Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  Without answering, she stroked the IV strapped to the back of her hand and then reached up to touch the tube attached beneath her nose. Confused, she looked at Greg.

  “How long…” she said, “have I been here?”

  But before he could answer, her hand lifted to her left ear. She covered it, patted it a few times. Then her eyes flew back to him. “What’s wrong with my ear?”

  His stomach dropped. “Both or just the one?”

  She patted the other ear and then went back to the first. “I can’t…it’s not right.” She rubbed and tugged her ear like somebody trying to get water from it.

  “Both or just the one?” he asked more loudly, feeling sick.

  “This one.” Her gaze, terrified and vulnerable, lifted to his. “Is it…permanent?”

  How did he respond? The doctor told Oliver her brain had been under duress long enough she might have permanent damage, but they wouldn’t know how much until she woke up and they could reassess. Greg wasn’t ready to assess anything. He took her hand and pulled it gently away from her ear.

  “It’ll be okay.” Hearing loss, vision problems, or anything else seemed inconsequential now. She was alive. The medicine was working.

  Though it took a moment, she nodded. “How is your grandma?”

  Settling next to her, he caught her up on everything, making a conscious effort to speak louder. The whole time he stroked her hand, her arm, and her cheek, probably driving her insane with all the stroking, but he needed to feel her warm and alive.

  “I’ve still gotta find a way to steal some meds,” he finished. Especially now that he knew they worked.

  Her head cocked on her pillow. “Wait. How are you here?”

  “You think you could keep me away?” he whispered with a grin.

  Carrie spotted the lanyard around his neck, and her eyes went wide, wider than they had in days. “No, no, no!” Her eyes pooled with tears. “They can’t have you back. You promised me, Greg. You promised me.”

  “Hold on. Look.” He flipped his ID over so she could see the Asian lady. “I kept my promise. I’m as dead as ever.”

  Relieved, Carrie lay back.

  “Are your eyes any better? Can you focus?” he asked, noting how much she still squinted. Maybe she would always be sensitive to light. If so, he’d find her sunglasses. Somehow.

  “I think so,” she said.

  She fell silent and rubbed her bad ear again. He didn’t press her to speak even though he wanted to hear her voice, to know her thoughts. But she looked spent. And overwhelmed. Sad, too.

  When she looked at him again, her hand slipped across her blanket and wrapped around his. Then she slid her fingers into his.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

  That little gesture meant more to him than she’d ever know. He stared at their hands entwined, and a burst of emotion rose inside of him. He leaned down and kissed her softly.

  “I’m glad you’re here, too,” he said. “I mean, not glad you’re in the hospital—well, actually, I’m thrilled you made it and are gettin’ the help you need. But I mean that I’m glad you’re here here.”

  As in, not dead.

  She seemed to understand and even managed a tiny smile. “Me, too.”

  Then, totally and without warning, the tears pooled again. Only this time they overflowed and leaked down the sides of her cheeks.

  “Hey, whoa,” he said, wiping them back. “Everything’s gonna be okay, you’ll see. Don’t be sad, Carrie girl. Not now.”

  “Oliver bought my house,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “Amazing, isn’t it? You’re a free woman in more ways than one now.”

  “Why me? Why did he buy it when he knows that I love you?”

  “Ah. So you do love me?” Greg winked at her even as his heart swelled another notch. “So…was it my good looks? My unbelievable charm?”

  She gave him a tired look.

  “Sorry.” He tried to sober up—a difficult task considering he was soaring. “You know Oliver. You know the kind of guy he is. He cares for you and just wants you to be safe. It’s a gift to you. A gift to all of us, actually.”

  “Then why couldn’t he buy the house for someone who would appreciate it and not slap him with a rejection afterward?” A few more tears slipped down her cheeks. “I told him I love you. I told him. He knows, but he still bought it for me. Why?”

  “Because I wanted to,” a quiet voice said from behind them.

  Greg turned to see Oliver in the doorway. Standing quickly, Greg moved off Carrie’s bed, wondering how long he’d been there.

  “Hey, Carrie,” Oliver said, forcing some brightness into his tone. “You’re awake. That’s…that’s good. Really good.”

  More tears slid down her face. She didn’t bother wiping them back—probably too much effort. Though Greg wanted to, he didn’t either, not with Oliver there, hearing what he’d heard. The last Oliver and Carrie had talked—really talked—had been on their date, the one where Oliver had kissed her. Carrie didn’t look embarrassed by what he’d heard. She didn’t even blush. She just looked heartbroken by the rejection she had known—from the beginning—was inevitable.

  “How’d it go?” Greg asked Oliver as a diversion.

  Oliver’s eyes finally shifted away from Carrie. Remembering himself, he crossed the room and handed Greg a fat wad of cash. “Here. This should be enough.”

  Brows lifting, Greg flipped through the bills. There were hundreds of dollars. Plenty to cover Carrie’s expenses—plus his family’s.

  “How?” Greg asked in amazement.

  Oliver shrugged. “Oh, and I stopped by the neighborhood. Braden and Terrell are worse but resting fine. However, Mrs. Watson started now. Sorry.”

  “Rhonda, too?” Greg blew out his breath. “Are they still quarantined?”

  “Yes.”

  Carrie sniffed back more tears behind him.

  “Amber and Zach are fine,” Oliver said to her. “They’re fine, Carrie. I talked to them, and neither have any symptoms. None whatsoever.”

  A strange phenomenon which made Greg think President Rigsby’s cronies had somehow engineered the disease to skip the teen generation, the ones who could be molded, influenced, and brainwashed.

  Oliver and Carrie were still looking at each other.

  Greg didn’t know everything that had happened between the two of them in the six weeks he had been gone, but he suddenly felt like the third wheel.

  He moved to the door. “Hey, I’m gonna poke around for a bit. I’ll be back.”

  Neither glanced his way as he slipped out of the room.

  fifty-eight

  CARRIE AND OLIVER STARED at each other for a full minute before she found the courage to speak.

  “I’m sorry, Oliver.” Her emotions were overflowing, her throat raw, but she kept going. “I’m so sorry that—”

  “Please don’t,” Oliver said softly, so soft she almost missed it with her bad ear. “You did nothing wrong.”

  I just broke your heart.

  “Are you…” He paused. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she said, throwing out an automatic response. In reality, she was far from fine. Her ear. Her head that still hurt. Her stomach that rolled with nausea. Her eyes that only focused if she blinked a dozen times—and if she happened to look away, even for a second, she had to refocus all over again. Then there were those in the clan on the same path, Greg limping around with a fake badge, and…Oliver. She was on the verge of losing it mentally, physically, and emotionally. Well, she’d already lost it emotionally.

  Wiping her cheeks, she took a few calming breaths. It would be okay. Her symptoms would improve. Her sick friends would be okay. May. Braden. All of them. They would be okay somehow. And Oliver would be…

  Oliver was…

  Crushed.

  “Thank you for my house,” she whispered. Another house for the clan. Another garden. More safety, less hiding. Citizenship for her and her
siblings. It was too much. She struggled to keep her head above water.

  He played with a gold button on his uniform. “Sorry it took so long. I wanted to buy it for you years ago. Sorry I bought it without asking you. I tried to tell you. I tried so many times, Carrie, but I just…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  How could Oliver apologize for such a gift?

  “What can I do?” she whispered.

  “Get better.”

  He blurred beyond recognition. “Why are you so good to us? So good to me?”

  Oliver shook his head fiercely. “Not good. I got you sick. I’ve endangered your whole clan. I’ve been so scared—so, so scared, Carrie—that I killed you all. I’m still scared, but I’m glad you’re getting better. And I’ll do whatever I can to help the others, too. Is there…” He thrust his hands in his pockets. “Is there anything I can do for you right now? Do you need anything?”

  The question was so backward and guilt-inducing, but she forced herself to smile.

  “Can you keep me company? Maybe catch me up on what I’ve missed?”

  His face, so long and concerned, so tortured and lonely, finally relaxed into a smile. He moved to the open chair. “I’d like that.”

  * * * * *

  Greg watched the flurry of doctors, nurses, and sick people moving through the hallways. Obstetrics was no longer a quiet place, and standing around with a fake badge made him feel like he had a target on his chest. He folded his arms while watching the direction the nurses moved. Whenever one passed with a pile of meds, Greg stole a foot that direction. They had to be getting the medicine from somewhere.

  Carrie’s nurse turned a corner and spotted him. “What are you doing out here, sir? You’re not supposed to be in this hallway. Is there a problem? I haven’t been able to find the doctor yet.”

  “No. There’s no problem,” he said, not mentioning that Carrie had woken. Carrie and Oliver didn’t want to be disturbed just yet. “I’m just lookin’ for a place to score some food. I’m famished.”

  “The cafeteria is on the main floor.”

  “Great. Thanks,” he said, heading toward the front of Obstetrics while knowing he’d never risk passing that many hospital staff for some food. He was hungry. Not suicidal.

  Once Carrie’s nurse disappeared, he sneaked back to the hallway he’d been watching. He was pretty sure they were getting medicine from one of four rooms at the end of the hall.

  When the next nurse passed, Greg bent down to tie his shoe. The nurse pulled out his badge and swiped it through a security panel on the wall. The door opened. The nurse was inside a minute before he reappeared with a small tray of meds. Greg was still tying his shoe.

  The man left. Greg stood and studied that security panel. The nurse had used his green citizenship card to open it. Desperate, Greg tried the Asian lady’s card. He was shocked when the door swung open.

  “Huh,” he whispered.

  More green card privileges.

  He quickly shut the door behind him and looked around. Shelves of medicine lined the room. Bottles, boxes, needles. Clueless, he started searching the stacks for a box that matched the label on Carrie’s IV bag. Everything was written in medical, chemical jargon. He hadn’t the foggiest idea what he was looking for.

  He was searching the second row when he froze. Women were laughing in the hallway right outside of the door.

  Greg dropped to a crouch.

  If they opened the door, they wouldn’t see him. But if they came inside, he was dead. There was nowhere to hide. The room was too small.

  Keep going, he begged silently.

  No such luck.

  The door opened, and two women in scrubs walked in, continuing their conversation about some combative patient. He saw their shoes and bent lower behind a small stack of boxes. They walked right past him, too distracted to notice him glued to the floor.

  Still crouched low, he started to move, to slip back toward the door. Only the door shut after they entered, which would pose a problem. They would hear him open it.

  “Ah!” One of the women cried. “Who are you?”

  Flinching, Greg stopped. The other nurse, a younger one, turned and saw what her older friend had seen. She jumped back as well.

  “Who are you?” the older nurse demanded again. She had graying hair and put an arm in front of her younger partner, as if that could protect them. “Why are you in here?”

  Greg looked around for a valid reason, but too many days without sleep and too many close calls left him fresh out of lies. Slowly, he stood and held his hands out to show he wasn’t armed.

  “I just need some medicine,” he said.

  They seemed to understand in an instant. He wasn’t lost. He was stealing.

  The younger nurse picked up the nearest box and held it high in a semi-threatening position. The gray-haired lady took four brave steps forward and flipped Greg’s lanyard over.

  She saw the woman on the lanyard and gasped. Then her jaw tightened. “I’m getting security,” she said.

  She moved as if to pass Greg, but he sidestepped, blocking her.

  “Listen,” he said, “my friends are sick. Real sick. Only they can’t come to the hospital. They’re gonna die if I can’t find them help, and they don’t deserve to die. I just need a little medicine, and then I’ll go. I can even pay for it,” he added, reaching into his pocket.

  “Don’t move!” the younger one yelled, raising her box again.

  Greg was twice her size, yet she still looked around him as if calculating what he’d do to her if she made a run for it. Or screamed.

  “Please,” he said, lifting his hands in a show of peace. “I know what this disease is. I know it’s G-979, and it’s designed to wipe out people like us who can’t get help. I know President Rigsby wants us all dead.” His muscles clenched. “And I can’t let that happen.”

  The older nurse’s brows shot up. “How do you know that? Who are you?”

  I’m a special op, so move out of my way, he nearly said. Sure. Go ahead and verify. My busy commander loves to be interrupted. The lie would probably work. They might not even call Commander McCormick. But if they did…he had just assured Carrie that he had kept his promise.

  The guilt twisted inside of him.

  His hands fell in surrender. “I’m nobody. Just a guy with friends who are dying. A guy with nothin’ left to lose.”

  “Are you part of the rebellion?” the gray-haired woman whispered.

  Technically no. He planned to stay in the shadows for the rest of his life. But if President Rigsby kept taking down those he loved, Greg couldn’t—he wouldn’t—stand idly by any longer.

  Though he would probably regret the answer once security arrived, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I am.”

  The two nurses eyed each other. Based on the fear in their eyes, he guessed they were deciding who had to run for security and who had to detain him. He wouldn’t fight them, but he couldn’t let himself be taken either. So he took a step back. Neither noticed. He stole another step toward the door.

  “No,” the younger one whispered to her partner. “We can’t.”

  “It’s the right thing to do,” the older nurse said. Then she turned and smiled at Greg.

  Smiled.

  He stopped.

  “Here,” she said, moving to a side shelf. “Your friends will need these.” Going up on tiptoes, she grabbed a box down and held it toward him. “This will treat eight people. Is that enough?”

  His gaze flickered from her to the box and then back again. Her younger counterpart didn’t look thrilled, but neither did she run for help.

  “Is it?” the older nurse asked again, less sure of herself.

  He shook his head to clear it, realizing what she was offering. Eight people. “Uh, I think so. Then again, it’s spreadin’ fast. Six of our clan have already contracted it.”

  “Then here’s another, just in case.”

  As she handed him two small boxes, disbelief spread through him. Tre
atment for sixteen people.

  “Why?” he asked.

  The older nurse’s eyes grew moist, but it was the younger one who answered.

  “Live free or die,” she whispered.

  Understanding spread through him at the same time a smile did. These women might work for the government—for President Rigsby. They might have green cards in their lanyards, but…

  The rebellion wasn’t just for illegals anymore.

  “Live free or die,” he echoed.

  “Here,” the younger one said. “Let me get you a badge that isn’t so suspicious.”

  fifty-nine

  THE DOCTOR WAS EXAMINING Carrie by the time Greg walked back in. Carrie nearly cried out with relief. Greg wasn’t handcuffed or beaten, but he’d been gone so long, well over an hour, that she was sure he’d been caught. Then she realized her doctor or nurse could check his citizenship just as easily as anyone else.

  She tried to ward him off with a warning look as he entered. He needed to wait in the hall until they left, but he just flashed her that crooked, confident smile.

  Why did he think he was invincible?

  Dropping a small sack behind the door, he strode across the room to Oliver in the corner. The two men whispered quietly, catching each other up on things she couldn’t hear.

  “Miss Ashworth?” the doctor said, leaning into her view.

  “Sorry.” Carrie faced front.

  The doctor shined a light in her eyes. Carrie tried not to shrink back or close her eyes against the blinding light, but the pain was unbearable, like staring at the noonday sun.

  “Is the room still spinning?” the doctor asked.

  “Not as much,” Carrie said. “I’m mostly light-headed.”

  “Hopefully that will improve with time. Sorry, I know the lights bother you. I’m almost done.”

  The doctor finally finished and wrote some notes in her chart. Carrie sat back against her inclined bed and clutched her hospital gown, needing something to ground her. She hadn’t asked where her mom’s blue blouse went or who had changed her into the thin cotton gown—hopefully not one of the men in the corner who continued speaking in hushed tones.