Greg turned and saw Zach Ashworth coming around the house with his water buckets in tow. Greg lowered his voice. “I thought we were lettin’ the whole Carrie thing go.”
“Easy for you to say!” Terrell snapped. “You didn’t lose anything.”
Terrell grabbed his water bucket and stormed the opposite way around the house. Zach watched him go with a long face. He was still staring after Terrell long after he disappeared.
“Hey,” Greg called, “I thought Amber was the water girl at your house.”
“Amber’s sick,” Zach said. “Or so she says.” The preteen let out a sigh worthy of a grown man. Then he made his way to the well, somewhat limping like he always did, only it looked more awkward in bare feet.
Greg knew little about Zach except that he’d broken an ankle a few years back which never set right—hence the limp—and he was Carrie’s younger brother, which Greg could have guessed based on the freckles and unique hair color alone.
“What’d y’all lose last night?” Greg asked. “Besides your shoes.”
“My baseball,” Zach said.
With all the reports coming in, that’s what the kid cared about? A baseball?
“It was my dad’s,” Zach went on. “The last thing I had of his.”
“Ah.” A baseball was useless, but a memento of a dad—a dead one at that. “Sorry, kid,” Greg offered.
Zach dropped the water bucket into the deep well. “I usually hide it in our fireplace, but I didn’t have time last night. The patrolmen just took it. They just stole it.” His freckled face twisted in pain. “Why do they get to steal our stuff, Greg? Aren’t they policemen? Isn’t stealing illegal?”
“Not anymore,” Greg muttered. Realizing Zach heard, he amended, “They think the stuff in these houses is theirs. They think if they take our stuff, we’ll starve and go back to them for help. They don’t like that we can survive without them, so they steal from us.”
“I hate them,” Zach whispered.
“Me, too, kid.”
Greg grabbed the well handle and rolled up the heavy bucket for him. “What else did y’all lose?”
“Carrie’s doll.”
Greg choked back a laugh. “Carrie has a doll?”
“It’s not a doll you play with. It’s breakable, like glass. It was my grandma’s grandma’s, or something like that. My mom gave it to Carrie when she was a baby.”
“Oh.” Another memento. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Everything else. Our mattresses. Our plates. Our food and shoes. My old shirt. They even broke all of Carrie’s plants.”
Greg poured the bucket of water into Zach’s. “How exactly do you break a plant?”
“She had a bunch of stuff growing in our family room—vegetable plants and stuff—and the patrolmen threw the containers against the walls. Now there’s dirt everywhere. Carrie’s home cleaning it up. She even canceled school for the day, which”—Zach shrugged—“I guess isn’t so bad.”
“Did any of the plants…survive?” Greg asked for lack of a better word.
“You kidding? It looks like a dirt bomb exploded in our house.”
Strangely enough, Greg felt sorry for Carrie. As annoying as it was to hear about her every hour of every day, he knew what the plants meant to her. And the clan.
“How is she?” he asked, suddenly curious about Little Miss Perfect.
“What do you mean?”
“Is she sad? Mad? Ready to bust down the patrol station and start shooting?”
Zach wrinkled his nose. “You don’t know Carrie very well, do you? She got mad at me for getting mad. She said losing stuff was better than losing people. She told me to count my blessings that last night wasn’t worse than it was. As if that’ll help.”
Greg thought back to the barn, to the teen shot dead and the baby ripped from its mother’s arms. To the fact that if he and Terrell had gotten to Kovach’s a few seconds later, it could have been a repeat. Carrie had a point. Losing rifles or mattresses was nothing compared to losing people. They were lucky last night had gone as well as it had.
And Carrie was taking the heat for it—for Amber.
He wasn’t sure what to make of that.
What to make of her.
Zach loaded his buckets into his red wagon. “I better go. Carrie’s waiting for me. Bye, Greg.”
“Hey, kid,” Greg called.
“Yeah?”
“You like the Yankees?”
Zach pulled a face. “The who?”
“The who?” Greg repeated in disgust. “Yogi? Gehrig? Jeter? The Babe?” He pointed to his navy Yankees cap, but Zach still shrugged. “Man, if you don’t know about the Yankees, you’ve got a lot to learn about baseball. Lucky for you, I’ve got one you can use.”
Zach’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Of course,” Greg mused, “you can’t use it without me, which means you gotta let me play, which means you gotta be willin’ to lose ‘cause I’m pretty dang good at baseball.”
A grin lit Zach’s freckled face. “Okay!”
Greg slapped him on the back. “See ya around, kid.”
Then Greg watched as, in spite of the heavy wagon, in spite of his bare feet and messed up ankle, Zach found a way to skip all the way home.
seventeen
“YOU MISSED OUT ON a great sweep last night, Simmons.”
Oliver Simmons set his gun belt aside, somewhat listening to his coworkers gloat. His eyes were heavy, his brain sluggish, and the coffee that got him through his shift had worn off long ago. He just wanted to go home, pull the shades, and sleep for a week.
Nielsen elbowed David Jamansky. “Yeah. We really cleaned house.”
The two of them burst out laughing.
Oliver sighed. Unlike his coworkers, he’d had a pitifully slow night preceded by a pitifully slow week and an even slower month. He was never going to hit his numbers. If it wasn’t for the cursed election he wouldn’t have required arrests at all, but the politicians were at it again, promising anything under the sun to keep the yellow cardholders—the voters—happy. President Rigsby was the worst. Safer streets. Squatter-free, crime-free neighborhoods. A return to civilized America.
What a joke.
Everyone knew Rigsby would be reelected anyway. Keeping up the façade of a democracy only turned more people anti-government. Yet as Rigsby’s approval ratings dropped, Oliver’s quota rose. He didn’t have the strength to throw any more undeserving people into already overflowing work camps, left to rot out the rest of their pathetic existence.
True, in the beginning he’d found many legitimate criminals, marauders who roamed the cities and stole what they could, causing complete terror in their midst. The violence that first year had been sickening. He was glad to have locked them away. But for the most part now, the people being arrested were those like Carrie Ashworth, peaceful people trying to live a quiet life. The only thing standing in their way was President Rigsby’s new government, his extended state of emergency laws, and patrolmen like the two idiots sitting across from him.
Oliver changed out of his green uniform and into his street clothes, hoping to put his treasonous thoughts behind him. He’d arrested people for less.
“Hey, Nielsen,” Jamansky said under his breath. “I parked the truck out back. I’ll follow you back over there.”
“Speaking of which, where did you stash the…” With a nervous glance at Oliver, Nielsen finished his sentence in a whisper. As if Oliver didn’t know they supplemented their meager income with things they acquired in the sweeps instead of turning it over. The black market paid a pretty penny these days. Someday Oliver would get the courage to turn them into his boss. See how quickly that wiped the smirks off their faces. For now, he packed his things, anxious to get home.
“Hey, Simmons,” Jamansky called, “Boss wants us taking six officers back to that neighborhood today. I bet there are twenty or so squatters holed up there. It will take that many of us to clear it out. You interested?”
“Twenty,” Nielsen repeated, rubbing his hands together. “At two hundred bucks a head that’s…”
“More than you deserve,” Jamansky quipped before turning back to Oliver. “You in or not?”
“No.” Numbers or not, Oliver was exhausted. And not just physically. “I’m just coming off shift.”
“Perfect,” Nielsen said quietly, although not quietly enough. “We should question those elderly homeowners, too. They have to know something’s been going on there. Logan Pond isn’t that big of a subdivision.”
Oliver’s head jerked up. “What did you say?”
“If you ask me,” Jamansky said without hearing, “that clan was pretty settled with furniture and everything. I think they’ve been living there for a while. I wonder if this has something to do with those two new citizens I saw in the township office. I still can’t believe that guy was hitting on Ashlee right in front of me. I swear if he comes back, I’m taking him down.”
Desperate, Oliver rewound the conversation. Surely they didn’t mean Logan Pond. Not Carrie’s Logan Pond.
“Hey, Simmons,” Jamansky said, “when was the last time you did a sweep through North Shelton anyway? Maybe I should let the chief know you’re getting sloppy in your patrols.”
“Did you say Logan Pond?” Oliver asked. “That deserted subdivision?”
“Yeah, only last night it wasn’t so deserted,” Nielsen snickered.
“But…” Oliver fell onto the bench. “How many…” He cleared his throat. “How many were arrested?”
“Technically none,” Jamansky said. “They scattered like cockroaches, but they’ll be back for their stuff. That’s why we need to get over there now.”
None. Oliver found little comfort in those words.
What happened? Worse still, what was yet to happen? Six patrolmen heading back to clear it out. Carrie’s clan had been discovered. All the years of stopping by, warning, planning, hiding, and now…
“I don’t want to take dogs this time,” Jamansky said. “They killed us last night. It has to be a silent sweep.”
“No dogs? Are you nuts?” Nielsen said. “With that many people, they’ll ambush us!”
“Why do you think we’re taking six guys?” Jamansky smacked him. “Man, how’d you get a badge anyway?”
Oliver shot to his feet. “On second thought, I’ll come with you guys. It’s in my district, so I better come. You said you needed six guys anyway, right?” Six! He struggled to think straight. “Hold up, and I’ll check with Chief.”
Oliver sprinted out of the room and down the hall, barely pausing at the door before entering uninvited.
His boss looked up from his paperwork. “Something wrong, Simmons?”
“I hear you’re sending men back to my area today, sir,” Oliver said.
“Yeah,” Chief Dario said. “I debated having Nielsen and Jamansky go alone, but that’s risky. I’d rather have a full squad clear the place. It’s possible the clan has deserted already, but I’m not taking any chances. Jamansky’s report sounds like they’ve made a permanent settlement. I want it taken care of before it takes root.”
Oliver paled at the thought. “May I ask, sir, why I wasn’t informed about this first?”
“Why? You think I should send more men?”
“No!” Oliver closed his eyes briefly, searching for some semblance of control. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “No. It’s my district, sir. I would like the chance to scout it out myself.” He took a deep breath before finishing. “Alone.”
His boss studied him before shaking his head. “You look tired, Simmons. Go home.”
“Sir, I’ve had that area since the Collapse. I know it like the back of my hand. I can get in and out without being seen. That way we’ll know what we’re up against, if the clan is violent or if they’ve moved on. I’d hate for a repeat of Ferris,” Oliver added, purposely bringing up the sore subject. They’d lost three men that day.
Chief Dario, the Chief of Kane County, Illinois, was a shrewd man. He considered Oliver’s offer, but in the end, he still turned him down. “No. I’ve made my decision. If you want to join the others, fine, but just know that I’m not paying you overtime.”
Oliver stared at him. Six officers. No dogs. No warning. The clan would never survive.
Carrie.
“Jamansky said something about questioning the homeowners,” Oliver said, desperate. “I’ve spoken to the Trentons on several occasions. I’d like to be the one to question them today. They may have seen suspicious behavior in the area.”
“Agreed,” his boss said, without looking up.
“And with that…” Oliver straightened. “I’d like to request a search warrant for their home.”
“What?” His boss slammed a fist on the desk. “You know what grief I get on that. The last thing I need is more complaints to the mayor about invasions of privacy.”
“I understand. However, we can’t be too careful,” Oliver said, meaning every word.
Chief Dario’s voice and body rose. “A search warrant will take an hour to clear. Possibly longer. I want that neighborhood emptied now!”
“As do I. As do I,” Oliver said. “But it’s possible those homeowners are sympathetic to this new clan. Their home and yard should be searched.”
Oliver held his breath as his boss deliberated. He forced his gaze to stay up, confident, and unattached. Sweat trickled down his face, betraying him.
“Alright,” his boss said. “Tell Jamansky to petition the judge now. I want you out of here in an hour and that place cleared in two. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Oliver raced down the hall and threw open his locker. “Boss said I can go,” he told the others. “Jamansky, he wants you to get a search warrant for the homeowners on Denton Trail. Their names are Curtis John and May Trenton. They’re in the file.”
“Search warrant?” Jamansky swore loudly. “What did you do, Simmons?”
Oliver donned his uniform in record time. “Chief’s orders. I’m heading to the diner for coffee. I’ll be back in an hour. Have the warrant done by then, and we’ll head out.”
David Jamansky was still swearing up a storm as Oliver flew out of the station.
eighteen
IT WAS THE FIRST TIME Carrie greeted him without a smile. Oliver didn’t blame her for hating him. He hated himself, too. The way her sad, blue eyes looked up at him was enough to tear his heart out. But worse was seeing her feet. Her bare feet. Her shoes had been stolen. He had failed her—and every one of the other thirty people staring at him in disbelief.
“They’re coming back?” Carrie said. “Now?”
“Yes. I just…” Oliver shrugged. “There are six of them—of us. Coming back.”
“Six?” Jeff Kovach repeated. “And they know about our clan?”
Oliver struggled to look away from Carrie’s feet. “Not exactly. They suspect you. I mean, they know you were here, but they aren’t sure you’re here anymore. Some clans move every few weeks. We call them Bedouins. I think with a little work, I can convince my boss you’re the Bedouin-type and have moved on, too. Maybe.”
“A few weeks?” Jeff cried. “We have to live in the woods for a few weeks!”
“Cool it, Jeff!” Greg said. Greg stood shoulder to shoulder with Carrie, and though Oliver didn’t have time to think about something like that, he already had. CJ’s grandson looked like the type of guy to make a move on Carrie: good-looking, young, cocky. Carrie was too sweet and innocent for a player like Greg. Oliver didn’t trust him. But apparently the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. “Just shut your trap for a sec,” Greg said, “and give Oliver a chance to explain.”
Oliver took a quick breath and plunged on.
“I realize the search warrant makes it harder—a lot harder on all of you—but it was the only way to buy time.” He looked at CJ. “It’s the only way to convince them of your innocence, Mr. Trenton. Which means—and I’m really sorry—but we’ll have to searc
h your entire house, including the garage,” he added, knowing full well what that entailed.
CJ stroked his long, white beard. “No, it makes sense. Anything to convince them that the clan has moved on. Do a thorough job of searching. We’ll act sufficiently shocked.”
“My mom and I will be at the house, too,” Greg said. “Unless you think that’s unwise.”
Oliver looked at Greg a long moment, trying to be fair, but not wanting to. “No, if you have yellow cards, you…it should be fine.”
Without permission, his gaze went back to Carrie. Already she looked resolved about what had to happen. Surprisingly, most everyone else did. Of all the times to envy their clan, this shouldn’t have been it, but there was a bond there, a cohesiveness Oliver admired. They survived together, they thrived together, and for all the wrong reasons, Oliver longed to be a part of it.
“Where are we supposed to put our stuff if we can’t take it to May’s?” Amber asked.
A sudden surge of anger welled up inside Oliver. Carrie insisted the whole mix-up was her fault, but Oliver didn’t believe her. Not for a second. He’d watched Amber’s eyes glaze over on Thursday. Yet as mad as he was at her, he was even more furious at himself. Even when he knew Amber wasn’t listening, he hadn’t waited for Carrie to get home. One stupid meeting had almost destroyed everything.
“We’ll make a pile in the back woods behind the Kovach’s,” CJ said to Amber. “But we should hurry. We only have forty minutes to clear the homes and get everybody to safety.”
“Only forty?” Sasha Green said.
Oliver nodded. “Maybe less. I’m sorry.”
“For the next ten minutes,” Greg said loudly, “everybody packs, including women and kids, then they gotta head behind the pond, out of sight. Husbands and older boys can stay longer and finish up, but only twenty minutes, tops. Then y’all gotta leave. I’ll keep workin’ on Grandpa’s garage ‘til the patrolmen show up.”
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