if he never comes through? What if he’s trying to keep me here permanently? What if he never lets me leave?”

  Greg tugged her to a stop. “What do you mean?”

  She shook her head.

  “Carrie, what do you mean?” he said.

  Sighing, she stared out through the dark night. “One more day. That’s all I think we should wait. If Jamansky doesn’t come through tomorrow, then we should leave anyway, while we can.”

  “While we can?” He bent down to peer at her. “What are you not tellin’ me? Has he threatened you?”

  Even in the dark, he saw her roll her eyes. “You worry too much. I just think he’s never going to get Amber out, so why wait to go home? Maybe Richard, Ashlee, and Braden will have better luck. If not, we’ll find another way.”

  Of course he worried too much, but normally Carrie didn’t, which concerned him even more. And if she was worried about things with Jamansky…

  “Fine. We leave tomorrow night,” he said. “No matter what. That means you definitely need to sleep.”

  Silently they worked their way back across the yards and lawns until they reached the house.

  Carrie stopped and slipped her arms back around Greg. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  He stroked her warm back, loving that she no longer hesitated to reach for him. He tipped her chin up and kissed her soundly.

  “I could come inside with you,” he offered.

  Her brows scrunched. “How? Why?”

  He had plenty of reasons, namely to be within hearing—and striking—distance if something happened. Not only was Jamansky still scheming, he was predatory, unstable, and violent. If Carrie felt nervous, then it was worse than she was letting on. Greg needed to be close.

  “I think I should find a good spot inside to hide out,” he said.

  “No way, Greg. As much as I want you in there, it’s not safe. Even if you hide well, the dogs will track you down. Just stay out here until David leaves for work in the morning.”

  “It already is mornin
g,” Greg said. “Look.”

  He held up his watch. 3:48 a.m.

  “Stay here,” she said firmly. “I’ll be fine.”

  Trusting her judgment over his went against his instincts, but…she’d been at Jamansky’s longer. She knew better. Carrie and the dogs started for the patio.

  “Wait,” Greg whispered. “Don’t lock the door.”

  She turned. “But it was locked before.”

  “I know.” But it was a compromise he could live with. “If Jamansky asks why it’s open, tell him you went out for early morning fresh air.”

  Nodding, she opened the door and disappeared inside.

  * * * * *

  “What’s this, Carrie?”

  Jamansky pulled something dark brown from her hair. A piece of bark.

  Carrie felt heat rush up her neck. “I…I don’t know.”

  His eyes narrowed on her. “Then maybe you can explain why there are dirty paw prints in my hallway?”

  “I…”

  Zach looked at her, panicked.

  “I woke up early this morning,” Carrie said. “The dogs seemed anxious to go outside, so I took them for a little bit. Is that okay?”

  Jamansky fingered the tree bark. “How far?”

  “Just by your patio, like we agreed.”

  “Hey, David,” Zach said suddenly, “can I take Bretton and Felix outside now?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But stay close to the house.”

  “Thanks.”

  Zach snatched three pancakes from the plate—Greg’s breakfast—and left. Envious, Carrie watched her brother head outside with the dogs. When she turned back, Jamansky was still twisting the piece of bark around in his fingers.

  She resisted the urge to finger comb her hair to check for more. Instead she grabbed his plate and headed for the sink.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asked.

  “Apparently too well,” he muttered.

  Even more anxious, she turned on the water and slowly rinsed the syrup from the plates, needing a moment to compose herself.

  “It’s crazy how fast I’ve become accustomed to running water again,” she said. “Even pancake mix seems like cheating.”