Life
Date: 2014-09-15 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Dystopia; Romance; New Adult; Young Adult; Clean Romance; Suspense; Lds Fiction; Science Fiction; Fantasy; Post Apocalyptic
Description: Her home. Her parents. Her freedom. Gone. His dreams. His sister. Himself. Lost. Two people. One future. The economy crashed, the country is floundering, and Carrie Ashworth struggles to keep her siblings alive. She has two jobs in her newly formed, newly outlawed clan: grow crops to feed thirty-six people, and maintain contact with Oliver Simmons, their local patrolman. Carrie's life is almost content when Greg Pierce shows up. A man with the ambition to help them survive. A man determined to hate her. Greg sets to work devising systems to protect the clan from the new regime, but it doesn't

CITIZENS OF LOGAN POND

BOOK 1

REBECCA BELLISTON

GATED PUBLISHING

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

PRINT ISBN 13: 978-0-6923969-8-8

PRINT ISBN 10: 0-692-39698-5

Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Lund Belliston
www.rebeccabelliston.com

Cover Design Copyright ©2015 Gated Publishing

Ebooks/Books are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away. To do so is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Table of Contents

*Dedication

*Quote

prologue
one
ten
twenty
thirty
forty
fifty

*Want more?

*Discussion Questions

*Liberty (book 2)

*About the Author

For Mom

Who sang “You are My Sunshine” to me as a child

Who instilled a love of life, music, family, and faith

Who taught me that dreams are worth chasing

Who thought better of me than I thought of myself

You will always be my sunshine

Lynn S. Lund (1942-2014)

Government ought to be exercised for the benefit of the people; which consists in the enjoyment of life and liberty, with the right of acquiring and using property, and generally of pursuing and obtaining happiness and safety.

JAMES MADISON

“Father” of the US Constitution

prologue

The air was still. Quiet. Not a bird could be heard, not a single puff of air rustled the streets of Illinois as if the entire world was perched on tiptoes, waiting.

Carrie Ashworth huddled with her father in the newly-erected Aurora Municipality Hall, sharing one interest with the other hundred people. The television. The large screen wasn’t nearly large enough to make out the face of the President of the United States.

“…After the collapse of Ameribank, First Citizens Bank, and countless others,” President Rigsby said from his standard podium and blue curtain backdrop, “I assure you we have not forgotten you. Congress is working with the Chairman of the Federal Reserve and the FDIC. I have personally met with the Secretary of the Treasury, my Council of Economic Advisers, and the CEOs and CFOs of the above-mentioned banks to discuss the potential fallout. I am here to tell you that we are on the brink of solving this systemic banking crisis.”

“On the brink?” Carrie’s father repeated.

Twenty people shushed him.

Sufficiently grave, the President continued over them. “I have spent long hours with Presidents Borzakov, Huang, and Maalouf. I have met with Prime Ministers Toure, Abbassi and many other leaders of the nations of the earth. They have pledged their help and assistance. However…” The President said, staring into the camera, “it will be some time before they’re able to assist. Our country is not the only one suffering from this economic disaster. As such, we’ve instituted a state of emergency which will expedite our ability to help you, our citizens. It is imperative, however, that you remain calm and patient.”

Carrie’s father grunted. He didn’t sound calm or patient.

No one did.

“As for the banks…” President Rigsby gripped the podium, “I am confident the temporary suspension on withdrawals will be lifted soon.”

The crowd erupted, protesting this new information. A woman yelled in Carrie’s ear, making Carrie flinch. Carrie raised her voice, too, so she could be heard.

“I don’t understand, Dad,” she said. “Lifting the suspension on the banks sounds like a good thing.”

“It would be,” he said, “but that’s what he promised four weeks ago. Which means no money. Still.”

Carrie’s stomach twisted with emptiness.

“At that time,” President Rigsby continued, voice rising as if he could hear the protests himself, “I urge you, my fellow citizens, to use prudence, wisdom, and patience. Another run on the banks will set our country back two years, possibly more. Prudence…” he let the word hang, “will save this great country.

“Until then, your local governments will be passing out blue cards. These cards will be distributed through your local municipalities and will replace the former coupons. I’m confident this new system will streamline our ability to distribute goods. Therefore, starting Monday, October first, said blue cards will become your only access to food, clothing, and shelter. Each family is required to send one representative to the designated posts.”

The man behind Carrie swore at the screen. Another raised an angry fist, nearly knocking her over. Shouts and booing drowned out the broadcast as the crowd began to riot. People pressed toward the screen, yelling at the two-dimensional image of the president, shoving Carrie right along with them.

Panicked, Carrie pushed back. Her feet struggled to keep her upright. At seventeen, she was not only short and shy but suddenly claustrophobic. Her heart pounded. She thrust out her elbows. Someone shoved back, pushing her further away. In another minute, she’d be trampled.

Someone grabbed her arm and she screamed. Then she saw it was her dad.

“Let’s go!” he shouted.

If there hadn’t been a woman between them, she would have flung herself at him. Instead, she clutched his hand and followed as he pushed his way through the mob. They caught the tail end of President Rigsby’s speech.

“Many of you are hungry,” the president boomed, using the same dramatic voice that won him the election. “Many have been evicted from your homes, but I am here to assure you that the government has not forgotten you, the nations of the world have not forgotten you, nor have I. Goodnight, and may—”

Carrie and her father broke out into a brisk September evening. She stopped and bent in half to gather deep breaths of people-less air. The cold evening cooled her skin and calmed her pulse, and she was glad her two siblings had stayed at the apartment. Unlike her, they were too young to understand the magnitude of tonight—of the last six months.

At least, she thought she understood.

“What does this mean, Dad?”

He stared at the municipality hall with a grave, aged look. “It means the government’s done helping us. This is it. This is our life now.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I was wrong!” He ran a hand over his thinning hair. “We all were.”

A lump formed in her throat. Her dad wasn’t a shouter—or he didn’t use to be. Not that she blamed him. An hour ago, she traced the protruding lines of Zach’s eight-year-old ribs before tucking him into his bedroll. With a kiss on the forehead, she promised they were heading to the municipality for good news. The government would have a solution to this financial crisis.

“You mean we can go home?” Zach had asked.

Silly her. She said yes.

Carrie thought about the cold, dark apartment that had become their temporary shelter since they were evicted from their home in Shelton. Surely the government couldn’t expect them to stay in that apartment forever, crammed into a brown, smelly place with three other families, fifteen strangers sharing one kitchen and one bathroom. Carrie’s family had their own bedroom. That was something at least. Which meant the Ashworths had one nine-by-ten foot room to call their own, the last place on earth. The conditions were tolerable when she thought they were temporary, just until the banks were up and running and they could get their savings back. But now…

This is it.

Her father’s words rang in her ears, sinking her. Her chin dropped and her eyes started to burn.

He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. It’s just…I don’t know what to do anymore. I thought they’d have a solution by now, but I should have known.”

She looked up. His hair had turned gray overnight, his blue eyes looked even grayer than his hair, and his mouth that used to wear a perpetual smile, now wore a perpetual grimace. Seeing him so forlorn was more painful than the emptiness in her stomach, more painful than never seeing their sprawling, two-story home again. Painful enough she forced herself to smile.

“We’ll be okay, Dad. The banks will give us our money back, and then…and then…” She shrugged. “We’ll be okay.”

He stroked her cold cheek. “I love my little girl. You keep that pretty smile on your face, and I’ll be okay. Now,” he glanced over his shoulder, “let’s get back to Mom before there’s trouble.”

They took off, their feet whispers in the night. They raced down the long street, through a dark alley, and up the black steps to their third-floor apartment.

As requested, Carrie tried to smile when they walked through the door, but her mom stood next to the others with desperate hope in her eyes, bringing tears to Carrie’s. They weren’t going home. She couldn’t bear to break the news, nor could she bear to hear it. She rushed past them into the last bedroom. Stepping over Amber and Zach’s sleeping forms, she unrolled her thin blanket and laid down, jeans, jacket, and all.

Sleep didn’t come easily. The furnace hadn’t kicked on—if there were even furnaces in the hastily-erected apartments—and she scrunched into a ball to keep warm. Knowing there were colder nights ahead made it worse. So when her parents stumbled into the pitch-black room an hour later, they were unaware Carrie lay wide awake a few feet away.

“I think Ron’s right,” her mom whispered. “We should leave before they mandate those blue cards. Otherwise, they’ll have the blockades up.”

“We can’t go back, babe,” her dad said, equally quiet and urgent. “We have nowhere to go. They repossessed our home. They’re losing control of the country, and we can’t risk it while they get it back.”

“Then we take up May and CJ’s offer,” she said. “They’ll take us in. You know they will.”

“With how many others?” he whispered. “Fifteen? Twenty? Shoved in their house like sardines until who knows when?”

“Which is so much worse than here?” her mom shot back.

Carrie held her breath to catch every word.

She saw her dad’s dark form unroll his blankets. “At least we have food here. You can’t expect May and CJ to feed that many people. CJ’s lost all his retirement money and—”

“We don’t have food here! They didn’t deliver anything tonight, Tom. Not a single scrap of moldy bread.”

“Nothing?” he said at the same time Carrie mouthed it. “Not even the water?”

“No.”

The only sound in the room was the Jepson’s baby down the hallway, protesting the emptiness in her tiny belly. Carrie grabbed her own hollow stomach, praying for a swift end to this nightmare. It would be at least a day before the next delivery of food—if there was a next delivery.

“If we go back to Shelton,” her dad whispered, “we’ll starve and freeze.”

“If we stay, we’ll starve and freeze,” her mom hissed.

“Yes, but at least I can find work here. Or maybe I’ll head to Chicago.”

“No, Tom. No! Not with the riots. You promised we’d stay together, for better or worse. You promised,” her mom whispered, losing control of her voice. “I just want to go home.”

Carrie shut her eyes, feeling the same way. She didn’t know May and CJ Trenton past the fact that they were old, retired, and had lived three houses down from Carrie’s family for as long as Carrie could remember. The Trentons were among the lucky few who owned their home free and clear before the financial crash, which meant they hadn’t foreclosed. They still had a home.

Carrie envisioned her tree-lined street and their view of Logan Pond. Even if they had to squish into Trenton’s with twenty other neighbors, her family belonged in Shelton, not in a nine-by-ten, smelly apartment in Aurora’s Third Municipality—or whatever they called it now.

Her dad sighed. “Just give me time to find work, babe. Long enough the government—”

“—will be digging mass graves instead of individual ones,” her mom cut in. “There are nine hundred applicants for every position. I’m not waiting.”

“Come on.” A smile crept into his voice. “With these ruggedly handsome, God-given looks, people will line up to hire me.”

Carrie waited for her mom to break, to giggle, or give some quick-witted retort. That was how their marriage worked. But her mom didn’t laugh. Not a bit. And that frightened Carrie more than anything she’d heard all night.

“One family got food tonight,” her mom whispered.

“What? Who?”

“The Gorskis. A patrolman sneaked in a bundle after everyone left for the broadcast.”

Carrie knew the Gorskis because they were staying in an apartment below them and had a seventeen-year-old girl like her. Like Carrie, Rachel Gorski was the oldest child. And like Carrie, Rachel Gorski was petrified of the future.

“Why them?” her dad asked. “Why no one else?”

“You’ve seen their daughter, Rachel. Can’t you guess?”

Carrie couldn’t. Her stomach hurt so bad it didn’t feel like hunger anymore. Her clothes hung on her body. Same with her family’s. There wasn’t a single reason which justified a patrolman giving food to one family while passing fifty others.

The sudden sound of sniffling brought Carrie’s head off her pillow. Her mom was crying? She’d seen her mom cry twice in her life, both times at funerals. Whose funeral was this?

When her mom spoke again, her voice was strained with emotion. “What kind of world is it, when your choice is to sell your children or watch them starve? We can’t stay. For Carrie’s sake as much as the others.”

Carrie jerked up. My sake? Amber and Zach were the helpless kids. Not her. She could fend for herself just fine. She almost challenged her mom, but then her dad said the words she’d been waiting to hear all night.

“You’re right. We’ll leave for Shelton first thing.”

And suddenly Carrie didn’t care why they were leaving, only that they were.

Home.

She snuggled in, forgetting all thoughts of empty stomachs or damp bedrolls. They were going home—or to the Trentons. Close enough. Her eyes closed in pure joy.

Three months later, on a colder, darker evening, Carrie wondered how she ever fell asleep that night. She wondered how she ever deluded herself into thinking life would be better in Shelton. If she’d only known then what it would cost her to leave Aurora’s Third Municipality, she would have begged her parents to stay. Because before the first snows hit the fields of Shelton, Illinois, both of her parents were lying in cold, dark graves.

one

Greg Pierce yanked off his New York Yankees cap and wiped his brow. He sweated profusely in contrast to the freezing weather. It wasn’t snowing, but it might as well have been. The soft drizzle chilled him to the bone, yet his body continued to deplete itself of excess moisture he didn’t have.

Replacing his baseball hat, he glanced sideways. His mom didn’t look as nervous as he felt. She never did. The two stayed low behind a row of thorn-covered bushes as they waited for the patrol car to pass. The second Greg heard the engine he knew they were in trouble. The only cars on roads anymore were patrol cars, but usually patrolmen avoided deserted dirt roads like the one they were on. Not today, apparently.

The closer the car came, the more Greg despised everything: the never-ending northern winter, the lack of shelter from another storm, having to move to Illinois in the first place, and the poverty which prevented him from changing any of it. But mostly he despised life itself. Even five years after the Collapse, he still couldn’t accept how things had turned out for him—for them.

As the patrol car neared the last bend, Greg’s stomach growled, shattering the profound silence. He shoved a fist in his gut. After all the miles they’d walked, after all the weeks and months of hiding and starving, it would be just his luck to have an empty stomach blow their cover now.

His mom heard his stomach and smiled. She actually smiled.

He glared at her. You think this is funny? he wanted to shout. You think this is some kinda joke? They were two minutes away from spending the rest of their lives in some government prison camp, and she had the gall to smile?

She rolled her eyes and spoke full voice. “Those patrolmen can’t hear us or your poor stomach. They’re about gone and we’re about there, so relax, would you?”

He would have, but the patrol car stopped. It was ahead of them by a hundred yards, but it pulled to a complete stop.

Greg shoved his mom into the snowy bush. She yelped as thorns scratched her cheek, but he didn’t have time to care. The car door opened and three police dogs shot out, snarling and growling in the freezing rain.

Greg didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He didn’t even wipe the slushy rain from his eyes as he watched those patrol dogs, calculating.

Go the other way. Go the other way.

It only took a second to know he and his mom weren’t the targets. The dogs were on a dead run for an old, fallen barn down the snowy hill. The wet pile of rubble was such that Greg hadn’t considered it a safe place to escape the storm. The rest of the area looked like uninhabited farmland, the reason he chose this route in the first place, but he had the sinking suspicion he was about to be proven wrong.

Two patrolmen dressed in green emerged behind the dogs at a leisurely, arrogant pace. Their guns stayed low, content to let the howling beasts do the work for them.

At first it seemed like a lost cause. The dogs circled the collapsed barn in search of a way in. Then the lead dog gained courage and charged.

A loud shout erupted. In an instant, it was pure pandemonium. What seconds ago had been a lifeless pile of rotting wood suddenly became a swarm of people.

The patrolmen ran forward, guns pointed, as two dozen squatters flew out of the wooden heap. Grown men. Women. Children. The people scattered like frightened chickens, but they didn’t have a chance. The dogs were trained to kill. So were the patrolmen.

“I can’t watch this,” Greg’s mom whispered.

She tugged on his coat to make a run for it, but he yanked her down and pressed a finger to his lips. He pointed down the hill. Her face turned white as another patrol car came around the bend, and she backed further into the thorn bush.

The second patrol car stopped, and more patrolmen emerged. The dogs kept busy rounding up the squatters like scattered sheep. An older man, two girls, and a young mother holding a wailing baby were herded into a small, frightened circle. Greg watched their dirty faces sink as they saw their already-pitiful lives slip through their fingers.

One of the patrolmen whistled, bringing the barking dogs to a halt. Even from a distance, he looked smug.

“Cards!” he demanded loud enough to carry up the hill.

From their bone-thin bodies, weathered clothes, and shattered expressions, Greg figured the squatters’ pockets were as empty as his.

An older man stepped forward, hands up, pleading with the officer. But it was a younger man—a boy really—that caught Greg’s eye. He looked restless and fidgety against the old barn. He was ready for a fight. Greg couldn’t help but wonder what he’d do in that teen’s shoes. For all he knew, he and his mom were two minutes away from such a scenario. Arrest. Life in prison. Work camps. Death. Their only crime: homelessness.

The officer closest to the boy noticed the same movement and shouted, “Wait! We don’t want to harm you. For your own sakes, we advise you to not resist arrest.”

The teen took two defiant steps forward. The rage in him caused Greg to shiver.

A man, possibly a father, put a hand on the boy’s shoulders. Chin dropping, the boy stepped back in obedient surrender. Greg was relieved and disappointed at the same time. The boy would live, but what kind of life?

For a moment, it looked like it would be a peaceful arrest. The patrolmen kept shouting orders, and the small clan lined up. Greg perched on the balls of his feet and gave his mom the signal. In a second, they’d make a run for the woods behind them. She looked white as a sheet but nodded.

Then it happened. One of the patrolmen, haughty and unfeeling, reached for the screaming baby.

“No,” Greg’s mom breathed, echoing the cry of the baby’s mother. Yet the mother had no choice. She was trespassing on government property, squatting on land designated for true American citizens. She had no legal papers to protect her, no government-issued citizenship card. She was on a fast track to some work farm, which meant her baby was a ward of the state—as was her little girl being shepherded into the furthest patrol car. The mother was a mother no longer.

That’s all it took.

The teen charged forward, head down, fists balled, swinging for the nearest patrolman. Caught off guard, the officer stumbled backward and landed on the slushy ground. The boy didn’t stop. He plowed on and headed for the next patrolman, the one with the baby.

A third patrolman raised his gun and, in one deafening shot, ended the dispute.

The boy dropped. Dead.

Greg’s mom screamed a loud, piercing scream. Greg whirled, too stunned to do anything but stare at her. The only thing that saved them from her outburst was the simultaneous yelling and barking that erupted below. The patrolmen were too preoccupied with the frantic squatters to notice two more illegals up the hill.

Greg didn’t take the chance.

He grabbed his mom and their bags. They hunched low as they ran over the deserted field. One hundred feet. Two. They flew as fast as their awkwardly-hunched bodies could.

Muscles burning, Greg risked a glance over his shoulder. The patrol dogs weren’t pursuing them, but he didn’t stop. Even when his mom wheezed and gasped for air, he forced her on until they could reach a place where there would be no more running.

***

The early March wind whipped through the empty field. With no crops growing, it was free to bluster and swirl on top of the frozen soil. Carrie Ashworth stood in the middle of the field, head tipped back, eyes closed, and arms stretched out as far as they would go.

A laugh escaped her.

Spring was coming. Of all the people in the Logan Pond Clan, she was the only one who felt that way. The rest predicted a long, hard winter followed by a cold, wet spring. But they were wrong. Winter was losing its grasp in Northern Illinois, and soon the forsythias would bloom, the spireas would explode in brilliant fuchsia, and the magnificent flowers of the Midwest would make their show.

Even after the rain started, Carrie kept her face parallel to the sky, letting each cold drop find a spot on her pale skin. It felt wonderful. Rain. Not snow. Then the moment had to end. She dashed across the soon-to-be-garden toward home. Her home was only three houses down from May and CJ’s, but she sprinted anyway. If her clothes got wet, there would be no drying them for a week. Dancing in the rain would have to wait for a summer day.

“It’s raining!” she announced as she entered her two-story brick home.

Amber and Zach cuddled under a patchwork quilt on the couch, noses in a book. Carrie was pleased to see them reading after getting on them earlier for neglecting their studies. Sometimes it was hard being sister and parent, even after five years.

She shook the moisture from her coat. “It’s raining,” she said again.

“Grand,” Zach muttered without looking up. “Mud.”

“You should be happy,” she said. “You don’t have to do the chickens in the snow.”

He rolled his eyes and went back to his book.

Carrie squeezed on the couch to share the warmth of the blanket. Both siblings moved to give her plenty of space. Too much space. She wanted to snuggle while they read. Sadly, some traditions couldn’t last.

She was tempted to ruffle Zach’s hair to get his attention. The color matched her own—something in between blond, brown, and red, and yet none of the three. It was shaggy, though. He could barely see the pages through his mop. Time to ask Jenna Kovach for a haircut. Carrie groaned. Though Jenna cut everyone’s hair in the clan, she made sure they knew how much she hated it.

Carrie checked Amber’s hair, but it looked beautiful as usual. Of the three Ashworth kids, Amber looked the most like their mom: flowing auburn hair, straight petite nose, and full pink lips. If she’d ever look up, stunning dark eyes would peek up under a shelf of thick lashes. At sixteen, Amber was ten times the beauty Carrie was at twenty-two. The two of them barely resembled sisters, but Carrie didn’t mind. She loved having a living picture of her mom to stare at every day.

Amber lowered her book. “Problem?”

“Sorry,” Carrie said. “Did Oliver stop by yet?”

“No. Wow. Something went right today.”

Carrie frowned. “Be nice. Without Oliver, we’d be—”

“Speaking of annoying people,” Amber cut in, “your other best friend was just here. I swear you love torturing me, leaving me alone with those two all the time. Oliver won’t talk, and May won’t shut up.”

“May stopped by? Why didn’t she check the field? I was right out her back door.”

“Hello. It’s raining,” Amber said. “She forgets how weird you are.”

“What did she want?” Carrie asked, ignoring the dig.

“She brought us their leftover goat cheese.”

Carrie smiled. May and CJ Trenton had kept a close eye on the three orphans over the last five years, becoming the grandparents they didn’t have. Carrie and May had grown especially close, playing two or three-man Canasta every week depending on whether CJ would put up with May’s skewed rules. It was amazing CJ and May didn’t starve when they kept giving away their food.

Amber went back to her book, but the storm darkened the room, making it impossible to read. She knew better than to ask for a candle in the middle of the day. Instead, she stared gloomily out the window. Zach stopped reading as well.

“Do I have to do the chickens today?” Zach whined. “My ankle hurts.”

“Yes,” Carrie said, “but you can wait until the storm passes.”

“Good. Then I’m going to sit on the porch.”

Carrie smiled as Zach jumped up and headed outside. She wasn’t the only one who loved a good storm.

She stood. “Are you coming, Amber?”

Based on the look Amber shot her, Carrie didn’t wait for a response.

The second Carrie stepped outside, she forgot about the rain. She squinted through the downpour and saw May’s front porch light on. Of the thirty-eight homes in the Logan Pond subdivision, the Trentons were the only ones who owned their home, the only people who weren’t living illegally on government property. As such, they were the only ones with coveted citizenship cards and even-more-coveted electricity. Even then, May and CJ only used electricity a couple of times a year and only for absolute necessities. Not for something as useless as a front porch light. And during the day, too?

“Stay here,” Carrie told Zach. Then she made another mad dash through the rain.

By the time she reached May’s door, her curiosity was fully piqued. She heard several voices inside the Trentons even though there wasn’t a scheduled clan meeting. She knocked the clan signal—two fast, one slow, three fast.

May opened the door and threw her arms around her. “Carrie! Oh, Carrie! You’ll never believe it.” Then little, old May Trenton, so frail and seemingly breakable, bounced up and down on her toes. “She came. She came!”

“Who came?” Carrie asked. Their clan never had visitors. Ever.

May answered by tugging her inside.

Carrie gasped. Not only was the front porch light on, but all the lights inside. It had been five years since Carrie had seen a house fully illuminated. It took her breath away. But she didn’t have time to ponder the joys of electricity as May pulled her through a dozen clansmen into the bright kitchen.

A woman stood by the kitchen table, the center of attention. She was mid-fifties with brown, wet hair that hung in her face. She looked worn down and exhausted and yet smiled at all the commotion.

Carrie’s eyes widened in recognition. “Mariah?”

Mariah turned, surprised to have been called by name when she couldn’t do the same.

May Trenton took Carrie in one arm and her only daughter in the other. “She came!” May sang again. “She came!”

two

News spread fast.

Within minutes, the Trenton home filled with all thirty-four members of the clan. Apparently it wasn’t just May’s daughter who had come north, but her grandson as well. Carrie hadn’t seen Greg yet, nor was she in any hurry to. She hung back on the edge of the crowd, staying in May’s kitchen out of sight.

The lights were off again in the house, but in a way everyone was more comfortable like that. The clansmen were hushed, listening to Mariah speak. Even the little children felt the importance of having two new faces around—the only people they’d ever seen outside of the clan besides Oliver. They sat in quiet amazement as Mariah explained how she and Greg had traveled on foot from North Carolina to Illinois.

As Mariah spoke, Carrie glanced up at the Trenton’s family picture behind her. May and CJ were surrounded by their two children and five grandchildren. Mariah looked older now by twenty years—they all did—but she still had the same lovely face and CJ’s kind, green eyes. Mariah’s two children sat beneath her: Kendra, an adorable toddler—who for some reason wasn’t in the front room—and Greg, a five-year-old blond up front.

Carrie couldn’t count how many times May had dragged her to that family picture to play the What if? game.

“What if they didn’t live so far away?” May would say. “What if you could meet my Gregory? He’s a wonderful boy. You shouldn’t be single, Carrie. Times are hard. This isn’t the time for a woman to be alone. You need a man to take care of you. A man like Gregory.”

Carrie didn’t agree with the statements but rarely corrected her dear friend. Without computers, phones, or even simple mail service, contact between Illinois and North Carolina was impossible. So it seemed harmless to play May’s games. Just a way to pass the long winter days. But now that Greg and his mother defied all odds crossing the country—on foot no less—and everyone but Greg knew his grandma was about to play matchmaker, Carrie wanted nothing more than to disappear. She backed further into the kitchen.

A movement caught her eye. Amber emerged from the crowd. “He’s waaayy cute,” Amber whispered. “And have you heard him talk yet? He has the best accent.”

Carrie’s cheeks flamed hot. If there was ever a time to be a fly on the wall…

“What’s North Carolina like?” a kid asked in the other room. One of the Dixon twins.

“Oh, it’s real lovely,” Mariah answered wistfully. “There’s miles and miles of pines and rolling hills that stretch as far as the eye can see. I’m gonna miss it.”

Amber shot Carrie a look. “They’re staying?”

Carrie closed her eyes. Her small, secluded clan suddenly felt much smaller and more secluded.

Please, May. For once in your life, keep your big mouth shut.

“Did you see any cars on the roads?” another kid asked.

“Not many. Most of the roads are still empty. But y’all wanna know somethin’?” Mariah added excitedly. “We saw a train in Tennessee.”

There were a few gasps from the little kids.

“Was it moving?” Zach asked.

Zach’s voice snapped Carrie back to reality. She was missing her chance to watch the children get a small glimpse outside their confined world. Cars and places like North Carolina were things most of them only heard about, things they only had books to prove for their existence. And she was missing it for what? Some silly speculations of a lonely grandma?

Carrie left her giddy sister and stepped around the people in the front room. She found a spot behind shaggy-haired Zach and wiggled in. Little Jeffrey Kovach immediately climbed onto her lap. His dark eyes were as big as Ping-Pong balls.

“Look, look!” he whispered, pointing at Mariah.

Carrie hugged him. “I see.”

Mariah noticed and smiled, although she kept the narration flowing.

CJ kept one arm around Mariah, and May clutched her hand. Their happy, radiant faces said it all. Their long-lost daughter was home at last.

As Carrie listened, she wondered if Mariah was toning things down a bit. In the five years since Carrie’s family left that tiny Aurora apartment, she hadn’t ventured far. She’d barely left the neighborhood, but she’d heard the stories. The financial and societal collapse of America hadn’t been pretty: homelessness by the millions, starvation, and more deaths than anyone—including the government—could count. Yet as Mariah talked about her and Greg’s trek north, she offered their little clan a cheerful tale.

Mariah’s lips were cracked and weathered, her shoulders hunched with weariness, and she had several fresh scratches on her cheek. Yet her green eyes were vibrant as she spoke, and her mouth curved up in a continual smile. Coupled with her slight southern drawl, she had the whole group captivated. Even Little Jeffrey stayed quiet on Carrie’s lap.

As for Greg, Carrie wasn’t ready to look yet. He stood against the side wall, and she kept her gaze locked straight forward.

“They divided Nashville into two dozen municipalities,” Mariah went on. “I couldn’t believe it. There’s fences everywhere. Fences, but few people. We walked and walked, but rarely saw anybody. ‘Course, we were avoiding most everybody as best we could, sticking to the back roads and deep woods. We coulda passed thousands of clans and never known it.”

Zach straightened next to Carrie. “How long did it take to walk here?”

Mariah smiled down at him. “Guess.”

“Two years?” Zach tried.

“Nope.” Mariah motioned for others to try.

“Three weeks?” someone called.

“Forty hundred months?” a Dixon twin asked.

While Mariah waited for the right answer, Carrie’s eyes betrayed her. She glanced sideways.

Greg leaned against the side wall, arms folded. Like she remembered from his pictures, he had a great face with steady eyes and a strong jaw. The fact she could see his jaw was strange. All the men in their clan wore beards, having given up the tedious shaving ritual long ago. Oliver shaved, as did most patrolmen, but then again, patrolmen lived differently than the rest of the world anyway.

Greg was average height and thin, much thinner than his pictures. He wore a faded, light blue UNC shirt which looked like it had been stretched in the wash. His jeans were ripped and faded, more than those in the clan. Even then, he was better looking than she remembered from May’s photo albums. Of course, after five years of the same thirty-four people, he could be part horse and she would think he looked amazing. His hair wasn’t bleached blond anymore like the younger version of himself but had deepened to a chestnut brown, close to Mariah’s shade. It was short, though, like a buzz cut. Another curious thing since most the men in the clan had hair at or past their shoulders. From what May said, Greg was a few years older than Carrie, making him twenty-four or five, which also surprised her. From the lines etched in his forehead, he looked closer to thirty.

It took her that long to notice Greg’s expression, and then she couldn’t see anything else. Where his grandparents’ eyes were full of light and excitement, his were dull and irritated. Where his mom smiled endlessly, he seemed stuck in a scowl.

Carrie faced front before people read more into her curiosity than what was there. So what that she was single and Greg was single and no one else within a decade inside her confined society was.

People kept guessing until Jeff Kovach called out, “Eight months?”

“That’s it!” Mariah said with a clap of her hands. “Eight months to the day. Can y’all believe it? I never thought it’d take half that long to walk here. Greg figured it’d take us six months, but I guess I slowed him down a bit.”

“How did you escape the Raleigh municipality?” Dylan Green asked.

Carrie’s eyes widened. Escaped? The last letter May and CJ received, Mariah, Greg, and Kendra were living in a small illegal clan outside Raleigh. Not in a government-run municipality. Of course, that was four and a half years ago.

“Well, it cost me all my jewelry, a gold tooth, and a night spent under two feet of garbage.” Mariah’s nose wrinkled. “Let’s just say, my boy made some interesting friends in the time we were there.”

Carrie’s curiosity won out again. Her gaze flickered to Greg, still leaned against the wall, arms folded. Sneaking past electric fences or guards couldn’t have been as easy or lighthearted as it sounded, but Greg’s blank expression didn’t change. Nor did it as Mariah went back to her story—their treacherous walk through the Smokies, being chased by a pack of wild dogs in Kentucky, and spending six weeks snowed in a barn in Decatur. His mom never glanced at him for confirmation or addition to the story, as if she expected his silence. Other than a few mentions of him hunting down “lil’ critters” for dinner, he was hardly even part of her tale.

Then again, neither was Kendra.

Carrie looked outside, wondering where Greg’s little sister was. Since the Collapse, most families clung together to survive. It only seemed natural Kendra would come north with them since they wouldn’t be returning. Having another single female around sounded heavenly to Carrie. Kendra was a year younger than her, and if only half of what May said was true, Carrie could get along with her easily. A friend. But Carrie didn’t want to interrupt Mariah to ask where she was.

Finally, Mariah gave a little yawn. “Listen to me goin’ on. Sorry, folks. It’s just been a real long time since we’ve seen anybody. I can’t tell you how nice it is to finally be here.”

CJ squeezed her shoulders. “And we can’t tell you how good it is to…” He stopped to clear his throat in an act Carrie knew he used to cover his emotions. “…to have my little girl home again,” he finished gruffly.

Carrie smiled. While she and May were close, there was a special place in her heart for CJ Trenton. He was quiet and unassuming—May’s exact opposite—yet well respected in the clan. He’d taken in and sheltered all thirty-four people in that room, keeping them fed and hidden until they could feed and hide themselves. Because of that, no one disputed his role as unelected leader.

CJ stood. “I would like to ask all of you to allow two more people into our clan, bringing our number up to thirty-six. I know this breaks from our rules, but I hope you’ll make an exception. Mariah can provide much-needed handiwork, and it sounds like Greg is quite the huntsman. Not to mention, we can always use two more people to help with the endless work around here. So, I motion for a vote. All in favor say ‘Aye.’”

A chorus of ‘Ayes’ erupted in the room.

“Any opposed?” CJ asked.

Three hands shot up. Carrie shouldn’t have been surprised to see whose. Richard O’Brien and Jeff and Jenna Kovach. As soon as Little Jeffrey saw his parents, he raised his hand, too. Carrie gave him a little squeeze and pushed his hand back down.

May glowered at the three adults, but CJ nodded evenly. “Objections noted,” CJ said. “How do you suggest we move forward?”

Richard O’Brien spoke first. “My apologies to Mariah and Greg. I’m not suggesting you shouldn’t be allowed to join our clan, but the last time we let someone in, they ended up walking off with a substantial portion of our supplies. Perhaps we could do a trial period?”

“I second that,” Jeff Kovach called out.

“No!” May cried. “They’re family!”

Mariah patted her arm. “It’s fine, Ma. People wanna get to know us first. You can understand that.”

“No, I can not!” May said. “Your father and I are the only legal citizens here. We should be able to say who can come or go.”

CJ frowned at her. “Now, May, that’s not how it works around here, and you know it. Richard and Jeff have as much say as you or I.”

“Can I say somethin’?” All eyes moved to Greg, surprised to hear from him after a half an hour of his silence. He stepped through the masses to stand next to his grandfather. “I think it’s only fair for…”

“Richard O’Brien,” Richard supplied.

Greg nodded. “It’s only fair for Mr. O’Brien here to ask for a trial period. We’d also like time to evaluate your clan before we commit to bein’ members of it.”

Carrie was surprised, but Mariah smiled, seemingly content to let Greg lead out in her behalf.

“Alright,” CJ said. “Jeff and Jenna? Richard? How about a month?”

“Agreed,” Richard said.

Jeff and Jenna nodded as well.

“Good,” CJ said. “Then exactly one month from today we’ll meet again. Until then, let me say welcome to Mariah and Greg from all of us.” His voice became gruff again. “We’re anxious to not only have you in the Trenton family, but the entire family we call the Logan Pond Clan.”

three

“Here?” Mariah said with wide eyes. “They’re all comin’ back here? Now?”

Carrie smiled. “Not until dinner.”

“Wow,” Mariah said. “How are we supposed to feed that many people?”

May pushed her long, wispy white hair from her face. “We have this down to a science. All the women are gathering what food they have from home, the older children are out back starting a large cooking fire in the pit—or at least, they better be. With the men hunting, we should have plenty of meat for this spontaneous meal. Grab me the large bowl, would you, Carrie?”

Carrie went on tiptoes to grab the mixing bowl from the upper shelf. She only agreed to stay behind after she heard Greg left with the men to hunt. She barely escaped May’s attempt at an introduction earlier with a quick mention of claustrophobia, saving her an embarrassing public introduction—or at least postponing it. She sent Amber home to grab their vegetables so she, May, and Mariah could start the main portion of the meal.

Carrie handed May the flour as well. “If you think thirty-six is bad, Mariah,” Carrie said, “you should have seen us that first winter. There were forty of us living here at May’s around the clock.” Longest six months of Carrie’s life.

“It was worse than sardines,” May said. “By the end, we all wanted to kill each other.”

“So you decided to move on back to your old homes?” Mariah said. “Seems awful dangerous.”

“People were desperate for space,” May said. “They spent more time in their old houses until they started sleeping there at night, too. Carrie and her siblings were the last to venture home. You can understand how hard it was for them to spend time in their house without their parents.”

Carrie blushed with May’s bluntness, but she took over the explanation. “When we heard other clans were posting guards to watch for patrolmen, we gave it a try. Then Oliver came along, and now he keeps an eye on us. Everyone lives in their old homes all the time. Dinner is easy in comparison.”

“I guess so.” Mariah wiped her hands on a towel. “Alrighty then. You two put me to work.”

“We’re doing the biscuits,” May said. “Carrie will do the venison.”

That was news to Carrie, but she didn’t mind. May probably wanted time alone with her daughter.

Carrie slipped out the back door, scanned the distant tree line—the men were still gone—and headed toward the freezer. They were down to their last venison roast, and it wasn’t a very big one either. Normally, March was a lean time of year with last year’s crops stretched thin and the next year’s crops still months away. But lately deer had been scarce during hunts. Jeff Kovach, the ex-lawyer and conspiracy theorist in the clan, was convinced the government was killing deer off to drive illegal clans like theirs into the municipalities for food. Carrie figured there was a deer shortage because clans like theirs were trying not to starve.

Cold water splashed her arms. She looked up. The clouds were still gray but no longer raining. Then she spotted the culprit. Zach and his friend, Tucker, were flinging well water at each other.

“Zach,” she called. “Stop goofing off and fill those water pots.”

Zach shook his wet hands in Tucker’s face. “Okay.”

Boys.

Carrie opened the freezer door and jumped back. A puddle of water spilled out of the bottom, and three large ice chunks dripped through the slotted shelves. Without electricity, they used ice from Logan Pond to keep the freezer cold. When they stacked the ice right, the freezer’s insulation kept things frozen until June—sometimes longer if they moved the freezer to the basement once the weather turned warm. But the ice chunks were already melting. The freezer was barely cold enough to pass for a fridge. And it was only March.

Spring really was coming early.

Carrie reached up and felt the venison roast. The outer edges were still cold and the insides thankfully rock hard. “When you guys finish,” she called, “mop up the water in the freezer.”

“Sure,” Zach said, struggling to get Tucker in a head lock.

She hefted down the roast, checked the tree line once more, and headed inside.

“May,” she said, “the freezer is…” She trailed off. May sat on a kitchen chair, floured hands covering her face, sobbing. Mariah knelt in front of her, stroking her long, white hair. Neither heard Carrie.

“I told Dad earlier, but I just…” Mariah’s shoulders hung. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

May’s crying picked up to a tortured wail. Carrie wanted to rush over and ask what happened. May wasn’t the type to cry. Not unless someone…

Carrie’s stomach dropped.

Kendra.

Except Kendra was too young, too close to Carrie’s age. But everything told Carrie otherwise. Mariah’s daughter. May’s only granddaughter.

Kendra was dead.

“No, no, no,” May continued to cry. Her reddened eyes lifted to Mariah’s. “When? Where? How?”

“She got real sick with the flu last year,” Mariah said softly. “Her asthma made it so she could hardly breathe. So we snuck into the municipality. Greg started work in the government factory, and I prayed real hard the doctors could help her. But…” Soft tears ran down Mariah’s scratched, weather-beaten cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mama. She’s gone.”

Suddenly Carrie realized she was trespassing on a private family moment. Regardless of how many Kendra stories May told her, she wasn’t family. She crept downstairs to find some spices. But at the bottom of the stairs, her thoughts unexpectedly whirled from Pierces to Ashworths. The memories slammed into her. Her mom. Her dad. The day she begged them to return to Aurora.

She sunk to the cement floor as she pictured her mom groaning, cold and clammy, and vomiting nothing but rancid air in her quarantined room here at May’s. Carrie had seen the end barreling down on her mom and pulled her dad into a dark corner.

“Please, Dad. I don’t know what else to do for Mom. She needs a doctor. You have to take her back. They’ll have medicines or IVs or something! Just please.”

He stared blankly at the wall. “We left. We’re on the black list. If we go back, they won’t give us blue cards. They’ll throw us in prison. If I take her back, she’ll never leave again. None of us will.”

“But if you don’t…” Carrie’s throat had clogged with tears, and once they started, she couldn’t make them stop. She’d never been so hysterical in her life.

She nearly convinced her dad to go back, but then her mom woke up. Carrie’s sobbing had woken her.

Through lips so pale it made Carrie wince in memory, Linda Ashworth looked at Carrie and then her husband. “You promised, Tom,” she whispered. “We can’t go back. For Carrie’s sake, you promised.”

Carrie understood now why they’d left, and it shamed her. She hugged her knees to find warmth in May’s cold basement. She couldn’t push away the fear that if she’d been bolder and pushier that day, she could have saved her mom—and her dad who died a few weeks later. Losing parents to seemingly simple diseases was not only painful, it was cruel.

But what had the municipality doctors done for Kendra? Absolutely nothing. She clung to that knowledge to lessen the pain, but only for a moment because it wasn’t fair to Mariah and May to find solace in their loss. Or CJ’s. Or Greg’s.

Greg.

She glanced up at the nearest block window. The thought of him finding her huddled in the basement got her on her feet. Taking a few deep breaths, she decided it was time to get that roast cooking over the fire and head home.

As she turned to finish, another memory assaulted her, this one less painful. Spices. Most of the spices in May’s basement had been grown and dried by Carrie and her mom. It was a blessing her mom passed on not only the joy of gardening but also the knowledge of how to spot edible plants in the wild. Even now, her mom was helping their clan.

Carrie wandered the long rows of upside-down spices, wondering how much time to give May and Mariah. She had known of her mom’s death for five years. May had known about Kendra’s for five minutes.

After a moment, her ears perked up. May said Carrie’s name loudly upstairs. May was hard of hearing and didn’t always realize what others could hear. In consequence, it sounded like she was having a one-sided conversation upstairs, one in which she was describing Carrie and all of her “divine qualities.”

“She’s just the sweetest thing you’ll ever meet,” May was saying. “That poor girl has been through so much since her parents passed, taking care of her brother and sister all on her own. And yet, you’ll never hear her complain. She’s such a sweet, little thing.”

As Mariah mumbled something in return, Carrie ran over to the darkest corner and grabbed a handful of onions.

“True,” May said. “If only she had a man to take care of her, she would—”

Carrie flew up the stairs. “I found some spices. Thyme, sage, and…” Breathless, she looked down. “Onions. Is that okay?”

Though red-eyed, May smiled. “Whatever you think, dear. You cook as well as I do. You’re just in time, too. I was telling Mariah all about you, but now you can take over. Go ahead. Tell her all about yourself.”

“I, uh…” Carrie’s cheeks warmed.

Mariah smiled knowingly.

“It’s a shame Gregory isn’t back yet,” May added, mixing the dough by hand. “I’m sure he would love to hear about you as well. Although I suppose there will be plenty of time for that later.” May winked at Carrie.

Carrie picked up the nearest onion and chopped it with fervor.

Mariah joined her by the sink and whispered, “Don’t mind my mama. She’s just teasin’.”

Only May wasn’t teasing. Not at all.

Mariah plunged her hands in the water bucket to clean off the crusted dough. “Sounds like you’ve had a hard life, Carrie. I’m sorry to hear about your folks.”

Grateful for the change of subject, yet not thrilled to revisit the past again, she nodded. “Seems like everyone has lost someone or another since the Collapse. I’m so sorry about Kendra. So, so sorry.” Mariah’s eyes glistened, making Carrie feel bad for bringing up her past again, but she finished anyway. “No parent should have to bury a child.”

Mariah looked over her shoulder at her mother rolling out the dough unaware. Sniffing, Mariah asked, “How’d your folks pass?”

“A lot of people were sick that first year,” Carrie said. “After the city shut off the water, we were desperate. We started pulling water from the pond. We boiled it and everything, but we must not have been careful enough. By the time we figured out it was the water, four people had died.”

Mariah stopped. “Four?”

Carrie winced in memory. “It was awful. But I still wonder if something else made my mom sick. She’s always loved plants, but without the internet—or even a library—she started experimenting, eating wild plants she’d never seen to keep us from starving. At first it seemed like the stomach flu, but then…” A sickly image popped into Carrie’s mind—the smells, the sounds—and she shuddered. “The vomiting wouldn’t stop.”

Mariah’s laid a hand on her arm. “I’m real sorry.”

Carrie’s eyes burned from the onions. She pushed them aside to snap off bits of thyme. “My dad got sick, too, but it was different. Honestly, I think he died from a broken heart. After my mom passed, he just couldn’t let go. He died three weeks later.”

“How awful!”

Carrie forced herself to smile. “Only for us left behind. Isn’t it every couple’s dream to go at the same time? I’m sure they’re happy now together, wherever they are.”

“I’m sure,” May interjected, coming up from behind, “that neither would have willingly left you three kids to fend for yourselves.”

Carrie hadn’t realized her surrogate grandma was still following the conversation. She gave May’s stooped shoulders a hug. “It hardly feels like we’ve been alone with you and everyone watching out for us. It won’t take you long to see the generosity in this clan, Mariah. The people here are so kind and—”

The back door swung open. CJ walked in with his grandson, the latter of the two carrying a few large game birds by their feet.

Carrie’s stomach did a flip.

Greg.

four

Carrie couldn’t find a comfortable spot for her eyes. It took Greg half a second to spot her in the kitchen next to his mom and grandma, and then he hadn’t looked away.

“Y’all are back already?” Mariah asked.

CJ clapped Greg on the shoulder. “This boy has a good eye. You should see him shoot his slingshot. He had half of us laughing when he took down that bigger bird there.”

Greg didn’t respond. He kept Carrie pinned against the counter with his deep stare.

Normally, Carrie was a self-satisfied person. Not that she considered herself anything special, personality, looks, or otherwise. She was simply content with who she was and who she wasn’t. Yet having a single man look at her so intently—a guy that attractive—all she could think was, When was the last time I brushed my hair? A bath was worse unless she counted her mad dash through the rain. Then she had mud and dirt to worry about as well.

She rinsed tried to remember the last single man she’d talked to. There was Oliver, but he didn’t count. Too old. Same with Richard O’ Brien, only older. Which meant it was right after her senior year of high school around the time of the second stock market crash. Five years and she couldn’t remember how to act or what to say. Already she felt like a fool, and she hadn’t done anything. But Greg wouldn’t quit staring.

“Oh, believe me,” Mariah said, “Greg kept us alive with that little contraption of his.” She went over to admire the large birds Greg held. “What’d y’all get?”

“Ring-neck pheasants,” CJ said. “They’re beauties, aren’t they?”

May looked up and realized there was a conversation happening without her. A grin the size of Texas split her wrinkled face. “Look, Carrie. Gregory is here at last,” she said loud enough for all of Texas to hear. “Wonderful! You’ve wanted to meet him all these years. We were just talking about him, and now he’s here!”

Greg’s dark brows shot up high. Carrie’s cheeks flamed. Leave it to May to pull off an introduction like that. Unfortunately, May wasn’t done.

“Don’t be shy, dear.” She tugged on Carrie’s arm. “You two are going to hit it off, I just know it.”

Carrie wanted to crawl under a hole, but it was too late. She let May drag her forward.

Greg didn’t budge. Not an inch. Even the dead birds in his hand refused to sway. The closer Carrie got, the more she realized his steady gaze was actually a steady glare. His frigid response stunned her momentarily. She shook it off and stuck out an oniony hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Greg. I’m Carrie.”

His gaze flickered from her still-flushed face to her hand, and then back again. That was it. Her hand remained untouched, his eyes maintained their icy stare, and the room dropped a few degrees.

Stunned, Carrie couldn’t move.

Thankfully, CJ didn’t see the same importance of the meeting as his wife. “What do you say we get these birds cleaned and cooking over the fire, Greg?”

Carrie didn’t watch the men head outside, nor did she look into May’s expectant eyes. Instead, she turned to Mariah. “I better go check on my sister. It was nice talking to you, Mariah.”

“You’re leaving?” May cried. “Now? What about helping Gregory clean the birds? I’m sure he’d love a cute little thing like you to show him how it’s done.”

There was no way Greg was far enough away to miss that one.

“See you in a bit,” Carrie said. She yanked off her apron and dashed out before May could make any more attempts to throw her in Greg’s path.

***

Amber dropped the potato on the counter the second Carrie walked in. If Amber got her way, she wouldn’t scrub another stupid potato for the rest of her life.

“Finally,” Amber said. “Thanks a lot. I can’t feel my fingers. It’s your turn.”

Carrie left on her ugly brown coat as she came in the kitchen and picked up scrubbing where Amber left off. Amber blew hot air on her pink, pruned fingers. Another reason to hate scrubbing potatoes. But one thought about their new visitor and a smile broke through.

“So what did you think of Greg?” Amber asked.

Carrie barely looked up. “Why don’t you tell me what you thought? I’m sure it’ll be more exciting. No doubt you and your friends have already planned our upcoming marriage.”

“No way!” Amber cried. “We want Greg to ourselves. I mean, did you see his biceps? And what about that face?” Amber sighed. “I haven’t seen a guy shave in forever—although if the guys in our clan had a face like that, maybe they would. I love the short hair thing, too. I didn’t even think I liked guys with short hair. Greg makes all the other guys look like cavemen.” Amber thought about the whole Greg package and her smile grew. “Yeah, there’s no way we’re sharing him with you. Sorry.”

Carrie rolled her eyes like she usually did when Amber talked about guys. “I guess the younger kids aren’t the only ones excited to see new faces. What does Braden think of you making eyes at May’s grandson?”

Amber’s hands flew to her mouth. “You don’t think Braden saw me, do you?” She’d been so careful to check out Greg when Braden was distracted.

Carrie grabbed another potato and plunged it in the freezing bucket. “Does this mean you’re ready to admit you and Braden are dating?”

“I hardly call cleaning up the field dating,” Amber drawled, “but sure, if your imagination wants to go there.”

“Braden’s a little old, don’t you think?”

Amber picked at her nails. “He’s only eighteen. I’m almost seventeen.”

“Almost? Braden turns nineteen in August. You won’t be seventeen until October. He’s too old.”

Amber grunted. Leave it to Carrie to spoil her mood. “It’s not like anything’s going on between us anyway. Besides, we were talking about Greg.”

“Well, if Braden’s too old for you,” Carrie said, “Greg’s definitely out of the running.”

“Carrie!” Amber said, stomping her foot. “You haven’t told me what you think of Greg yet.”

Carrie dropped the potato and her lips twitched in her usual annoying way. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really given a chance to talk to him.”

“Who said anything about talking? I’m talking about looking.”

Carrie laughed. “So that’s what this is about? You’re shameless, Amber.”

“Greg’s a million times better looking than Oliver. You don’t have to be shameless to know that.”

Carrie whirled around. “What does Oliver have to do with anything?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” Carrie was clueless.

Amber swatted her hand before she could grab the next potato. “Would you stop washing those? We’re almost out. I’d rather not starve this spring, if you don’t mind.”

Carrie examined the stack with a frown. Amber couldn’t tell if she was frowning because of the lack of potatoes or because of Oliver. Or maybe Greg. Then again, she might have been frowning for herself since she wasn’t looking too hot.

Amber tried to picture Carrie through Greg’s eyes. Carrie had potential. Depending on the light, her hair was the color of dark honey and waved down a little past her shoulders. When it was clean. Right now, it looked dull and limp. Her skin was too fair and too freckled. Nothing they could do about that. Not to mention her yellow work shirt clashed with her light skin. Carrie had seen better days, and that just wouldn’t do. Not with a hot, new guy around.

Carrie looked up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re not wearing that, are you?” Not that Carrie had many choices—none of them did. But Amber wouldn’t be caught dead in that dingy, yellow shirt, and that was her. Sadly, Carrie only had two shirts right now, which meant she had to choose between kind of ugly and really ugly. Amber just had to convince her to go for her non-work shirt. “You know you have to wear mom’s blouse, right?”

“And add fuel to the fire? No thanks. Everyone knows my clothes down to my socks. If I show up in that blue blouse, they’ll think I’m trying to impress Greg.”

“Which you are,” Amber said. “First impressions are everything.”

“It’s a little too late for that,” Carrie muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Carrie leaned against the counter. “What makes you think Greg cares about what I wear?”

Amber smiled. Her sister was cute. Totally clueless, but cute. “He’s a guy. Believe me, he’ll care. But if it makes you feel better, I’m wearing my pink shirt, and Lindsey’s wearing her sweater. And if you want,” Amber added because she was feeling generous, “I’ll even do your hair.”

five

Greg watched the people file back into his grandparents’ home, calculating. This clan was unlike any he’d seen. One guy chopped wood, one kept the houses in working order, another two or three hunted full-time, and another traded on the black market for supplies. With goats for milk and school for the kids, he felt like he stepped five years back in time—or more accurately, two hundred years since they still didn’t have access to modern technology. Not that Greg was complaining. He’d used a real toilet with flushing water. His grandma’s only condition was that he fill up the tank with water from the well afterward, a small price to pay after five years of digging outhouses. Pooling so many resources made Logan Pond into a thriving society, and his business-minded brain churned with the possibilities.

The aromas from the kitchen brought him back to the room: warm rolls, carrots bathed in butter, and a venison roast he envisioned dripping with juices. Each new scent floated in the air, taunting him. It had been eight months since he’d eaten a decent meal, and it drove his deprived stomach crazy with anticipation.

He watched his mom help with the last of the preparations. Greg wondered if she thought it was as strange to be at his grandparents’ without Kendra as he did. Probably not. She looked happy. Skinny, but happy. It would be good for her to eat real food again, too.

Stomach growling, Greg twisted around in his chair to figure out what was taking so long. Half the clan stood around chatting, in no hurry whatsoever. The last of the stragglers came in the front door. His eyes stopped on one in particular.

“Hello, Carrie,” his grandpa said. “Don’t you look nice. You can set your things on the table.”

Carrie looked up and spotted Greg at that same kitchen table. Greg’s eyes narrowed in warning. He’d been in Shelton all of six hours, and his grandma already planned out the rest of his pitiful life for him, future wife and all. Carrie would not be sitting at their table tonight. Or ever.

She turned back. “Actually, CJ, I thought I’d sit by Amber and Zach tonight.”

“May insists,” CJ said, patting her hand, “and you know better than to fight her. Here, I’ll take the potatoes.”

So his grandpa was in on it, too. Greg folded his arms, daring Carrie to take up his offer. Wisely, she made a wide circle around the table and joined the others in the kitchen finishing the preparations.

Even more annoyed, Greg sat back. Every minute he had to inhale those delectable scents felt like a year. Seriously, how hard was it to put a roast on a plate?

Finally with a rap of a wooden spoon, his grandma announced it was time to eat. Greg jumped up, plate in hand, but his grandpa grabbed his arm.

“We feed the children first,” his grandpa said.

“You can’t be serious.” Greg didn’t mean to let the thought slip out of his mouth, but that same mouth was on the verge of starting a violent revolution if it wasn’t pacified soon. Dejected, he sat back and counted the small heads. Sixteen kids in this clan. Sixteen! With the way pimply teenage boys ate, it might as well be thirty.

Adding to Greg’s dislike of her, Carrie followed behind a few kids and piled more on their plates than they could ever eat. He couldn’t decide what bothered him most about her: her thin figure—though there weren’t many women with curves anymore—or the smile which was too large for her face. She plopped a huge glob of potatoes on a toddler’s plate, deepening his opinion of her. No toddler in the world could eat that much.

“You’ll get used to how we do things up here,” his grandpa said. “Just give it time.”

“Yes, sir,” Greg muttered, which he meant to mean, Yeah, right.

He still wasn’t used to his grandpa with a beard either. And not just any beard. All the hair he’d lost on top had gathered and multiplied on his face, creating a bushy white beard that could pass for Santa’s if Santa was as skinny as a twig. His grandpa had dropped fifty pounds—at least—but he still wore the same clothes. A cream, button-down shirt hung loosely on his hunched frame, and his tan Dockers were five sizes too big, cinched tight at the waist with a frayed belt that could snap any moment.

Even scarier, Greg’s grandma had grown out her white hair. It hung past her shoulders but was too thin to be elegant. She wore thick round glasses which sat halfway down her nose. Both grandparents were missing teeth, which solidified Greg’s opinion that while the Collapse hadn’t been kind to anybody, it was especially cruel to the aged.

Speaking of which…

His mom pulled out the chair next to him. She still wore a smile even though she looked exhausted and had to have been as famished as he was. Maybe she hadn’t seen how many kids were in this clan.

Gritting his teeth, Greg tried to calm his irritation. It was the exhaustion talking. The fear of the future. The starvation and hope of a better life he wished to quell in case it was unwarranted. Things here couldn’t be as good as they appeared.

He focused on the men again. All were lean and trim which was good. He had no tolerance for freeloaders. A few men were on the younger side, but even then, they were in their early thirties. Fine by Greg. In spite of what his mom thought, he didn’t need any friends. And in spite of what his grandma thought, he didn’t need—or want—a girl. All he wanted was some stinking food!

Finally his grandma called out, “Alright. The children are done, so the adults can—”

Greg was to the food before she finished. He piled his plate high with buttered carrots, herbed potatoes, and several slices of venison and pheasant. His plate wasn’t big enough, but he was more than willing to go back for seconds or thirds.

Or fourths.

Being the first to the food meant he was the first back to the table. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone.

“Hi, Greg,” Carrie said.

She looked different up close. Better—kind of. Five years ago, he would have considered her plain with her light brown hair and freckled skin. Now she looked typical. No makeup. No frills. Except her blue blouse which didn’t belong in the harsh clan environment. They made her large, blue eyes stand out, her only decent feature. Nobody else dressed up for dinner. Or did their hair.

Can she be any more obvious?

Ignoring her, he started on the mashed potatoes, practically shoving them in his mouth. As the buttery taste hit his tongue, a groan escaped him. He couldn’t help it. Hunching over his plate, he moved to the carrots with the same result.

“Looks like you were hungry,” Carrie said.

Man, she’s bright. Refusing to respond to such a stupid comment, he focused on shrinking the pile in front of him. Carrie finally took the hint and left. Hopefully for good.

The others returned slowly, first his mom, followed by his grandparents. All had plates half as full as his. His mom shot him a dark look which he ignored as he continued to clean his plate of every last scrap of food.

Halfway through the venison, his grandma looked up. “Where do you think you’re going, young lady? I thought you were sitting by my Gregory. CJ, didn’t you tell Carrie to sit by Gregory?” His grandma motioned to the chair next to him. “You sit right there, Carrie.”

Greg shot to his feet. Time for seconds.

When he reached the counter, he let out a growl. The venison was gone. Carrots, too. Thankfully there were plenty of potatoes. He stacked his plate with several scoops in spite of the glare a frizzy-haired lady gave him.

By the time Greg sat again, Carrie was in the chair next to his, talking animatedly to his grandpa. Greg scooted closer to his mom and busied himself with the next round of food. His stomach started to protest, having been empty far too long. He didn’t care. The way he figured, vomiting would only make room for more.

“What do you think, Greg?” his grandpa asked. “Carrie’s predicting an early spring.”

“Not likely,” Greg said. “It’s freezin’ out there, and it’s a week into March.”

Carrie, who hadn’t touched her food yet, smiled her large smile at him. “I’ve been tracking the weather for the last few years, and so far this year’s temperatures are ahead of the others.”

“Maybe you shoulda spent the last month in knee-deep snow,” he said. “Then see if you figure it’s gonna be an early spring.”

“Carrie keeps a weather journal,” his grandma said, quick to jump on the Carrie bandwagon. “She’s never missed a day in the last five years. Not one. We don’t even have a thermometer, but she tracks the temperature based on how it feels on her skin.”

Greg turned. “Your skin, huh? That sounds scientific.”

Carrie’s chin dropped, hiding behind her thick, wavy hair. “I have a scale for how it feels. Ten is blistering hot, one is freezing, and seven is perfect. Today would be a four, which is pleasantly cool.”

“Since when is seven half of ten?” Greg snapped. “And you think today is pleasantly cool?” The chick got more annoying by the second. “You obviously haven’t been outside ‘cause if you had, you’d know there’s nothin’ pleasant about—”

His mom elbowed him. Hard. “I hope you’re right, Carrie,” she said, smiling amidst her violence. “I’m more than ready for spring. Greg and I headed west to avoid winter as long as we could. But once we started north, I tired of the cold real fast. We spent weeks on end waitin’ for the weather to let up, all the while Greg hollering on about how I made him leave the South.”

With Carrie on one side of Greg and his mom on the other, Carrie had to lean forward to see around him. “I can’t imagine what that was like, Mariah.”

Greg had the sudden urge to scoot closer to his food—blocking her view.

That time his mom kicked him full-on. He winced, but it worked. Carrie turned her attention back across the table where it belonged.

“Anyway, CJ,” Carrie said, “if we plant our early crops next week, we might be able to get in an extra round of peas before summer. Plus we’re low on onions. I’m anxious to get those started, too.”

“Next week?” Greg muttered. “I wouldn’t start crops next week if I was in North Carolina. Heck, I wouldn’t start crops if I lived in Mexico. You shouldn’t plant for at least five weeks, more like six or seven.”

“Greg’s right,” his grandpa said. “It’s still a little early. We could have snow for several weeks yet.”

“No,” Carrie said, “this year is warmer. It’s ahead of the curve.”

Greg’s grandpa gave her a patronizing smile. “I’m sure it is. We still better plant mid to late April.”

Greg was happy to know the old man still had some sense left in him. It was even better to see that, once defeated, Carrie shut up and picked at her meager amount of food. That left Greg to enjoy his dinner in peace.

His mom took over talking, reliving their trek north, only this time she spared the cutesy lies and told it straight. Propaganda in the municipalities, police brutality, and the emergency laws which showed no sign of repeal.

“The day before we left,” she said, “I watched a group of kids get clubbed down for starting a non-loyalist demonstration. They were just messin’ around—they were just kids for cryin’ out loud!—but the patrolmen didn’t even give them a chance.” Her voice dropped in volume. “Like the boy outside the barn, right?”

Greg’s pile of potatoes was shrinking, his stomach doing the opposite. He took a swig of water. The well water up north tasted metallic but not intolerable. Still, his stomach churned. There was no way he was letting the food come up. He picked up his fork to shove it down with more.

“Right, Greg?” his mom said.

He looked up and saw her waiting for his response. He thought about the boy at the barn and had none.

“We’re a broken nation,” his mom said, watching him with a sad, long look. “If you can even call us that anymore.”

“But don’t you think things will turn around?” Carrie asked.

“Honestly?” His mom sighed. “Not anymore. Before we spent a few weeks in that Raleigh municipality, maybe. But the things we’ve seen, Carrie…”

“I know it’s bad right now,” Carrie said, “but President Rigsby is working on it. It’s only been five years. It has to get better, I know it will. America is a resilient land filled with resilient people. We’ve always come through hard times a better and stronger nation. I’m sure we’ll pull through this depression even more—”

Greg slammed down his fork. “Depression? It takes an economy to have a depression. The dollar’s worth nothin’, and the only jobs are for people willing to align themselves with the new regime—the same regime which obliterated the free-market system to rid itself of any competition. Exactly what part of that is a depression?”

Carrie’s cheeks colored. “Um…”

“There’s not a single Fortune 500 company left,” Greg plowed on. “They were either wiped out or went overseas. The government coulda saved things if they’d just set reasonable risk-based and minimum capital standards. But did they? No. Depression, my foot!”

“Greg was working on a business degree when the market crashed,” his mom said.

He shot her a dark glare. He wasn’t talking about himself. He was talking about the economy.

His mom went on anyway. “His dream was to be a big finance guy at one of those—”

“Ma,” he cut in.

“—big businesses on Wall Street. But I’m afraid there’s no big businesses anymore. Small ones either.”

He grunted. “You done?”

His mom flashed him a smile. “Maybe.”

Carrie pushed the carrots around her plate. “My dad was in finance, too. He was a Senior Analyst at a bank in Chicago.”

“Yeah?” Greg quipped. “And how’s that workin’ out for him? Did he predict his bank would go belly up, or was he the cause of it? Or was he smart enough to know what was comin’ and jumped ship? Did he cash out in time and bury his fortune in your backyard, ‘cause if so, where is he?” He looked around in jest. “I’d love to meet him, ‘cause only the best of the best go into finance at a time like this, right?”

Carrie blinked rapidly but said nothing. Neither did anybody else.

Smug, Greg nodded. “I didn’t think so.”

It was silent a long, awkward moment before his mom leaned close.

“Carrie’s father passed away after the Collapse,” she whispered. “Same with her mom. You wanna rethink what you just said, son?”

Greg stopped mid-chew. He glanced around. His grandma’s expression could have killed him a couple times over. Same with everybody else’s—everybody’s except Carrie, who had her head down, hiding behind her honey-colored waves again.

Still in a violent mood, his mom smacked him under the table.

“Sorry,” Greg blurted.

“That’s okay.” Carrie took a quick breath and looked up, although her eyes didn’t quite reach Greg’s again. “Actually, my dad believed the answer to America’s problem wasn’t in big business anyway. He said America was built on ma and pa shops, little burger joints and farmers markets. Maybe it will be again. Our clan alone could produce a few small shops. Like the little flower shop on the corner of Main Street. Do you remember it, May?”

Greg’s grandma went Jekyll and Hyde on him. In an instant, she was grinning wide enough to show her missing molars. “Buds and Roses? Oh, I loved that place. They had the most exquisite orchids.”

Carrie smiled. “I know. Mom and I used to go there all the time. Now it’s boarded up and has weeds growing out of every corner, but I’d love to fix it up someday. I know it seems crazy, but I haven’t given up on my dreams.” Her blue eyes flickered sideways. “Neither should you, Greg. You never know what the future holds.”

“The future, huh?” he said. “So let me get this straight. You figure sometime you’re gonna find a job—which doesn’t exist—earn a boatload of money—which even the most corrupt officials don’t have—and somehow get enough money to buy your house and citizenship back from the crooked government that robbed you of every last dime in the first place? Then you’ll fix up some shop to sell”—he waved a hand in the air—“whatever to people who don’t own a cent. Is that about right?”

Carrie’s shoulders lowered. “I don’t know. I guess. Maybe all it takes is for town after town to produce small shops which grow into bigger shops until the banks can reopen and America can get back to what it was. Right, CJ?”

Greg’s grandpa stroked his bushy white beard. “I don’t think so, Carrie. I’m afraid we’re not recovering from this one. We’re in too deep this time.”

She couldn’t have looked more shocked if he’d slapped her. “No. I can’t believe that. America is better than this. I know it is.”

“Not anymore,” Greg and his grandpa said at the same time.

With that cheery thought, they all settled into a quiet rhythm of eating and wanting to kill themselves—or the person next to them.

After a minute, Greg’s grandma reached a bony hand across to him. “Gregory dear, Carrie should show you around the neighborhood. No one knows it better than her. There’s a beautiful little spot down by the pond where the two of you might wander. Don’t worry about hurrying back.” She finished by attempting to wink inconspicuously at Carrie.

Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me.

Greg glared at Carrie again. She just couldn’t take a hint.

Carrie’s ears turned bright red. “I think Zach’s too close to the fire,” she said softly. “Excuse me.” With that, she was up and out the back door.

Greg almost grabbed her full plate, but his stomach rolled in protest. He was getting weak in his old age. Without refrigeration, though, he figured all the leftovers were a waste anyway. Better his waist than the goats’ out back.

As he reached for it, his mom elbowed him.

“What?” he snapped.

She motioned to the back door.

Did she honestly expect him to follow Carrie? From the three anxious faces around the table, he guessed that’s exactly what he was supposed to do.

He threw down his napkin. Fine. If that’s what they want.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he said. “Don’t clear that plate.”

six

Greg waited inside the back door while Carrie chastised the pre-teens standing too close to the fire. When she finished, she wandered over to admire the oversized empty garden. Waiting for her escort, he seethed.

He burst through the door and stormed across the lawn. It only took two steps for the freezing air to penetrate his thin t-shirt.

“You call this ‘pleasantly cool?’” he said.

Carrie jumped a foot and whirled around. She laid a hand over her heart. Without meaning to, he’d startled her, giving him a wicked sort of thrill. She recovered quickly and unwrapped her skinny arms.

“Once you get used to our weather up here, Greg, you’ll find it perfect.” She took in a deep breath, an unwise thing considering the proximity of the smelly milk goats. “Definitely pleasantly cool.”

His eyes narrowed. “Look, I don’t know what kinda ideas you got in that head of yours, or what you’ve schemed up with my grandma about the two of us, but let me be perfectly clear: I’m not interested.”

She blinked a few times. “Excuse me?”

“I plan on makin’ this my home, so you and my grandma need to leave me alone.”

She blushed right through her freckles. “Oh, I didn’t—”

He spun on his heel and marched back inside.

***

Carrie didn’t move until the wet grass seeped through the tear in her left shoe and her toes started to freeze. She was tempted to go home, but that would only draw more attention. But neither would she go back to that table. Ever again.

So she headed to the well, filled up two buckets, and found the darkest corner of the kitchen to start the massive dinner cleanup. It wasn’t long before Mariah and several others were helping. Even the older kids were expected to clear tables and dry dishes after a clan dinner, although for once Carrie wished everyone wasn’t so efficient.

She took her time wiping down the last of the counters, shining them to perfection. Sadly, even that job couldn’t last, leaving her nothing to do but socialize like everyone else, the thing she was desperate to avoid.

Usually she would have pulled out a deck of cards and played Canasta with May, but May was busy talking to her daughter next to a pair of murderous eyes. Amber and Zach disappeared downstairs with the other teens, which didn’t leave Carrie many options. She made her way into the living room where the younger married women huddled around Jenna Kovach’s newest patch quilt.

The four women looked up, surprised she’d joined them, but they were civil enough to allow Carrie into the conversation. Jenna was explaining the intricacies of quilting, including the new pattern she started. It was supposedly a block pattern, although to Carrie it looked more like stars.

“Vanessa thinks this pattern is too small,” Jenna said. “As if she’s the expert. She told me the three inch would have looked better.”

“That’s just like her,” Sasha Green said. “Nitpicking everything. She drives me crazy.”

“I know. Now all I’m going to hear is, ‘You should have used the three inch, Jenna. The three inch!’”

The women laughed supportively. Carrie glanced over her shoulder. Vanessa Green was Sasha’s next door neighbor—and incidentally also her mother-in-law. Vanessa was visiting with Mariah within earshot, but if she heard her name being slandered, she gave no notice.

“I think the blanket looks nice, Jenna,” Carrie offered.

“It’s a quilt,” Jenna said. “But thanks, Carrie. Maybe you should tell that to Vanessa. Or you can, Sasha, since I know how much you love Dylan’s mom.”

Another round of laughs.

Sighing, Carrie focused on the quilt itself. It wasn’t the prettiest one Jenna had made, patched together with red and orange scraps from the clan. But come winter, it would be warm and whichever family was slotted to get it wouldn’t care about anything else, including the size of the pattern.

Jenna leaned forward. “What do you ladies think of our newest clan member? All I can say is yum-my. You know you have to share, right Carrie?”

Carrie’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t notice. You were the only one smart enough to dress up,” Jenna added with a laugh.

Then Jenna and the three married women launched into a conversation unfit for married women, discussing Greg’s physique head to toe. They paused once to ask Carrie’s opinion. She had none, leaving them to giggle and goggle in a way that would have made even Amber blush.

It had been awhile since Carrie had been that miserable. She was about ready to hang out with Butterscotch and Chocolate, the two milk goats, when Mariah made her way over to the small group, stopping the Greg talk dead in its tracks and turning it safely back to quilts.

Three loud knocks on the front door interrupted them. The room went quiet. Three loud knocks was Oliver’s signal. In all the commotion, Carrie had forgotten it was Thursday.

“It’s just Oliver, our local patrolman,” Carrie said to Mariah.

Mariah’s green eyes bulged. “Who?”

“Oh. It’s not like that,” Carrie said. “Oliver helps our clan. I know it’s strange, but he’s actually a good friend. He’s not like other patrolmen.”

CJ maneuvered through the people and opened the door. Carrie couldn’t see Oliver from where she sat, but she heard his soft voice greet CJ, a voice that seemed to echo in the now-silent house.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Trenton,” Oliver said. “Carrie wasn’t home, so I wondered if she might be here.” Oliver took a step forward, placing him in view. He wore his typical green uniform and beige tie, accentuating his tall, lanky body. His face, also long and rectangular, showed small eyes darting around the room nervously. “Looks like everyone’s here today.”

“Yes,” CJ said. “They are. Can I give Carrie a message for you?”

Carrie was struck by the edge in CJ’s manner. Normally he would have invited Oliver in for dinner, but CJ was nearly blocking the door. Then Oliver spotted Mariah in the crowd, and Carrie understood why. He tensed and scanned the room, finding Greg as well.

“Who are they?” Oliver said.

CJ sighed. “My daughter and grandson have just arrived from North Carolina, Officer Simmons. We’re having a dinner to celebrate.”

Oliver stiffened. “Cards.”

Mariah grabbed Carrie’s arm. “Greg and I don’t have any cards,” she whispered.

“That’s okay. Neither do we,” Carrie assured her.

“Please, Oliver,” CJ pleaded. “They’re family.”

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said. “I need to see their identification cards and travel permits. Otherwise…”

His threat hung in the air.

Stunned, Carrie stared at him. The government required everyone to carry cards these days—required, and yet only three people in the clan actually did: May and CJ, who as fortunate homeowners were granted a yellow citizenship card; and Terrell, who kept his blue card current to sneak in and out of the municipality fences for supplies. That was it. The other thirty-one had nothing. All of them had been deemed illegal citizens of the United States. Which Oliver knew.

So what’s two more?

Then it started.

Jeff Kovach stood, a man built like a bear with a personality to match, followed by others. Greg stood as well, feet planted, arms folded, with a cold, unbending expression, making his stance clear. There would be no arrests today.

Through disbelieving eyes Carrie watched Oliver—quiet, shy Oliver, now outnumbered thirty to one—calmly square his shoulders, lay a hand on the gun she forgot he wore around the clock, and demand once more, “Cards!”

seven

Carrie’s heart pounded. Men around the room formed two groups, half in front of Mariah, the other by Greg. Mariah had a hand over her chest, breathing so heavily she was wheezing. Jenna and the other moms jumped up and shooed their kids from the room.

Something had to be done.

Fast.

“We can’t be arrested,” Mariah said in between wheezes. “We can’t.”

Carrie laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. It will be okay.” Then Carrie stood.

People fell back to let her pass. Even CJ moved from the door so she could handle the situation.

As soon as Oliver spotted her, his gaze lowered. “Hi, Carrie. Sorry to bother your party.”

“Oh, it’s no bother at all,” she said cheerfully.

Grabbing her brown coat, she stepped past him onto the porch. Oliver didn’t move. She waited, holding her breath. In her opinion, this was all a misunderstanding. If she could just talk to Officer Simmons, get him away from the noise and crowds that always made him jittery, she might be able to resolve things peacefully.

The entire clan froze, waiting for something or someone to move.

Oliver still hadn’t.

Carrie’s pulse picked up. Arrest wasn’t an option. Not for May and CJ’s family. She owed them too much. Slipping an arm through Oliver’s, she tugged him down the front porch steps. He didn’t fight her and followed her down the sidewalk.

The further they got from the house, the less reluctant Oliver was. She stopped under a large, leafless oak, out of sight from the front window where she imagined three dozen faces pressed to the glass.

“How are you today?” Carrie asked, keeping things light.

Oliver looked down at her hand still tucked inside his arm. She pulled it out, feeling foolish for being so bold, but the corners of his mouth turned up anyway. “Good. It’s nice out.”

“Yes, it is.” Nice to have someone agree with me, she thought bitterly.

When she turned back, Oliver was studying her over-done hair and blue blouse, reminding her how ridiculous she looked. She should have never indulged Amber. He quickly diverted his gaze to the yellow grass.

“Do you really need to see their cards, Oliver?”

“No one’s allowed to step foot in Illinois without citizenship papers.”

“Yes, but…” None of us have cards. She tried a different approach. “Mariah and Greg aren’t here to beg the state for food. They’re staying here at CJ’s, so they won’t crowd the municipality shelters either.”

“They’re staying?” Oliver asked softly. “Permanently?”

“I think so. They’ve come a long way. I can’t imagine them going back.”

“But are they a threat to you—I mean, to the clan?” he asked. “Or to you, too? Because if so, if so…I, I can take care of it.”

The irony of the situation hit her: an officer of the law asking if two illegals were a threat to her. True, adding people into such a close-knit society could throw the balance off kilter. There were stories of government spies infiltrating clans like theirs only to turn around and arrest the whole lot. But that wasn’t going to happen.

“No. They’re CJ’s family,” she reminded him. “His daughter and grandson from North Carolina.”

“Right. Right. Family.” His gray eyes seemed to weigh everything as he ran a hand over his dark, thinning hair. “You know, I’m actually in a hurry right now. I don’t have time to check cards. I…I suppose I’ll have to check them some other time.”

Which Carrie translated to mean never.

She smiled up at him. Oliver was a good man trying to do what was right and not just what the law required of him. If it wasn’t for him, their lives would be a lot more complicated. Which reminded her…

“You told CJ you were at my house?” she prompted.

“Yeah. There’s a sweep this Saturday. I’m scheduled again, so…yeah.”

It was always a relief when Oliver did the government sweeps through the neighborhood. Years ago, when he discovered May and CJ’s thirty “friends” he somehow decided they were a peaceful clan. Peaceful or not, he should have arrested all of them. But he didn’t. Now he wasn’t just their protector, but he’d become their friend as well—or at least, Carrie’s friend since the shy patrolman mostly spoke to her. Half the time, she didn’t even know when he searched the empty homes for other squatters they didn’t know about since he stopped bringing the dogs with him. Yes, life could be a lot more miserable without Oliver Simmons.

“We just had a great dinner,” she said. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, but no.”

She nodded. Oliver’s social phobias weren’t helped by the fact that most the people in the Trenton home despised what he did. They didn’t trust anyone who had aligned themselves with the new government. President Rigsby had given patrolmen too much power to destroy their lives.

“I…” Oliver played with a button on his green uniform. “I brought something today. For Zach.”

“Really?” That was a first.

“For his birthday. It’s just a shirt, but I thought maybe…” He shrugged.

Carrie couldn’t remember telling Oliver about Zach’s birthday a few days earlier. Zach would be thrilled since the only shirt that fit him had a growing hole in the corner.

“It’s on your porch. I hope it fits. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.” His gray eyes flickered to her. She waited for him to finish his thought. When he didn’t, she smiled.

“I’m sure it will. Thank you. Zach will be excited.”

The two grew silent and enjoyed the cool breeze which had blown in after the storm. Carrie hugged herself, relieved the whole card thing had cleared up so easily. Oliver really was a good man.

“I…I put something in there for you, too,” he said.

“You did?”

He backed up at the same time his explanation came out in a sudden rush. “It’s just clothes in a sack—a white sack—but I’d better go now because it’s late, and I need to work because I have a lot to do, so I hope they fit, but if not, let me know and I can get different ones because it wouldn’t be a problem to get different ones if you need. Bye, Carrie.”

By the time he finished his run-on sentence, he was to his patrol car.

“Thanks!” she called. For whatever it was.

He yanked open his door but didn’t get in, as if deliberating. Oliver wasn’t the type to be pushed, so she waited patiently for him to spit it out.

“Any direct relatives of homeowners are eligible for full citizenship,” he finally said.

She rocked back. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. If CJ’s family can show proof of kinship, like a birth certificate or something, and if they agree to stay here permanently, sign a waiver, and pay their taxes, they should be able to get yellow cards.”

With that shocking bit of news, he got in his car and drove away.

Carrie couldn’t believe it. May was going to flip over this bit of news. Heck, the whole clan would. Yellow cards? For Mariah and Greg? Not only were they not getting arrested, with cards like that, they never would.

She ran all the way inside where the tension was thick in the air. CJ met her at the door with Greg on his heels. She spoke to the younger of the two. “Oliver doesn’t need to see your cards.”

“But…” Greg looked outside. “How’d you get him to change his mind?”

“Because she’s Carrie!” May said, clapping her hands.

“And because he’s Oliver,” someone sneered behind them. Probably Jeff Kovach, who hated Oliver more than most.

Mariah gave Carrie a quick hug. “Thank you, darlin’. I’m not sure what we woulda done. Greg and I had been so careful up until today, but I figured once we got here we’d be safe.”

“No harm done. Actually,” Carrie said, “I have more news. Oliver said you and Greg can apply for citizenship.”

Mariah’s brows shot up. “Wait. You don’t mean…?”

Carrie nodded. “As long as you can prove your relationship to May and CJ, you should be able to get your yellow cards. You didn’t happen to bring your birth certificates, did you?”

Mariah’s emerald eyes turned to liquid. “Greg made us go back to the house. When we snuck out of that municipality, he made us go back.” She laid a hand on his clean-shaven cheek. “How’d you know?”

Greg shrugged, gaze still on Carrie. For the first time since meeting him, he wasn’t glaring at her. “I heard from somebody it might be a possibility. Once we got here, I figured we could try. But, well…it’s nice to know for sure.”

“Nice?” his grandma cried. “It’s wonderful!”

The negative charge dissipated in the room. Oliver had saved them yet again. Carrie shrugged out of her coat, hung it on her usual hook, and turned for the kitchen table. Thankfully she caught herself. She didn’t belong at that table anymore. CJ and May had family now. Real family.

“What about taxes?” Greg asked, still regarding her.

“Oh yeah,” Carrie said. “Oliver said you’d have to pay some taxes, but he didn’t say how much. I assume it’s the same as your grandparents.”

Mariah turned. “Aren’t taxes through the roof? Can you afford two more people, Dad?”

“No!” Jeff Kovach called out. “CJ’s money is already stretched thin.”

May whirled around. “Hush up, Jeff. This is none of your affair. If anyone gets our money, it’s our own flesh and blood.”

Jeff folded his arms. “The day you run out of money is the day we don’t have a place to hide and this clan dissolves. The government is itching to get the last home in the sub. You have to consider the rest of us, too.”

“He’s right, Ma,” Mariah said. “Y’all can’t even afford to turn on your lights, let alone pay dues for two more people. No, it’s fine. Greg and I won’t be takin’ what’s not ours. Bein’ here with you is good enough.”

CJ wrapped an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “We have money enough. You two go get your cards.”

“But—”

CJ put a finger on her lips. “No fighting me on this one. It’s done.” Then he looked at Carrie. “Did Oliver mention if there’s a sweep this week?”

Greg’s hand shot out and grabbed Carrie’s arm so fast, she jumped. “He tells you when the raids are?” Greg said.

“Sweeps,” Carrie corrected for the hundredth time in her life. Or at least that’s what the patrolmen called looking for strays, illegals, vagrants, squatters, or any of the other choice names they used. Sadly, that described half of America’s dwindling population, and that half called what they did ‘raids’ since more often than not, they took whatever they found in the process. She pulled free of Greg.

“Oliver stops by each Thursday to tell us if there is a sweep. He’s scheduled for the one this Saturday, so we’ll stay home while he searches the others. When he can’t come, we cram in here like we did that first year.”

“Oliver has been an invaluable friend to our community,” CJ said loud enough more than just Greg could hear. “We should never forget that.”

“Yeah, but can he be trusted?” Greg pressed.

Carrie fought the urge to snap at him. “We haven’t posted a guard in four years. Does that answer your question?”

Greg looked her over head to toe as if seeing her for the first time. “Wow. This is quite the setup y’all got here.”

She forced a hard smile. “Yes, it is. Welcome to Logan Pond.”

eight

“If I’d known how cold Illinois was,” Greg grumbled, “I never woulda come.”

Greg’s mom pushed her hood back as they made the two mile walk into town. “Quit your grouchin’. You just need to get some meat back on those bones.”

Speaking of meat, Greg wasn’t getting that anytime soon either. Apparently, the clan didn’t always eat so abundantly. His stomach groaned on cue. That’s what an egg and a skinny slice of bread did to a man. True, sleeping on a mattress had been nice. He’d slept four straight hours. But still, as they traipsed through deserted woods, frozen corn fields, and an old abandoned golf course, the snowflakes swirled around his face and the grass crunched under his frozen feet. His toes felt like ice blocks, an all-too-familiar feeling.

He swatted the snow. “Not that bad? It’s snowing and it’s mid-March. March! It’s probably summer back home.”

“It’s barely snowing,” his mom said, “and this is home.”

Home.

That shut him up.

It was crazy to make this four-mile round trip into town, especially in a snow storm. He knew why he was going. Cards. Anything to save them from another scare was worth any trip anywhere. Almost as enticing was getting out of his grandparents’ house for a few hours.

Coming north, his mom wanted to hop clans and meet up with other people. Greg refused. Too many chances for discovery, too many government spies. But he didn’t realize how anti-social he’d become until he spent a day with thirty loud, overbearing people. Add to it the hours since he’d endured his grandma rambling off every detail about every person in the clan—including an hour-long monologue about her beloved Carrie—and he was ready to pull out his hair. When his grandpa offered to show them the way to downtown Shelton, Greg convinced him they didn’t need help. He craved the solitude he’d come to depend on. But his mom could have talked him out of this trip with a plea for better weather. After all, they’d just come a thousand miles. It was crazy to turn around and voluntarily walk four more. But bad weather or not, she didn’t want to wait. She never did, which was why they arrived in March and not June.

“Besides the snow,” she said, “what’d you think of it so far?”

“I’ve been to Grandma’s before,” he said. “I remember it just fine.”

“That’s not what I meant. What do you think of the clan? The setup? Gettin’ legal? Other than mouthin’ off to that poor girl yesterday, you’ve been awful quiet.”

“I wasn’t mouthin’ off.”

She eyed him. “Don’t you go defendin’ that behavior. One of these days, you’re gonna learn to keep quiet until you got somethin’ nice to say. You owe Carrie an apology. Several apologies, actually.”

He pulled out a small piece of paper, his map of sorts. Interpreting his grandpa’s chicken scratch was a challenge. They were taking a back route into town with no trail whatsoever. According to his grandpa, Shelton once had around 18,000 residents. It now had 224 official citizens—soon to be 226.

Hopefully.

Once he got the paper facing the right way, he pointed to the left. “I think we gotta head that way. Grandpa said we’d crest a small hill before comin’ into town.”

“Greg…” his mom growled in her you-better-agree-with-me-before-I-start-one-of-my-lectures voice. “Tell me you’re gonna apologize to that Carrie girl.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After eight months trekking north, he and his mom had a relationship akin to conjoined twins. He bossed her around, and she obeyed. She bossed him around, and he obeyed—mostly. It was the only way to survive twenty-four-seven life together. Besides, he’d already decided to apologize the second Carrie’s boyfriend showed up. Ticking off a friend of a patrolman wasn’t a good idea, but especially a girlfriend. Had Carrie only mentioned her relationship earlier, Greg would have never told her off. That’s what he got for listening to his grandma. Although, in all fairness, he hadn’t given Carrie a chance to explain.

Oliver’s girlfriend definitely needed an apology.

Still, something didn’t sit right in his gut. “Do you seriously trust that Oliver guy? Or all this?” he said, waving the map. “One little slip of his tongue, and the whole clan’s dead.”

“They all trust him,” she said. “Why shouldn’t we?”

“It’s like trustin’ a rattlesnake if you ask me. They gotta know he could strike at any time.”

His mom eyed him. “Not everybody in the new government is bad, son. Maybe this clan found a way to beat the new system.”

“Yeah. It’s called sleepin’ with the enemy.”

She slapped his coat. “Hush! That’s not true, and you know it.”

It was completely true, and he knew it. Why else would Oliver help the clan? Stuff like that happened all the time now. But if his mom and grandma wanted to turn a blind eye to Carrie’s relationship, he wouldn’t burst their little bubble. In the meantime, Oliver’s girlfriend definitely needed an apology. Soon, if possible. Because card or no card, citizenship or not, an angry patrolman could ruin anybody’s life.

His mom rubbed her hands together and cleared her scratchy throat. In another minute, she’d start coughing. With temperatures this low, if she started coughing, she wouldn’t stop. Greg slowed down.

“So…” she said, “you never said if you like it here.”

He watched the snowflakes blow around them. Pleasantly cool, my foot! Yet in the same frozen breath, he knew he’d take cold freedom over hiding in the heat any day. His mom had a place to sleep, food in her belly, and the chance to quit looking over her shoulder. Plus she was reunited with her parents. She was happy which made it worth the risks and losses of leaving their former life behind.

“I like it good enough,” he said.

She peeked at him around her hood. “Good enough to stay?”

He stopped and looked at her. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“‘Cause I know you don’t wanna be here. ‘Cause I know you didn’t wanna come. You’ve been caged to me long enough, and I’m scared givin’ you a card today is gonna be like givin’ a bird wings. It’s gonna be so easy for you to fly away now, and maybe you should, but”—she smiled weakly—“I’m just not ready to lose you yet.”

“Wings?” he scoffed. “Givin’ people yellow cards is like givin’ a bird wings after takin’ away its eyes. Just where do you expect me to go? Back to a university that shut down? Back to a job that doesn’t exist? A home they leveled? I’ve got no money and no prospects. Gettin’ a card today only means I won’t have to watch my back—or yours. I’m not goin’ anywhere, so get used to it. I’m stuck with you now. Hermit ‘til I die.”

This only seemed to sadden her. “I’ve ruined you, haven’t I, keepin’ you with me all these years?”

“Geez, am I that bad?”

Her silence carried the blunt answer.

Frowning, he started off again. They entered a small grove of trees, a welcome reprieve from the incessant wind as he replayed her words. I’ve ruined you. What the heck was that supposed to mean? He knew he’d been a little grumpy, but ruined?

“You could…go back,” she suggested softly.

He rolled his eyes. As if he’d leave her now. He’d made his choice. Surely after a thousand miles, she knew he didn’t regret it. “I’m not goin’ back.”

“But what if you went for a short time to see if—”

“Ma! It’s o-ver.”

She nodded and thankfully let the subject drop. A day into the trip, he made her promise never to mention that subject again. Up until now she hadn’t. Hopefully, she wouldn’t again.

“You ever gonna forgive me for makin’ you leave?” she whispered.

He studied his map again. “I already have.”

The back of the township office was up ahead to the right, exactly as his grandpa described: a long, one-story, red brick building. The closer they got, the more Greg’s muscles tensed. Trusting his safety and his mom’s to a patrolman went against every instinct he had. When they were within thirty yards, he stopped and looked around.

“Why does it feel like we’re walkin’ into a trap? This new government loves owning people. They legalized slavery by turning millions of us into criminals. And two of the easiest arrests are about to walk into that building. I don’t know about this.”

“If Officer Simmons wanted to arrest us,” his mom said, “he coulda done it yesterday.”

“He almost did!”

“But he didn’t,” she said with a smile. “Don’t forget, he’s the one who sent us here.”

“‘Cause it’s a trap.”

She rolled her eyes. “Quit it. You’re gonna give yourself ulcers. Everything’s just fine.”

“You’re flippant attitude is only makin’ it worse. How do you know he wasn’t misinformed? Or mislead? Anything can go wrong in there.” He scratched his jaw, deliberating. They were still in the safety of the trees. It wasn’t too late to turn around.

Or change plans.

“Wait here,” he said.

She huffed. “They kinda need to see my face to take my picture.”

He took her arm and led her back into the thick pines. After how far they’d come, after the million precautions he’d taken to keep her alive, he wasn’t letting her get careless now. A government work farm would kill her in a day. He was sure of it.

“Wait here,” he said firmly. “I’ll come get you if this works.”

Her hands went to her hips. “And what if it doesn’t? Just what’d you expect me to do? Run down the patrol car that carts you off?”

“Nah. Just come visit me in prison every now and again.”

Her expression turned to steel. “This is ridiculous. I’m goin’ in.”

She tried to march past him, but he caught her arm. “You stay here or neither of us is goin’ in. I’m serious, Ma. Stay,” he ordered. And before she could argue, he turned and trotted out of the trees.

Shelton’s Township Hall was small, but not inconsequential. It was better than a municipality office because they dealt with full citizens instead of quasi, down-trodden, blue-carded, fenced in ones. He hoped they’d assume he was a yellow card holder so he could speak before they pounced.

Crouching low, he peered around the brick corner. Main Street was lined with deserted cars and boarded up buildings. Old leaves and debris blew over everything, including the cars. Only a small handful of government employees could afford to drive. Greg spotted Carrie’s flower shop down on the corner, Buds And Roses, looking as pathetic as the rest of Main Street. Shelton wasn’t dead, but it was close to it. This far out of Chicago metro, he hoped patrolmen didn’t stalk every corner, but who knew.

He had just enough self-preservation left to kick start his heart. He just wasn’t sure how it worked. He didn’t have a card. He was here to get a card. So what happened in the interim? Arrest, he assumed, figuring he had a two percent chance of making it out of there a free man.

With a deep breath and a final check of his papers, he left the safety of the brick, strode out into the open for the first time in five years, and pulled open the glass doors.

nine

Greg wasn’t immediately thrown to the ground, giving him a second to get his bearings. The township office had standard-issue blue carpet, fluorescent buzzing lights, and a musty smell which dated the building. But the artificial heat felt amazing.

He scanned the side hallway, instincts serving him well. A patrolman sat in a far office in his freshly-pressed, green uniform. The door was closed, but Greg could see through a small window that the patrolman was in a heated discussion with somebody.

Taking another tentative step, Greg scanned the immediate room. Two women stood behind a waist-high counter: one old and unattractive; the other her complete opposite.

“Cards,” the older woman said, using the only word government employees knew these days.

Before he could respond, the younger woman stepped forward. “I’ll take this one, Ellen.” Then she looked at Greg and smiled.

A smile was the last thing he expected. Not that he minded. The young blonde was good-looking and rich enough to wear mascara. From the eager look in her eyes, he figured she found him equally attractive. Attractive was good. Attractive was leverage.

“Can I help you?” the blonde asked.

“Yes,” his mom said, waltzing in through the glass doors behind him.

Greg spun around and swore under his breath. She’s gonna get us both killed!

“My son and I are here to get our yellow cards worked up,” his mom went on.

“You’re in the right place,” the blonde said. “How can I help?”

Greg and his mom spent the next few minutes explaining their situation, their recent move to Illinois, his grandparents’ home, and their desire to become full tax-paying, law-abiding citizens willing to uphold the emergency law and vote for the new regime—or whatever they called the supposedly democratic government these days. Meanwhile, the young blonde did her best not to drool at Greg over the counter.

“I’ve never met anyone from North Carolina, Mr. Pierce,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “I’m sure you’ll love it here.”

“So everybody keeps tellin’ me,” he muttered.

The blonde sifted through some papers. “I’ll need to see all your previous government identification, driver’s licenses, birth certificates, and such. From your grandparents as well. Did you happen to bring their recent tax bills and card registrations?”

Greg was impressed with his grandpa’s thoroughness. “Yeah. I think I got it all here.”

“Good. That will speed things up,” she said. “For today, your taxes are $372. I can take that when you’re ready.”

His mom sucked in a breath. That was double what they hoped, a fourth of his grandpa’s remaining cash.

“That much?” Greg asked evenly.

“Actually, that’s prorated until the end of the year, so I gave you a deal.” She winked a mascara-ridden eye. “Don’t worry, though. The first year is the most expensive. After that, the fees drop some. Paperwork. You know how it goes.”

He didn’t, but he pulled out the wallet and counted the bills slowly. His mom nudged him with a panicked expression, but he kept counting. There was no backing out now, not unless they wanted to be cuffed and hauled off. If they ran out of money in a year, well…they’d deal with it later.

He handed over a fat wad of cash. The blonde gave him strange-looking bills for change. They were two-thirds the size of the green dollar bills, and they weren’t green either. They were reddish-brown bills with a picture of President Rigsby on the front.

“What do you think of our new currency?” she asked.

“It’s…different,” he offered.

“I know. I love it. The old bills will be phased out by July.”

“That soon?” his mom choked.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” the blonde said excitedly.

No. What was amazing was that people still believed President Rigsby and his cronies would follow through on their promises to return to the “good old days.” Amazing that, while they tracked citizens’ movements, their money, and their lives, the people didn’t revolt. Had Greg and his mom not come today, his grandpa’s money would have been obsolete by the end of summer, and he would have never known. All part of the plan, no doubt. But he bit back his snide remark. Treason wouldn’t earn him any points now.

The blonde handed him a small pamphlet. “Here’s your copy of the New Day Times. And your required check-in times are the 21st of every month. Any time before 5pm is fine.”

“Check-ins?” Greg said. His grandpa never mentioned that. “I thought only blue cardies were required to check in regularly.”

“No. That changed a year ago. Now all cardies”—she smiled at his nickname—“have to check in monthly. Even me. But don’t worry. It’s similar to how your blue card worked, except there aren’t any handouts for yellow cardholders, but I’m sure you knew that.”

A leash without food. Seemed pointless.

As if reading his mind, she went on. “The corporate politicians are aware and appreciative of their supporters, specifically you upper citizens. They want to make sure your needs are being met. Since the mail services are spotty and phone services nonexistent, they found this once-a-month check-in system beneficial to citizens living outside of municipalities. There’s an explanation in your New Day Times.”

He flipped through the small pamphlet. President Rigsby was on the cover—the guy’s face was everywhere these days—with a bold caption reading, “A Return To Civility.” The rest of the pamphlet was more of the same. Useless propaganda written well enough to convince a dumb blonde.

“Are you sure check-ins are once a month?” his mom asked. “‘Cause my parents never—”

Greg nudged her behind the counter. He didn’t know why his grandparents didn’t have to check in, but he could guarantee they didn’t want to start now. He couldn’t picture his grandparents making the long walk every single month, especially in the dead of winter. Maybe the government had an age limit. No. Rigsby never made exceptions. It had to be a glitch, one Greg was sure they didn’t want to be exposed.

His mom wisely redirected. “They never mentioned that.”

The blonde employee smiled. “Yes. Personally I love seeing the residents every month.” Her eyes fell on Greg, fluttering slightly in case he’d missed her twenty other hints. “But really, it’s for you citizens. When you come in, you’ll get your New Day Times and all broadcast transcripts. You’ll also be able to report any disturbances, complaints, or whatever. Technically, today counts for your March check-in, but you’re welcome to pop in anytime and say hello, Mr. Pierce.” Another eyelash flutter.

His mom shot him a raised-brow look.

“Good to know,” Greg said, keeping it vague.

The blonde grinned and went back to her papers. “With that, I only need one more thing: your blue cards and travel permits.”

Greg went rigid. “Come again?”

“Your blue cards and travel permits. Did you bring them?”

They’d exchanged money and their check-in had been assigned. He assumed that meant they were free and clear. He should have known better.

Panicked, he glanced down the hallway. The patrolman paced in that far office. Greg’s mind raced through their options—although, without papers, there weren’t many. He waved a hand below the counter, motioning for his mom to back up. She shook her head slightly and dug in her heels.

The blonde looked between them. “Is there a problem?”

Yeah. About fifty. Greg wasn’t sure how to explain the whole fleeing-from-the-Raleigh-guard story. Or the night they spent under two feet of garbage, the last time he’d seen either of their blue cards.

Deciding to play the only card he had left, he leaned an arm on the counter. “Well, you see…” He searched for a name badge.

“Ashlee,” she said demurely. “You can just call me Ashlee.”

This would be easier than he thought.

“Well, you see, Ashlee,” Greg said, “we don’t have our blue cards any more. It’s kinda a long story.” He tried to smile. It felt dry and awkward.

The older woman glanced up. Her hand inched toward the phone which told Greg everything he needed to know. Flirty blonde or not, the older employee would alert the patrolman soon.

Greg held his breath and forced himself to remain confident, almost inviting. “Our friend, Officer Simmons, assured me this wasn’t a problem. Is it, Ashlee?”

You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Not at all. Don’t you worry, Mr. Pierce. I’ll take good care of you.”

Greg had sworn off all women recently, yet he couldn’t help but think how useful a gullible blonde could be every now and then.

While she went to work processing their cards, his mom kept shooting him looks. So did the older employee. He ignored both as he signed his life away, threw his grandpa’s money away, and literally bought their freedom.

You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee handed over their yellow cards, and he studied his ticket to freedom. His wings. The card looked like an oversized driver’s license complete with physical description, picture, fingerprints, and address. The outer edges were yellow, hence the nickname. Across the top, it said, “Free Range,” as if they were chickens instead of humans. But it meant they lived without fences. A major perk.

Then he noticed his picture in the corner and gagged. The man staring up at him looked like a middle-aged, weather-beaten, pathetic excuse for a man. The last year hadn’t been kind to him—the five years before hadn’t been real peachy either—and he was shocked he’d received any attention from You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee.

“I’m a little jealous,” Ashlee said.

“Why’s that?” Greg said, still studying his picture.

“Because you can go wherever you want now. As a government employee, I only get a green card. I’m not allowed to leave the state of Illinois.” She sighed dramatically. “I’m a prisoner.”

His grip tightened on his card. The over-done blonde knew nothing about being a prisoner. So what that she couldn’t leave Illinois? As an employee of the state, she got food, clothes, and a heated house. There wasn’t a fence around her building or chains on her wrists. She’d never seen a boy shot outside of a barn or stood in a hospital line for days to have her little sister still die anyway. She’d never run for her life, never held her breath as patrol dogs ravaged a previous hiding spot, and she’d never been beaten when she paused to wipe her face from the long hours of grunt work in the government factory. How much more freedom could she get?

Greg nearly said something, but then he noticed his mom. There was a happy sheen to her eyes as she studied her new card, and he decided her safety, warmth, and peace was worth his silence.

“Well,” he said to his mom, “We better go before—”

A door opened. The patrolman and another man came out of the back office, continuing their heated discussion into the hallway. The patrolman looked like a typical patrolman: clean-shaven, short-cropped hair, and a green uniform with belts holding two guns, a Taser, and a nightstick. The other guy wore a business suit. The mayor, if Greg guessed right.

Not good.

Greg grabbed his mom and took three steps back as the men entered the lobby. The men looked up, noticing Greg and his mom inching back. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt.

“What’s going on?” the patrolman barked. “Who are you?”

Greg backed up further. Five minutes of freedom couldn’t erase five years of running. Until he realized he’d backed them the wrong way. Instead of heading out the door, he’d backed his mom and himself into a corner.

Not good!

The patrolman fingered the gun at his hip, and Greg’s pulse leaped. He scanned his surroundings. Four chairs. A glass window. Two possible hostages. A weak plan by any standard.

“They’re just here for some business,” Ashlee said.

The patrolman was half a foot taller than Greg, and though he had light hair and eyes, his expression was dark as he stared them down. “What business? Why are you here? Who are you?”

Greg wasn’t stupid enough to answer. He reached behind him and grabbed the corner of a metal chair. There was a window overhead. Breaking it might be surprise enough. One swipe and they could run. Except his mom looked white as the snow outside. She’d be slow. Too slow. He’d have to drag her out.

The mayor looked annoyed more than concerned. “Hey, Jamansky, I have a load of paperwork. We’ll finish up tomorrow.” Then he turned and went back to his office.

The patrolman, Jamansky, hadn’t looked away from Greg.

Greg gripped his yellow card in one hand and the chair in the other, unsure which would save them.

Ashlee laughed, a jarring sound to Greg’s tensed muscles. “Leave them alone, David. They just moved here from North Carolina—our newest citizens.”

Greg’s mom chanced a few steps forward and showed the tall patrolman her card. He snatched it up, studied both sides, and then motioned to Greg. “Where’s yours?”

David Jamansky examined both cards longer than necessary before thrusting them back. Then he pointed at Greg. “You better not cause any trouble. I know where you live now. I’ll track you down while you sleep.” His gaze flickered back to Ashlee with an unmistakable addendum: And stay away from her.

A chill ran down Greg’s spine. So much for wings. So much for not watching their backs while they slept. His mom grabbed his hand, fingernails digging into his palm with fear. But Ashlee tipped her head back and laughed again.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s just teasing. Aren’t you, David?”

Ashlee opened the counter and approached the patrolman. Only then did Greg spot the resemblance. Same light hair. Same striking features. David Jamansky and You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee looked like twins. At the very least, brother and sister.

She turned her brother around and gave him a gentle push toward the door. “That’s enough teasing for one day. Time to go.”

Jamansky shot Greg a last look that said, I’ll be watching you.

As soon as the door shut, Ashlee turned back. “David thinks he’s so funny. He doesn’t mean anything, so don’t worry about him.”

Easy for her to say. Her life wasn’t at stake.

“Thanks for all your help,” Greg’s mom said, voice still tight.

“Oh, it was my pleasure, I assure you.” Ashlee’s gaze locked on Greg. “Will I be seeing you again soon, Mr. Pierce?”

He shoved his yellow card in his pocket. “Doubt it.”

With his mom in tow, he strode out of the township office. He fought the urge to check for David Jamansky as they rounded the corner. They were yellow cardies now. Free. Wings. His resolve lasted half a second and he glanced over his shoulder. The tall patrolman was gone, but another chill coursed over Greg. I know where you live. He picked up his pace.

“I’ve ruined you,” his mom whispered. “I’ve totally and completely ruined you.”

ten

By the time Carrie and Zach finished the chickens, the wind picked up to an angry howl, blowing quarter-sized snowflakes around their heads.

“If Jenna cuts my hair short, I’ll freeze,” Zach grumbled. “Why can’t I have a ponytail like Richard’s?”

“You’ll be fine,” Carrie said. “It’s going to warm up soon, and then you’ll be glad you got a haircut.”

“Whatever. I’m out of here.”

Zach took off for home, leaving Carrie alone to pull the wagonload of eggs. She held her scarf around her ears and kept her nose tucked into her coat. Normally she didn’t help with Zach’s chores, but she bought his excuse that the weather hurt his bad ankle. Ironic, considering he sprinted for home. And what was Amber’s excuse? Carrie had a bucket of water on the wagon as well. She was turning soft.

The wagon squeaked as she crossed the street and passed the two empty homes separating her house and May’s. Life would have been easier if they didn’t have to keep everything of value they owned at the Trentons. She smiled, realizing she considered two dozen pesky chickens valuable. Sad how far she’d fallen. It used to be computers, her phone, or the latest and greatest in technology. But in their situation, eggs were the easiest source of protein. Whether people liked them or not, they ate them every—

Her thoughts pulled up short. A pair of unfamiliar tennis shoes sat on the snow-covered sidewalk in front of her. Her reaction time was slow, and she still collided, head first, into Greg’s chest.

“Oh, I-I’m…” she stuttered falling back. “I’m sorry, Greg. I didn’t see you there.”

He folded his arms. “Obviously.”

Why he hadn’t moved out of the way or called out a warning she didn’t know. She squinted up at him through the snow.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

He held out his hand, catching several large flakes. “You still figure spring’s comin’ early?”

“You were waiting outside in a blizzard to ask me if spring is coming?” The irony would have made her laugh if his expression wasn’t more frigid than the weather. It didn’t seem to bother him that his short brown hair was turning white. He just kept glaring. Zach was already inside, and she kicked herself for not keeping up with him.

Carrie was too cold to be polite. “I should get inside. Bye, Greg.”

He shifted slightly on the sidewalk, blocking her path. “Hold up. There’s somethin’ else.” Several awkward seconds passed of him staring her down—the guy had no social protocol whatsoever—and her waiting for him to say what it was so she could get inside and warm up. Her hands were freezing, her nose dripping, and her hair blew around her face. Yet he stared.

“I came to apologize,” he said at last. “My grandma gave me the wrong impression about you. I didn’t realize you were datin’ somebody.”

It took her a second to realize what he meant. In spite of the weather, her cheeks flushed. She buried her hands in her holey coat pockets. It was crazy people still put her with Oliver. In his late thirties—or however old Oliver was—he was beyond her age or interest. He rarely looked her in the eye, not to mention an officer of the law could never respect an illegal citizen, let alone date them.

“I’m not dating Oliver if that’s you mean. We’re just friends. But thank you for apologizing.”

“You’re not? You sure?”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I think I’d know.”

His thick brows pulled down. “Look, I’m not an idiot. If you wanna play that game and pretend like nothin’s goin’ on, fine. I won’t tell anybody.”

“I’m not dating Oliver!” she cried. “Or playing games or whatever you think I’m doing. Oliver and I aren’t romantically involved.” She grimaced without meaning to, but it was too weird. “We’re just friends.”

“You sure?”

It took a moment before she could answer calmly. “Yes.”

Immediately, Greg stiffened. “Then let me reiterate what I said before. I’m not interes—”

“No need to repeat yourself,” she interrupted angrily. “I’m not interested either.”

He eyed her a long minute before nodding. “Good. Keep it that way.”

***

Carrie couldn’t let it go. For the rest of the week and into the next she ran circles around those four words: Keep it that way. As if Greg was so attractive and out of her league, she’d have to restrain herself. It bugged her. Then it bugged her that it bugged her because deep down at the root of it was insecurity. She hated feeling insecure, but having the first single guy in five years come along and tell her he wasn’t interested in her—repeatedly—started to mess with her head.

Amber, gossip girl that she was, made sure to give Carrie a running report on Greg’s daily whereabouts. Carrie didn’t have the heart to tell Amber she didn’t care one bit what Greg Pierce did with his time. Hunting? Fine. Helping Richard O’Brien repair siding? Good for him. More hunting—Do you know he hunts with a slingshot, Carrie?—Who cares? She didn’t.

So she threw herself into planning the spring crops. Technically the Watsons were in charge of the oversized garden behind the Trentons, but knowing how much Carrie loved it, they relinquished part of the responsibility to her. Since CJ wouldn’t let her plant peas or lettuce yet—stupid Greg—she had to content herself with the next best thing.

In her brightly lit family room, she bent down and inspected the thirty miscellaneous cups and old sour cream containers. It had only been four days since she planted the seeds indoors, and nothing had sprouted. But they would any day. Pear tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, Roma tomatoes—she really liked tomatoes—a few peppers, and some badly needed onions. All would be flourishing soon.

Using an old hairspray bottle, she sprayed a fine mist of water over her thirty babies. The water sparkled in the light shining through the window. The sunshine called to her. It was a beautiful day.

Purposely leaving her coat behind, she headed for Jenna Kovach’s, ready to get Zach’s hair out of his eyes once and for all.

As Carrie wandered down the sidewalk, her mind drifted from vegetables to flowers. One of the empty homes had an overgrown forsythia bush, and she crossed the lawn to check the nearest branch for buds. Not even close. According to her mom, she shouldn’t plant peas until the forsythias bloomed. Then again, she reasoned, rules are made to be broken. That thought cheered her the rest of the way to Jenna’s.

She knocked the clan pattern on Kovach’s door and stood back. Soft footsteps pattered inside, and Little Jeffrey peeked out the side window, squishing his face to the glass.

Carrie waved with a smile. She adored that kid. Jeffrey smiled back and opened the front door. Then he held up a fist toward her.

She bent down. “What did you find?”

“A cenipededed,” Jeffrey said proudly.

She cringed. “A centipede?”

He opened his chubby fingers. Surprisingly still alive, the insect began the rhythmic crawling movements on Jeffrey’s small palm. Watching the hundred legs gave her the jitters, but he broke into a big, toothy grin. “See?”

Though she shouldn’t have a favorite kid in the clan, she did. Little Jeffrey had Jenna’s Italian coloring with dark curly hair and deep brown eyes. He was a thinker, even at three years old. Of all the clansmen, his parents were the most bitter. Jeff had been a successful lawyer and Jenna had been runner-up to Miss Illinois. They’d fallen far in the Collapse and made sure everyone knew it. Yet Little Jeffrey grinned down at his “cenipededed” as if all was well in the world.

She tousled his dark curls. “Where’s your mom?”

“Mommy sleep,” he said, his face close to his bug.

Jonah, the younger of the Kovach boys, stood at the top of the stairs in a shirt two sizes too big, sucking his thumb.

Carrie lowered her voice. “Can I talk to your daddy, then?”

“Daddy’s bye-bye,” Little Jeffrey said.

Then who’s watching the boys?

“Jenna?” she called. Jonah scooted down the steps backward and came toddling into her arms. She gave him a squeeze and called again, “Jenna?”

No answer.

Carrie panicked. “Where’s your mom, Jeffrey?”

He pointed past the kitchen. “Mommy sleep.”

Settling Jonah on her hip, she walked down the hall into the two-story great room. Sure enough, Jenna was sound asleep on the dirty carpet, Dr. Seuss book in one hand and a partially-finished quilt cradled in the other.

Carrie bent down and shook her gently. “Jenna?”

Jenna sat up with a start and looked around. “Carrie? How did you get in?”

“Little Jeffrey. Are you okay?”

Jenna looked at her two boys. She raked her fingers through her dark hair that had once been the envy of most women, and now was a tangled, frizzy mess. Jonah wiggled out of Carrie’s arms to push a car around on the carpet. Carrie sat next to Jenna on the floor, thoughts of Zach’s haircut pushed aside. Something wasn’t right. Jenna’s skin was too white. Too pale.

“Are you sick?” Carrie asked.

Jenna buried her face in her hands and broke down crying.

Carrie’s heart stopped. “What happened? Did Jeff get hurt? One of the boys? Are they not well?” Though they both looked fine.

Jenna shook her head as the tears poured.

The answer—or at least partial answer—came when she grabbed a nearby pot and emptied the contents of her stomach into it.

Carrie’s hands flew over her nose, but it was too late. The smell of vomit always took her back to that horrible November with her dying mother. She jumped up, ran into the kitchen, and wet a rag in the water bucket. Then she brought it back to Jenna who was still crying.

Jenna wiped her mouth. In between shuddering breaths, she said, “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.” That’s all Carrie could think to say.

Little Jeffrey and Jonah sat wide-eyed, watching their mom have an emotional breakdown. Carrie couldn’t explain why Jenna was upset. A long time ago pregnancy was something joyful and happy. And now…

“How far along?” Carrie asked.

“I don’t know. Not very. What am I going to do?”

Carrie rubbed her back, hoping to calm her down before she threw up again. Once was bad enough. “It’ll be okay. This is exciting news. A baby! Congratulations!”

It was like Jenna hadn’t even heard. “Jeff’s freaking out. I mean, look at me. This baby will be here in winter. I can’t keep myself warm, let alone a baby. What about food? How do I feed another mouth? And more clothes? And, and…” Her words started to slur. “And another bed, and…”

Carrie had a bigger concern. The birth itself. They almost lost Jenna after Jonah. The bleeding wouldn’t stop. Without a doctor or midwife, they were helpless to fate. They needed someone if she was going to survive another birth, even if just a nurse. Anyone with medical experience, which none of the clansmen had. But she kept those thoughts to herself. That was a long ways off.

“Don’t worry about all that,” Carrie said. “Right now, you just take care of yourself and this little one. And start thinking of another ‘J’ name.” She smiled. “Maybe this one will be a girl.”

Jenna’s eyes rose and she watched her two boys for a long time. “What am I going to do?” she whispered. “I can’t keep anything down. I can’t stay awake. I can’t clean or cook or do anything.” Her head dropped to her knees. “We should just go back to the municipality.”

Carrie jerked back. “You don’t mean that.” She couldn’t.

“Why not? Food, clothes, doctors, and heat. Sounds pretty good.”

And fences, curfews, and police brutality, Carrie added silently. Thinking fast she said, “What if I take the boys right now so you can sleep? When does Jonah take his nap?”

“After lunch.”

“Okay. I’ll take them now and bring Jonah back for his nap. In fact,” Carrie said, “I could start taking the boys every day after I teach school. I could feed them lunch and when Jonah takes his nap, Little Jeffrey could stay and play. That would give you a chance to rest.”

Jenna wiped her dark eyes. “Every day? Even weekends? You’d do that?”

Carrie meant just school days. Her weekends were crammed with other chores—the garden—but she smiled anyway. “Sure. Amber and Zach will love an excuse to get out of their chores.”

Jonah was busy with his rusty little car, but Little Jeffrey watched his mom, looking incredibly grave for one so small.

“What do you say, Jeffrey?” Carrie said. “Do you want to play with me and Zach?”

His big, brown eyes never left his mom until she nodded her consent. Then a tiny smile broke through. “Can I bwing my bug?”

Carrie smiled. “You bet.”

eleven

Amber stood by the front door, arms folded and foot tapping. Carrie and the boys barely made it inside before she started in.

“Why do you keeping doing that?” Amber snapped.

Carrie had the gall to look surprised. “Doing what?”

“Leaving me alone with Oliver. I can’t stand that guy!”

Carrie glanced out the front window as if her puppy dog’s patrol car would still be there. “Is it Thursday already?”

“Yes! What took you so long anyway? You said you’d be right back.”

“Sorry. When I went to get the boys today, Jenna’s kitchen was a mess, and she hadn’t made bread in a few days, and…” Carrie sighed. “She’s not doing well. She keeps talking about going back to Aurora.”

“Maybe she should,” Amber muttered.

Carrie’s head whipped up. “What?”

“Never mind.”

As Carrie took off her coat, Amber noticed she wore the new clothes Oliver left her two weeks ago: a purple and gray striped shirt and jeans which fit her amazingly well. Creepy. The guy knew her jean size. Of course, Oliver did it all under the cover of Zach’s birthday. How nice for Carrie. Zach, too, who had a new red t-shirt to call his own. Technically none of the clothes were brand new, but they were a hundred times better than the ratty stuff Amber wore. Carrie insisted Oliver bought them at some secondhand store instead of acquiring them in a raid. Yeah, right. If that was the case, why hadn’t he picked up something for Amber? Because he hated Amber. That’s why.

Well, Amber thought, the feeling’s mutual.

Carrie took off the boys’ jackets. “Are you guys ready for lunch?”

They answered by running into the kitchen as fast as their miniature legs could go. Amber followed and leaned against the counter as Carrie started slicing up a loaf of bread.

“So what did Oliver have to say today?” Carrie asked.

Amber snatched the first slice. “I don’t remember. Why can’t he give the report to someone else each week? Why you?”

“You know how shy he is. I’ll try to be home next Thursday, but Jenna really needed me today. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Carrie always used the Jenna excuse now. Amber hated it.

“Then why don’t you let Sasha take the boys,” Amber said. “She’s always wanted kids. Maddie told me she’s mad because Jenna keeps getting pregnant and Sasha can’t. So let Sasha take the boys. All she does is sit around and complain anyway.”

“Amber…” Carrie said. It was the tone of a tired mother. Only Carrie wasn’t Amber’s mom, and it bugged the heck out of Amber when she pretended like she was.

Amber broke off pieces of bread and plopped them in her mouth. “I think Oliver was madder than I was that you weren’t here.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Oliver’s always very nice to you.”

Amber pointed to the purple-striped shirt. “Whatever. Plus it’s painful listening to him. Not only could I not hear a single thing he said, he kept apologizing every other word.”

Carrie looked over. “Apologizing? For what?”

Before Amber could answer, Jonah pounded a fist on the table. “Bah-bah.”

“You want a drink, Jonah?” Carrie asked. “Will you get the boys some water, Amber?”

Amber winced. “Uh…we’re kind of out of water.” Then she braced herself for the rebuke that was sure to follow.

Carrie stopped slicing and turned. It wasn’t exactly a glare, but it was as close as Carrie ever came. “I thought I said—”

“I know, I know,” Amber cut in. “I was talking to Oliver, remember?”

“Bah-bah,” Jonah said again.

“Jonah wanna dwink,” Little Jeffrey informed them, as if they were hard of hearing.

Carrie spread butter on a slice of bread and took it over to the table. She crouched down in front of Jonah. “Amber will get you some water in a minute, Jonah. How about you eat your bread first.”

Jonah squeezed the bread, oozing butter between his fingers, and flung it, butter side down, on the floor. “Bah-bah!”

The second time Carrie looked at Amber was most definitely a glare.

“I think I’ll get some water now,” Amber relented.

But at the same time, Little Jeffrey hopped off his chair and ran to the front door. He grabbed something from a bag and was back at Carrie’s side in a second with a bottle of goat’s milk.

“Oh,” Carrie said, “Is this what you wanted, Jonah?”

Jonah began chugging it down. Amber figured that bought her a few minutes, so she picked up her bread and broke off more pieces. She hated the water chores. Not only did she have to keep the kitchen buckets filled, but their bathroom one as well. And ever since Greg showed up, Carrie wouldn’t let them take baths at the Trentons anymore, which meant Amber worked twice as hard and was twice as smelly.

Carrie got down on her hands to mop up the mess. “So what was Oliver apologizing for?”

“There’s a raid this week,” Amber said. “He can’t come.”

“He can’t?” Carrie sat back on her heels with a sigh. “Great. When is it?”

Amber’s mind went suddenly blank. At the time, she hadn’t been listening, just counting the seconds until the nerd left, which took for-e-ver. Oliver tried to stall—not so subtly—in hopes Carrie would show up. Little did he know that Carrie was literally the only person on earth who liked talking about the weather.

“Amber?” Carrie said.

“Saturday, I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” Amber said with more certainty. “It’s Saturday.”

“Did he say when?”

“He said it’s Saturday! Man, are you deaf?”

Carrie scowled at her. “I meant what time will the patrolmen come through the neighborhood? You don’t have to be rude, Amber.”

“Oh. Oliver said the raid would be—”

“Sweep,” Carrie corrected.

“Whatever!” Amber cried. “He said the raid would be some time during the night.”

Carrie brushed the hair from her face. “Okay. To be safe, we should tell everyone to meet at the Trentons after lunch Saturday and plan on staying until Sunday morning. Would you go around and let everyone know?”

“No!” Amber shouted as her day went from bad to worse. “Have you seen how windy it is out there? I’m already cold.”

“It’s not that bad. Please,” Carrie said. “I told Jenna I’d put Jonah down here for his nap today. Besides, Zach has some eggs that didn’t get to everyone, so you can take them around at the same time.”

“And where’s Zach when I’m doing his jobs?” Unbelievable.

“He and Tucker are hunting rabbits with Ron. Besides…” Carrie motioned to the empty bucket. “You owe me.”

Right. Amber forgot. Stupid water.

Instantly, she went from seething to scheming. “If I take the eggs around, then can I hang out with Lindsey and Maddie”—and their dreamy older brother—“for the rest of the afternoon?”

“I guess. As long as you get water on your way home.”

Amber ran over and gave Carrie a quick hug. “Thanks, sis.”

After a vigorous sprint around the neighborhood, Amber spent the afternoon on the Ziegler’s floor, studying some old People magazines. Maddie Ziegler was a year older than her; Lindsey, a year younger. The three girls had been best friends as long as Amber could remember, but recently she’d found a new favorite Ziegler:

Braden.

Keeping one eye on the torn magazine, Amber looked up. Braden locked gazes with her, and the jar of cream in his hand stopped shaking. Just as she’d hoped, he’d been watching her.

His sand-colored hair was sculpted to perfection, waving and curling in all the right spots, and his beard was short but super manly. She still couldn’t believe she caught his attention after all these years. Maybe she was leaving the worst of the awkward years behind her, or maybe he finally considered her old enough to notice. Whatever the reason, she had his full attention now.

She smiled. Braden shook his jar again with the tiniest of smiles twitching his beard.

Maddie elbowed her. “Amber!”

Reluctantly, Amber turned. “What?”

“I said…doesn’t that picture look like Greg?”

It was some actor from some movie Amber hadn’t seen and never would. The actor looked a little like Greg—same short, brown hair, same broad shoulders—but the face was wrong. Too round. Even then, Amber decided to up the stakes in her little game.

“Definitely,” she said with sudden enthusiasm. “Except Greg is way cuter than that guy.” She stole a peek through her dark lashes. Braden shook the goat’s milk with sudden intensity.

Lindsey huffed. “Well, is Carrie going to make a move or not?”

“I doubt it,” Amber said. “Carrie is just so…so…”

“Carrie,” Maddie finished, and the three girls burst out giggling.

They stopped abruptly. Braden stood above them. “This jar is ready to be strained,” he said to his sisters. “There are three more in the kitchen. You better finish before Mom gets home and finds out you’ve been wasting time on those magazines again.”

Amber’s friends looked at her for what to do.

Go, Amber yelled silently. GO!

When they failed ESP, she inclined her head toward the hallway. Like the best friends they were, they darted out of the room, leaving her alone with their gorgeous older brother.

She took up her previous study of the magazine, or at least pretended to. In reality, she watched Braden out of the corner of her eye. For a few moments, he stayed motionless, standing above her like a Greek god. Then he came down to her level, sitting right next to her, so close his hand brushed her leg. Her stomach did a few flips. She forced herself not to turn around to see how close his face was to hers, although she guessed it was very close.

“So…” he said over her shoulder, “you think Greg is cute?”

“Only compared to that guy.” The line didn’t come off as casually as she hoped. It squeaked out of her.

Braden laughed. Then he leaned closer to peer over her shoulder. She studied the actor again, wondering if life had gone differently, if Braden would have tried modeling. He could have if he wanted.

After a second, she realized he wasn’t looking at the magazine at all. He was studying her. She tucked a dark lock of hair behind her ear, giving him a full view of her face. Braden hadn’t kissed her yet—heck, he hadn’t even held her hand—but he kept giving her every reason to think he would. He’d lean in close and study her face before backing off with a laugh. One of these days, she’d get the nerve to plant one on him. Of course, that would mean she lost their little game, but at that point, would she care?

The thought emboldened her.

She turned slowly. Like she hoped, his perfect face was right there, inches from hers. Braden had the most beautiful turquoise eyes. Eyes flecked with the sun. Eyes—she nearly screamed—that were admiring her lips.

Today is the day! she cheered. Today is the day! She wet her lips as casually as she dared.

“I think,” he said in a whisper she could feel, “I better go.”

She didn’t move. His words said leave, but the rest of him said stay. She tried to make her head move those last few inches. Get that kiss. Lose the game. She didn’t care. But her head wouldn’t budge, not even a smidge. And then it was too late.

He jumped up, grabbed her hands, and pulled her up. He smiled his amazing smile and unleashed his deep voice on her.

“See you later, Amber.”

Then he turned and trotted out of the room, leaving her gaping after him.

It took two full houses to break out of the Braden haze and remember she left their water wagon on the front porch. Once on their porch, she realized she’d completely spaced telling any Zieglers about the Oliver-less raid, the whole reason she went—supposedly.

Not all that sad to be back, she knocked the clan pattern on their door—two fast, one slow, three fast—hoping the right person would answer.

She wasn’t disappointed.

Braden opened it with a smile. “Back so soon?”

Distracted from her purpose yet again, she took in the sight of him now they were face to face. He propped one hand up on the frame, muscled body leaning somewhat toward her. He had great arms—Man, really great arms!—and a perfect smile except a small chip in a side tooth. Somehow, even the chipped tooth looked great on him.

“I forgot to tell you about the raid this week,” she heard herself say.

“Hmmm. I wonder what else you forgot to tell me.”

“That I’m in love with you.”

It just blurted out of her, desperate for escape. His thick brows shot up in response.

“Oops,” she giggled. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah. I think you did.” He shook his head with a slow smile. “Wow. Good to know.”

Her lashes lowered. “Is it?”

“Very.” He winked, sending her heart racing again. “So what’s this raid about?”

In her distracted state, she tried to relay the message. No Oliver. Saturday night. Braden’s smile faded. Normally people hated sharing the Trenton’s home for a night, but she was thrilled to have unlimited, uninterrupted Braden time. Yet he frowned. Either he wasn’t as excited to be stuck together all night as she was or he hadn’t put two and two together yet. She gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’ll let my parents know,” he said. “Sleepover at Trenton’s, eh?”

“Yep!”

He shook his head with another laugh. “Okay, now I really better go split wood with Jeff before my dad kills me. See you later, Amber. Unless you can think of anything else you forgot?”

My kiss, she almost said.

That time she was smart enough to keep her big mouth shut.

twelve

“Amber!” Carrie yelled up the stairs. “Did you get the book by my bed?”

“Yes!”

“Did you empty the bathroom drawer?”

Amber poked her head around the corner with a deep glare.

Carrie held up her hands. “Sorry. Just making sure.” She hoped Amber was nearing the end of her snippety phase, especially since Zach was starting his. “Are you done sweeping out the fireplace, Zach?” Carrie called.

“I don’t get why I have to do this,” he grumbled back.

Carrie didn’t respond. Zach knew how important it was to make it look like nobody lived there. Suspicious patrolmen were dangerous patrolmen.

She wrapped the last of their dishes in her bed sheets and laid them in their laundry basket. Sadly, all of their worldly belongings fit into two baskets. Everything else had been burned, traded, sold, or stolen over the years. Some of their old stuff was in the Trenton’s garage still waiting to be traded. The only exception was for books. The clan kept every single book in hopes of educating the next generation—a library of sorts. But even those would be traded if the need arose.

Carrie picked up her porcelain doll, her one nonessential item. Everyone got to keep one keepsake. The doll had golden hair and fair skin like her, but that’s not why she kept it. The porcelain doll had been her mother’s, her grandmother’s, and her great-grandmother’s, something passed down for four generations. Carrie kept it next to her mattress, something matriarchal watching over her as she slept. Someday she would pass it to her oldest daughter, but for now it went into the laundry basket with the rest of their stuff.

Zach didn’t add his nonessential item to the pile. Not because he didn’t have one, but because he was too lazy to care if his baseball was stolen. Amber always took the same thing: a burgundy dress she’d grown too tall for and rarely wore.

Once they finished the inside, Carrie dumped their card table, three folding chairs, and mattresses onto the front lawn so the men could take it to the Trenton’s garage. Not their couch, though. That would stay. Not even the patrolman wanted that ugly thing.

She smiled, remembering. Their family had only been back from Aurora a week when the very first government sweep came through the neighborhood. While they huddled in the Trenton’s basement, the patrolmen stripped their home of computers, TVs, wedding china, beds, clothing, tables, and an expensive armoire—all things her dad planned to sell for food. But for some reason, they left their living room couch. Maybe it was the hideous color, a sad olive green, or maybe it was the weight since the thing was a beast. Either way, in an uncharacteristic fit of rage, her dad went ballistic on the poor thing, leaving several gashes in the heavy fabric. Her mom had walked in, taken one look, and said, “I like it better that way.” Ever since, Carrie had loved that couch. Normally she kept one of Jenna’s patch quilts over the worst of the gashes, but that went into the basket as well.

When the home was sufficiently ‘deserted’ and her thirty plants—now two inches high—moved into the woods for safe keeping, the three of them headed to May’s. Most everyone was already there with their bedrolls, making for tight quarters.

Sasha Green walked in behind her. “Don’t you just hate this, Carrie? As if life isn’t hard enough, we have to squish in here all the time.”

All the time was only a couple times a year, and it was nothing compared to the twenty-four-seven life they once endured.

“I don’t mind too much,” Carrie said.

“Oh. I forgot,” Sasha said. “Of course you don’t mind being here, do you? You probably told Oliver to take off so you could spend time with the new guy. Nice.”

Carrie followed Sasha’s gaze and froze. Greg had been rubbing Zach’s newly cropped hair five feet away, probably making fun of Carrie’s first—and last—attempt at a haircut. Greg turned and glared at Carrie, making sure she knew he’d heard perfectly.

Carrie scrambled for a denial, one that would carry, but her mortified brain couldn’t think past, Keep it that way.

“By the way,” Sasha added, “purple looks great on you. I thought we had a quota on clothes, but maybe not.”

Stunned, Carrie watched Sasha move away. It was true. Clansmen were only allowed two non-sleeping outfits. She’d forgotten. Obviously Sasha hadn’t. Sighing, Carrie slid through the group and pushed their basket under the kitchen table. It was going to be a long—

“What’s the weather?” someone said right behind her.

She jumped and fell back. Then she saw who had startled her.

Greg!

Jeff Kovach laughed with several others, but Greg stood back, arms folded, waiting for her response. Every instinct told her not to answer, but she did anyway.

“A five.”

Greg snorted and thankfully walked away.

Right, Sasha, Carrie thought. As if she was looking forward to a whole night of that.

She scanned the house for a quiet spot to pass the next sixteen hours. Zach ran past, headed for the cement basement with Tucker. Amber sat in the far hallway with Braden, no doubt wanting privacy. Carrie wasn’t about to hang out with the young marrieds again, but at the same time, May and Mariah were only a few feet from Greg who still watched her, daring her to approach his family.

Desperate, she grabbed The Wonderful Wizard of Oz from May’s shelf and asked Little Jeffrey if she could read to him. His attention lasted all of three pages, but after that he let her push his ‘twuck’ around with him, passing an hour or two in quiet seclusion.

Being around a carefree kid made her wonder what her problem was. She’d never let grumpy people affect her before. Greg wasn’t any different than Sasha and Dylan or Jeff and Jenna. Putting him in that category helped enough that by dinnertime, she hopped up to help, no longer worried about where Greg was. She passed on May’s invitation to eat at the main table again because Jenna needed help feeding the boys—or at least that’s what she told May.

Before she knew it, the sun set and the parents declared it was time for bed. May’s living room emptied as people worked on settling the kids in the back bedrooms. Mariah sat alone on the couch. Greg had disappeared somewhere, so Carrie risked it and wandered over.

“Mind if I join you?” Carrie asked.

Mariah looked up and smiled warmly. “You bet, darlin’. I’d love some company.”

A smile? Was she actually related to Greg? Carrie wanted to hug her. Instead, she sat next to her as she flipped through May’s family album.

The soft candlelight offered little detail to the pictures in the album, but Carrie already knew them by heart. There were pictures of May and CJ, of Mariah and her older brother, Curtis. But most of the album was filled with May’s grandkids.

Mariah stopped on one, a picture of Kendra and Greg at Wrightsville Beach in North Carolina. It had been taken shortly after Greg’s high school graduation. Carrie knew this not because of the label, but because it was May’s favorite story: the time Greg was almost eaten by a shark.

“My Gregory likes to surf,” May would start. “I can’t understand why. Do you like to surf, Carrie? No, No,” she would answer before Carrie could. “Of course you don’t. It’s too dangerous, but that doesn’t stop my Gregory. He loves to surf. He loves everything really. Oh, Carrie, I wish you could meet him. He’s a wonderful boy, so gentle and kind”—that one was a little tough to swallow now—“and handsome. Don’t you think he’s handsome?”

Carrie groaned inwardly. Why did I ever say yes?

But in her defense, Greg was handsome—or at least his picture was. Bronzed skin, wavy, chestnut-colored hair that brushed the tops of his eyes, and a smile that could break the heart of any girl. But the picture lied. It was everything May said he was, but nothing like the real man. The real Greg Pierce didn’t smile. Ever.

“I miss her,” Mariah whispered.

Carrie blinked and focused on the right Pierce. Kendra was tucked under Greg’s tanned arm. With deep dimples and the same heartthrob smile, Kendra looked like a girl with her whole life ahead of her. According to May, Kendra had been the top of her class, head cheerleader, and friend to the whole world. While May was off on her assessment of Greg, Carrie believed her when it came to Kendra.

“She could make anybody laugh,” Mariah said, stroking her daughter’s face. “Anytime.”

Carrie smiled sadly. “You know, May’s favorite story is about Kendra. Something about a Christmas present possessed by an evil spirit?”

Mariah sniffed back a laugh. “I forgot about that. Present on a fish line. Mama squealed like a newborn piglet when it jumped off her lap. About near gave her a heart attack. I was sure she’d never forgive Kendra and Greg, but she did. She always did.” Mariah sighed wistfully. “Oh, my sweet, baby girl.”

Finishing, Mariah set the album aside. “My folks can’t seem to say enough about you, Carrie Lynne Ashworth. Seems like you been loads of help to them over the years. Loads of help to lots of—”

Mariah stopped suddenly, overtaken by a coughing spell which shook her whole body. It was a deep, hacking cough, and though it only lasted a few seconds, it was frightening to hear. And watch.

“Are you okay?” Carrie asked when she quieted. “That sounds awful.”

Mariah waved it off even as she coughed again. “I’m fine. I’ve had that ol’ cough a while. It just likes to act up every now and then.” Clearing her throat, she started again. “I was just gonna say how much I appreciate you watchin’ out for my folks. Mama says you’re sweeter than fresh peach pie. I gotta agree.”

Carrie’s heart swelled thinking she’d maybe found a friend after all. “Thanks, but May and CJ are the ones who need thanking. They took me and my siblings in after…” She drifted off as Mariah’s gaze lifted over her head.

“You need somethin’, son?” Mariah asked.

Greg.

Carrie’s heart sank. She couldn’t bear to turn around, already knowing where this was headed.

“Somebody wants your flat cake recipe,” he said. “They’re in the kitchen.”

Recipe. Sure.

Carrie hated herself, hated that she didn’t turn and ask Greg why he despised her, why he kept taking his family away from her one painful person at a time. First May and CJ. Now Mariah.

Oblivious, Mariah smiled up at her soul-crushing son. “You been braggin’ on me, boy? Good. Keep it up. Besides,” she said with another cough, “some water might clear this frog outta my throat.”

Carrie forced herself to turn and meet Greg’s glare head on. Only he wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t even looking at her. He offered a hand to his mom. Mariah took it and he pulled her up, but she didn’t make it all the way. She fell back on the couch. That’s when Carrie saw her legs trembling in the soft light. Carrie jumped up and grabbed Mariah’s other hand. Between her and Greg, they got her upright. With Mariah’s face toward the candlelight, Carrie noticed how pale she looked. Clammy, even. But she just smiled like she always did.

“Thanks for chatting, darlin’,” Mariah said. Then she headed into the kitchen, walking gingerly as if every step hurt.

“Is your mom coming down with something, Greg?” Carrie asked. Being sick was awful enough, but without access to things like medicine and doctors, a simple illness often turned into something worse.

Greg studied Carrie with an expression she couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t a glare. It wasn’t even intimidating. More…blank. However, that’s all she got. He left her and joined Terrell Dixon starting a game of Poker.

Maybe he was adopted.

Thankfully the evening was almost over. Amber and her friends were setting out their bedrolls and Carrie did the same. Like other Oliver-less sweeps, the men and older boys slept in the cement basement where it was uncomfortably ten degrees colder. That left nineteen women and children to find a spot upstairs. Carrie quietly arranged for Jenna to get one of the three mattresses since there hadn’t been a formal announcement about the pregnancy yet.

Carrie never slept well on the night of the sweeps. No one did. More often than not, the patrol dogs woke them as they searched the homes. She made the mistake of lying next to Amber and her two friends, which meant she fell asleep to a lot of giggly whispers about Braden.

And Greg.

In the morning, Carrie was up and out of there before most of the clan woke up. She worked hard to put her house back together, steering clear of Greg like the plague. She just had to learn Greg’s routine—or never leave her house. Either way she’d never have to see him again.

But it wasn’t until she carried her thirty plants inside that she realized something. Something horrible and devastating.

Her field.

Her garden.

Was in Greg’s backyard.

Planting was a month away. Greg would never put up with the endless hours she spent in the massive garden. No one loved it like she did. No one knew which corner had the least amount of sun or where each crop should be rotated next. She even set aside a handful of extra seeds last year so she could experiment with raised beds. The field was the one place she could escape the world, and now it was guarded by a watchdog. A big, mean Rottweiler named Greg.

She stared at her plants. There had to be another way.

The answer didn’t take long. For the first time, she had extra seeds. Maybe it was time to experiment in her own yard. Hopefully, she’d get in a full round of peas before the patrolmen found them and ripped them out. Peas only needed sixty days to harvest anyway. Oliver would probably be scheduled for the sweeps that long.

Taking it a step further, she decided if she grew the peas inconspicuously enough, hiding them around her weeds, they might go unnoticed altogether.

She let the plan simmer long enough to know it was possible. Then she grabbed her sack of peas and ran outside.

thirteen

The sun beat down on Carrie, dripping beads of sweat down the nape of her neck. She wiped her brow once, then twice, before taking a step back to admire her hard work. Large yellow flowers popped out of the long rows of zucchini. The nearby corn stalks were waist high even though it was only the end of March.

It was going to be a great year.

Her mom knelt in the dirt beside her, looking unaffected by the hot, penetrating rays. Her auburn hair—the same beautiful shade as Amber’s—blew softly in the breeze and her skin glowed gold. Carrie didn’t know why, but she had the overwhelming urge to hug her. Instead she copied her stance, kneeling with her fingers sunk deeply in the soil.

“Dogs,” her mom said.

“Probably a pack of wild dogs,” Carrie said, hearing the same thing. “Seems like they’re everywhere lately.”

“Dogs,” her mom repeated, sitting back on her heels.

“Yeah, I hear them. Weird.” They grew louder by the second. Carrie searched the long rows of vegetables. “Where do you think they are?”

“Carrie! Dogs!” Her mom’s voice rose in pitch, eerily resembling Amber’s, only scared to death.

An awareness hit Carrie. Something wasn’t right.

The field began to dissipate, followed by her mom, as Carrie questioned their existence.

“Carrie!” Amber screamed over her. “Wake! UP!”

Carrie’s eyes flew open in her pitch-black room. Surrounding her were three distinct sounds: Amber yelling, Zach chanting “Dogs,” and the undeniable sound of barking over it all. None of it made sense. Until she combined the three. Then she bolted upright.

“What day is it?”

Before Amber answered, Carrie determined the irrelevance. It didn’t matter what day it was. Patrolmen were searching their neighborhood, and they were in serious trouble.

It only took a millisecond to know what had to happen.

Carrie flung off her blanket. “We have to get to May’s. Now!”

Foregoing shoes, coats, and everything, Carrie grabbed her siblings and ran for the hall. She felt her way along the black wall and crept blindly down the stairs. Amber and Zach cried hysterically as Carrie pulled them toward the front window.

Holding her breath, she peeked outside. It was a dark night with soft rain dampening all sound but the distant barking. She couldn’t see anything past a few houses. Not a single patrolman. Not a single crazed dog. All the homes were black as the barking grew in sound and fury.

Her heart stopped. Kovachs…Zieglers…Watsons…

NO!!!

How many people would they lose tonight? How many were sleeping through the government sweep like she almost had? Which clansmen were going to wake up in handcuffs? Jenna? Sasha? Little Jeffrey?

This can’t be happening!

Carrie scanned her neighborhood. I have to help them. I have to warn them or something. I have to—

Amber’s nails dug into her arm, pulling her back. Amber and Zach were crying, petrified. Right then and there, Carrie knew she had priorities. Her siblings came first. Over everything and everyone.

Even the clan.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the dark houses. Then she backed away from the window. “Alright, you guys. Let’s go.”

Zach reached for the front door, but Carrie grabbed his hand. “Not that way. Out back. Through the woods.”

The three of them clambered across the living room into the black kitchen where Carrie stopped for a second time. Perching up to the deck door, she strained to listen over her pounding pulse, praying it was just a pack of wild dogs.

Patrol dogs had a pattern to their barking: loud, muffled, loud, then muffled, as they searched house after house for squatters. Right now, the barking was definitely loud, and from the sound of it, only two or three houses down.

“We can’t go out there!” Amber shrieked. “The dogs will find us. The dogs will find us, and they’ll kill us. We’ll never make it.”

That got Zach going. “We’re gonna die. We’re gonna die. We’re gonna—”

“Enough!” Carrie snapped. “We just need to get to May’s. Not another word until we’re safely inside. Not even a whisper.”

They clamped their mouths shut.

Carrie plastered her ear to the door again. The barking became muted in the next unsuspecting home. Patrol dogs. No doubt now. Refusing to calculate whose home they were raiding, she silently slid open the deck door. Her senses tested the night for danger. The rain dampened the sounds, leaving nothing but barking dogs and her siblings’ ragged breathing. But everything else told her they had a small window of opportunity.

Pulse racing, Carrie clutched Amber and Zach’s hands. “Okay,” she whispered. “Follow me.”

Carrie and Zach slipped out onto the wet deck, but not Amber. She remained stuck, paralyzed in the kitchen. Carrie yanked on her hand again. She might as well have pulled on a two-ton boulder.

“I can’t do it,” Amber whispered in a strangled sob. “We’ll never make it in time.”

“Amber,” Carrie begged, “if we don’t get to May’s right now, I’ll be thrown in prison and I’ll never see you again. You and Zach will be wards of the state. Do you understand? We have to go, and we have to go now. Come on! You can do this.”

The second time Carrie yanked hard, forcing Amber onto the rain-soaked deck. They crept down the deck stairs and along the hedge that lined their dark yard.

Carrie pulled them to a stop at the black corner and pushed the freezing rain from her eyes. The barking was harder to hear than before. She hoped that meant the patrolmen were further away than she originally thought. That gave her a moment to work on the next step.

The next house was fifty feet down at least. She was tempted to sneak through the patch of trees near the pond, but that would take time. With the dogs inside one of the homes, she hoped they had a minute of safety.

Shivering, her grip tightened on Zach and Amber’s wet hands. Then she took off, sprinting across the lawn. The slick grass was ice on their bare feet, but it only took seconds to clear the distance and slide behind the corner of the next home.

The three of them doubled over to catch their breath.

One more house, though twice as far, and then a mad dash across the street to May’s. Carrie’s best guess was the patrolmen had started their search in the front of the sub, which meant they were coming toward them, not—

A loud crash pierced the air.

Amber screamed. So did Zach. Carrie’s hands flew over both mouths, eyes yelling at them to stay quiet. The crash was several houses away and that was good news. If they were going to beat the dogs, they had to go, and they had to go now.

“Stay close,” she mouthed. “Don’t stop.”

Amber swallowed. Zach nodded vigorously.

“One…two…” And before Carrie got to three, she yanked them away from the brick. They flew across the wet grass.

Halfway to the next home, something changed. In the space of a heartbeat, the pattern switched. It sounded like someone shoved a microphone in front of the dogs. Their furious howls echoed off every brick in the neighborhood. But she heard more than dogs, too. Patrolmen. Shouting orders.

Carrie slid to a stop. The next house was too far. Too far! They’d never make it in time. She flipped the three of them around and sprinted back to the vacant house.

Taking in shallow pants of damp air, they molded themselves to the brick, waiting and praying their silhouettes would be hidden in the dark night. Until it occurred to Carrie. Dogs didn’t need their sight to find traitors. The three of them struggling to catch a breath were more than loud enough to give them away. Let alone their smell and…

A wave of dizziness overtook her. Carrie closed her eyes, waiting for fate to decide their lives. The dogs were growing louder by the second. Barking. Patrolmen shouting. All of it was coming their way.

Amber’s crying soon overtook the other sounds. Carrie whirled on her. “Amber!” she hissed. “Pull it together!”

Her sister threw both hands over her mouth. It barely helped.

Carrie spent the next terrifying minute listing the names of people she hoped were already tucked away at May’s: Jenna, Braden, Sasha. People who shouldn’t have to spend the rest of their lives in prison like she was about to. Especially the kids. They didn’t deserve to grow up in a prison of their own, raised on government propaganda.

Maddie. Lindsey.

Rain poured down her face.

Little Jeffrey. Jonah.

Her hands shook uncontrollably.

Amber.

Her insides shook as well.

Zach.

The list was just long enough for the pattern to change. The barking quieted as the patrolmen charged the next house. The Dixons, if she calculated correctly. Carrie didn’t have time to worry about Terrell, Jada, or their four kids. She pushed her mop of wet hair out of her eyes. They had another chance. Probably their last. Only this time they would be running toward the dogs. Not away.

Amber started to pull her hand free, sensing Carrie’s thoughts. Carrie held tight. They could do this. They had to. In another minute, the dogs would be to the house they crouched behind.

Offering one last prayer, Carrie bolted for the third time, dragging her siblings behind her. She didn’t stop at the row of bushes like she wanted to. She didn’t slink against the next wall to let them catch their breath. Her legs were burning, her lungs spent, but she forced her small family on, flying through the rain and onto the wet sidewalk.

As their bare feet hit the sleek pavement of Denton Trail, Carrie glanced over her shoulder. There was nothing to see. No dogs. No patrolmen.

She and her siblings grazed the last bit of wet cement, crossed the Trenton’s lawn, and flew through May’s already open door.

fourteen

“Carrie! What is going on? Carrie!”

Carrie ignored the furious questions being hurled at her and turned to Amber. “Take Zach to the basement and don’t come up until I tell you.”

Still hysterical, Amber tugged on her brother and they disappeared.

“Carrie!” Dylan shouted again. “What the—”

“Not now!” CJ yelled. “Get everyone safe first.”

Everyone.

Frantic, Carrie scanned the room. Mariah held up the only source of light, a solitary candle. Carrie counted the heads. Five, ten, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen! Her stomach lurched. Barely half the clan. Half! Some were in the basement, but half?

“Who’s missing?” she demanded breathlessly.

“Carrie?” May’s voice screeched across the room. “Carrie? Where’s my Carrie!”

Carrie waved a hand in the air. “Over here, May.” Then she turned back to CJ. “Who’s still missing?”

“Kovachs,” CJ said. “Plus Elena’s family and Richard O’Brien.”

Eight people. Carrie couldn’t believe it.

Elena and her two grandkids lived next door to the Trentons, in the opposite direction of the patrolmen. Richard was the independent type and had probably holed up somewhere on his own. But Jeff and Jenna Kovach lived at the end of the cul-de-sac. Seven long houses away. With Jenna’s present condition, the rain, and two little boys to carry, it might as well have been seven miles.

An image of Little Jeffrey being ripped from his parents hurled Carrie into action. She grabbed Dylan’s sleeve.

“We have to get Jeff’s family,” Carrie said, still trying to catch her breath. “I think if we cut through the woods, we could—”

“You’re not going anywhere!” May shrieked.

At the same time, someone yanked Carrie’s arm in the other direction. She turned and saw Amber still upstairs and still hysterical.

“Amber, I told you to get—”

“I can’t find Braden!” Amber cried. “He’s not here, Carrie. What if he got caught? What if he’s gone? What if they shot him and he’s dead and—”

“Amber!” Carrie shouted. “Go. Downstairs. NOW!”

CJ laid a hand on both of their shoulders. “Braden and his dad left to find you three. You didn’t see them?”

“See!” Amber wailed.

“We went the back way,” Carrie said. “I’m sure we just missed them. Now that we’re here, they’ll be here soon. What about the others?”

“Greg and Terrell are getting Jeff’s family,” CJ said. “Let’s hope they’re already headed back.”

“Richard’s here!” Mariah called out.

That left seven people. If Greg and Terrell were getting Kovachs then… “What about Elena?” Carrie asked. “Why aren’t they here yet?” Her hands flew to her mouth, answering her own question. “The rain. It makes it hard to hear the dogs. Elena might still be asleep. We have to get her!”

“No! You can’t go!” May cried. “CJ, tell her she can’t go. Dylan, you go help Elena.”

The back door burst open. Braden and his dad flew inside with the entire Kovach family. Braden held Jonah football style, and the toddler’s frantic sobs blended into the pandemonium. Jeff clutched his namesake—or more accurately, Little Jeffrey held his father’s neck in a death grip. Braden’s dad had an arm around Jenna to help her inside. They were all soaked with rain.

Carrie pushed through the dark room. She pried Jonah off Braden only to have Amber take Jonah’s spot, throwing her arms around Braden.

Jonah was beside himself. He flailed his frozen, wet, tiny body every possible direction. Carrie struggled to keep hold of him. Instead of fighting him, she helped Jenna to the nearest chair and set Jonah on her lap. Then Carrie went to the two Jeffs. She held out her hands.

Little Jeffrey didn’t say a word, but he climbed off his father and clung to Carrie instead, choking the air from her throat. He was shivering. She was, too, so she squeezed him tighter.

“Where are Greg and Terrell?” she heard CJ asked Jeff. “I thought they were getting your family. Are they okay?”

Jeff leaned against the wall, sucking in deep breaths. “They got us here but… kept going…to Elena’s. The patrolmen are heading to back of sub. Should be fine.”

CJ heaved a sigh of relief, along with the rest of the room. “Okay. Let’s do another head count to be sure.”

Carrie clutched Jeffrey’s wet, shaking body. Everyone’s okay. Everyone’s safe. She struggled to convince herself and scanned face after face in the dim candlelight.

Weaving through the bedlam, she peeked out May’s front curtain. Patrolmen couldn’t search yellow cardholder’s homes without a search warrant anymore. Too many lawsuits from tax-paying citizens sick of having their lives turned upside-down month after month. Trenton’s home should be safe. Which was good considering the utter chaos inside.

What happened? she finally allowed herself to ask.

The dogs were harder to hear, but something at the end of the cul-de-sac caught her eye. A bright orange glow growing by the second.

Fire.

It had been years since Carrie had seen a fire like that—five years to be exact. The patrolmen were burning their things. Not their homes—thankfully not the homes—but all the things people didn’t grab and the patrolmen weren’t hoarding for themselves were being dumped into the growing bonfire. A fire like that shouldn’t have been possible in the rain, but then again, nothing from tonight should have.

Carrie shut the curtains, unable to process anymore.

“Dogs,” Little Jeffrey whimpered in her arms. “Bad dogs.”

“I know, but you’re safe now.” She squeezed him close. “Everyone is safe, and that’s all that matters.”

For several minutes, they stayed clinging to each other. But as Carrie’s breathing slowed, her mind sped up. Why were the patrolmen there a day after the other sweep? A double sweep? But if so, why hadn’t Oliver warned them? They already lived on so little, how would they survive now? She couldn’t make sense of anything. Too many questions. Not enough answers.

The only comfort came when Greg and Terrell flew in the back door with Elena and her two grandkids. All thirty-six people were safe, in part thanks to Greg. From the stories Carrie was hearing, Jeff and Jenna had been sound asleep when Greg and Terrell burst into their house. Even Terrell had been asleep when Greg burst into his bedroom. How had Greg woken in time to warn them? Why had he even bothered?

CJ shooed everyone but the adults into the basement, but Carrie hid Little Jeffrey by the window. Jeffrey didn’t want to let go of her, and she couldn’t let go of him.

“Carrie,” Amber said next to her, still upstairs and still crying. “I have to talk to you. Right now.”

Carrie’s patience had been pushed too far. “Amber! Not now. Please. Just wait until…” Carrie trailed off as Amber’s bottom lip started quivering in the candlelight.

“But, but, but…” Amber stuttered. “It’s my fault, Carrie. All of this is my fault.”

Carrie stared at Amber as understanding clarified the chaos.

Oliver. Amber. The day of the sweep.

Carrie almost dropped Little Jeffrey.

fifteen

Carrie stared at Amber. “What do you mean this is your fault?”

Amber’s hands covered her face. Her shoulders shook.

Carrie looked at Little Jeffrey. Unfortunately, Amber needed her more right now. Even worse, Carrie needed Amber. As soon as they finished the final count, there would be a different accounting, one filled with lots of questions. Carrie needed to know the whole story.

“Wait here,” she said to Amber. Then she pushed through the people and handed Little Jeffrey off to Sasha.

CJ was double and triple-checking the head count. Carrie raised her hand on cue. Then she discreetly made her way to the dark, far corner of the living room where Amber huddled in a ball. Carrie led her down the hallway into the first blackened bedroom, so dark Carrie couldn’t see anything but shapes.

“Okay, Amber,” Carrie said. “What happened?”

“Oh, Carrie!” Amber fell into her arms shaking with grief. For a full minute, she was inconsolable. Then Carrie couldn’t wait any longer. She pushed her up.

“You can’t fall apart yet, Amber. I need you to tell me exactly what happened with Oliver on Thursday.”

“Well,” Amber sniffed, “Oliver came and, and you know how he is. I couldn’t hear him. He’s so quiet—so, so quiet—and I couldn’t understand if he said the raid was Saturday or Sunday. I thought…” Her words began to slur. “I thought he said Saturday. I did. I thought he said…I thought…” Amber threw herself on Carrie with heart-wrenching sobs. “What if, what if, what if they took…” Her body shook. “What if…”

Carrie patted her back and tried to remember if she heard any dogs the night before. She hadn’t.

Amber heard Oliver wrong. Just a mistake.

The fire down the street was emblazoned in her mind, as was every petrified face in the other room. She laid her chin on Amber’s head.

A devastating mistake.

“It’s okay,” Carrie said, stroking her wet hair. “We’re safe. Everything’s fine now.”

“No, it’s not! They’re going to kill me when they find out. If people know it’s my fault, they’ll kill me! You heard Dylan. They all…and we’re going to lose everything, and it’s my fault. They’re going to kill me!”

“Yes, they will,” a deep voice said behind them.

Carrie whirled. Though she couldn’t see his face in the dark, she knew his voice well enough.

The mother bear in her reared its ugly head. “Leave, Greg,” Carrie said. “Now. This is none of your concern.”

“This is my room,” Greg said, unaffected.

“I don’t care! I need to talk to my sister,” Carrie said. “Alone. Now!”

Greg said nothing, but his dark shadow moved away. With him gone, Amber started where she left off.

Crying.

“I’m so sorry,” Amber whimpered. “It’ll never happen again, I swear. I promise on my life. I’ll listen to Oliver next time. I’ll be so careful. I’ll even be nice to him. I’ll talk about the weather or whatever he wants. I-I-I promise.”

Carrie hugged her. “This is my fault, Amber. Not yours. It’s always been my responsibility to get Oliver’s report. I shouldn’t have put that on you, so let me handle it with everyone. I’ll go talk to them right now. I’ll take the blame, alright, because this is my fault.”

Amber was quiet a moment. Then she nodded.

Carrie shuddered, chilled more from the weight of the situation than her damp, cold clothes. In a way, this was good news. Their well-oiled safety machine hadn’t broken down. Oliver could still keep them safe. However…there were going to be consequences to pay. Fierce ones.

Carrie made her way into the other room. Things had calmed down some. A few more candles had been lit, and people huddled together to get warm as they relived their own version of the nightmare. Zach spotted Carrie and ran over. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one.

“There she is!” Dylan shouted.

Jeff whirled around and stormed across the room. “Time for explanations,” he said in her face. “Why was there another raid? What did you do to Oliver?”

Carrie fell back a step, stunned by his vehemence. The rest of the room came to an abrupt standstill. Everyone waited for the answer she still couldn’t believe.

“I’m sorry,” she started. Then she shook her head. “Sorry isn’t the right word. I feel sick. Devastated. When Oliver came Thursday, I heard him wrong. I thought he said Saturday, but he must have said Sunday.”

“You heard wrong?” Greg challenged.

“Yes.” Her eyes bored into Greg, begging for his silence. “I heard wrong and I feel horrible. I don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry.” She inhaled painfully and exhaled even more so. “This is my fault, and I take full responsibility.”

“You better believe you will,” Jeff hissed, his huge body looming over her.

“Jeff,” CJ said. “Let’s stay rational about this.”

But Jeff didn’t hear. The anger rolled off him in droves as his scraggly beard dripped rain on her. “What makes you think the patrolmen just didn’t come twice this week?

“Yeah,” Dylan said next to Jeff, half his size, but just as mad. “Maybe they’re changing their strategy on us.”

“No,” Carrie said. “I heard wrong. Did anyone hear dogs last night?”

People exchanged surprised glances. When no one responded, CJ shook his head. “Wow. How did we miss something like that?”

Carrie knew. Too many months of safety. Too many years of peace under Oliver’s protection. Too many thoughts about Greg and things that didn’t matter. She’d become lax about the clan’s safety, and it was inexcusable.

“It’s my fault,” she said again. “I should have noticed when it was quiet last night, and I should have listened to Oliver better on Thursday.” Her eyes flickered to Greg a second time, surprised by his silence. Someone like Jeff or Dylan could crush Amber at a time like this. Even Greg could, yet his mouth clamped shut. She didn’t understand. And then she did.

Amber wasn’t taking the heat for this.

Carrie was.

“Maybe it’s Oliver,” Jeff offered to the group. “Maybe he’s tired of taking care of us. Maybe he thinks we’re getting too powerful so he told Carrie the wrong day just to knock off some of us and get his hefty reward.”

A few people shouted their agreement.

“No!” Carrie insisted. “Oliver would never do that. I’m telling you, after he left, I couldn’t remember if he said Saturday or Sunday. Obviously I remembered wrong.”

Jeff stepped toward her, towering over her by a foot. “Obviously you did. How could you guess on something like that? Do you have any idea what your mistake cost us? Have you seen the fire brewing in the cul-de-sac? What about Jenna and the kids? I almost lost them. What do you have to say to them?”

Carrie followed his finger to the dark corner where Jenna huddled with Jonah, head leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

A hot lump settled in her throat. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Jeff. I just don’t know what else to say.”

His expression, so close, turned dark and frightening. “Sorry? That’s it? Maybe sorry doesn’t cut it—”

Greg grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “That’s enough. Back off.”

Jeff whirled on him. “Don’t touch me, pretty boy.”

Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Then back off.”

Jeff did. At least enough Carrie could breathe again.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Greg said to the group, “it doesn’t matter who screwed up or what happened to get y’all here. The point is, you’re here now, so we gotta figure out what to do next. The patrolmen are gone, but I don’t think y’all should head on home just yet. They could come back.”

CJ nodded. “Greg’s right. Everyone is better off sleeping here tonight. Mariah, can you find all of our towels, sheets, and blankets? It’s going to be a cold night with everyone this wet.”

“Just like that?” Jeff spat. “With a little slap on the wrist, you’re letting Carrie off the hook?” His eyes bored into her. “I almost lost my wife and kids tonight, and you’re going to dismiss this whole thing as a…as a mistake!”

Greg stepped sideways, placing himself in between Carrie and Jeff. “Yes.”

Carrie didn’t know what Greg was doing, but she wasn’t about to let him answer for her. She moved around Greg.

“Jeff,” she said, “I’m fully prepared to take responsibility for—”

“How many times has this happened?” May’s voice screeched over her.

Jeff turned in surprise. They all did.

“How many?” May asked, looking frightening enough in her tiny, arthritic body.

It took a second for Jeff to answer. “None.”

“That’s right,” May said. “Never. In five years, week after week of Oliver’s assistance, we’ve never had a single incident like this. Not one.”

“And I’m sure,” Greg added, throwing a pointed look over his shoulder, “Carrie’s gonna make sure this never happens again. Right, Carrie?”

She felt the weight of every eye on her lone shoulders, Jeff and Jenna’s most of all. Her throat burned, but she nodded. “No more mistakes.”

CJ gave a weary sigh. “Alright people. It’s three in the morning. We’re all tired, wet, and cold. The kids are scared, and same with the rest of us. I suggest we make the best of the situation and find a spot to sleep on the floor. Let’s get a few men to start the fire to warm the house up since there won’t be enough blankets tonight.”

“There won’t be enough blankets tomorrow either,” Sasha muttered.

Carrie closed her eyes as the grief washed over her.

“Let’s just try to get some sleep,” CJ said. “We’ll have plenty of time to discuss this tomorrow. And…assess the damage.”

sixteen

“I could kill them. Every last one of those vultures!” Terrell Dixon punched the well hard enough Greg felt sorry for the well.

Though the sun had only been up a short time, Greg had nearly finished questioning everybody about what was missing. The patrolmen hadn’t completely wiped them out—half the stuff by Greg’s calculations—but everybody’s reactions were similar to Terrell’s. Especially seeing the huge pile of ashes in the cul-de-sac.

“What else did they take?” Greg asked.

“They smashed our table and chairs and broke down our front door. Might as well use it for firewood now,” Terrell said. “All our food is gone, and they took the kids’ clothes.”

Greg leaned against the well behind his grandparents’ home. “Not great, but it coulda been worse.”

Terrell’s black eyes narrowed. “How?”

“Well, y’all still have mattresses to sleep on. That’s better than most.”

“Only because they wimped out by then. Not that it matters. We lost fifteen mattresses. I’ll have to give mine to one of the old ladies.”

“My count has it at seventeen,” Greg said.

“Great. I’m sleeping on the floor for the rest of my life.”

“You’re the supply guy,” Greg shot back. “Go get more.”

“Where?” Terrell said. “The government stopped making mattresses a long time ago to force people into the communes. There’s no way I can get one mattress, let alone seventeen. And what about the guns? They haven’t given out a new gun permit for years, even for legals like CJ. Guns have disappeared from the black market, too. I’d have to sell both kidneys to replace even one. Even then, it’s not enough.”

“Don’t suppose anybody here can make a decent bow and arrow?” Greg asked.

Terrell rolled his dark eyes. “What about that slingshot of yours?”

Greg pulled his slingshot from his back pocket. “This baby’s old and brittle. One of these days, the tubing is gonna snap. Besides, it can’t kill much more than a few squirrels. When it comes to defending ourselves, we’re gonna need guns. There’s gotta be a way to replace them.”

“There’s not. Trust me.” Terrell blew out his breath. “So much for the second amendment.”

“Since when did President Rigsby care about any amendments?” Greg noted dryly. “Keepin’ guns outta the hands of the yellow cardies is how he prevents a revolution.”

“Maybe revolution is exactly what we need!”

Greg shook his head. Last night when the men struggled to find a comfortable spot to sleep in the cold, cement basement, the former lawyer in the clan, Jeff Kovach, went off about James Madison and the Constitution. Got everybody worked up in a tizzy. One bad night and this clan was ready to start a civil war.

“We’re down to two guns,” Greg said. “It won’t do any good to gain bravado now.”

“Bravado?” Terrell turned. “That’s a pretty fancy word for a guy who hunts with a sling shot, eh Beardless?”

Greg huffed. “Quit whinin’ and figure somethin’ out. Supposedly you’ve got trading secrets not even Jada knows about.”

“Yes, I do.” Terrell grinned, showing a flash of white teeth through his black bushy beard. But just as quick, his rant returned. “Why don’t you go get the supplies, hot shot? You have your fancy yellow card now. Just take Old Rusty into town and they’ll fill it right up.”

Greg looked around the side of his grandparents’ house where the huge contraption sat. “What is that thing anyway?”

“Don’t knock Old Rusty.” Terrell wound up the heavy bucket of water. “He took me a month to build.”

The ‘wagon’ was made of the back half of an old F-150 which sat low to the ground, like somebody cut off the lower half, too. The wheels weren’t original, and rust covered anywhere they’d sawed the metal. It might haul a lot of supplies, but it looked like more trouble than it was worth. Butterscotch, the smaller of the two goats, was inside the bed, grabbing leaves off a nearby tree.

“Looks like a tetanus death trap to me,” Greg said.

“It is. So how about you be the supply guy now,” Terrell said. “All you’ll have to do is go into town, flash your fancy card, and say ‘please.’”

“Only you’re forgetting somethin’,” Greg said. “I signed my life over for that card. No more beggin’ the government for anything—not even food. Only you blue cardies get free handouts.”

Terrell gave him a strange look. “I don’t have a blue card.”

“But my grandma said…”

Terrell started to smile. “I did the first year, but it was too hard to keep it current. Jada didn’t like me sneaking into the municipality fence, past the guards. Plus the government kept upping the required check-ins. First they wanted once a month, then once a week. Then they were checking blue cards every day and only in the factories. If you didn’t clock in, you didn’t get a single ration. So I ditched the idea, heard about this guy named Barry, and I’ve traded with him ever since. Hence the stash in your grandparents’ garage.”

The black market. That’s why nobody mentioned it to his grandma.

“Interesting,” Greg said.

“No. It’s a pain. Unless you know how to make soap, ammunition, and flour, we’re in serious trouble here. We’re going to have to use all our supplies to get back on our feet, leaving nothing for the future. All because of what?” Terrell punched the well again. “Careless Carrie?”

Careless Carrie.

That was the fifth time Greg had heard the nickname in the space of an hour. It had sprung up overnight. He didn’t bother correcting Terrell about who was actually at fault for the raid, just like he hadn’t corrected anybody else. Really, it didn’t matter. A mistake like that was bound to happen in a setup like theirs—precisely why the clan should have never felt safe in the first place.

“Y’all took a few steps back last night,” Greg said, “but your clan is still miles ahead of everybody else. We’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“And by we you mean me.”

“Yep.”

Terrell shook his dark head and dumped the bucket of water into his own. “By the way, I heard your little hero stunt last night made an impression on everyone. There’s talk of letting you into the clan early—although as I remember it, I was the one who dragged Jeff’s sorry hide out of bed. Hardly seems fair you get the credit.”

Greg played with a rip in his jeans as his thoughts rewound six hours. Jeff had been snoring soundly when they broke in. Same with Jenna. And did they get a single thank you?

Terrell sobered. “How did you know the patrolmen were here anyhow? I swear you were at my house within seconds.”

Because Greg hadn’t been asleep. Old habits die hard. At the first twitch of a sound, he was outside searching for the source. When he spotted the two patrol cars by the entrance, he had assumed that Jamansky guy had come back looking for him and his mom, the two municipality fugitives who lied their way to freedom. But then Greg heard the dogs and realized what was actually happening. A raid like the one at the collapsed barn. Only this time Greg knew the names and faces of the squatters. He couldn’t do nothing.

“I spent five years sleepin’ with my eyes open,” Greg said.

“Good thing. I guess we all owe you. Big time. If only we’d known in time to—” Terrell stopped as he spotted something over Greg’s shoulder. His eyes narrowed to black slits. “Well, well, well. Looks like Careless Carrie is making her brother do the chores now.”

Greg turned and saw Zach coming around the house with his water buckets in tow. Greg lowered his voice. “I thought we’re lettin’ the whole Carrie thing go.”

“Easy for you to say!” Terrell snapped. “You didn’t lose anything.”

Terrell grabbed his bucket and stormed the opposite way around the house. Zach watched him go with a long face. He was still staring after him long after he disappeared.

“Hey,” Greg called, “I thought Amber was the water girl.”

“Amber’s sick,” Zach said. “Or so she says.” He 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 the young teen except 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 freckles and unique hair color alone.

“What’d y’all lose last night?” Greg asked. “Besides your shoes?”

“My baseball,” Zach said.

Greg gritted his teeth. With all the reports coming in, that’s what the kid cared about? A freaking baseball?

“It was my dad’s,” Zach went on. “The last thing I had of his.”

“Oh.” A baseball was useless, but a memento of a dad—a dead one at that…? “Sorry, kid,” Greg offered.

Zach dropped the bucket into the dark well. “I usually hide it in our fireplace during the raids, but I didn’t have time last night. The patrolmen just took it. They just stole it.” Zach’s 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 the government 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 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,” Zach said. “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. 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 police 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 went as well as it did.

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. See ya, 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 baseball 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, and 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 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 after the Collapse 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 have a 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 for just about anything these days. Someday Oliver would get the courage to turn them in, see how quick 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. “Are 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 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 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.”

Oliver desperately rewound the conversation in his head. 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!”

Jamansky smacked him. “Why do you think we’re taking six guys? Man, how’d you get a badge anyway?”

Oliver looked around. Out of time and options, he 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’re making 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 a moment and then shook 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.

The Chief of Kane County 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’d like 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 forehead, betraying him.

“Alright,” his boss said. “Tell Jamansky to petition the judge and get on it. 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 said to 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. “Sorry. 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.”

“Six?” Jeff Kovach repeated. “And they know about our clan?”

Oliver struggled to look away from Carrie’s bare 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. He 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 search 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 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, too. 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, he longed to be 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 he 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 almost destroyed everything.

“We’ll make a pile in the back woods behind Kovach’s,” CJ said to Amber. “But we should hurry. We only have forty minutes to clear the homes and garage 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 the garage ‘til the patrolmen show up.”

“Just remember,” CJ called, “safety first, people. Safety first!”

The group scattered as people ran home in hopes of saving the last of their belongings.

“What about Carrie?” May Trenton cried over the sudden chaos. “She doesn’t have a man to help her! Who’s going to help Carrie?”

Carrie? Oliver spun around. What about Carrie?

It took all of two seconds for Oliver to forego thoughts of career, laws, and social inequalities. Carrie Ashworth was coming with him. He’d take her and whatever stuff he could fit in his patrol car far, far away. He’d just keep driving. Or take her to his house. That would be easier. And less dramatic. Her siblings, too, of course. Even Amber. Anything to keep Carrie—them—safe.

“I’ll be fine, May,” Carrie said. “There’s not that much—”

“I got Carrie, Grandma,” Greg interrupted. “Just go.”

Carrie started to protest, but Greg grabbed her arm and turned her toward home. “You don’t have time,” Greg said. “Go. I’ll be there in a second.”

As Carrie took off, Greg twisted back to Oliver. “Anything else?”

Oliver looked from a disappearing Carrie, to Greg, and then back again. Already? Greg had only been in the clan a few weeks, and he’d already made a move? Then again, Greg saw Carrie every day, possibly every hour. As awful as that was, Oliver knew Carrie should stay in the clan. She belonged there. Not with Oliver—though not with that cocky punk either.

“Anything else?” Greg asked again.

Oliver sighed. “No. I better get back before they wonder where I went. I’ll let you know when it’s safe for everyone to come back.”

Greg followed Oliver’s gaze, which somehow was still on Carrie’s retreating form. Greg stepped forward and shook Oliver’s hand. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine. I’ll make sure she’s safe. For you.”

Then Greg took off running after her.

***

By the time Greg made it to Ashworths, Carrie and her siblings were racing around the house in a blur. Greg dumped their folding table and chairs on the front lawn. Then he called up the stairs. “Zach, help me get this couch out!”

“Don’t worry about the couch,” Carrie said, clearing out the kitchen cupboards like a madwoman. “They won’t touch it.”

“Okay. I’ll grab your mattresses.”

“No need. The patrolmen took them.”

Greg turned full circle. The only things left were two half-full laundry baskets. The house looked deserted, which it was supposed to, but that was awfully fast.

Amber ran downstairs and dumped an armful into a basket. “That’s it. Let’s go. We need to get out of here. Come on, Carrie.” Amber tugged on her sleeve. “We have to go!”

“She’s right,” Greg said. “Y’all take off, and I’ll get your stuff into the woods.”

“No. There’s still time.” Carrie dropped five semi-broken containers of dirt into the basket. “Amber, I’ll help Greg move our table and chairs into the woods, you go around and make sure all the doors are unlocked so they don’t break them down.”

Carrie ran outside. Greg followed.

Woodland Drive looked like an anthill. Furniture and boxes moved in fast lines up and down the street, hiding the people underneath. Greg hoisted Carrie’s small card table over his head.

“Give me the chairs,” he said before he noticed Carrie already held two. “Here. Hand me the last one.”

“No, no. I got it,” she said, managing to wrap her fingers through the holes of the third folding chair.

“Then hand me that basket.”

She did, and they followed the line down behind Ziegler’s home to a path through the woods worn down by Terrell’s supply runs. About ten yards into the brush, everybody made a sharp turn into a patch of shrubs and pines thick as molasses. It was a brilliant move to throw their stuff back there, but it made for difficult maneuvering. Had it been summer, it would have been impossible to navigate. As it was, thorns and branches slapped Greg as he pushed into the mess.

He reached a small clearing where stuff was already stacked six and seven feet high. There was no time to organize or group by household. He threw the Ashworth’s table and basket onto the rest.

“I’ll grab your last basket,” Greg told Carrie. “Just get Amber and Zach behind the pond.”

She flashed her large smile. “Okay. Thanks, Greg. That was very nice of you to help us. You didn’t have to.”

“Just go!” he growled.

She took off, disappearing in seconds.

Once he took care of their stuff—and hopefully appeased Oliver—Greg questioned those coming and going. It sounded like the homes were basically empty, leaving his grandparents’ three-car garage to clear. A huge task.

For the next twenty minutes—or twenty hours for all he knew—Greg and the men passed boxes up and down the road like a huge assembly line. It was easier than running each load themselves, but it still wasn’t fast enough.

Greg glanced down at his wrist. An old habit. A working watch would have been a lifesaver at a time like this. “It’s time to get the other men behind the pond with their families. I’ll finish up. Y’all better take off.”

“You sure?” Terrell asked. “The garage is still half full, and I need every bit of that junk to trade in the future.”

Greg wiped his face with the corner of his UNC shirt. “As long as I’m not spotted on government property, they can’t detain me too long, right?”

“They can do whatever they want, so don’t be stupid.”

“Fat chance of that.”

Terrell laughed but took off to round up the last of the men.

The neighborhood grew quiet. After double-checking he had his yellow card in his pocket, Greg grabbed two large boxes from the garage and ran down the street, feeling every inch of the quarter-mile round trip. He made good time with everybody cleared out. His first trip was boxes, the second, wagons. The third he went for more boxes, pushing his arms’ capacity as he stacked them three high.

Greg couldn’t see where he was going, and as such, never expected to run into somebody as he started into the woods. They collided. His foot caught on a branch and he and the boxes went sprawling.

His hand shot out to catch himself. It took the brunt of his fall. Searing pain sliced up his palm. Greg yelped and grabbed his hand. He saw his gaping wound. A tree root had carved a gash in his palm an inch long. Already, it was bleeding like a sieve.

“Oh no!” somebody said, trying to help him up. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!”

Greg caught sight of the honey-colored hair and exploded. “Carrie? What are you doin’ here?” He pressed his hand to his shirt and felt the blood ooze to his stomach. “I told you to get behind that pond. They could be here any second!”

She knelt next to him and shoved the stuff back into the boxes. “I had to come. Jeff didn’t get everything out of their house.”

“That’s not your problem! Get outta here now!” Greg yelled.

“No. There’s still time.”

She picked up a box and took off for the clearing.

“You don’t know that!” he shouted after her, but she was already long gone, swallowed up in the thick brush. Swearing, Greg scooped up the last two boxes and stumbled after her.

Just as he reached the clearing, she flew past him again, nearly knocking him over a second time. He caught her with his good hand and spun her around.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?”

“Jenna’s pregnant,” Carrie huffed. “She just threw up. Jeff had to take the boys and didn’t have time to get their stuff. They’re going to lose everything, and they’ve already lost so much because of me. And with the baby I have to salvage what I can. You’re wasting my time, so please…” She peeled his fingers off. “Just one more load.”

“No. You get behind that pond before—”

She turned and took off like a jackrabbit.

Greg let out a growl that echoed through the trees. If he could only catch her and hold on to her for more than a second, he’d skin her alive. Instead, he did the next logical thing. He followed her.

Luckily, Kovachs lived next to the path which wound into the woods. It was a short trip. Inside Jeff’s house, Greg went into a tirade. “Why don’t you ever listen? You’re gonna get us both killed!” Yet like Carrie, he found himself rummaging through cupboards, bedrooms, and closets for anything and everything. Bottles. Carrots. Kids’ clothes. There weren’t boxes to throw the stuff into, and they scooped up what they could.

When Greg couldn’t hold another thing, he said, “That’s good enough. Let’s go.”

Had Carrie fought him in that moment, he would have tackled her. His head was pounding, his hand dripping blood through the house, but she nodded, prolonging her life momentarily.

Once they dumped the load, Greg blocked the path back to Jeff’s house. “Nothin’ back there is worth riskin’ your life. Now get behind that pond or so help me, I’ll shoot you myself.”

Carrie smiled in between breaths. “Okay. Thanks, Greg.”

nineteen

Greg was still cursing Carrie when the knock came ten minutes later. He’d managed two more loads before his grandpa forced him to stop. They hadn’t even been full loads thanks to his new handicap. Now he had no idea what they were going to lose. With the emergency laws in place, patrolmen could confiscate anything, anywhere, for any reason, even from legals. Not to mention, finding a huge stash like the one in the garage made it look like his grandparents were working the black market—which they were. Add to it that they were harboring thirty squatters and two North Carolina fugitives, and then what? Arrest? Work camps for the aged?

How long could Oliver realistically keep them safe with a whole squad breathing down his throat? Or would Oliver even try if he thought Greg was chasing Carrie?

Greg wasn’t stupid. He knew the look Oliver shot him earlier. So maybe there wasn’t some secret relationship going on, and maybe Carrie wasn’t interested in the older, awkward patrolman. But in those two seconds, Oliver confirmed what Greg had suspected: Oliver was in this Logan Pond deal for one reason and one reason only. So where did that leave them? What happened when Oliver woke up and realized that Carrie wasn’t interested in him in return?

Greg continued spinning circles around each new question, but every time he ended up at the same place.

Carrie.

His grandma had the audacity to thank him for helping Carrie—an untimely statement considering his mom was bandaging his new gaping wound. But now it was his job to look calm, relaxed, and surprised by the visit from the six patrolmen.

He was none of the above.

“Good morning, Mr. Trenton,” Oliver said at the front door.

“Gracious me,” his mom whispered. “Is it still mornin’?”

She wound the cloth around Greg’s hand one last time and tucked the end under to secure it. Greg closed his fist over the bandage. His palm throbbed with pain, but it had to be good enough. He followed her to the doorway.

Even knowing they were coming, Greg tensed at the sight of six patrolmen on his grandparents’ porch, gun belts full and ready. Even without the uniforms, Greg could spot a patrolman a mile away. It wasn’t their short hair or lack of beards either. Something in the way they stood, in their eyes, erect shoulders, and slight bulge to their stomachs that said they still owned the world. Life hadn’t broken them—or their bodies.

Seeing their collective power had Greg’s blood pumping, especially when the tall blond, David Jamansky, stepped forward and spotted him. His eyes turned to murder, and his hand rested on his gun. Greg wasn’t the tiniest bit interested in You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee, yet her brother looked ready for war.

Oliver’s bloodshot eyes rested on Greg as well, flashing the same jealous-ridden expression as before. Greg didn’t have many friends in that group. If he hadn’t been strung so tightly, he would’ve laughed. Even as Oliver played the dutiful officer, he was an open book. He wanted to know if Carrie was safe.

Greg acknowledged Oliver with a slight nod. She’s safe, he tried to say. I just about killed her, but she’s safe. Don’t worry about her.

Or me.

A look passed, an understanding before Oliver spoke again. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Trenton, but we have a few questions for you.”

Greg’s grandma lifted a hand to her wrinkled lips. “Oh dear,” she said. “Is something wrong, officers?”

“I’m afraid so,” Oliver said. “You might have heard the skirmish in the area last night. We need to—”

Jamansky shoved past Oliver and barged inside. “Enough niceties, Simmons. We have a warrant to search your house. Step aside.”

Greg’s grandparents did, and Jamansky started barking orders. “Simmons, you’re with me. Nielsen, take three guys and start on the other houses. Giordano, question these four people. I don’t want them moving an inch until we’re done. Especially that one,” he added, pointing at Greg. “He’s trouble.”

A football-player-sized officer pushed Greg and his family into a corner. “Cards!” he demanded.

Greg handed his yellow card over with the others as Jamansky and Oliver stormed through the house. Giordano took his time, double-checking their pictures against their faces. Then he swiped their cards through a handheld device and waited for the light to turn green to make sure they were legitimate.

When he got to Greg’s, he studied it closely. “When did you get this?”

“Seventeen days ago,” Greg said. “Give or take a day.”

The patrolman’s eyes flashed. “Are you getting smart with me?”

“No, sir.”

Based on the guy’s reaction, it was the wrong thing to say. “Where’s your birth certificate? Where are your papers—all of your papers? I want to see the deed to this home and every tax receipt back to Adam!”

Greg clenched his fist over his cloth bandage. Their cards implied all of that, but none of them argued. His grandpa went to the cupboard and grabbed a stack of paperwork.

It took the huge officer five minutes before he was convinced. Then the barrage of questions started. With each question, his voice rose.

“Have you seen any activity in the area? Have you seen people coming and going from the houses? What about the woods? Do you report all suspicious activity? Are you sympathetic to any organizations in direct rebellion to the United States government?”

Greg’s grandpa kept his answers short and to the point. A smart move. The rest of them said absolutely nothing. An even smarter move.

When Giordano ran out of questions, he stood guard in front of them, arms crossed over his barrel-sized chest. They were still backed in the corner of the living room while Oliver and Jamansky zipped in and out of bedrooms, bathrooms, closets, and the basement. Jamansky even went up in the attic. But the search didn’t stop there. When they finished inside, they went out the back door, taking Greg’s eyes with them.

Jamansky circled the large garden twice. It took up half of his grandparents’ massive backyard. The other half was taken up by chickens and goats.

Jamansky stopped in front of the overflowing chicken pen, and Greg could practically see him doing the calculations: half-acre garden, two goats, and two dozen chickens for four people. It was a blessing Greg and his mom had shown up when they had, but still, any intelligent person knew excess when he saw it.

Jamansky grabbed out his gun and fired off a shot, taking down a chicken. Greg’s grandma cried out.

Giordano whipped around. “Silence!”

His grandma obeyed but flinched with every shot Jamansky took after that. BAM. BAM. BAM. Greg couldn’t see for sure, but he hoped Jamansky was taking his wrath out on the chickens and not on the milk goats. Chickens were ten times easier to replace. Whatever animals they were, Jamansky didn’t stop.

Greg’s mom grabbed his good hand, her lips tight and trembling.

“It’s fine,” Greg whispered. “It’s probably just—”

“I said no talking!”

Giordano whirled, his nightstick swinging high. Greg tried to dodge but wasn’t fast enough. The blow caught his shoulder. He dropped, slamming his bad hand against the floor. He shouted out. Hand, shoulder. Both burned and throbbed with mind-numbing pain. He couldn’t help it.

His mom started crying. His grandma, too.

“Silence or prison!” the patrolman screamed.

Greg’s family chose the first and threw their arms over their mouths to quiet their sobs.

Swallowing back the pain, Greg rose to his feet. He rotated his shoulder, pleased he still could. But fresh blood spread across his bandage. He clenched his fist tight, veins pulsing with rage.

His mom’s tears escalated to loud hiccups. Greg shook his head in firm warning. He was fine. He’d deflected most of the blow. A little bruise on his shoulder—or a big one—was better than the slaughter happening outside with the chickens. At least, he hoped it was the chickens.

He couldn’t see Oliver anywhere, and he suddenly worried that Jamansky had turned his wrath on his partner. For all the times Oliver broke the law, it was possible. But then Oliver came back into view, his own gun raised. Oliver shot the next helpless animal. And the next. After that, Greg stopped counting. At the very least, his grandpa was getting a whopping fine. At most…immediate arrest.

Oliver and Jamansky disappeared from sight again, heading toward the garage as the situation went from bad to worse.

Still backed against a wall, Greg exchanged a nervous look with his grandpa. He could hear the list of charges mounting: excess provisions, harboring fugitives, working the black market.

Not good. Not good!

His mom never had worked at that chicken factory in Raleigh. It had been horrible, but this would be worse. Prison would break his aged family. They’d never survive.

Tears streamed down his mom’s face—his grandma’s, too—and his grandpa seemed to shrink by the second. They looked defeated already.

Greg’s thoughts went to the teen at the barn, finally knowing what he would have done in his shoes. Fight. Just like the boy had. Just like Greg would now, because there was no way he’d let those patrolmen arrest his family. Not on his watch.

But to Greg’s surprise, Jamansky and Oliver appeared at the front door again. And to his outright shock, Oliver said they had finished searching. Giordano gave Greg one last glare before storming outside. He and Jamansky took off down the sidewalk to join the others searching the neighborhood, leaving Oliver alone at the door.

“Sorry for taking up your time,” Oliver said. “We’re going to search the other homes now. It’s our job to keep you safe, so I’m sure you’ll understand if we ask you to stay inside for the next while.”

“You make sure every last one of those vagrants is gone,” Greg’s grandma said with feigned passion. “I mean it. I don’t like the thought of criminals wandering my street at night.”

Greg had to hand it to her. When push came to shove, she played the part well.

So did Oliver. Even as Jamansky and the others disappeared down the street, Oliver kept up the charade. “That’s why we’re here, ma’am. I recommend you stay inside for the next two hours, and then you’re free to go about your business.” Oliver looked at Greg with his earlier intensity, trying to communicate more than words.

“Understood,” Greg said. Carrie could go home in two hours. The others, too, but mostly Carrie.

Oliver stayed another moment as if he wanted to say more. He looked beaten down and half dead. His thinning, dark hair pointed all directions like he’d been roused from bed. But with a weary sigh, he shook his head and followed his coworkers.

Greg shut the door and fell against it. As his family headed for the window, he surveyed the front room for damage. Other than his shoulder which ached something fierce, there wasn’t much. No fines. No reprimands. No arrests. True, there might a heap of dead animals out back, but that only meant they were having chicken for dinner.

“That was too easy,” Greg said. “Why didn’t they check the garage?”

His grandpa watched out the window. “It’s not over yet. Two hours is a long time.”

It was eerily silent as the patrolmen searched the sub. As intimidating as dogs could be, Greg decided silent raids were worse. House after house, they zigzagged down the street. First Denton Trail, then Woodland Drive. Their guns stayed up, but their arms stayed empty. That is until two of them reached the Kovach’s home. Even then, from a distance it didn’t look like they found much. Jeff couldn’t complain.

They dropped the stuff in the cul-de-sac by the ashes from last night’s bonfire. For a few minutes, the six patrolmen congregated down there, discussing the situation. Greg figured at least five of the six were severely disappointed. The stuff was long gone. So were the squatters. Disappointed patrolmen were risky folk.

“If only they knew how close they were to the real loot,” his grandpa said, which made Greg’s mom shiver.

“What are they saying down there?” his grandma asked.

It looked like arguing to Greg since Jamansky kept throwing his arms around, but Greg didn’t point that out.

It went on another minute before the group split again. This time, Oliver stayed by the ashes and Jeff’s junk while the other five started back down the street. The patrolmen no longer zigzagged through the houses but had sights set straight forward.

Right on Trenton’s.

Greg watched as the distance between them and arrest was cut in half. He hoped he was reading the situation wrong, but from his vantage point, it looked like the officers had ditched Oliver and were heading back to his grandparents. Fast. And David Jamansky looked ready for blood.

Greg thought about how easily Oliver shot that chicken, the ease of his lies at the door. Oliver was putting on a show, but for which group?

“Is there any chance,” Greg said to his grandpa, “I mean any chance whatsoever, that Oliver has turned on us?”

His grandpa hesitated long enough to dig a pit in Greg’s stomach. All it would have taken down in the cul-de-sac is one threat for Oliver to cave. Oliver could have spilled everything. The garage. Greg and his mom. The thirty clansmen hiding behind the pond.

“Where are the guns?” Greg asked.

His mom spun around. “No, Greg! You can’t fight them! You won’t.”

He didn’t look at her. “Guns?”

His grandpa paled. “Terrell and Dylan took them behind the pond. But your mom’s right, Greg. You can’t fight this. None of us can.”

Greg’s mind raced. They couldn’t fight without guns. His grandma and mom started to cry again. Not soft cries either.

As the officers marched closer, Greg hated himself for ever believing in Carrie’s bubble world. He’d known this could happen—this would happen. His mom’s life flashed before his eyes, his grandparents’ lives. The only three people left in the world that Greg cared about, and they were about to be ripped away. They couldn’t survive a month in a work camp, let alone a day.

“I love you,” his mom whispered, reaching for his hand.

“No,” Greg groaned. There had to be another way. Hide his family in the basement. In the woods. But the patrolmen knew they were there. Even if Greg took responsibility for everything—garage, excess provisions—the emergency laws permitted guilt by association. His family would be arrested with him.

It was over.

His mind was a whirlwind of regret. Of anger. His limbs numbed, leaving him as helpless as his family.

When the five patrolmen reached the Trenton’s lawn, they turned abruptly north and headed down the sidewalk. They didn’t walk up the driveway like Greg expected. They just kept going past the house, past the garage and the huge garden.

“What are they doin’?” Greg said, nerves strung tight. “Where are they goin’?

“I think…” his grandpa said, “I think they’re leaving.”

Greg pressed his face to the glass. The five patrolmen passed the next house and disappeared around another corner, heading for the North Entrance of the subdivision.

“Well, I’ll be,” his mom whispered a minute later.

A large truck carrying the officers barreled down Denton Trail. It passed their house and turned onto Woodland Drive, heading for the cul-de-sac. Oliver helped load Jeff’s few things into the truck, and then he climbed in as well. The truck circled back around the way it came. Greg’s family ducked as they passed, but it didn’t matter. Just like that, the patrolmen were gone. Long before the two hours were up.

For a minute, nobody moved as they waited for the patrolmen to reappear. They never did.

Greg was the first to break the tense silence. “That was too easy.”

His grandpa nodded. “And there’s only one reason why.”

“Oliver,” they said together.

His mom and grandma hugged each other, laughing and crying in relief. Greg wanted to celebrate, too, but he was stuck thinking through all the implications.

First, if Oliver had that much power to sway things in their favor, this clan had more potential than anybody realized. And second—which was far more disconcerting—was the power Oliver had over their lives. There wasn’t a single clansman who thought the patrolmen would return today, Greg included. Without Oliver’s warning, they would have been decimated. The clan was dependent on Oliver beyond measure. Not only that, but Oliver knew too much about them: how they lived, where they lived, their faces, names, and even their kids.

Greg rubbed his tender shoulder.

They had to keep Oliver happy. But how? In all the years, Oliver Simmons had never asked for a single thing in return. Not a bribe. Not a single payment. Which meant there was only one way, one situation where the awkward patrolman would turn on them. And that led Greg back to where his had thoughts started.

Carrie.

twenty

Carrie paced her living room. The last day of March dawned bright and sunny, yet her stomach tied its millionth knot. She peeked out her front window.

Still no Oliver.

For the last three days, she had helped redistribute the last of the clan’s goods, plan Terrell’s supply run, cook, clean, and basically move on with life. The cold stares persisted, and she’d even grown accustomed to “Careless Carrie.” Jeff shortened it to CC, which caught on like wildfire. People were furious with her, which they had every right to be. May looked like she’d aged ten years, CJ was extra quiet, and Jenna had nothing to wear but a nightgown. Carrie offered Jenna her purple shirt and jeans, plus her ugly, gashed couch so Jenna didn’t have to sleep on the floor. If anyone should be sleeping on a cold, hard floor, it should be Carrie. Jenna snatched it all up, but even then she and Jeff hadn’t said more than two civil words to Carrie all week. That put them on par with everyone else. Most of the clan was barefoot, and hungry, and…everything.

But still no Oliver.

Carrie turned back to her small class of teenagers. “Sorry. Who can name two US Presidents in office during the Vietnam War? There were five. I only need two. Vietnam? Hello?”

“What’s the point?” Amber said from her sprawled-out spot on the carpet. Without Carrie’s couch, the six teens spread themselves around the room. Amber rolled on her back and twirled a strand of dark hair. “Assuming we live past this week, the best life we can hope for is digging in the dirt and plucking chickens.”

Maddie sniffed her hands. “Ew. I still smell like dead chickens.”

Amber lifted her head to glare at her best friend. “At least you didn’t have to clean out the guts. I thought I was going to throw up. I made Carrie finish for me.”

“Are you kiddin’?” Zach cried. “The guts were the best part! I gotta hold a real heart.”

“Sweet!” Tucker crowed.

Carrie gagged, remembering the whole ordeal. She didn’t have to smell her hands to know they still reeked of chicken innards. Greg had been in charge of chopping off the heads, a job he seemed to enjoy a little too well. Carrie and Amber cleaned the insides. But the teens were lucky. The parents took pity and sent them home before they skinned and cleaned poor Chocolate, the milk goat who hadn’t survived the ordeal. When Carrie hoped for more roasts, she never envisioned goat meat.

With all that had happened, she hadn’t touched the garden which was supposed to be cleared for planting this week. They needed food now more than ever, yet Carrie hadn’t stepped foot in it for three weeks. If only Greg hadn’t turned CJ against her, she could have already had several rows going.

She shook out of her thoughts and redirected. “Come on, guys. Focus. How about one president from Vietnam? We haven’t had school this whole week. Zach?”

Zach shrugged. Of course he shrugged. He probably couldn’t name any five US Presidents from any time in history, as proved by his failed quiz last week.

“JFK,” Amber said behind closed eyes. “Hey, Carrie. Braden told me Oliver was the one who shot Chocolate. Did you know that?”

Carrie stifled a sigh. “What choice did he have? He couldn’t look like he was helping us.”

“Seems pretty cruel to me,” Amber said. “Now we’ll never have baby chickens or goats again.”

“Ohhh,” Lindsey moaned. “I love baby chickens.”

Not only had the patrolmen wiped out their current food, they’d killed their future supply as well. Butterscotch had whined all week without her pen mate.

Carrie shut her old AP US History book. “Class dismissed.”

Zach sat up. “Really?”

Might as well. They were getting nowhere. Why worry about Vietnam when they had wars of their own to deal with? When she’d taken US History in high school, all she had to worry about was her hair, makeup, and whether Stephen Franklin would ask her out. These teens had to slice up chickens and run for their lives. Without shoes. At night. In the rain.

“Yes. Go ahead,” she said. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

They didn’t have to be told twice. They jumped off the floor and headed for the door.

Zach tried to sneak out between his buddies, but Carrie grabbed his shoulder. “Nice try. You’re staying.”

“I can’t,” Zach said. “We’re makin’ slingshots like Greg’s today.”

“Not unless you can name a president from the Vietnam War. Just one.”

Zach looked at Tucker for help. Sadly, Tucker didn’t know either.

“Bye, Tucker,” Carrie said. She shut the door, handed Zach her heavy textbook, and pointed him toward the kitchen. “Don’t leave that table until you can name presidents number thirty to forty-five.”

“What?” he cried. “I only gotta name one!”

“I only have to name one,” she corrected, hating that Zach had started mimicking Greg. She went in the kitchen and pulled out a chair. “You had your chance. Thirty to forty-five. You’re the only one in class who can’t do it.”

He folded his arms. “Why should I? You’re not my mom.”

The slam knocked the air from her lungs. Not that she disagreed. She was completely inept in comparison, both as a homeschooler and mother, as evidenced by sending the kids away now—and leaving Amber home alone to get Oliver’s report.

It was another second before she could answer. “When you’re ready, I’ll quiz you.”

“But I’m hungry,” he whined.

She grabbed a carrot and set it on his book. It might as well have been a snake for the face he pulled. They’d been eating carrots by the dozens. After that long, it felt like pure rock in the stomach.

“We’ll have chicken tonight,” she offered.

“Again?”

He sat, chin in his hands, but finally looked at the textbook. Technically he looked through it and not at it, but it was close enough.

Carrie checked the front window again, searching every inch of that driveway. Today was Thursday, wasn’t it? She was late picking up Little Jeffrey and Jonah. Then again, Oliver was late visiting, and she refused to leave before she talked to him.

Assuming she would ever talk to him again…

…which she couldn’t assume.

“Don’t worry,” Amber said, still sprawled on the old carpet. “He’s coming.”

Carrie chewed on her bottom lip. “What if he’s not? Sasha thinks Oliver decided it’s too dangerous to help us now.”

Amber peeked an eye open. “Since when do you listen to Sasha?”

Since Jenna had Sasha talking crazy stuff. Giving up. Moving back to Aurora. Becoming blue cardholders and living off the government. Disbanding.

“But it is dangerous,” Carrie said. “What if his boss found out? What if Oliver was arrested? How would I even know? He could be in prison right now, and I’d have no clue. Or what if he’s mad at me for being so careless?” Careless Carrie. She couldn’t believe the nickname took five years to sprout.

Amber sat up. “You’re not going to tell him it was my fault, right? Because you promised. I know you think he’s mad at you, but he’s not. But if he finds out the raid was my fault, he’ll kill me.”

Carrie sighed. “I won’t tell him.”

“Good.” Amber lay back down. “Because he’s coming.”

Giving up on Oliver, Carrie focused on Zach, who also looked out the window, although for a different reason. He seemed a million miles away.

“Greg said he might have time for a baseball game today,” Zach said.

Carrie stifled another sigh. Ever since Greg offered to play baseball with Zach, Zach had pestered him every day. Can we play? Can we play now, Greg? Can we, can we? It was Greg’s fault Zach had latched onto him with desperation. At first she’d been pleasantly surprised—shocked—by Greg’s offer, but since Greg had turned him down every time since, she figured it was just another way to torture her.

Picking on her little brother. There wasn’t a faster way to infuriate her.

Jerk.

“Greg’s helping Terrell organize the supplies before Terrell leaves for supplies tomorrow,” Carrie said. “He’s too busy to play. Not to mention”—she pointed to the book—“you have to study.”

Zach slammed the book shut. “There. I’m done.”

Carrie rubbed her eyes. Times like this made her miss her parents fiercely: a mom to nag, a dad to enforce. “Fine. When you can recite presidents thirty to forty-five, you can play baseball with Greg.”

“Really? You’ll let me play?”

“Yes—if Greg agrees,” which was a gigantean if.

Zach punched the air. “Yes! Greg said we’d get everybody to play. Tucker and Chris, Jeff and Terrell—well, Terrell will be getting supplies—but Braden and Dylan and everybody! Okay, I can do this. Number thirty is…Calvin Cooldritch?”

“It’s Coolidge, moron,” Amber called from the floor.

“Calvin Coolidge. Then it’s…” Zach’s face twisted. “Nixon?”

When Carrie refused to answer, he opened the book and actually looked at it for the first time.

Still no Oliver.

Carrie glanced over her five small containers, the only ones which had survived the raid, wondering if it was too late to add old sour cream containers to Terrell’s supply list. Not that she had any composted dirt to fill them with—dirt she’d saved since last fall—or seeds for that matter. She couldn’t believe that for the rest of her life, she could only start five plants indoors. She’d never have jalapeños again, or pear tomatoes, or any of the other specialized seeds handed down from her mom. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did. Hobbies were a luxury, not a necessity. People needed food, not cuisine. Her carrot-laden stomach growled on cue.

She bent down to check on the tiny stems. It was a miracle she’d salvaged any from the raid, let alone five. Had the tender shoots even been a few weeks older, more might have survived, but even these five weren’t looking so hot. Three were brown and wilting. The other two weren’t much better.

Not only had she failed her clan, she’d failed her plants. And her great-grandmother by losing the porcelain doll which would never be passed to Carrie’s own daughter—assuming she lived long enough to have a daughter.

Her head dropped on the counter.

Amber sat up. “Do you want me to ask Watsons for more seeds? Because I will.”

“No.” Carrie straightened and adjusted her five containers. “I already talked to them, and they said we’ll plant the last of the seeds in the ground. In six weeks.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Amber moaned.

Carrie left her pathetic plants and crouched next to her little sister. “We already talked about this, Amber. The raid wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, it was,” Zach said from the table.

“Shut up, loser!” Amber shouted.

“Who’s the loser, huh? You’re makin’ Carrie take the blame for somethin’ she didn’t even do.”

“I know. I know!” Amber cried. “I hate myself!”

“Hey!” Carrie called. “Knock it off, you two. Zach, be nice to Amber. And Amber, be nice to—”

Carrie stopped. She strained to listen. Sure enough, she heard an engine purring down the street. She hopped up and ran to the window as a patrol car turned onto Woodland Drive.

Oliver.

She took her first good breath in days. Every muscle in her body relaxed. Seeing his car somehow made everything else okay. The clan. The cold stares. However, Amber jumped off the floor and flew up to her room so fast her feet barely touched the stairs.

“Oliver doesn’t hate you,” Carrie called with a smile.

“Yeah, right!” Amber slammed her bedroom door shut.

“I hate her,” Zach noted. “Does that count?”

Carrie tried to glare, but she was too thrilled. “No. Back to work.”

With a wide smile, she ran to the front door and whisked it open before Oliver made it to her porch. Surprised, Oliver took a step back.

“Hi,” Carrie said, breathless.

“Hey,” Oliver said, hands thrust deeply in his pockets.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Oliver’s beige tie was askew, his thinning hair uncombed, and his gray eyes fell to her bare feet like they had before. Seeing him so forlorn plunged her back into despair. Add Oliver to the list of things she’d ruined.

“I would have come sooner,” Oliver said, “but…but I didn’t want to scare anyone.”

“Oh, Oliver. No one’s scared of you. How could we be? We owe you so much, and I don’t even know how to thank you for everything. This week was…it was…” Her throat clogged. “We’ll never be able to repay you.”

“It’s not like that. I mean, you don’t need to. That’s not why I’m here. I, uh…” He fidgeted with a gold button on his uniform. “I should have come earlier, but I didn’t want to come until I had something. Something to offer.”

She looked up. “Offer?”

“Yeah. May I come in for a minute?”

twenty-one

“He found our stuff?” Sasha cried.

Greg stood against his typical wall, arms folded, leaning on his non-bruised shoulder. He was as surprised as the other adults gathered at his house. Oliver found their stuff. Impressive.

“Not all of it,” Carrie clarified. “The patrolmen still burned a lot, but Oliver found where they stashed the rest and he’s getting it back.”

“How?” Greg asked.

She shrugged, although Greg figured she had a good hunch.

“From what he told me,” Carrie went on, “he mostly found clothes and dishes. But it’s something. He’ll bring it by tomorrow or Saturday, depending on when he can find a truck and sneak away.”

“A truck?” Sasha grinned at her husband, Dylan. “He must have found a lot if he needs a truck.”

“What about mattresses?” Jeff asked.

Carrie shook her head. “Because of disease, they burned all of the bedding, and he didn’t say anything about the guns either. He said…” Her eyes roamed the group as if to say more, but then she just shrugged. “I guess that’s it.”

The room broke into immediate chatter. Greg kept watching Carrie. Of anybody, she should have been the happiest. Oliver just saved her hide—and Amber’s. Yet there was no sign of her large smile, no light in those blue eyes. Greg figured there was more to the story than she let on.

“We should do something for Oliver,” his mom said to the group. “We could throw him a party or make him a real nice dinner.”

“Yeah,” Carrie said, “but what do you do for the person who keeps saving your life?”

How about not breakin’ his heart for starters, Greg thought. He had a lot of work to do.

“I suppose it’s providential I haven’t left to get supplies yet,” Terrell added.

“Providential, my foot,” Greg muttered. He was the one who told Terrell to wait for this very reason. Greg wanted to pat himself on the back for nailing another person on the head. He’d known Oliver would find a way to restore things for his precious Carrie. He felt downright cocky. This clan needed him. And his intuition.

Speaking of which…

He rubbed his sore shoulder as he ran through the plans he’d been mulling over since the raid. After hearing Oliver’s latest move, Greg knew his reasoning was sound. He just needed time to run his ideas past the clan. Thanks to Carrie, he had the perfect opportunity.

“With this happy news,” his grandpa said to the adults, “there’s one last thing I’d like to discuss. Three weeks ago, my daughter and grandson found their way here. What a…” He paused to clear his throat. “What a wonderful day that was.”

Greg’s mom and grandma hugged each other, both predictably teary.

“I think they’ve proven themselves well enough,” his grandpa continued. “I propose we move up the vote. Does anyone object to having Mariah and Greg join our clan permanently?”

Greg didn’t love the word permanently, but he scanned the room. The older man, Richard O’Brien—who ironically sat next to Greg’s mom—didn’t move to object. Neither did Jeff who had come to the adult meeting without Jenna. So Greg’s gaze stopped on the girl with the honey-colored hair, wondering if he’d made a new enemy since moving in. Carrie had more reason than anybody to kick him out. He would have in her shoes, but when she caught him looking at her, she simply blushed and looked away.

“Wonderful!” his grandpa said. “With that taken care of, we’ll let you know when Oliver returns. See you all—”

Greg jumped forward. “Hold up, Grandpa. I’ve got a few ideas I’d like to discuss with everybody before y’all take off, if that’s alright.”

“You do?” his grandpa asked in surprise.

Greg nodded. “With all that’s happened, I’ve been thinkin’ of some ways to improve things around here. Since there’s no kids around to interrupt, I figure now’s as good a time as any to discuss them. It won’t take long.”

His grandpa moved to the side. “Be my guest.”

Greg wished he had a chalkboard, a whiteboard, or even better, a smart board to sketch on. As it was, he started right in. “I’ve just got four suggestions for the clan today. These are all things which should improve your way of life.”

“Only four?” Jeff snorted. “Who does Beardless think he is?”

“My grandson,” May retorted. “And don’t call him Beardless. Go ahead Gregory.”

Greg ignored both of them. “My first suggestion is to dig some new wells. Clean water is too vital and only havin’ the one well here has to be a pain. Plus it’d be good to get water closer to your homes ‘cause, no offense, but y’all stink.”

There was a moment of stunned silence and then laughter erupted around the room.

Terrell elbowed his wife. “Hear that, babe? Greg thinks you stink.”

Jada glared at Greg, but Greg didn’t back down. It was true. Some stunk worse than others.

Richard O’Brien raised a hand. “If I may, Greg, we dug two other wells the first year, but the patrolmen destroyed them a month later. I hate the thought of investing that much time and energy into a massive project which could be undone in a raid like this week.”

“Yeah,” Greg said, “but you’re forgetting somethin’. We’re never havin’ a raid like this again. Right, Carrie?”

Her cheeks flushed from the sudden attention, but she nodded. “Right.”

“So for a second,” Greg continued, “put this week outta your mind. Every Thursday, Carrie’s watchdog boyfriend tells her when the raids are and if he’s scheduled or not. With that kind of warning, we’d have time to camouflage the wells before the other patrolmen came through. I hear Oliver is scheduled for most raids anyway. If we hide them good enough, nobody’ll ever know the difference.”

Richard sat back. “Interesting. Where do you propose putting these new wells?”

“Actually, that takes me to suggestion number two.” Again Greg wished for a chalkboard or even a simple map to draw it out. “There’s thirty-eight homes in the neighborhood. Only twelve are occupied—maybe thirteen if my mom and I move outta here.”

His mom’s head snapped up in surprise. He hadn’t mentioned any of this to her, but she had to know he was dying under his grandparents’ roof. If he heard one more word about perfect-little-Carrie, he’d pluck out all his eyebrows—or what was left of his grandma’s. She’d practically picked out the names of their kids.

“The thirty-eight homes are spread out over the three streets,” Greg said, “which about killed us during the raid. So I propose y’all move into the cul-de-sac on Woodland Drive. With fourteen homes between here and Zieglers, there’s plenty of room for everybody.”

Angry murmurs broke out, mostly from the women. Greg wasn’t surprised. Giving people fresh water was one thing, but making them leave their beloved home behind—the same home they refused to abandon five years ago—was another.

He continued over the grumblings. “Consider for a second how nice it’d be to consolidate our resources. Every time anybody has somethin’ to distribute—Jeff’s wood, Ziegler’s butter, Zach’s eggs—it takes an hour’s time to run around the three streets. But with y’all on Woodland Drive, it’d cut that time in half. Obviously my grandparents will stay here on Denton Trail, but they’d be the only ones. With the way Denton Trail runs perpendicular to Woodland Drive”—he brought his right hand to his bandaged one, making a ‘T’—“this house would be the dot on the ‘I’ and the first occupied home any patrolmen encounter in a raid.”

In spite of a few lingering grimaces, Greg noticed some people nodding. He took that as a good sign and continued.

“With that in mind, we’d put all four wells on Woodland Drive, makin’ each home one or two houses away from fresh water. If you ask me, that’s much more acceptable living conditions.”

“What about fireplaces?” Jeff asked.

“The homes without them can either use coals from another’s fire,” Greg said, “or we’ll put our heads together and design somethin’ that won’t burn the houses down.”

“We’ve lived without a fireplace this whole time,” Sasha said. “We’ve survived fine.”

They also ate at Dylan’s parents’ every night and slept there in the winter, but Greg wasn’t about to argue.

“What about space then?” Richard said. “No offense to anyone, but when you see the same thirty-six people day after day, year after long year, a little privacy becomes a necessity of life. Most of the homes are set on close to an acre, but for some people, even that isn’t enough space.”

Several people chuckled appreciatively. It didn’t escape Greg’s notice that Richard O’Brien, the old widower and former college professor, lived by the North Entrance, the furthest from everybody else.

“It’s a definite tradeoff,” Greg said. “But there’s an even bigger reason to consolidate.” He paused, glanced at Carrie, and said simply, “Security.”

The room went dead silent.

“If y’all had been livin’ on Woodland Drive,” Greg said, “we coulda had everybody here in two minutes tops. But as it was, we nearly lost a fourth of the clan.”

People looked around as if trying to guess who would have been arrested. Greg could have pointed them out easily enough. One of them rose to his feet.

Jeff’s face flushed. “I thought Careless Carrie promised no more repeats of last week.”

“Right,” Greg said, “but there’s another thing.” Once again, Greg looked at Carrie. She wasn’t going to like what he had to say, but it was time she and the clan dealt with reality. “What happens when Oliver turns on us?”

“He won’t!” Carrie snapped.

“He might, but fine,” Greg conceded. “What happens if he gets sick of helpin’ us? Or he decides it’s too dangerous? Or too hard? Or what if he gets transferred, or fired, or whatever the reason? Y’all have no backup plan. Every other clan in America has to post guards or hole up in a house like this around the clock. I’m guessin’ y’all don’t wanna move back in here, so the next best thing is to move everybody down on Woodland Drive. It’d make guarding the sub a million times easier since all the homes would be hidden from the entrance.”

“That’s actually not true, Greg,” his grandpa said. “Woodland Drive is still visible from the South Entrance.”

Greg held up his good hand. “Sorry. I haven’t mentioned that part yet. My third proposal is to block off the South Entrance. Havin’ two ways in makes this neighborhood impossible to guard. The South Entrance is only four houses from here. But I figure the next major windstorm could blow a few giant trees over the road—or so we’d make it look. That’d seal off the southern route, and we’d be set. The patrolmen would have to enter from Hunter Ridge Road, which is—as near as I can tell—a quarter mile from here. Plus, from the North Entrance, we can see down the main road another mile or two. With the right warning system, it’d be enough.”

Once again, Greg stood in front of a sea of stunned faces. The only exception was his grandma who smiled up at him like he was giving a speech for his kindergarten class.

“So,” Greg said, “that takes me back to what I was sayin’. If there ever comes a time when Oliver’s no longer able to help”—he looked pointedly at Carrie, daring her to disagree—“we’d have plenty of time to get y’all here.”

When nobody objected, Greg took a quick breath. “Another idea I’ve got is to—”

“Hold on,” Terrell interrupted. “Should I be taking notes?”

People chuckled appreciatively, but Greg tapped the side of his head. “No need. I’ve got it all up here. I was just gonna make one last suggestion, and then I’m done.”

“It’s about time,” Jeff quipped.

That brought another round of laughter.

Greg folded his arms, waiting for everybody to quiet down. His last proposal could prove the hardest. The hardest and yet the most essential.

“We’ve gotta find a doctor,” Greg said. “Or at least access to one.”

Silence permeated the room. That one struck a nerve. Too many casualties through the years. Carrie’s parents. Richard’s wife. Kendra. Zach’s ankle.

“What do you suggest?” Vanessa Green asked. “Any of us besides May and CJ—and you and your mom now—will be arrested if we step foot inside a hospital. Not to mention, we don’t have money.”

“Especially now that CJ is paying double the taxes,” Jeff added with a dig.

“I’m not talkin’ about doctors in hospitals,” Greg said. “I’m talkin’ about reaching out to other clans. Networking. There’s gotta be somebody somewhere who has medical knowledge who’s not workin’ for the government now. If we can find them, we could offer a trade. Eggs, crops, or whatever. Y’all got plenty of things other clans only dream about. I say it’s time to market it.”

Greg heard some whispers of dissent. He dug in his heels, unwilling to lose out on this because of a few stubborn heads—or bad memories.

“What do you think, Terrell?” Greg asked. “You’ve done the most tradin’ of anybody. Is it possible to find somebody with medical training?”

“Possible, yes,” Terrell said. “We traded with other clans the first two years, but we never came across anyone with a medical background. The government tagged those people early on. They were too valuable.”

Carrie spoke up, sitting by his grandma’s feet. “What about Gayle Harrison, my mom’s friend in the Ferris clan?”

Terrell shook his head. “She was barely a paper pusher in a doctor’s office. Look at what she did for Zach’s ankle. No, I don’t think there’s anyone, Greg.”

Greg folded his arms. “That’s unacceptable. From what I understand, we’ve gotta pregnant lady who had complications with her last birth. Isn’t that right, Jeff?”

Jeff looked surprised by the sudden attention. He rubbed his unruly, brown beard. “Actually, we hadn’t told everyone yet, but yeah…if you haven’t guessed, Jenna’s pregnant again and not doing well.”

It was obvious from the lack of reactions that people already knew. Puking behind the pond pretty much gave that away.

“Just one more reason to reach out,” Greg said.

When nobody spoke, Greg nodded. “Alrighty then. Those are my four proposals: wells, consolidation, South Entrance, doctors. I’m done.”

He moved back and leaned against his wall.

A low hum started as people mulled over his ideas. He knew it was a lot to take in on top of everything with Oliver, but in a way, it was the best time to make changes. People were scared. It was time the clan saw the world for what it was.

His grandma leaned over and said in a voice only she would think a whisper, “See, Carrie. I told you my Gregory is a sharp one. He has his grandfather’s brilliant mind. Don’t you think Gregory is brilliant?”

Brilliant? It’d been awhile since anybody called Greg that.

Even more surprising was to hear Carrie agree.

“Yes. He’s very smart.” Carrie made the mistake of checking to see if Greg heard. No skin tone could contain her embarrassment, let alone her fair one. But unfortunately for Carrie, his grandma wasn’t done. She just moved to the next person.

“I don’t know what Carrie’s waiting for, Mariah. She needs to snatch Gregory up before someone else does.”

Greg had never seen Carrie so red, which was saying something. On anybody else, it would have been splotchy and unflattering, but on Carrie, the color was actually—

His grandpa put a hand on his bad shoulder, painfully bringing him back to the meeting. “You’ve given us a lot to think about, Greg. I suggest we take all this information home and think on it.”

“Oh, that reminds me of one more thing,” Greg said. Several people groaned exaggeratedly, but he went on quickly. “Hold on. I was just gonna suggest we have an adult meeting every week to get all this up and runnin’.”

“Assuming we want to do any of this,” Jeff said.

“You will,” Greg said. “But even if you don’t, it’d still be beneficial to meet every Thursday to save Carrie from runnin’ around to give us Oliver’s report.”

“Might also save us any costly mistakes,” Jeff said. “Right, CC?”

Greg shot Jeff a warning glare. That was twice. If it happened a third time, it was going to get personal. “Even if we only get one adult from each family,” Greg said, “I figure we can make a lot of progress each week.”

His grandpa nodded. “That’s something we can agree on right now. All in favor of an adult weekly meeting, say ‘Aye’?”

“Aye,” the room said as one.

“Any opposed?”

Nobody moved.

“Good,” his grandpa said. “Let’s plan on the same time, same place next week. Until then, I’d like you to give serious consideration to Greg’s ideas. Our clan is strong, but I agree that we might have some room for improvement.” He turned to Greg, pride shining in his eyes. “Anything else, son?”

Greg thought carefully a moment before shaking his head. “Nope. I think that’s it. For now.”

twenty-two

“Could you help me up, dear? My arthritis is acting up.”

Carrie’s back didn’t feel great either after the long meeting, still unused to sleeping on the floor. Standing, she stretched slightly and then took May’s arm. May rocked back and forth a few times on the couch before pushing herself up. Then she patted Carrie’s hand.

“Thank you, dear. Now could you do something else for me?”

“Sure,” Carrie said. “What do you need?”

May smiled. “Gregory looks like he needs help taking the chairs back to the kitchen.”

Luckily Greg hadn’t heard that one, but she’d been humiliated enough for one evening. “I’m sure he’s fine. See you tomorrow, May.”

“But I’m sure he wants someone to continue his discussion with,” May went on. “Perhaps a cute girl his age who might understand what in the world he’s talking about.”

Carrie put an arm around May’s stooped shoulders and turned her from Greg’s direction. “No more matchmaking, May,” she whispered. “Okay?”

May pushed up her thick glasses. “Who said anything about matchmaking? I just want you to tell my Gregory that he did a good job. That’s innocent enough, isn’t it?” She might have pulled off the lie if another smile hadn’t betrayed her.

It should have been innocent. After all, Greg obviously spent a long time thinking through his ideas. But Carrie and Greg didn’t have that kind of relationship. In fact, they didn’t have any relationship at all. Plus Carrie was still miffed about insinuations he made about her and Oliver. Watchdog boyfriend? Nothing like perpetuating a rumor.

“That’s enough, Ma,” Mariah said, joining them. “Leave Carrie be.”

Carrie smiled at Mariah, grateful.

“I made some sweet potato pie, darlin’,” Mariah said. “Some people are stayin’ behind to try it out. You wanna piece before you head on home?”

That explained the great aroma. The kitchen smelled amazing. Plus, there was something so genuine about Mariah, so welcoming.

Carrie’s smile grew. “I’d love some. Are you feeling better, by the way?” Mariah still looked tired, but she had more color in her cheeks.

“Much improved. Thanks for askin’. Now would you do me a favor and ask that fine-looking gentleman over there if he’d like one piece or two?”

Carrie followed her gaze and froze. Greg was in a deep conversation with Richard O’Brien. Her heart sunk. Mariah, too? She couldn’t take anyone else throwing her in Greg’s path.

“Richard loves my pie,” Mariah said, letting Carrie know which of the two men she meant.

Carrie blushed again. May had her paranoid now. Richard was in his early sixties with gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. He looked part hippie, and she’d never considered him “fine-looking,” but maybe she would have if she was Mariah’s age.

Making her way through the visiting people, Carrie found a spot to hide directly behind Greg.

“Your ideas have real merit, Greg,” she heard Richard saying. “It’s refreshing to have an outsider’s point of view—not that you’re an outsider anymore. But I have some concerns with blocking off the South Entrance. Do you honestly believe we can attempt it without raising the patrolmen’s suspicions?”

Carrie scooted up a bit, hoping to catch Richard’s eye without Greg noticing. Several people had already left, and the rest were putting on their jackets, making her wonder just how many people were staying behind. Mariah hadn’t even brought out the pie yet.

Greg shifted a little. Carrie fell back to stay out of his sight.

“No, but what’ll they do?” Greg said. “Patrolmen are a lazy bunch. If we build the barricade, I figure they’ll leave it be as long as they can access the sub from the other entrance.”

Richard pulled on his graying goatee. “Interesting. I live in the home closest to the North Entrance. I assume you expect me to move under your new plan?”

“Yeah, but we won’t abandon your house completely,” Greg said. “That’ll be our main watch post if Oliver ever turns on us.”

Carrie grunted as Greg, once again, threw Oliver under the bus. After everything Oliver had done for their clan—that week alone—it was unforgivable.

Greg turned and spotted her.

She took another step back. “Sorry for interrupting, Richard,” she said quickly, “but Mariah wondered if you want one or two slices of pie.”

“Two if she’s offering,” Richard said.

“Oh, I made plenty,” Mariah called from the kitchen.

“I’ll take two as well,” Greg said, lifting his bad hand.

Carrie caught a peek under his bandage and saw an ugly gash running under his wrap. She’d noticed it during the meeting. It ran all the way down his wrist like someone slit his palm with a knife. She shuddered. The story about his skirmish with the patrolmen had circled the clan a dozen times over, but Amber said the guy clubbed Greg’s shoulder, not his hand, and with a nightstick, not a knife. The gash was red and swollen. Infected. It must hurt pretty badly if Greg wanted to find a doctor. She knew a few herbs that could—

Greg caught her staring at his bandage and shoved what he could in his jeans pocket.

“That looks like it hurts,” she offered softly. “What happened?”

His brows lowered. “You serious? You wanna know what happened to my hand?”

“Um…yes. No. I don’t know.” She hated how quickly he could make her feel flustered.

As he studied her, he looked confused, even though she was the one confused. He finally shook his head. “Nothin’ happened. Nothin’ at all.”

She wasn’t about to argue. She wanted to kick herself for breaking her promise to never speak to him again.

Would she never learn?

“Hey, Carrie darlin’,” Mariah called. “Could you give this first slice to my dad?”

Eternally grateful for another escape, she crossed the room and grabbed CJ’s plate. But when she turned back, she gasped. The Trenton’s house was empty. Everyone had left except her and Richard O’Brien, leaving six adults. Three male. Three female. Based on how the ages matched up, she felt sick.

She’d walked into another trap, only Mariah’s this time. Except that didn’t make sense. Of all people, Mariah should know how much her son hated her, how he’d fly through the roof once he did the math.

Carrie handed CJ’s plate to him and turned back. “On second thought, Mariah, it’s late. I better get home.”

Mariah smiled. “You’re just fine. Stay and visit a bit. It’d make Mama real happy. Me, too.” Mariah winked at her.

Oh no! Mariah knew exactly what she was doing.

Carrie stole a peek at Greg who was still talking to Richard. She lowered her voice. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Mariah put a hand on her hip. “Are you tellin’ me you’re not starvin’?”

“No, but—”

“Then you’d better stay. Besides,” Mariah tugged Carrie toward the kitchen table, “I need your opinion on my pie. I used some of your lovely spices downstairs, but I’m not sure I got it right. Here.” She handed Carrie a plate. “Try a bite.”

Before Carrie knew it, she was sitting at the table she swore she’d never revisit, next to a man she swore she’d never speak to again. Greg was too engrossed with Richard and barricades to notice her sitting next to him, buying her a few seconds of peace. But May sat across from them with a grin that tripled her wrinkles.

Carrie shook her head. She was so gullible.

“Now, I expect you to be honest,” Mariah said. “What’d you think?”

Carrie took her first bite. Her eyes widened. She picked up the plate and studied it. “How did you do that? This tastes like pumpkin pie, only creamier like there’s cinnamon in it. I don’t have any cinnamon downstairs. Do I?”

Mariah beamed. “It’s a little trick I learned. I’ll teach you sometime.”

As Mariah handed out the other plates, Carrie forced herself to slow down and savor every bite. She couldn’t believe Mariah pulled off something so wonderful with so few resources. Sweet potato pie. Carrie had no idea.

Greg said something that made Richard laugh, and Carrie glanced sideways without thinking.

Her pie was suddenly forgotten.

If she didn’t know better, she would have thought Greg was happy. He wasn’t smiling—of course he wasn’t—but there was something in his relaxed jaw, in his eyes, as if he was enjoying himself. It was strange. As he discussed wells and barricades with a man twice his age, Greg looked different. Almost like the guy in the family pictures.

His eyes flickered over and he caught her watching him.

Again.

She forced her gaze down to her pie.

“Well, Richard,” Greg said, “we’ve monopolized the conversation long enough, but let me say thanks again for givin’ us the thumbs up today. I wasn’t sure we had you convinced to let us stay.”

Richard laughed. “Who would kick out the best cook in the neighborhood? Not very smart, if you ask me.”

“You should see what my mom can do with a pinecone,” Greg said with another bite. “There were times comin’ north I coulda sworn we were eatin’ filet mignon.”

“Ah!” Mariah cried. “Don’t listen to him. We never ate pinecones, not even once—well, not in the beginning at least. And as I recall, I simply said if you’d rather not starve to death, I could barbecue up one for dinner.”

“Yeah, and you asked if I wanted it medium-rare or well-done,” Greg quipped.

Everyone laughed. Everyone but Greg. Even then, Carrie could have sworn he was laughing on the inside. She couldn’t believe it.

“That I would have enjoyed seeing,” Richard said warmly. “I can’t remember a time I was desperate enough to eat a pinecone.”

In an instant, Greg’s expression sobered and his dark mask returned. “There were days I woulda eaten the shirt off my back. We were down to skin and bones, literally starvin’ to death, and there was nothin’ I could do about it.”

Mariah laid a hand on his, eyes going soft. “We made it though, didn’t we? And if I do say so, it’s nice to see you puttin’ some meat back on those bones.”

Greg stabbed another bite of pie. “Yes, it is. It most definitely is.”

He had, too, Carrie realized. His face had filled out in the last few weeks. His arms, too, especially the forearms. Even his shoulders fit his faded UNC shirt nicely—which she shouldn’t notice anyone’s shoulders, especially Greg’s—but at that moment, she finally spotted the family resemblance. Greg had Mariah’s almond-shaped eyes and her chestnut-colored hair. He had CJ’s square jaw and—

He turned and caught her watching him.

Again!

Carrie shot to her feet. “Thanks for the pie, Mariah. It was wonderful.”

“Anytime, sweetie,” Mariah said. “You wanna stick around for a bit? We’re gonna pull out some cards. Mama says you’re real good at cards.”

“No. I should get back to Amber and Zach.”

“Well, at least take home some pie.”

Carrie would have turned that down as well, but her siblings were hungry. Starving actually. She followed Mariah into the kitchen where Mariah loaded her plate with two fat slices.

“Thanks, Mariah,” Carrie said.

“Thanks for stayin’. It was nice chattin’ with you.”

Carrie had barely said a word, but she smiled.

Making her way to the door, she tossed her jacket over her arm and steadied the pie so she could grab the door handle.

“Wait,” someone said, a foot behind her.

Carrie nearly jumped out of her skin. Greg had snuck up on her—on purpose probably. The pie wobbled, but she held it steady. She hated being startled, which he knew full well. A twitch of amusement played on his face, although his mouth stayed in a firm line.

Stupid Greg.

She brushed some hair from her face. “What do you need?”

“Tell Zach I can play baseball tomorrow, assumin’ it’s not gonna rain,” Greg said.

Her temper picked up. If he got Zach’s hopes up again with another empty promise…

Stupid, stupid Greg.

“It’s not going to rain,” she said. See what excuse he’d use now.

He cocked his head to the side. “How do you know?”

She shrugged, unwilling to explain five years of charting clouds, humidity, and his grandma’s arthritis. She already knew what his response would be.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Greg.

“Well, if you’re right,” he said, “tell him I’ll be ready.”

***

Carrie was right. First time.

The weather was perfect. The gray skies which had held Illinois captive since Greg arrived had cleared. With the unobscured sun, Greg guessed it was around seventy degrees. He finally felt warm.

What started in his mind as tossing a ball around with the overzealous kid had somehow evolved into an all-out baseball game. Zach spent the morning running around to ask everybody to play. Surprisingly, he’d recruited half the clan. The other half agreed to cheer. Even Greg’s family insisted on coming.

Not that it was a real game.

The only equipment was the ball itself. They didn’t have bases, all mitts had long since been sold for food—same with the bats—not to mention most of the people, including Zach, were barefoot since Oliver still hadn’t shown up with their stuff yet. But Zach was determined and pulled everything together. Greg’s job was to find a spot to play.

Greg looked over their mock field. He’d chosen the backyard of an empty home near the North Entrance, one which had the longest yard and a full acre of overgrown grass to pad the tender feet. Since the house was deserted, they didn’t have to worry about breaking a window or two. There was a slight hill next to the house where the spectators spread out their blankets. Greg found some flat rocks for the bases and an old rusty pipe for the bat. As far as mitts, he assured Zach nobody would hit it hard enough with an old hollow pipe anyway.

Satisfied, he adjusted his Yankees cap and turned to the players. “Alrighty. Time to pick teams. Zach, you’re first captain, and…” Greg searched the group and pointed to another teen. “You’re second.”

“I’m Chris,” the boy said. “Tucker’s older brother.”

Greg didn’t know who the heck Tucker was, but he slapped him on the back. “Alrighty, captains. Pick your teams.”

“Greg!” Zach shouted. “I get Greg.”

Greg stepped obediently behind the kid.

“Then I get Braden,” Chris said.

“Terrell.”

“Jeff.”

“Sasha.”

Down the line they went. When Zach called Carrie’s name, Greg looked up in surprise. He hadn’t pegged Carrie as the baseball type. Apparently she wasn’t.

“That’s okay,” Carrie said. “I’ll keep score.” Although with the way she glanced at Greg after, he wondered if she would have played had he not been there.

When they ran out of willing players, Richard stood. “I’ll ump.”

Greg waited for his mom to protest. She had umpped many a little league game in her day. While she was normally a peace-loving pacifist, that all flew out the window when it came to baseball. Greg had never seen her pass up a chance to ump and half expected her to wrestle Richard to the ground. She didn’t. But she seemed to read Greg’s mind.

“Don’t worry,” his mom said. “I’ll keep Richard honest from here.”

Amber and her two friends jumped up next. “Can we be the cheerleaders?” Amber asked.

Greg groaned. So did Zach. The three girls had ponytails and jeans rolled to the knee. Just yesterday, the oldest of that giggly bunch had stopped by to ask Greg how to use a slingshot. It took five minutes just to get rid of her. He could already guess Amber and her friends would cheer for two players and two players only: the two single men.

“You want cheerleaders, kid?” Greg asked.

Zach made a face. “Do I have to?”

“It’s up to you.”

“Fine.” Zach glared at Amber. “But stay outta our way.”

Greg scanned the two teams. Eight people on each. Not quite a full team, but more than he’d expected. “How many innings y’all wanna play?” he asked.

“Four,” Jeff called. “I have stuff to do.”

“Nine,” Dylan countered. “I have nothing to do, and neither do you.”

Greg looked at his captain. “What’d you think, kid? You up for nine innings?”

Zach punched the air. “Yes!”

“Alrighty then. Nine it is.” Greg adjusted his Yankees hat once more and called, “Batter up!”

twenty-three

By the time they made it through five innings, Greg questioned the wisdom of nine. It had been painful. The young team captains insisted on pitching, slowing down the game with their wild, inexperienced throws. They wasted twenty minutes alone in the third inning looking for Greg’s baseball after Zach finally pitched a good one and Jeff hit a showoff grand slam into the woods.

The difference in playing abilities was a killer, too. There were grown men like Greg who played on a high school or community team—and wore shoes—all the way down to Terrell’s nine-year-old twins, who had to be taught every rule. It was a miracle they got through any innings, let alone five.

Everybody was hot, sweaty, hungry, and tired. The teams were dwindling, and the cheerleaders fanned themselves idly on the hill. Carrie was the only one still following the game, the dutiful parent Zach didn’t have.

Carrie caught Greg’s eye and smiled. For the thousandth time. She’d smiled more today than she had in the last month, a broad smile that lit up her whole face. Too broad for Greg’s comfort, especially because it was aimed at him.

He turned back and wiped his face with the corner of his sleeve. “What’d you think, kid? You done?”

Zach looked just as hot and sweaty, but he frowned. “It’s only the fifth inning. We can’t quit now.”

Greg sighed. “Right.”

He took accounting of the remaining players. The twins ran off to sit by Jada, along with a few other inept players. Suddenly, it was just the men left and Sasha, who played better than most of the men.

Sensing a shift in power, the adults started staking out their spots. Terrell slid over to first base and Dylan backed into left field. There was only one spot for Greg, but that involved taking a huge risk. Zach, the last non-adult standing, hovered over that ‘pitcher’s mound’ like Mariano Rivera. Greg approached slowly. Thankfully, the kid saw what was coming and handed Greg the ball without complaint.

“You’re gonna need a catcher,” Zach said. Then he limped toward home, and the sixth inning began.

Jeff was first up to bat. Greg took his time stretching out his arm. Not because it had been years since he’d pitched, not because he was out of practice, or because, after four days of food rations, his muscles were tired and sluggish. He didn’t even stretch because Jeff was part brute. No. Stretching was part of the game, intimidating the batter before throwing a single pitch, and Greg couldn’t have picked a better first batter.

“Come on,” Jeff said, swinging the old pipe. “You scared or something, Pierce?”

Greg motioned for Zach to move aside. Zach moved a few feet. Greg waved him further over where he couldn’t get hurt.

“Give me a break,” Jeff called. “Just pitch already.”

Stepping back, Greg wound his arm and let the first pitch fly. The ball whizzed past Jeff and Zach with barely a whisper. It rolled to a stop thirty feet away. Jeff spun around to figure out what happened, but Richard held up a solid fist.

“Strike!”

Zach jumped up and down. “Whoa! Did you see that, Carrie? Did you—holy cow! I’ve never seen anything that fast. Did you see that? Did you?”

Carrie looked at Greg with another smile, even wider than the others. “Yes.”

Zach was still celebrating as he trotted after the ball. Jeff clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the old pipe. Greg adjusted his hat and began to stretch his arm again. He was in his element. The pull of the muscle felt good. The heat of the game felt even better.

Zach chucked the ball back, and Greg massaged it in his bad hand. It was fortunate Carrie ruined his left hand in the woods and not his right. Otherwise, he may have never forgiven her. The bandage almost felt like a mitt. Almost.

The second time Jeff stepped up to the make-shift plate his eyes were tight in concentration. It was too easy. Greg struck him out without a single hitch. And Braden after him. And Sasha, Dylan, and every other person who wanted a try. Even Richard gave up umpping for a few, fruitless swings.

Time and time again, Greg rolled the ball between his fingers, wound his arm, and felt the surge as he let it fly. Outside. Inside. Low, then high. Even a few curve balls for cocky ones like Jeff. Terrell got a piece of the ball, but only a piece and a small one at that. The sixth inning had more outs than Carrie could count, turning it into batting practice for the bold and brave. Fine by Greg. There was no better feeling than pitching a no-hitter.

After striking out for the fourth time, Jeff threw down the pipe. “Alright, hot shot. Let’s see you on the other side of the plate.”

“Alrighty.”

Greg picked up the pipe and stood to bat lefty, but before Jeff could pitch, Greg jumped over the ‘plate’ and switched to right. He was better right-handed. But as Jeff wound his arm, Greg hopped back over. Left was safer. Too many people sat by third base.

The crowd laughed, taking his indecision as antics, but Jeff looked unamused. “You done, Pierce?”

“Maybe.”

Batting wasn’t Greg’s strong suit, especially batting lefty, but against Jeff he did well enough. He sent the first pitch sailing for first base.

Throughout the game, only a few players were brave enough to catch a ball bare-handed. Only one was stupid enough to try to stop Greg’s trademark line drive down first base. It nearly snapped Terrell’s thumb off. Terrell in turn nearly knocked Greg’s head off as he rounded first.

Huffing, Greg picked up speed and tagged the second base rock before heading for third. Terrell shouted at Zach, warning him the ball was coming. Knowing Zach could never catch a testosterone-forced throw, Greg sprinted for home.

“To me,” Jeff yelled. “Throw it to me!”

“No, he’s mine!” Terrell shouted.

Greg caught sight of a huge black guy barreling down on him. With ten feet to go, Greg took two giant leaps and launched himself, hands first, sliding into the home rock just as Terrell’s fist smacked his shoulder.

For a second neither moved. Greg’s arms burned from the attempted slide on the grass, but he wasn’t budging an inch. Not until he heard the call.

Richard shook his head like it pained him to say it. “Safe.”

“I concur,” Greg’s mom said, eyes warm. “Welcome home, son.”

Zach leaped for joy. “Home run! Home run!”

Terrell grabbed Greg’s hand and yanked him up. “You stink, Pierce.”

Greg sniffed the air. “That ain’t me.” Terrell took a swipe, but Greg dodged easily. Then Greg couldn’t resist and called, “Nice pitch.”

The look Jeff gave him made the other five innings worth it.

Greg brushed off his UNC shirt. “I say we call the game. What’s the final score?”

Carrie laughed as Zach and Little Jeffrey danced around her. “Zach’s team has fourteen points,” Carrie said, “and Chris’s team has nine. Zach’s team wins!”

The small crowd erupted. Amber and her friends did a few cartwheels, the older boys high-fived each other, and Terrell tried to slug Greg again.

Zach shot across the grass like a lop-sided rabbit. “Greg! Greg! We won! We won! We won! We—”

“Yeah, I heard,” Greg interrupted.

“We gotta do this again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next,” Zach said, breathless.

“Tomorrow?” Greg said. “You gotta give Jeff’s pride time to recover.”

Jeff snorted behind them. “My pride? You got lucky, Pierce.”

“You wish,” Greg muttered.

Zach’s head bobbed up and down without hearing either of them. “Right, right. Give ‘em time to recover.” Then his freckled face split into a wide grin. “Monday then. Man, I gotta rub it in Amber’s face. She said Braden’s team was gonna kill us.”

As Zach took off, Greg picked up his ball and rubbed the dirt from the seams. It was a little worse for the wear, but not too bad. Shoving it in his pocket, he fell in line behind everybody else heading home. He planned to head straight to the well to dump several buckets of cold water over his head—a shower and laundry in one motion.

“Wait!” his grandma called. “Everyone wait just one minute.” CJ pulled her up, and she brushed the grass from her polyester pants. “Today is Carrie’s birthday—her twenty-third birthday—and we all need to sing to her.” Without waiting, her saggy arms swayed a beat, and she began, “Happy birthday to you…”

Greg watched as the embarrassment hit Carrie’s cheeks, almost like she’d forgotten it was her own birthday. He hadn’t. Since dawn, all he’d heard was, “Today is Carrie’s birthday, Gregory. Be sure to wish her a happy birthday, Gregory. Did you know she loves birthdays because she just loves birthdays!”

When he tried to squeeze in a snide remark about Carrie being born on April Fool’s Day, it backfired. His grandma launched into a story about how Carrie’s dad said she was born on the first day of April because spring couldn’t start without her. “And she’s bloomed faithfully ever since. Quite beautifully, too, don’t you think?”

Greg couldn’t move out of that house fast enough.

The funny thing was, Carrie didn’t look like she enjoyed the impromptu celebration any more than he did. Both of them waited impatiently for the song to finish.

At the end, a chorus erupted. “Happy birthday, Carrie!”

Amber ran over and gave her a hug. So did Greg’s mom and grandma, minus the running. Then his mom announced, “I made a birthday cake if y’all wanna stop by the house.”

That’s all it took. The kids took off. The adults followed, although at a more leisurely pace. Greg trailed the group, mouth watering. The cold shower could wait. It didn’t escape his notice that his mom hadn’t made him a cake for his birthday. Of course, they’d been snowed in at Decatur at the time, living on squirrels and tree bark.

“Thanks, Greg,” Carrie said, falling in line next to him.

He glanced sideways. “For…?”

She smiled another large smile. “For Zach. He had the time of his life today. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him this happy.”

Greg should have seen it coming. An unfortunate byproduct of appeasing the kid was getting the gratitude of his older sister. A girl who shouldn’t be smiling that broadly at anybody but a slightly balding patrolman. He slowed, hoping she’d go on without him. She didn’t.

Her blue eyes danced up at him. “You should have seen Zach earlier. He ran around the house, bouncing off the walls. Today meant a lot to him. And me,” she added softly, smile growing. “It was a nice birthday present.”

Greg looked around. He really didn’t want to have to set Carrie straight again because in all fairness, she wasn’t the annoying flirt her little sister was, nor was she the pushy type his grandma was. In fact, she was their opposite, which made her dangerous. Greg knew how to handle girls like Amber and You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee. But Carrie was different. Her features matched her personality, soft and warm. Perfect for a quiet guy like Oliver, which meant she shouldn’t be talking to Greg so eagerly. Or batting her big, blue eyes up at him. She was borderline attractive, and he wasn’t about to put up with it.

His eyes narrowed slightly in warning.

It only took a second for her grin to fade, her gaze to drop, and her enthusiasm to dissipate. They started down the sidewalk again at a slower pace.

A twinge of guilt tugged at Greg as he remembered what day it was. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

She tried to smile. “Thanks.”

The guilt continued to twist his gut. Carrie didn’t deserve the cold shoulder, but it was for the best. She needed to stay away from him—for her own sake as much as his. Or the clan’s.

Everybody else was already around the corner, leaving nothing but discomfited silence to escort them home. As they walked, Greg continued to berate himself. He’d have to watch any time he spent with Zach in the future. Maybe the cold shower would beat her cake after all.

He heard it first, but his thoughts were too preoccupied to register the sound until it was too late. Panicked, he stopped and searched for a bush or tree where he could hide, but it was useless. The damage was done.

The truck pulled to a stop beside them which meant he and Carrie had already been spotted together. Walking virtually alone.

Greg turned slowly. Oliver’s already-long face elongated in shock.

Carrie stopped to say hello, but Greg took off, speeding down the sidewalk toward his grandparents’ house, cursing himself the entire way.

Who’s the careless one now?

twenty-four

Amber looked up as Greg burst through Trenton’s front door.

“Oliver’s here,” Greg said, “but—”

Everyone but Amber dropped their cakes to rush out. Amber wasn’t moving until Braden did. With him distracted, she scooted a little closer to him on May’s couch until their thighs were touching.

Greg planted his feet, blocking the front door. “Hold up. Before y’all take anything home, we should inventory it. Terrell needs to know what there is before he goes on his supply run. Sort first.”

“I hope Oliver found my shoes,” Amber whispered, wriggling her bare toes.

Braden chuckled mid-chew. “I don’t know. I think barefooted cartwheels are kind of cute.”

So he had noticed.

“In that case,” Amber said, “I hope Oliver didn’t find my shoes.”

That time she got Braden’s full laugh. His sandy-blond hair was still mused and sweaty from the game. Same with his short beard. If she had the guts, she would fix both, but she wasn’t sure they were to that point. Other than a desperate hug when she thought he’d died, they hadn’t officially crossed the touch barrier.

Yet.

Jenna Kovach pushed her way forward until she stood in front of Greg, hands on hips. Amber found it hard to believe Jenna had ever been runner-up in any beauty pageant with that dark frizzy hair and pale skin—although she wasn’t always so pale.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Jenna said. “Move already.”

“You can’t go outside wearin’ that,” Greg said.

Jenna looked down at the purple and gray striped shirt and jeans that were too short for her spindly body. “Why not?”

“‘Cause those clothes aren’t yours,” Greg said.

“They are now. Carrie gave them to me.”

Amber leaned close enough to Braden her chin almost touched his shoulder. “Jenna drives me crazy,” she whispered. “She’s such a whiner.”

“She drives everyone crazy,” Braden said.

Jenna tried to move past, but Greg just folded his arms, blocking the door. “Oliver gave Carrie those clothes. He can’t see you wearin’ them.”

“Oliver won’t care!” Jenna cried. “I just want to see if he found my stuff.”

Mariah walked up and put a hand on Jenna’s shoulder. “Jenna, darlin’, why don’t you let Jeff and the others look for your things. You’ve been out in the hot sun all day, and you look real tired. Why don’t you keep me company in here.”

“Actually, I am kind of tired,” Jenna said.

Greg waited until she moved off before he stepped aside. People rushed past him like a stampede. Even Braden set his cake down.

“I should go help unload,” Braden said.

“I’ll come, too,” Amber said, hopping up because there was no way she’d miss a show like that. Braden’s damp t-shirt still clung to his broad shoulders. Baseball had been a feast for the eyes. Watching him unload the truck would be the real dessert.

If Amber didn’t know differently, she would have thought the clansmen lived in some third world country for how everyone thronged Oliver’s truck. Carrie helped Oliver pull a tarp off the back of the bed, and a collective gasp went up.

“Wow,” Braden said. “Oliver found a lot. I wonder how much money he spent to get it back.”

“Who cares?” Amber said. Cute cartwheels or not, the cement was doing a number on her feet. Her soles were an inch thick and felt like rhinoceros skin. She craned her neck to get a better look, hoping one of those boxes held her ugly shoes.

Carrie climbed up into the pickup bed to help Oliver hand out boxes to everyone. Amber shimmied through the people.

“Hey, Carrie,” she said, shading her eyes from the sun, “do you see my shoes anywhere?”

“No. Take this.”

Carrie handed Amber a box so heavy, Amber’s legs wobbled. She looked around for help. Braden already held a box, and the second Greg saw her, he pointed her to the left.

“Clothes go on the lawn,” Greg said. “Food on the back of the driveway, and kitchen stuff there by the porch.”

Amber peeked inside her box. Terrell Dixon’s ugly brown shirt sat on top. She took the box over to the clothing spot and then, unwilling to make the same mistake twice, made a wide circle around the truck. The clan was efficient enough they didn’t need her help. Besides, she liked watching everyone work. It looked like a happy dance with skinny, homely people.

Finding a quiet spot by the porch, Amber watched Braden unload a box of kitchen supplies. In her book, “cute” was an eighteen-year-old hottie sorting mixing bowls. He stacked a larger bowl on top only to have the whole stack topple. She laughed.

He looked up. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping?”

“I am. I’m making sure you get it right. Wait!” She lunged. “That’s ours.”

She reached for the bowl at the same time he did. His warm hand clamped over hers, strong and firm. Amber looked up and locked gazes with those perfect, turquoise eyes.

Did this mean anything to him, skin to skin? Did he notice the way their hands fit together? Did he even care? His expression remained steady, but his grip tightened around hers.

Her heart did a flip. Braden was definitely using more pressure than necessary to grab a stupid bowl. Amber grinned inwardly while doing her best to act nonchalant.

Touch barrier officially crossed.

“Braden Earl Ziegler!”

He blinked and released her hand. With an apologetic smile, he stood. “Coming, Mom.”

Mrs. Ziegler shot Amber a dark look before giving her son a job that could have been done by anyone, anywhere, anytime. Amber glared right back.

***

After a quick drink from the well, Greg went back to sorting. They were making good time. Piles dotted his grandparents’ driveway.

Curious, Greg stopped behind the corner of the house and watched. Carrie and Oliver continued to work side by side on the truck bed. Despite Oliver’s age, they made a nice-looking pair. Oliver was tall and thin. Carrie was short and thin. What was left of Oliver’s dark hair was turning silver at the temples. Carrie’s hair shined gold in the sun. Both were quiet and generous and—if Greg was right—completely clueless about the opposite sex.

Terrell passed Greg with an armful of blankets. “Oliver just made my life a heckuva lot easier. If I weren’t a married man, I’d kiss that guy.”

Greg’s head snapped up. Married?

His thoughts raced. There were four yellow cardies in the clan. Three were too old and tired to do anything with their citizenship. But if there were others…and if Oliver wasn’t married…maybe there was another way to get a few more people legal, or at least one more. A young, energetic woman desperate to get her perfect America back.

Greg wasn’t exactly sure how the marriage laws worked now, but he had a hunch Miss Carrie Ashworth was one proposal away from citizenship. And if she was legal…

He waited for the right moment. When Carrie climbed out of the truck, Greg hopped up.

“Want some help?” Greg asked.

Oliver’s eyes hardened, which Greg translated into a firm, No! The patrolman was as transparent as Carrie, but unfortunately for him, he was also as polite. “Fine,” Oliver grumbled.

Greg and Oliver worked quietly for a moment. Greg picked up a box and examined the label. New Day Flour. He was sure that box had never been in Logan Pond before. Not only had Oliver found their stuff, he was supplementing it as well? Impressive.

“How’d you get our stuff back?” Greg asked.

Oliver hefted a sack of rice down to Braden. “I don’t know.”

“Money?” Greg ventured.

Oliver didn’t answer.

“Bribes?”

Still nothing.

“A trade? You steal it? I’m just curious.” Greg motioned to the government-produced flour. “It couldn’t have been easy gettin’ all this.”

Oliver paused to wipe his brow. “This stuff is theirs. They deserve to have it back—or at least what I could find of it.”

Theirs. Greg didn’t miss the distinction. Oliver still didn’t consider him part of the clan, nor did he like him much. Considering Greg’s marital status and Oliver’s blatantly obvious crush, that wasn’t surprising. Greg reached out a hand anyway. “Well, this is amazing. Thanks.”

Oliver shook his hand skeptically.

Greg nearly hopped out of the truck, but with Carrie distracted, he figured it was worth a shot. He lowered his voice. “You ever gonna ask her out?”

Oliver jerked up so fast he tripped over a box of shoes. “What?”

Transparent.

“Well, are you?” Greg said. “‘Cause I think—”

“Hey, Oliver,” Carrie said, coming back with a box identical to Greg’s. “This isn’t ours.”

Oliver stared at Greg, looking just shy of a heart attack. “It…it is.”

“Are you sure because I think this is…” Carrie opened the lid. “Flour? There are ten—no wait, twelve bags of flour in here.”

Oliver looked plenty happy to leave Greg. He climbed down and closed the lid of her box. “It’s yours now,” he said softly.

“Oliver…”

Carrie looked at him. He looked back. She shook her head only to have him nod his in return. With a sigh, she went back to sorting. Oliver went back to staring at the back of her head.

Greg left the truck, deciding to give them some space. But he didn’t go far. He shuffled some utensils, peeking over his shoulder every second or two. Oliver became Carrie’s little shadow, following her from pile to pile and receiving little notice in return. Greg waited for him to make a move—talk to her, compliment her, anything to show interest—but he didn’t. And just that fast, he became the most pathetic man alive. Carrie kept sifting through the piles, totally unaware the guy was memorizing every strand of hair.

“Jealous?” somebody said.

Greg flinched. Richard stood behind him.

“What?” Greg said. “No. Just curious. Do they ever spend time together beyond this?”

“I doubt it. Why?” Richard smiled. “Are you finally interested in her?”

“Shhh! Would you keep it down?” Greg grabbed Richard’s arm and pulled him down the driveway. One overheard word and Oliver was a goner.

Richard laughed. “No problem, but I say go for it. Carrie is an angel. You would be a lucky man.”

Greg liked the older professor. A lot. In the last few days, they’d spent hours discussing Greg’s ideas. Now Richard knew them as his own. Richard had an analytical mind that kept Greg on his toes, challenging him to really think through every detail. Not much had been able to do that lately. Up until that moment, Greg respected the guy. Now he just wanted to slug him.

“Would you lay off?” Greg hissed. “I’m not into Carrie. I was just curious if she’s interested in—”

Somebody grabbed Greg’s arm and spun him around.

“Stay away from her, pretty boy,” Jeff said in his face. “Carrie is off limits.”

Greg shoved his hand away. “So’s my arm. Next time you eavesdrop, clean the wax from your ears. I wasn’t talkin’ about me.”

“Then why was she all googly-eyed at the game?” Jeff said. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. Or the way you two hung back after. The last thing we need is Oliver running away now. Carrie’s spoken for, so stay away from her.”

Greg nearly leveled Jeff right there. If it wouldn’t have attracted Oliver’s attention, he would have. “Back off,” Greg warned.

Jeff didn’t move and instead looked pure beast with his puffed up chest and scraggly beard. Jeff liked to use his brute size to intimidate others. Greg rocked forward on his toes to let him know he wasn’t. Carrie and Oliver hadn’t noticed the little skirmish, but it wouldn’t take much to get their attention. And complicate everything.

Finally Jeff backed off, but not before adding, “I’m watching you, Pierce. Don’t go playing where you don’t belong. She’s Oliver’s now.”

Greg sighed. “Let’s hope so.”

“Oliver’s?” Richard said, watching Jeff storm off. “You’re playing with fire—both of you. I suggest you leave it alone.”

Richard went back to work, but Greg stayed put. Googly-eyed? So it wasn’t just Greg who had noticed. Even worse, Greg realized Carrie had interrupted his date conversation with Oliver. Greg didn’t get the chance to say, “Go for it. Ask her out.” Something to show his lack of interest in her. To any normal guy, it might have been in implied, but with Oliver, Greg couldn’t leave it up to chance. Oliver was too skittish.

So was Carrie.

Greg grabbed a box of clothes and headed back to the driveway. Pretending to sort, he crouched a few feet from Oliver and Carrie.

“Carrie,” Oliver said. “Why won’t you let me—”

“No,” she interrupted. “Thank you, but this is great. Terrell’s heading out to get supplies tomorrow. He’ll get everything else.” It was a lie. Greg didn’t see a single mattress or gun on the driveway, but she went on. “We’re fine. Don’t worry about us. You’ve already done too much.”

“Okay,” Oliver said. “But if you change your—”

“We won’t,” she cut in again. Then she glanced around to see if anybody heard. She completely missed Greg. “But thanks.”

Oliver’s shoulder’s fell. “Okay. Oh, and happy birthday, by the way. I meant to say that earlier, but…well…yeah.”

Finally. Girls loved it when guys remembered that sort of thing, and Greg could tell Carrie did. She perked up with her broad smile. “Thanks. It has been a great day.” Her eyes danced, and she almost looked as happy as she had after the game talking to Greg.

Almost? Greg’s thoughts skidded to a halt. Googly-eyed?

Not good.

“And I forgot,” Oliver said. “Your shoes are in the smaller box over there. They’re right on top.”

Birthday, nice. Shoes, even better. Now’s your chance, buddy! Greg wanted to jump up and coach the poor guy, feed him a few lines. Carrie was cute enough that finding a compliment wasn’t hard, just something—anything—to show some interest. If Oliver had half the gumption Greg did, he’d take her to a nice restaurant for her birthday. Except that wouldn’t work. Carrie couldn’t go into public. And there weren’t any restaurants left. The Collapse really screwed up dating.

“There’s actually…” Oliver scratched his bald spot. “There’s one more thing. Here.” He went to the passenger door and pulled out another box, this one without a lid. Greg couldn’t see the contents, but he heard them. Lots of little peeps.

Carrie’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my gosh, Oliver! They’re so cute! Zach!” she called. “You have to come see this!”

That caught everybody’s attention. The clan pushed in to see Carrie’s birthday present and female cooing quickly ensued. Greg leaned forward and caught sight of a box of baby chickens, chirping and hopping around. He looked up at the awkward patrolman with newfound respect.

“Nice touch, buddy,” Greg whispered. He wasn’t particularly fond of chickens. His job cleaning up chicken parts in Raleigh’s Third Municipality sealed his thoughts on that subject, but they were much needed and the perfect birthday gift.

Carrie jumped up and threw her arms around Oliver’s neck. “Thank you so much, Oliver! They’re perfect!”

Greg wasn’t sure who was more shocked by her hug. Oliver or Carrie.

Or Greg.

Oliver didn’t know where to place his hands. They froze mid-air. The second Carrie realized what she’d done, she backed off with a blush that was the most promising thing Greg had seen all day. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she thanked Oliver softly. By then, Oliver was the one smiling. That was great news for the clan. Carrie blushed, and Oliver smiled. For the space of one moment, everything was perfect.

Then it all backfired.

Oliver turned and spotted Greg. His eyes widened, noticing Greg watching him and Carrie with excessive interest. Misreading Greg’s intentions, Oliver’s smile faded. He started backing up.

“Well…I better go, Carrie.” Oliver’s gaze flickered to Greg again. “I have to get back to work.”

No!

Had Greg been able to split in two, he would have punched himself. Jeff probably would have done it for him, but it was too late. Oliver was leaving. People flocked around the patrolman one last time to offer their gratitude. Carrie did as well, but the mob pushed her out of the way. Not that she cared. She just went back to her box of baby chicks.

Oliver opened his door and stretched up to see her over the crowd, but it was no use. Carrie was in her own little world. The guy saved her clan and bought her baby chickens for her birthday, and he didn’t even get a wave goodbye.

By the time Oliver drove away, Greg was the one staring at the back of her head.

twenty-five

“Nice, Jonah. I like it.”

Jonah smiled up at Carrie between rosy cheeks. He picked up another rock and chucked it into her pile of weeds. Ten feet away, Little Jeffrey plopped down on his belly and combed Carrie’s backyard for bugs. The boys were in heaven. So was she.

Where they saw rocks and bugs, she spotted vines and new stems. The peas she scattered around her yard were now an inch tall. Beyond them were the unmistakable stems of daffodils and tulips—the same ones she’d planted with her mom years ago—fighting their way through five years of dead weeds. Add to it the pair of Canadian Geese chasing each other across the surface of Logan Pond, and there was no way people could deny it now. Spring had officially arrived.

With one hand, she held Jonah, and with her other she grabbed her wet work shirt from the bucket and examined it. Soap was something Oliver hadn’t replaced and her dingy yellow shirt looked almost gray. No love lost there. Maybe it was time to experiment with lye again. They tried making it the first year with wood ashes and ended up with a concoction that burned skin better than it cleaned. She draped her work shirt over the rope one-handed.

Jonah grunted and tried to pull free of her grasp. She relaxed her grip enough he could reach the next rock, but not enough that his shoes—back on his feet thanks to Oliver—could squish her peas. Or worse, take off for the pond, which is where he usually ran. Throwing rocks in the water was more entertaining than weeds.

Jonah’s little pug nose was pink and dripped down his lip. It wasn’t as warm out as it looked. A stiff wind blew from the north. They might have to postpone their trip to see the baby chickens.

Carrie grabbed a rag from the basket to wipe his nose. He squirmed and she tried harder. He wedged his feet against her and pushed with all his might, so she wrapped an arm around his waist to keep hold. “Come on. Just let me wipe your—”

A sudden shadow crossed her vision at the same time something brushed her arm. With a startled cry, she fell back on the grass. Jonah landed on top of her.

“Greg!” she yelled. But when she turned to glare at him, he was twenty long feet away, hands up in defense.

“Hey, I wasn’t tryin’ to scare you that time,” Greg said. “I swear.”

Tell that to her racing heart.

She looked down and realized Jonah’s foot had brushed her arm at the same time Greg’s elongated morning shadow crossed her vision. Still, that man needed a cowbell. Although Greg had been good for one thing.

With Jonah distracted, Carrie snagged the rag and wiped his nose. Greg had a distraction of his own to deal with. Little Jeffrey tugged on his light blue UNC shirt.

“Whoa there, little buddy,” Greg said. “What’d you need?”

“Taterbugs,” Jeffrey said.

Greg looked at Carrie for translation.

“Potato bugs,” she said. “Rolly-pollies. You know those little round bugs that hide in the grass.”

“Oh, you mean doodlebugs? That’s what we call them down south,” Greg told Jeffrey. “You find any yet?”

It took Little Jeffrey some effort to get the right number of fingers up, which happened to be three.

Greg ruffled his dark curls. “Very good, little man. Back to work.”

Carrie marveled at the little interchange. It was odd, sweet, and extremely depressing. As far as she could tell, she was the only person on earth Greg hated. Zach adored him, and after baseball, it was easy to think the feeling was reciprocated—at least somewhat. In fact, that game put every kid under a Greg-worshipping spell. Even she’d fallen under the spell for a time as she watched Greg become the older brother Zach craved. Admittedly not her best moment.

But it wasn’t just the kids either. Between the raid, when Greg saved half the clan from arrest, and all of his new ideas, the adults were raving about him, too. Richard. Terrell. Dylan and Sasha.

Last night, at their first official adult meeting, the clan voted in three of Greg’s four proposals unanimously. The only reason the last one didn’t pass was because people didn’t trust other clans, medical knowledge or not. It had nothing to do with Greg. The crazy thing was, none of Greg’s four proposals benefitted him personally, something she’d realized halfway through the meeting. For an hour, she’d watched him discuss, converse, and not-glare at everyone else in that room. He wasn’t a smiley guy, but some people weren’t. That was fine. Yet she couldn’t help but notice that there was another side to him, a decent side, an almost-nice side that emerged around everyone but her. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what she’d done to offend him. He had hated her before she ever said a word. It wasn’t fair.

She grabbed Zach’s new red shirt and slung it over the clothes line. “So what are you doing here?” she asked. In my backyard. Invading my privacy.

“Scoutin’ out a place for your new well,” Greg said. “Is that alright?”

My well. That had been the worst part. The most confusing part.

The adults decided the new wells should be the clan’s first priority. Richard, who half-ran the meeting with Greg, recommended they start with one to see how it faired in the first Oliver-less sweep. That led to everyone wondering who would get the first well. To Carrie’s utter shock, Richard said it was her. Them. The Ashworths.

“Women without husbands get first priority,” Richard had explained. “Elena lives next door to the well here at Trentons, which leaves you, Carrie.”

Carrie had flushed with embarrassment. “What about Jeff and Jenna?” she had tried. Heaven knew they needed fresh water more than she did. But then Richard said the plan wasn’t his.

It was Greg’s.

She picked up Amber’s wet jeans. Greg wanted to give her the first well. Her. The woman he hated worse than Illinois. The whole meeting he avoided eye contact with her, so she asked—begged—Richard to reconsider. But Richard was insistent. So were May and the rest of the clan. Carrie hated being pitied. She truly and deeply loathed it. She was a big girl. Women without husbands, she repeated, wanting to gag.

Greg watched her, still waiting for an answer.

“If I say no,” Carrie said, “will you put the well in someone else’s yard?”

“No.”

“Then why bother asking?”

“Good point. I won’t next time.” Greg eyed her basket of wet laundry. “Jenna give back your clothes?”

“No. Why would she?”

“‘Cause Oliver saved hers. ‘Cause Oliver’s gonna expect to see you in the clothes he gave you. You need to get them back.”

Carrie wasn’t going to ask for her clothes back. Jenna wouldn’t return them anyway. Even if she did, Sasha would just complain that Carrie had more than her allotted amount.

“So, where do you want your well?” Greg asked, turning in a slow circle to take in her backyard.

Jonah grunted, tugging on Carrie’s hand to break free. The little guy was stronger than he looked and she struggled to keep hold of him. “I thought you weren’t going to ask,” Carrie said, “but how about outside the Kovach’s back door.”

Greg folded his arms. “Why you fightin’ me on this, Carrie? Is it ‘cause I was the one who suggested it?”

Surprised, she looked up. “No.” Well, yes, but not that she’d admit. “I just don’t want people thinking I need special treatment.” Especially him. “I can take care of my family just fine.”

“Not from what I keep hearin’,” he muttered.

“From who?”

He rolled his eyes. “When was the last time you talked to your best friend, or does she only have those conversations with me?” His voice suddenly mimicked an eighty-year-old woman’s. “‘If only Carrie had a man around to take care of her, Gregory, I could sleep more soundly at night. She’s all alone, watching out for herself and her poor siblings. It makes me sick to death to think about what could happen to her—what almost happened to her! Sick to death, Gregory! My poor Carrie. Poor, poor, poor Carrie!’”

By the time he finished, Carrie was laughing. She couldn’t help it. Not only was his impersonation of his grandma spot on, but she finally understood why he’d given her the first well.

“I’m sorry, Greg, but it’s not like I agree with May. My siblings and I are just fine. So if you’re giving me the first well to get your grandma off your back, then tell her you did and give it to someone who really needs it, like Jenna.”

“First off, I doubt you’d ever lie to my grandma, not even for her own sake. And secondly…” Without warning, he crouched down next to Little Jeffrey and raked his fingers through the grass as if searching for bugs. “Secondly…” he started more carefully, “I happen to agree with her on this.”

Carrie’s mouth dropped.

“You’re mom and dad to two teens,” Greg said, “teacher for six, nurse for an ornery, pregnant lady, babysitter for her little boys, and protector of the entire clan. As far as I’m concerned, it’s time people around here did somethin’ nice for you. So if anybody has a problem with you gettin’ the first well, they can take it up with me.” He stood and met her stunned gaze head on. “That includes yourself, Miss Ashworth.”

She couldn’t move. It sounded so close to a compliment, she didn’t know what to think. Surely Greg meant it as an insult. Surely this whole thing was some big joke. She just couldn’t figure out how.

He wandered over to the closest flowerbed. “I figure we can hide your well in this weed patch here. What’d you think?”

Normally she would have mentioned her peas intermixed in the weeds—peas that were barely an inch tall—but she managed a quiet, “Okay. Thank you.”

He nodded. “Braden’s comin’ up with a lid that’ll hopefully camouflage it good enough. With luck, the patrolmen will never notice it. As far as timing, the well at my grandparents’ took two months to dig. I’m hopin’ to turn yours out in a week.”

In her stunned state, Jonah won the battle. He slipped out of her grasp and took off down the hill, headed straight for the pond. Carrie chased after him and scooped him up. He whined, squirmed, and flailed every possible direction, making it hard to walk back up her yard.

“Well, Greg,” she said, “I better go make some lunch for the boys.”

“Alrighty. I gotta take a few measurements and then I’ll be ready.”

“Ready?” she asked.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Whatever y’all are eatin’ is fine. I’m not picky.”

Her stomach dropped. Lunch? For Greg?

She searched her yard for an excuse to get out of an invitation she hadn’t intended. She couldn’t find one fast enough. Sighing, she said, “Okay. Do you mind if Jeffrey stays outside with you? I’ll only be a few minutes.” And Little Jeffrey was in the same spot he’d been in for the last half hour.

“That’s fine. I’ll keep the other one, too, if it’ll free up your hands.”

Her grip tightened on Jonah. “No, that’s okay. I better take him with me.”

Greg’s expression hardened again. “Why do you have such a problem accepting help?”

“I don’t.”

“So what? You think I’m incapable of watchin’ a couple kids for a minute?”

“I…” She blew out her breath. “Fine. Just don’t let Jonah get too close to the—”

The look Greg gave her shut her up. He walked toward her and held out his hands. As much as Jonah hadn’t wanted to be stuck in Carrie’s arms, he certainly didn’t want to be in Greg’s. The toddler twisted back to Carrie, practically climbing up her to escape. Greg grabbed him anyway, wrestled him a moment, and then plopped him on his belly next to Little Jeffrey. Once Jonah realized the game, he poked his fingers into the cold grass.

Deciding she’d be able to keep an eye on the two boys from the kitchen, Carrie ran up her deck stairs.

Amber met her at the kitchen door, eyes wide in a smile.

“Greg’s finding a spot for our new well,” Carrie said. “He’s staying for lunch, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t look at me like that, Amber. It’s not what you think. At all.”

“Maybe it should be,” Amber said. “He’s looking mighty fine today, don’t you think?”

“Amber, please,” Carrie begged. “I need you to help me find something to feed him besides a flimsy piece of bread.”

twenty-six

It took longer than usual to get a fire going, and then Carrie still had to fry Greg’s egg. She had to admit it would have been hard to work with Jonah. Not only was it a messy, hand-consuming job, but fire was another of Jonah’s fascinations. Her fireplace wasn’t set up like Jenna’s and Jeff’s either. It sat at the same level as the carpet.

As she worked, she kept glancing out the window. Zach had joined the boys outside, having rushed outside once he heard the almighty Greg was in his backyard. Greg wasn’t on his stomach like the three boys but sat in front of them, palms out to hold any doodlebugs they caught.

Little Jeffrey reached up to touch Greg’s clean-shaven cheek. Greg said something, probably explaining why he was the only beardless man Jeffrey had ever seen. Whatever Greg said made Zach laugh. Little Jeffrey giggled, too. Carrie watched it all in amazement. It was almost… She couldn’t think of the right word, but it was almost something.

“Man, he’s so dreamy,” Amber said over her shoulder.

Flinching, Carrie went back to the fire. “Did you get me the lid?”

Amber handed it over with a grin. “Don’t you think Greg’s dreamy?”

“No.” Carrie poked the coals with fervor. The wood cracked and popped. Maybe some day Jeff would figure out how to dry wood so it didn’t smoke so much. She smashed the coals to tiny glowing pieces.

“I think you have a little crush, Carrie,” Amber said.

Carrie’s face burned as hot as the fire, but she stayed facing away. “Stop, Amber. Seriously. I know you want me to like Greg, but he just annoys me to no end.”

“Why? He’s so dreamy.”

“Ugh. Would you stop saying that?” Carrie said. “Unless you mean the nightmare kind of dreamy, then you’re right on.”

“No, I mean dreamy, like green eyes to die for and arms built like a machine. But his smile…” Amber sighed a deep, dramatic sigh. “Yeah. His smile is the best.”

“Are we even talking about the same guy?” Carrie asked, flipping his egg over. “I can’t tell you the color of his eyes because they’re always glaring at me. His arms look like they’re ready to strangle me, and I’ve yet to see him smile. Not even once. Who goes a whole month without smiling?”

“Well, I’ve seen him smile,” Amber crowed. “He smiles at us girls all the time.”

Carrie turned slowly. Though Amber loved to exaggerate, Carrie didn’t think she was this time. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much. Maybe because it confirmed her suspicions. She really was the only person Greg hated.

“I knew it!” Amber cried. “You do like him!”

Carrie leaped up and shoved a hand over her mouth. “Stop it!”

Amber pried her hand off. “You’re just shy, Carrie. But don’t worry.” She grinned. “I can fix shy.”

Carrie took her by the shoulders. “Amber, I’m begging you. You can’t talk about this anymore. Not to me and especially not to anyone else. I do not like Greg, okay?”

“Fine. I’ll promise to stop bugging you if you admit he’s dreamy.”

Carrie risked another look outside. The distance softened Greg’s expression. The moment softened his personality. If she went on looks alone, she could see why everyone found him attractive. Very attractive. But she didn’t care about that. Not enough to call him dreamy.

But…

The way Zach leaned on his shoulder. And the baseball game. And rushing out in the rain to save people he barely knew. And giving her the first well. No more begging Amber for fresh water, cold sponge baths, or dragging laundry down to May’s one painful basket at a time. There were moments when Carrie caught a different glimpse of Greg. Almost like he’d hijacked this all-around nice guy who was fighting to get out. So for a moment, she allowed herself to block out the bad long enough to play Amber’s game. Greg said something else that made Zach laugh, and she sighed.

“Fine. He’s dreamy, but I’m holding you to your promise, Amber. Never mention this again. Never to anyone. Not even your friends. Understand?”

Beaming, Amber crossed her heart. “I swear on my life that it will go to my grave that you think Greg Pierce is totally and completely dreamy.”

She jumped out of the way before Carrie could smack her.

When lunch was ready, Carrie sent Amber out to get the boys. Zach came in with the two little ones, taking up the three folding chairs, but Amber lingered outside with Greg, talking.

“What’s for lunch?” Zach asked.

Carrie shooed him out the chair. “You have to eat standing up today. Oh, and you can’t have a plate either. We’re having bread and butter. Greg’s having an egg sandwich.”

For once, Zach didn’t fight her and stood next to the counter. “Does Greg like eggs?”

“I really hope so.”

Stomach fluttering with nerves, Carrie set the food on the table and glanced outside. Amber was still talking to Greg, smiling and tossing her dark hair around as she spoke. She had no problem flirting with a guy ten years older than her. All Carrie could think was she better not forget her promise.

Carrie turned back to Jonah. “Do you want some water?”

By the time Amber slid open the door, Carrie was buttering the boys’ bread. She didn’t turn around to welcome Greg. Having him in her yard was one thing. Having him in her kitchen, eating at her table, was another entirely. Thankfully, her parents gave birth to two extroverts. As they ate, Zach fired off every possible question about the Yankees, cars, big cities, and life outside of Logan Pond, while Amber did her best to add to the conversation, talking up baseball—which she hated—and cars—which she hated even more. Mostly, Amber batted her big brown eyes at all the right times. In return, Greg was pleasant, almost nice as he ate. It’s like Carrie wasn’t even there. Fine by her.

She stayed busy getting the boys water, keeping Jonah on his chair, cleaning up spilled water, and convincing Little Jeffrey to eat his bread instead of punching holes in it. Greg didn’t say a word to her, and she didn’t say a word to anyone over the age of three, making an enjoyable lunch for all of them.

Once Greg finished sopping up the last of his egg yolk, Amber jumped up.

“Here, let me take your plate, Greg.” Amber rinsed it in the bucket and spoke over her shoulder. “Hey, Carrie, I can take Jonah back today if you want.”

Carrie looked up in surprise. Amber really was putting on a show. “Okay, but I told Jenna I’d put him down for his nap since she was still on the couch when I got there.”

“No prob. I’ll also take Little Jeffrey with me if you want. I was going to stop by Ziegler’s and he can just hang out with me for a while. Then you can have some quiet time.” Amber’s gaze flickered to Greg for the briefest second. “You deserve some quiet time today.”

Carrie looked from Amber to Greg. Greg gave Amber a tiny nod. Something was going on. Something bad. She could feel it.

I can fix shy.

Her stomach did another flip.

“Hey, Little Jeffrey,” Amber said. “Do you want to go see Lindsey and Maddie with me?”

“No.” He punched more holes in his bread.

“I bet they have doodlebugs at their house,” Greg added.

That’s all Jeffrey needed. He hopped off his chair and sprinted for the front door. Amber and Greg exchanged another conspiratorial look, at which point Carrie knew something was definitely up. Something bad if Greg was in on it. Then she remembered Amber and Greg’s animated discussion outside, and her pulse sped up. What had they talked about? Carrie trusted her sister less than she trusted Greg because there was only one subject Little Miss Hopeless-Romantic-Without-An-Ounce-of-Tact would want to chat about with Greg.

I can fix shy. I can fix shy.

As Amber took Jonah from her, Carrie felt queasy. The bread wasn’t sitting well in her stomach.

“Thanks, Amber,” Carrie managed. “Tell Jenna I’ll be by a little later than usual tomorrow. I have to plan the field with Watsons.”

Amber was all smiles. “I will. Let’s go boys.”

Zach was right on her heels. “Can I go over to Tucker’s?”

“Did you finish your—” Carrie started.

“Yes. Homework. Chores. Room. It’s all done,” Zach said. “Bye.”

Carrie took a deep breath as Zach followed Amber out. Four down, one to go. If her instincts were wrong—which she prayed they were—Greg would be gone soon, too, and she’d have a quiet afternoon to herself. She was tempted to dream of peas and daffodils and every other spring thing, but she had the sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t get to any of it.

Greg hadn’t budged.

She brushed Jonah’s crumbs into her hand. “Thanks for joining us for lunch today.”

“Sure. It was good. Real good,” Greg said.

Again with the niceties? Her nerves were strung tight.

She cleaned off the table, wrapped up the loaf of bread, and dumped the crumbs and scraps into the chicken feed bucket. Greg watched her as if he had all the time in the world.

He was the first to break the silence. “You’re probably wonderin’ why I invited myself to lunch today, or why I’m still here.”

Yes. She put away the last cup.

“You don’t want me here, do you?” he said, blunt as usual.

“Uh…” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, wondering how to answer politely.

“That’s okay,” he said. “Amber told me you wouldn’t, but I wasn’t convinced until now. That’s good. It’s actually why I’m here. I just gotta couple questions, then I’ll leave you be.”

He motioned for her to sit, as if it was his house and she was the guest. She sat in Little Jeffrey’s vacated folding chair, back straight as an arrow and started playing with a stain on her shirt.

“What’d Oliver really offer?” Greg said. “The part you forgot to tell the rest of us.”

Her hand froze.

Smelling blood, he sat up. “I know you’re hidin’ somethin’, so out with it. What’d Oliver offer the clan, start to finish?”

How did he know? Nobody knew. The guilt crept up on her. It wasn’t fair that she’d taken matters into her own hands, but it also wasn’t fair to let Oliver do what he offered on Thursday—and then again Friday.

“He wants to replace everything,” she said softly. “All the mattresses, blankets, food, and”—she winced—“the guns. Even the goat.”

Greg nodded slowly. “Interesting. And you didn’t tell anybody else ‘cause…?”

“Because it’s not right! Oliver’s job doesn’t pay much beyond housing and food. He doesn’t have money to replace our stuff.”

“And we do?”

“No!” she said, blood pumping. This was exactly why she hadn’t told anyone else. “But that’s our problem, Greg, not his. He shouldn’t have to bail us out every time something goes wrong. He owes us nothing, and we already owe him too much. It’s not like he’s the one who burned our stuff.”

“True, true,” Greg said thoughtfully. “But for some reason, you didn’t trust the rest of us to come to the same conclusion?”

“Some of the people maybe, but others…” She shrugged.

“Interesting.” Then he twisted around and pointed outside. “Why don’t y’all fish in the pond?”

She stared at him. “That’s it? You’re not going to yell at me? You’re not going to tell me I should’ve taken Oliver’s offer? You’re not going to say I had no right to decide this on my own?”

He gave her a strange look. “No. Should I?”

“What I did was wrong, Greg,” she said, voice rising. “The clan works on a strict democracy, and you’re not going to call me out on it?”

It sounded like a guilty conscience come clean, even to her, but having him change the subject worried her. She didn’t trust him. Except she did. He never said a word about Amber’s slip-up, but that didn’t make sense either. Nothing Greg Pierce ever did made sense, and it was driving her crazy.

He rubbed a spot on her card table. “Right and wrong are rather irresolute nowadays, don’t you think?”

She wasn’t sure, but it sounded like he agreed with what she’d done. Which was bad. He was the last person who should agree with her, which meant she should have taken Oliver’s offer. But it was too late. Oliver was long gone. So was Terrell.

“So why don’t y’all fish?” Greg asked again.

“We caught them all a couple years ago,” she said softly.

“No. I just saw a couple jump when I was outside. There’s definitely fish out there.”

She didn’t care one bit about stupid fish. She cared about dead goats, lost guns, and sleeping on the floor for the rest of her life.

Her head hung. What have I done?

“Does…” Greg rubbed the spot again. “Does Oliver like to fish?”

“I don’t know.” She looked up. “Why would I know something like that?”

He huffed. “Look. I stink at small talk, and so do you, so I’ll just come out with it. How are things goin’ with Oliver?”

“Why? Did something happen to him?” Her heart jolted. “Did he get in trouble?”

He rolled his eyes. “I meant, how are things goin’ with you and Oliver?”

Immediately, she tensed. “I already told you. There’s nothing going on between us. Even if there was—which there isn’t—I’m sure it’s none of your business anyway.”

“Wrong. It’s everybody’s business right now. Your little relationship is doin’ the clan a great service. I’m here to make sure you don’t screw it up.”

For a second, she was too stunned to respond.

Then she was just mad.

“Excuse me. I have work to do.” She pushed away from the table, stormed past him, slid open the back door, and headed down her deck stairs to the closest patch of weeds, ready to yank out the whole bunch.

He followed. “What? Am I wrong?”

She spun around. “Every one of your insinuations is an insult to not just me, but Oliver, too. He doesn’t think of me that way, and I’m sick of everyone assuming he does. We’re. Just. Friends!”

“C’mon, Carrie. When are you gonna wake up? That guy is whooped.”

“Whooped?” she choked.

“Yeah, whooped. Love-sick. Infatuated. Obsessed. Pick a word. Why else would he be doin’ everything for our clan?”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe he’s just nice?” she said. “That maybe he’s trying to make the world a better place?”

“No.”

She clenched her fists. Of course Greg wouldn’t understand someone like Oliver. “If people in the world were even half as generous as Oliver, we wouldn’t be in this economic crisis. Oliver is the kindest person I know. He’s even nice to people who hate him, which is more than I can say for anyone else.” You included.

Greg cocked his head to the side. “So you do like him. Amber was sure you didn’t.”

Her anger kicked up a notch to encompass one gossipy sister as well. “Is it possible to compliment a man without meaning more than what I said? Just because I respect Oliver, doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him. I’m not. At all.”

“Why not? I mean, not that I find him particularly attractive, but I am curious. He’s older, but is there something else?”

She stared at Greg. “You’ve got to be joking. I am not having this conversation with you. Suffice it to say that I don’t think of Oliver that way, and I never will.”

Greg’s whole body stiffened. “If that’s true, you can’t let him know. I’m serious, Carrie. You’ll break his heart, and in turn, he’ll break this clan.”

“This is ridiculous.” She tried to turn back to her weed patch, but Greg grabbed her arm.

“Oh, no you don’t. You think you know what’s goin’ on with Oliver and the world, but you don’t. That was made perfectly clear on Saturday, so let me be perfectly blunt. Everybody in your little utopia has their role, does their jobs. Your most important contribution…is Oliver.”

Her mouth dropped.

“Beyond being his first contact,” Greg said, “your job is to keep him happy. Period. Don’t know how that wasn’t clear before.”

“How dare you use Oliver that way? How dare you expect me to use him that way?”

Greg’s expression darkened. “Before you go all high and mighty, think about what your life woulda been like had he not shown up five days ago—or heck, if he hadn’t shown up five years ago. Don’t think that just ‘cause your nice and cute, the world will protect you. My sister was nice and cute and she’s dead. This world destroys the weak. It’ll destroy you.”

“That’s not true!”

“You sure?” He pointed back at her house. “One stupid mistake by one silly girl, and you could be sittin’ on a prison floor right now, wonderin’ how Zach’s surviving his long shifts at the government factory. Wonderin’ if he already believes the propaganda bein’ served to him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If it wasn’t for Oliver, you’d be wonderin’ what happened to Amber, a pretty girl who could only hope the patrolmen let her work in a factory and not somethin’ worse. You’ll never forgive yourself if somethin’ happens to your siblings. For the rest of your life, every single day, you’ll hate yourself for not stopping it. So before you get on that high horse of yours, I suggest you let that picture settle nice and tight, and then decide how attractive you think Oliver Simmons is.”

She couldn’t speak. Her throat had swelled shut. Since her frantic sprint through the rain, she’d imagined that exact horrifying future for Amber and Zach. There wasn’t anything in the world she wouldn’t do to prevent it.

Or was there?

Memories of five years ago slammed into her. That cold apartment in Aurora. Her parents whispering in the night. Using herself to keep Oliver “happy” went against everything Carrie stood for—everything her parents died for. But even worse, it went against everything Oliver stood for, too. Oliver wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like the others. He was a good man, a decent and honest man. He didn’t expect…or think…

Her world spun out of control.

Did he?

Amber thought he did. So did Greg.

She closed her eyes, sick.

Greg cut through her thoughts. “The day before my mom and I got here, I watched a baby ripped from its mother’s arms, and a kid Zach’s age shot in the head for tryin’ to stop it. Look, I know you wanna keep livin’ in this little bubble you’ve created, Carrie, and quite frankly, so do I. But that means you gotta get over whatever’s holdin’ you back and string Oliver along for as much time as you can. Flirt. Lie. I don’t care. Do whatever it takes to keep him interested. To keep the clan safe.”

“If…” The sentence caught in her throat. “If Oliver’s reading more into this relationship than I am, or is expecting me to…” Her breathing sped up. “I have to talk to him. I mean, I thought he knew we were just friends, but…” Flirt? Lie? “He can’t think of me like that. But if he does, I have to tell him that I can’t, that I don’t want to—”

“Don’t you dare!” Greg bellowed. “Thirty-six lives are ridin’ on your little relationship. You don’t have the right to yank safety out from under their feet.”

“And you don’t have the right to tell me what to do!” she fought back. Hugging herself in the wind, she tried to force some sanity in her suddenly insane world. Greg was wrong.

Greg was always wrong.

“I can’t,” she insisted. “I can’t use Oliver so despicably. I won’t.”

Greg started to pace. “I knew you were gonna screw this up. I could see it comin’ from a mile away.”

Finally, he turned back. “Fine. You wanna talk to Oliver? At least have the decency to tell the clan first. Let them deal with you how they want.”

It wasn’t great, but it was better than the alternative. “They’ll side with me anyway,” she said. “Not that it matters. You don’t know Oliver. He would help our clan regardless of how he feels—or doesn’t feel—about me.”

“I’m not takin’ any chances. I’ll bring it up in the next meeting.”

“No, you won’t!” she said, flushing. She could only imagine it, Greg in front of the adults, planning out her love life like it was the next thing on the agenda. “This is my life, Greg. You let me handle it my way. I will bring it up at the meeting, and you will keep your big mouth shut, or so help me, I’ll tell Oliver off before your precious meeting ever starts. Do you understand?”

His dark brows shot up high. She was way out of character and both of them knew it. She held her breath, afraid if she moved, she would lose her resolve.

Finally, his jaw tightened. “Understood. But you better not screw it up.”

twenty-seven

For the next few days, a work crew showed up in the Ashworth’s backyard. It was all Carrie could do to keep Amber and her giggly friends focused on school and not the “gorgeous men digging with their shirts off” in the backyard—or so the girls claimed. Carrie refused to check.

By the third day, Carrie moved the six teens into the far corner of her living room so they would pay attention to what CJ could remember of the Vietnam War. But the second CJ finished, Amber, Maddie, and Lindsey ran out onto the deck, offering water and anything else to the men digging the new well. Even Zach and his buddies offered to dump the heavy dirt buckets or sort rocks to fill the bottom of the reservoir. Carrie, however, tried not to think about the men in her backyard at all, especially one in particular.

The more she thought about her conversation with Greg, the more infuriated she was by it. Amber fessed up about what she and Greg had talked about before lunch, where he asked her point blank if he was distracting Carrie from Oliver. The ego of that man! Luckily Amber kept her promise and said no. If any millimeter of that “dreamy” conversation had surfaced, Carrie would have packed her bags and moved to Australia. But when Amber told him Carrie wasn’t interested in Oliver either, Greg decided to “intervene” on the clan’s behalf.

The complete and utter arrogance!

When Zach came waltzing inside Wednesday with three large fish and Carrie had to fry them up for dinner, she still refused to acknowledge that a twenty-something guy had ever moved into her clan.

By the time Oliver drove up Thursday, her mind was a twisted, anxious mess. She stayed on the floor with Jonah and their Dr. Seuss book, although her thoughts were far from both. She wondered if she would be able to detect anything beyond Oliver’s quiet words. Was he in love with her? If so, was she—or could she ever be—interested in him? The fact she had to keep asking couldn’t be a good sign.

Jonah stabbed the book with his finger. “Cat. Cat.”

As Carrie read about Thing 1 and 2, she tried to come up with a way to subtly ask Oliver if he had a girlfriend—or a wife, even better. Sad that she didn’t already know. But she and Oliver never talked about their personal life. Their conversations rarely lasted more than a minute. But a nice devoted wife and a couple of kids would end the rumors once and for all.

Maybe.

A few pages later, Oliver still hadn’t knocked on her door. Her eyes went to the back door, and her stomach dropped.

The workers.

“Oh no!” she said, sitting up. Squatting on government property was one thing. Digging it up, tearing it apart, and permanently altering it was something entirely different. They should have asked Oliver before they started her well. It might as well have been his home Carrie lived in since each week he gave her permission to live there. And five men were excavating it, complete with dirt and rocks strewn about the yard.

What if there was a sweep tomorrow? Oliver had risked his life and job to convince his squad their clan had moved on. But instead of lying low, they started new construction?

“Amber!” Carrie jumped up with Jonah and darted across the room. She peeked out the kitchen window. Just as she feared, Oliver was in her backyard addressing the men.

“Amber!” Carrie shouted up the stairs.

“I already told you I don’t change diapers!” Amber yelled back. “Don’t wash them either.”

“Amber, please!”

Her panic carried, and Amber flew out of her bedroom and downstairs. “What happened?” But one look outside and Amber shook her head. “Ohhh…this is bad. You don’t think Oliver’s arresting them, do you?”

Arrest? That hadn’t even occurred to Carrie.

“Please!” Carrie begged, practically shoving Jonah in Amber’s arms. Then she rushed out onto the deck.

“Oliver!” she called, feet stumbling over themselves. Everyone turned as she flew down the stairs and across the grass. “Oliver, don’t be mad at them. They’re putting this well in here because I asked them to. It’s my fault they’re digging on government property.” She saw Greg’s brows shoot up at her blatant lie, but she continued anyway. “We had no right to dig this without asking you. I’m sorry. Please don’t get mad or arrest them or whatever you’re doing. Please.”

Dylan snorted. “Nice, CC.”

Jeff Kovach shook his head. “Yeah, what’s your problem? Oliver thinks this is a great idea. He just wanted to make sure it would be hidden well enough—as if it wouldn’t have been.”

Carrie finally looked up at Oliver. His face was relaxed, almost amused. “You’re not mad?” she asked, still breathless.

“No,” Oliver said. “I’m glad they’re building this for you.”

She didn’t know what to say. Now that her stomach had caught up to her, she felt ridiculous. Half the guys were snickering. Even Greg was smiling, and why wouldn’t he? She’d practically flung herself into Oliver’s arms. Greg couldn’t have choreographed it better himself.

She took Oliver’s arm and led him a little ways off. Feeling the blind panic from a week ago—even if only briefly—had her rethinking her decision to set things straight with him.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked.

Blood still pumping, face still flushed, she lied. “Fine. You?”

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

Behind them, she heard the shovels clank as the men started to work again.

Greg’s expression finally registered in Carrie’s distracted brain. He had smiled, the first she’d seen on him. Fury built inside her and she glared at him over her shoulder. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but he nodded as if to say, Imagine your life without Oliver, then decide how attractive he is.

“You found your shoes,” Oliver said.

Carrie looked down. “You mean, you found my shoes?” And put them on top of everyone else’s where she couldn’t miss them. She’d never even told him what they looked like. “Thank you,” she said. Seemed like she said that a lot these days. After so many times, it sounded weak and one-sided, almost self-serving.

Feeling time ticking, she worked on her questions. Do you have a girlfriend? A wife? Her tongue felt like cotton in her mouth.

Oliver watched the workers pull up the mud, and she did, too. It took two men to lift each heavy bucket out of the deep hole, and they were a dirty, sweaty lot. It was another minute before she realized they were both staring at the back of the same faded blue t-shirt.

Greg.

Was Oliver jealous?

Carrie shoved the thought aside. She was just grateful Greg wore a shirt since none of the others did. Amber was probably drooling at the window since Brad had mud smeared over half his muscled chest. Greg pulled off his Yankees hat and wiped his brow, and for whatever reason, Carrie and Oliver watched him do it.

“There’s a sweep Tuesday,” Oliver said. “I’m on duty again, so…yeah. I’m not sure when I’ll be by, but hopefully not too late.”

Knowing Greg was listening to every word, Carrie lowered her voice. “How much trouble would you be in if your boss knew what you just told me?”

Oliver shrugged. “It’s fine. I like to help.”

“But it’s not just me you’re helping,” she insisted. “You have a whole clan indebted to you. A whole group of illegal people who owe you their lives.”

“It’s fine. Really.” He smiled weakly to back up his words. “Uh, what does CC stand for? I’ve never heard anyone call you that before.”

Embarrassed, she didn’t explain. CC was less painful than Careless Carrie anyway.

As Oliver’s gray eyes went back to the workers, Carrie studied him. Was Greg right about Oliver’s feelings for her? If so, did she feel something for him in return? Oliver wasn’t particularly attractive—at least not by Amber’s standards—but neither was he unattractive. Besides, she didn’t care about that stuff anyway. He was mid-to-late thirties, probably why she’d never considered the possibility of a relationship. But even that wasn’t horrible. There was a kindness to his features, a gentleness she found comforting. His gray eyes were small and close set, but they were also wise and caring. His tall body tended to hunch toward her, almost protectively. She liked that. She’d never seen him wear anything but his green uniform and beige tie, but it suited him. And his soft voice was one of someone who couldn’t hurt a fly. How he’d become a patrolman, she didn’t know, but looking up at him she couldn’t help but think that she’d loved Oliver Simmons for some time. But not like that. Not like Greg wanted her to.

At least…she didn’t think so.

In reality, she had no idea what she felt. She’d never been in love before. She had no clue what it would be like, feel like, or if she was in love with him already. Without a mom, she didn’t have anyone to ask. She could ask Amber, but Amber’s idea of love was so…not Carrie. And May was completely biased.

Carrie’s gaze dropped to Oliver’s left hand. No wedding ring. There went that. And no matter how she worded the other questions, they sounded horrible. Plus if Greg was right, if Oliver was in love with her, she wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences if she forced him to admit it.

He turned and noticed her studying him and backed up. “I better go. See you next week, Carrie.”

It’s how he ended every visit. Part of their routine.

“I’ll be here,” she said as cheerfully as she could muster.

As he headed up around her house, she lost all confidence. The adult meeting was a few hours away. How was she supposed to bring up her and Oliver with the clan? It felt so arrogant to assume she was the only reason he’d protected them all these years. It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. And yet…

…possible.

She would have kept staring after him all day if she hadn’t noticed it had grown quiet behind her. No shovels clanking. No grunts as mud was lifted from the hole. Turning, she saw every man watching her steadily.

Dylan elbowed Greg. “See. I told you. Oliver’s hooked.”

“No thanks to her,” Jeff added, wiping his muddy hands on his jeans. “That guy’s shy as an ox, CC. Couldn’t you at least give him a little encouragement? Bat your eyelashes, swing your hips, or something? No sense making the guy sweat bullets all the time.”

“No wonder he’s still single,” Dylan added with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Jeff added. “Carrie’s going to have to do all the work, and even then, he’ll probably still drop dead first.”

“Excuse me?” she blurted.

No one heard her over the bursts of laughter. And with that came a sudden onslaught of words. “She’ll have to ease him into the idea of being with a girl.” “She could twirl what’s left of his hair.” “Oooh, Oliver,” Dylan crooned, “Take me for a ride, take me away from this awful place.” Someone added something about a back seat, and from there it went downhill. All of it was hurled at her with alarming speed, and her cheeks burned with mortification. Ironically, the only ones not joining in were the single men, Greg and Braden.

It took three times of her saying “Stop!” before she could project her voice loud enough to carry. Then she had their full attention.

“How can you…?” She couldn’t bring herself to meet their eyes. “What right do you have to butt into my life?”

“Plenty,” Jeff barked, amusement long gone. “My kids’ lives are riding on your relationship. Whether you like it or not, this isn’t just about you anymore. Oliver knows too much.”

Greg leaned against his shovel. “She’s doin’ fine. Like Dylan said, Oliver’s hooked.”

Jeff spun around. “Then it’s your job not to screw it up!”

“I won’t!” Carrie snapped.

She realized a second too late that Jeff hadn’t said it to her. He said it to Greg.

It was too much. Her eyes burned.

“Excuse me,” she whispered. Then she darted up the stairs.

twenty-eight

Someone knocked the clan signal on Carrie’s back door a short while later. Carrie kept reading. Jonah didn’t want to be bothered by visitors, and neither did she. In fact, she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with a male who could barely say five words. Unfortunately, Amber felt differently. She flew down the stairs and slid open the kitchen door.

“Hi, Braden,” Amber said in her drippy, flirty voice.

“Hey, can I talk to Carrie?” Braden said.

There was a brief pause in which Carrie imagined her sister glaring before she said, “Carrie’s in the living room.”

“Uh, I don’t think I should go inside. I’m pretty muddy.”

Carrie set Jonah down. “That’s okay, Braden. I’ll come over there.”

She hesitated to round the corner, but Braden stood alone on her deck. She was simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

“I came to apologize for the group,” Braden said. “We were a bunch of jerks. We were just horsing around, but we were way out of line, so we’re sorry.”

“What happened?” Amber looked between them.

Carrie didn’t answer. “Thanks, Braden. Although I didn’t hear you saying anything.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t stop it either,” he said. “I feel bad. We all do.”

All? She doubted that. At eighteen, Braden was more mature than all those men combined—as was proof right now. Greg might as well have tied puppet strings on the others and fed them their lines. “My kids’ lives are riding on your relationship.” Greg had turned her clan against her.

Her clan. Not his.

“What happened?” Amber asked again.

Braden glanced at her, but still spoke to Carrie. “I also wanted to let you know that we’ll behave from now on. So if you have stuff to do outside—plants, laundry, or whatever—we’ll leave you alone. Jeff and Dylan even promised to quit calling you CC.”

That was something.

Amber’s hands went to her hips. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“Thanks, Braden,” Carrie said, even though she knew she wouldn’t be spending any time in her yard until her well was finished.

Braden gave her a last apologetic smile, and then his gaze shifted from one sister to another, and Carrie was completely forgotten. Amber stepped in front of Carrie and threw her a Get lost look. Carrie wandered back to Jonah, happy to know there was at least one gentleman left in the world.

She spent the rest of the day sweeping her carpets, watering her one tomato—the only plant that survived—and making flat noodles. She avoided all the windows even though the men left shortly after the encounter. But she wasn’t taking any chances. Even with Braden’s apology, she was too humiliated. And angry. And confused, upset, and all around unsociable. So when someone knocked on her door again—front door this time—she still refused to answer.

“Carrie!” Zach shouted from upstairs. “Get the door!”

She rolled the noodle dough with extra gusto, pretending not to hear Zach or the second knock. Zach flew out of his bedroom and ran downstairs as fast as his legs could take him.

“Carrie,” he whined, spotting her in the kitchen. “Why didn’t you get the—Hey, it’s Greg!”

Carrie groaned. Greg was the absolute last man on earth she wanted to see. As Zach opened the front door, she set down the rolling pin and slid to the floor behind the kitchen island, hiding.

“Hey, Zach,” she heard Greg say. “Is Carrie here?”

“Yeah. She’s in the kitchen.”

Traitor!

Zach ran back upstairs and left Greg standing at the door. Carrie didn’t move. She hunched low behind the island and took a quick accounting of her clothes: rolled-up sweat pants and her dad’s old t-shirt which hung to her thighs. It wasn’t even sundown and she was in her pajamas. Pajamas covered in flour. She crouched further.

The door shut, and she heard Greg’s footsteps as he ushered himself in, uninvited.

“I can see your feet, Carrie,” he said.

She pulled her feet in. Go away. Go away. Go away.

Greg didn’t leave, but neither did he invade her little corner of the kitchen. After a full minute, she realized he would just wait her out, so she finally stood slowly. He’d cleaned up from before, unlike her with crusted, floured hands, but she didn’t let that intimidate her. She borrowed his usual greeting of folded arms, planted feet, and narrowed eyes in what she hoped was a convincing glare.

Unaffected, he threw two more ugly fish on her counter. “I’m here to get you for the meeting,” he said.

Not a, Hello. Not an, I’m sorry, Carrie. Not even a, Please forgive me for bein’ a jerk and turnin’ everybody against you. Just, I’m here to get you for the meeting.

Normally she would have thought up a polite response, but Greg had pushed her personality well outside of its civil borders.

“Why bother,” she said coolly. “I’m not going.”

He gave her ratty sweats a quick once over. “Why not?”

“I’m not levelheaded enough to talk about Oliver right now.”

“Understandable. I’ll wait for you to change.”

She stared at him. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I’m not going.”

With a sigh, he scratched his clean-shaven cheek. “I suppose I should apologize first then. I planned on apologizing on the way to the meeting, but I came early just in case.”

Just in case?

An apology from Greg was unexpected. His method was not.

She motioned for him to sit on their couch until she remembered Jeff and Jenna had it now. Refusing to be derailed, she motioned to the kitchen chairs. He didn’t sit though. He continued to stare at her ratty sweats.

“Don’t you wanna change first?”

“Do my clothes bother you, Greg?” she snapped.

“Not at all. They’re actually kinda…” His voice trailed off before he redirected. “I’m just worried that if I bomb the apology, you still won’t come.”

“Well, at least you’re perceptive.” She couldn’t help but think that she was sounding more and more like Amber. Good. Amber didn’t let people walk all over her. Amber didn’t let other people decide her fate. Her love life.

Greg pulled out a folding chair and sat. She stayed on the opposite end of the kitchen, refusing to speak first. It was an interesting wait. For the first few seconds, he traced the new scar in his palm, apparently gathering his thoughts. But to no avail. In the end, he just blurted it out.

“I’m sorry, Carrie.”

Her brows rose. She waited for more explanation or some sign of true remorse, but he just sat back and looked at her as if it was her turn to speak. After every rude thing he’d done, after every insensitive, uncivil word he’d said, she was surprised. And then she was surprised that she was surprised.

“Well that was a little anticlimactic,” she noted dryly.

“Sorry. That’s the only part I practiced. I gotta get the next sentence figured out before I say somethin’ stupid.”

She leaned against the counter. This should be interesting.

“I realized somethin’ outside today,” he started again, “when all the guys were mouthin’ off.” But for a second time he stopped, seeming to really struggle with whatever he wanted to say. If she hadn’t been so upset, she might have felt sorry for him. Greg never had a hard time saying anything.

He sighed. “I realized I was doin’ to you what my grandma’s been doin’ to me.”

“What, Greg?” she said, patience worn thin.

His eyes finally lifted to hers. “Forcin’ you into a relationship you don’t wanna be in.”

It took a second for his words to sink in. Then she stared down at her floured hands. Leave it to Greg to throw a barb into the middle of an apology. May’s matchmaking had backfired, big time. Instead of letting it hurt, she focused on her newly-acquired Amber skills.

“Well, you had your little posse nicely orchestrated. Did you feed Jeff that line about his kids?”

“Actually, Carrie, what I told you at lunch is what everybody’s been sayin’ for months behind your back. I was just the first with the decency to say it to your face. They’re real concerned about what’ll happen if things end badly with you and Oliver. Real concerned. But…” He blew out his breath. “It’s your life. I’m not gonna bug you about Oliver anymore.”

She eyed him, leery. “What about my duties to the clan? To my family? You’re little guilt trip worked. It’s not like I want to force everyone into a life of fear. It’s a one in a million chance Oliver will turn on us, but what if he does? I don’t want to go back to how things were that first year living at May’s. It was awful.”

“Then let’s hope Oliver’s the kinda guy you say he is,” Greg said. “Let’s hope he’s doin’ all this outta the goodness of his heart, and not just ‘cause he’s in love with you.”

There it was again.

Love.

She played with a corner of her dad’s old shirt. Oliver started helping their clan long before he knew who she was. But his visits had changed since then. He no longer stopped by May and CJ’s unless she was there, and then he only spoke to her anyway. And the way he looked at Greg earlier…and the way he looked at her sometimes…and the shoes…and…

Oliver loves me.

The words felt unbearably heavy.

“I don’t deserve his attention,” she said softly.

“You do,” Greg said, “but it’s your choice what you wanna do about it—even though I strongly suggest you find a way to fall head over heels for that guy. But”—he held up his hands—“it’s your choice. I’m stayin’ outta your love life from now on.”

“What about the meeting?” she asked skeptically.

“I’ll keep my big mouth shut. I swear.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Who are you, and what have you done with Greg?”

He flashed a crooked smile. “Yeah, about that. I suppose I got a bit more apologizing to do. I’ve been a real jerk to you, Carrie, baiting you at times and purposely bugging you at others, knowin’ full well I was drivin’ you nuts. From what Amber told me, it worked well. Real well.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Annoying me comes easily for you, and I don’t usually get annoyed.”

“So I’ve been told.” He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “I think that’s why I was doin’ it—besides the obvious reason of not wantin’ to attract your attention in any way. I was just plain sick of hearin’ about how sweet Carrie Ashworth was. ‘She’s just the sweetest person you’ll ever meet,” he said in his old lady voice. “Just a sweetie sweetheart filled with all the sweetness in the world.’ Bleh. It wasn’t just my grandma, either. Every person I met said, ‘Oh, Greg, have you met Carrie? She is sooo sweet.’ So, while I’m not proud to admit it, it became a game of mine to sour some of that sweetness.”

“What kind of person does that?” She hadn’t meant to let the thought slip out, but he didn’t seem to mind her candidness.

“Me. Only it worked a little too well. I haven’t seen you smilin’ much lately, so again, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve my abuse.”

Shocked, she stared at him. He really was apologizing.

“I don’t know what to think, Greg.”

“I’m sure you don’t. I just wanted to let you know I’m done bein’ a jerk—at least consciously. Some of it comes naturally, but there’s not much I can do about that,” he added with another smile. “So what do you say? Truce?”

Truce? With the guy who admitted to being a jerk, deliberately, baiting her, deliberately, but then turned around and apologized for it. Quite sincerely. She studied the fish on her counter, and in an instant Greg went from being the rudest man alive to the strangest.

Truce.

She hoped he meant it. It certainly seemed like he did, so she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Truce,” she agreed.

Standing, he crossed the room and reached out his hand. “Hi. I’m Greg Pierce. It’s nice to meet you Miss…?”

She studied his outstretched hand, a month in coming. With a slow smile, she shook it. “Carrie Ashworth. I’ve heard a lot about you, Greg.”

“And I you.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve heard about you.”

She winced. “I really am sorry about that.”

He smiled again a third time—which she shouldn’t have been counting, but he really did have a great smile. “Don’t be. So…you comin’ to the meeting?”

She glanced outside. The sun was lowering in the western sky which meant they’d be starting any minute. “Yeah. I guess I will.”

“Good. I’ll wait for you to change, unless you wanna come like that, which I’d totally understand.”

She inspected her flour-crusted pajamas and blushed deeply. “No. I’ll be right back.”

Carrie took the stairs two at a time, washed up, and threw on her yellow work shirt. Then she ran a brush through her hair, refusing to analyze what just happened downstairs. Sixty seconds wasn’t even close to enough time to figure out Greg Pierce.

She cracked open Amber’s bedroom door. Amber was in her room with Lindsey and Maddie, flipping through their magazines.

“Hey,” Carrie said, “I’m going to the meeting after all. I need you to clean up the noodle mess. Oh, and Jeff might drop off the boys if Jenna isn’t feeling well. And there’s more fish downstairs. You need to cook them up or give them away, okay?”

“Fish?” Amber sat up. “I told you that was Greg’s voice.”

Maddie lit up. “Oooh. Is he still here?”

Carrie wasn’t about to answer that—or any of the other questions that were sure to follow. “Don’t forget, Amber.”

She closed the door and ran lightly downstairs. Greg waited by the front door, and the two of them stepped out into a cool spring evening. She kept a safe but friendly distance as they headed down the sidewalk. The silence gave her time to think.

Truce with Greg. Was it possible he was done hating her?

Desperate for a distraction, she glanced up at the sky. Large altostratus clouds formed above the orange sunset. The temperature was pleasant, maybe a five on her makeshift scale, but with the stiff breeze sending goose bumps down her arms and the smell of earth in the air, she guessed it would be raining by the end of the meeting. She hadn’t brought her coat.

“What is it?” Greg asked, following her gaze upward.

“Nothing.” She refused to let him poke fun of her obsession and ruin his apology. “I was just thinking that I still better talk to the clan about Oliver. I don’t want to, but I know I should. Like you said, they should know my intentions.”

“Good. Just know that I can’t back you up. If I start sidin’ with you now, people will get the wrong idea about us, and I already get enough grief.”

For as often as it happened, she should have been used to it. I’m not interested. At least this time, she recovered quickly. “Right.”

They crossed the street and her hair blew wildly in the breeze. She twisted it away from her face. “So what else is on the agenda for tonight?” she asked.

“Follow up mostly,” he said. “Your well. Consolidation. Nothin’ too exciting.”

“I don’t know, Greg. Considering how bad last week was, you have everyone feeling pretty excited right now. You would have made a good businessman.”

Greg stopped and looked at her. “Thanks.”

He looked genuinely surprised by her words, making her feel stupid. A compliment went further than a simple truce. Yet as he looked at her, she couldn’t seem to look away. It was the first time she noticed the color of his eyes. They were green like his mom’s, only less emerald and flecked with gold. As he looked down at her, they almost seemed—

“There you two are,” CJ called from his doorway. “Now we can start.”

twenty-nine

Oliver stopped and listened. When all stayed quiet, he started walking again, passing the rows of carbon-copy houses designated for patrolmen. His was the fourteenth one on the left. With two windows, a bathroom, and one twin-sized bed, it was the one place on earth he could call his own. With luck, he’d get five hours of sleep before his next shift.

He stopped again. That time he knew he’d heard something. Pulse leaping, he crept along the hedge. It was just past dusk and his eyes couldn’t quite focus in the diminishing light. He’d never worried about his surroundings in the patrolmen’s quarters. Then again, the last two weeks had been anything but tranquil.

A third rustling and he whipped out his gun. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

Two men stepped out from behind a bush. “It’s just us, Simmons,” Jamansky said. “Park the gun.”

Jamansky and Nielsen.

Oliver slid his gun back in its holster, but his muscles remained tensed. Neither of his coworkers lived in this southern block. Why were they here? They stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the sidewalk home.

As if reading his mind, Jamansky said. “We’re just here looking for some stuff.”

“Clothes. Food,” Nielsen said. “All of our stuff that went missing from that raid.”

Jamansky leaned forward. “Any idea about that, Officer Simmons?”

Fear pricked Oliver’s skin. He knew this moment was coming. Quite frankly, he couldn’t believe it took this long. He just didn’t know how it would end. Hopefully not with a bullet in his head. His coworkers had divided up the raid into two piles: one they’d claim, and one they’d sell on the black market. Oliver had taken both.

He shrugged. “Nope. Sorry.” He tried to sidestep onto the grass, but Jamansky moved to block him.

“Are you sure about that?” Jamansky said. “I’d hate to find out you had something to do with this.”

Oliver was near the same height as Jamansky, but less brawny. And gutsy. His heart pounded near heart attack rate. He went for the easiest out.

“Oh,” he said. “You mean the stuff you confiscated in that Logan Pond raid? I thought you already turned it into Chief, logged it and everything.”

Jamansky’s glare turned deadly. “Don’t play games with us, Simmons. You’re the only one who knew where we stashed the loot. Where did you put it?”

“It’s logged,” Oliver squeaked. “With the Chief.”

“That’s our stuff!” Nielsen shouted.

Oliver forced himself to shrug again. He stepped onto the grass and started swiftly for home. He clenched every muscle, bracing for an attack from behind. He wanted to check over his shoulder but knew that would make him look guiltier. If they checked the log they would know he was lying, but they had to get Chief Dario’s clearance to see the log—which, knowing how their boss would react to their black market stash, they wouldn’t dare. He hoped. He prayed.

He was a dead man.

“Simmons!” Jamansky yelled.

Oliver sped home.

***

Carrie spent the whole meeting gathering her thoughts, only half listening to Greg. He mentioned her name a few times in reference to the well, but other than that, she wasn’t sure what he said. She kept convincing herself to be straightforward and honest with Oliver. If she didn’t want a relationship with him—which she didn’t think she did—she needed to be clear from the beginning, or middle, or wherever they were. Maybe Oliver already knew her lack of interest and he wouldn’t let it affect anything. But if not…

She chewed her thumbnail as her dad’s favorite saying played over in her mind: “Doing the right thing is always the right thing to do, regardless of the consequences.”

Like people hating my guts? she wondered.

Or being arrested?

Shaking her head, she forced the gloomy thoughts away. None of that would happen. Oliver was a good man, and the clan would side with her. She made it through most of her nails by the time Greg wrapped up, and then CJ motioned for her to come forward and give Oliver’s weekly report.

She avoided looking at Greg in his usual spot against the side wall and searched for a friendly face in the crowd. Mariah. But for some reason, Greg’s mom wasn’t there even though the meeting was at her house. Giving up, Carrie focused on the Trenton family portrait on the furthest wall and started.

“If it’s alright,” Carrie said, “I’d like to say something before I give Oliver’s report. The only reason I’m telling you all is it could possibly affect everyone here, and you have the right to know what I’ve done. Or rather”—she took a quick breath—“what I plan to do.”

People exchanged a few surprised glances.

Pressing her jittery hands on her stomach, she went on. “It’s been brought to my attention that Oliver might see more in our relationship than I do. I think I need to make myself clear and tell him we’re just friends and…and nothing more.”

The room seemed to heat up. Her neck was probably splotchy and red. It was beyond embarrassing to have this conversation with people who had no business knowing her personal life, but so be it.

“I think he already knows,” she said, “but I need to be upfront so he doesn’t get the wrong idea about me. Knowing Oliver, he’ll still give us weekly updates and protect our clan, but if he doesn’t, I…” She shrugged, hating herself, hating the Collapse, and hating the fact she couldn’t make it through a day without blushing beet red. “I felt like all of you should know.”

When her mind no longer supplied words, she sat down.

The floodgates opened slowly and indistinguishably from where she cowered up front. But things quickly picked up momentum. And volume.

“Five years of peace, and now this?” Ron Marino said. “Great.”

“What does she expect us to do?” Dylan said. “Go back to round-the-clock guard duty?”

She tuned out the specifics and let her dad remind her it was the right thing to do, regardless of the consequences. She waited for the room to settle down, for CJ to back her up, but it was taking a long time, and CJ hadn’t moved. Gravely, he watched from the front while things intensified and tempers flared. As the comments became more distinguishable, her shoulders hunched lower and lower.

“What are we supposed to do if Oliver turns on us?” Sasha asked. “Go back to the municipality? Back to rats and starving and electric fences?”

“Municipality?” Dylan said. “They won’t give us blue cards. Not after we’ve trespassed all these years. They’ll slam us into one of those work camps.”

“Prison? I can’t go to prison!” Sasha cried.

CJ, Carrie begged silently. Stand up!

Jeff Kovach’s voice suddenly drowned out the others, only unlike the rest, he spoke directly to her. “Just who do you think you are, Carrie? Making that decision without us? You didn’t even ask our permission. You just waltzed in here and told us like we have no say?”

She didn’t turn. Didn’t move.

“Jeff…” Richard said tiredly. “Sit down and let CJ speak.”

Yes. Please!

CJ finally took the hint. He looked at Carrie, only instead of giving her a supportive smile, he gave a deep sigh. “Thank you for telling us, Carrie. We’ll support whatever decision you make.”

“Speak for yourself, old man!” Jeff snapped. “She doesn’t have the right to dump Oliver when it could ruin everything. I demand a vote!”

“Butt out, Jeff,” Braden said. “We don’t vote on personal stuff. It’s none of our business who Carrie dates.”

“You want to bet!” Jeff fought back. “If Carrie dumps Oliver, he’ll turn on us. He knows our names, which homes we live in, he knows our kids! Within a day, there won’t be a single person left. Not even Trentons.”

Carrie couldn’t hide anymore. With shaky legs, she stood and faced him. “What would you have me do, Jeff?” she asked, even though she still had several of his nauseating suggestions in memory. “If I don’t have feelings for Oliver, just what am I supposed to do?”

“What you’re doing now,” Jeff said. “Harmless flirtations to keep him interested.”

“For how long? How patient will he be with a relationship that never progresses?”

Jeff folded his arms.

“Oh,” she said, understanding more than she wanted to. “Just how far do you think I should take it? Play hard to get at first? But then, Oliver will tire of that. Then what? Anything to keep us safe, right? One service in exchange for another?” Her stomach churned at the notion, but she held strong to make Jeff see what he was suggesting.

He didn’t even flinch. “Whatever it takes.”

“I see,” she said, even though she didn’t. Her voice was losing strength, but she couldn’t stop. “I never thought there would come a day when I would sell myself, but if that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes. Right, Jeff? That’s what you’re asking. This is just a watered down form of prostitution. You realize that, right?”

He rolled his eyes. “Cut the drama, CC.”

“It is,” she whispered.

His jaw tightened. “We’ve all made sacrifices.”

Her breathing sped up. What would her parents think to realize the horrors of Aurora had followed her to Shelton? What would they think if she agreed to any of this madness?

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he barked.

The room started to buzz, but Carrie kept her eyes trained on Jeff, afraid if she didn’t, her resolve would buckle. Swallowing, she found the courage to say what he didn’t want to hear. The truth.

“I won’t.”

His nostrils flared. “I always knew you were selfish, Carrie. You really are careless. All of us pledged to work for the good of this community, and yet you can’t do this one thing to protect us? Thirty-six people have to give up their way of life for one self-serving woman? Unbelievable.”

Stung, she fell back a step. People tried to talk over him, but she couldn’t hear anything except Jeff and Jeff alone.

“You get the first well,” he fumed. “The best plot in the field. First choice in crops. Extra clothes. Extra food! Your mistake nearly destroyed us before, and you got a tiny slap on the wrist. This whole clan revolves around little Carrie Ashworth, and I’m sick of it! We take care of you and your scrawny siblings all these years, and you can’t do this one thing for us in return? Why? Because you don’t care about a single soul beside yourself. That’s why!”

Chaos erupted. People yelled at him and each other. Carrie blinked rapidly from the battering ram, but Jeff wasn’t done. Not even close.

“Even if you only cared about Zach and Amber,” Jeff shouted to be heard, “you’d make it work with Oliver. But it’s always been about you, hasn’t it? Well, I’m not letting you be careless again. You almost ruined my life before. You’re not going to ruin it again! You’re a member of this clan, so act like it!”

Jeff paused to take a breath, unlike Carrie who suddenly couldn’t breathe. Then his gaze shifted from her to another. Someone leaned against the side wall.

Carrie shut her eyes, not only ill, but now faint.

“Maybe Carrie’s not the one I should be talking to!” Jeff raged. “Maybe she’s not the one ruining things.”

“Go ahead and take it out on me,” Greg said, breaking his promise to remain silent, “but it won’t change a thing. Carrie’s made up her mind.”

“If you weren’t here,” Jeff yelled, “she wouldn’t be in such a hurry to dump Oliver!”

“Shut up, Jeff!” Braden said.

He spun around. “I’m not going to shut up. Greg’s the real problem here. Carrie never had an issue with Oliver until that hotshot showed up. I knew Greg was trouble from the beginning. I never should have voted him in. I demand a recall!”

Everyone was on their feet, yelling, shouting.

“Greg has a girlfriend in North Carolina,” Sasha called. “He’s not interested in Carrie.”

“Yeah!” Jeff shot back. “But that doesn’t mean Carrie’s not interested in him!”

What Carrie would have given to be invisible. Her heart pounded, her palms were clammy, and the room swayed around her.

Greg stepped away from his wall. “I’m warnin’ you, Jeff. That’s enough.”

“You can’t deny it, can you?” Jeff said. “Even you noticed her drooling all over you at that game. We all did.”

Carrie pinched the rim of her nose to keep from fainting. Not that anyone noticed. Every eye was trained on the war of words. Maybe she was invisible after all.

“Carrie was never interested in Oliver,” Braden said. “Amber told me. Even before Greg showed up.”

Jeff whirled around so fast Braden nearly tripped. “Yeah, but having Greg around sure ain’t helping!”

Carrie searched for the nearest escape. Doors, blocked. Windows, locked. The room closed in around her. It was hot. Too full. People were everywhere. Noise, too much. If she had enough air in her lungs, she would have yelled at them to stop, but as it was she worked on not passing out.

“I think it’s time to step outside,” Greg hissed.

Jeff moved forward. “Gladly.”

“That. Is. Enough!” someone shouted. A new voice. A shrill voice.

The room came to an abrupt standstill.

Carrie peeked out from under her arm long enough to see May’s frail body raised to her full five feet.

“Look what you’re doing to this girl,” May said, pointing in Carrie’s direction. Just that fast, Carrie’s invisibility cloak was thrown off and every eye went to her. “I refuse to sit another minute and listen to you tear this sweet girl apart, Jeff Kovach. After everything she’s done for you—after everything she’s done for your wife!—how dare you? How dare you!” May shrieked.

Jeff didn’t respond, and for the space of a minute, there wasn’t a single sound in the Trenton home. Then May lifted a wobbly finger and pointed to the door.

“Get out.”

Jeff was too stunned to move.

“I mean it,” May said, voice shaking in fury. “Get out of my house and don’t expect a floor to sleep on during the next raid. In fact, Carrie hasn’t given us Oliver’s report, and I’m not letting her. There’s not a single person here who deserves it. Not a single one!”

Eyes darted around the room like Ping-Pong balls from Carrie and Greg to May and Jeff. But May kept her murderous glare on one person. “You’ve forgotten it’s not just Carrie’s generosity you prey on, Jeff Kovach. Maybe you’ll remember that the next time you come to my house and trample a person I love as my own granddaughter under your ungrateful feet. So leave and don’t make me say it again. In fact,” May said, voice rising, “all of you get out and don’t ever come back!”

CJ nodded wearily. “You heard her folks. Time to go.”

CJ’s voice didn’t have near the intensity of his wife’s, but it had the desired effect. The adults stood and shuffled to the front door. Carrie wasn’t about to stick around either. She pushed through the crowd, ignoring every person and attempt to erase the last five minutes of her life.

Someone caught her arm. “Carrie, wait,” Greg said. “Just wait a second to—”

She yanked free of his grasp and broke into a run, heading the opposite direction of the crowd, out the back door, and into the pouring rain.

thirty

“Where’s Carrie?”

Amber took a step back, frightened by the dark expression in Jeff’s eyes. He looked part madman, part werewolf, as rain dripped down his thick beard.

“At the meeting,” she said.

Jeff scanned Amber’s living room. With only two candles, it took a moment for him to spot his boys in the corner. Jonah was asleep. Little Jeffrey stopped playing with his truck and looked up. Jeff stormed across the room, clothes and shoes tracking water. He yanked Little Jeffrey to standing and grabbed Jonah without any effort to keep him asleep.

The two boys started to wail. Jeff marched back the way he’d come. Lindsey and Maddie jumped out of his way, leaving him plenty of room to tower over Amber as he stopped at the door.

“Jenna’s better now,” he said. “Tell Carrie we don’t need—or want—her help anymore.”

Amber was too terrified to argue. As Jeff pushed past her onto the porch, she nearly mentioned the boys’ coats. It was pouring rain. They were going to get soaked. Then she decided that if Jonah and Jeffrey caught a cold, it was their dad’s own fault. Their sobs faded into the rain.

As Amber shut the door, heart pounding, she struggled to make sense of what happened. Lindsey and Maddie rushed to her.

“What was that all about?” Lindsey asked.

“I don’t know,” Amber said. The shock started to wear off and melted to anger. “What the heck did I do to him? He thinks he can just come in here and yell at me? What a jerk.”

“It’s not you, Amber,” Maddie said. “You should have seen him after they lost their stuff. He went crazy, throwing wood around like a maniac. My dad told us to stay away from him for a while.”

“Everyone should. Jerk!” Amber yelled at the door. “He doesn’t even care that his kids are going to freeze, or that they’re crying or anything. What kind of dad doesn’t—”

Pounding erupted on the front door.

The three girls screamed and scrambled into the kitchen. They crouched in the far corner.

More pounding and Amber started to shake. “What do I do?” she whispered. “I’m not letting him back in. I don’t care if he forgot their coats. He should have thought of that the first time.”

“Then don’t answer it,” Maddie said.

The door shook under Jeff’s fury. The girls hugged each other.

“Jeff!” someone shouted. “Carrie?”

It wasn’t Jeff’s voice. It sounded like Greg, only he sounded just as mad.

Before Amber could respond, there was another voice, one that she knew as well as her own. “Carrie, open up! It’s Braden.”

Amber rushed to the door and whisked it open. Braden and Greg rushed inside, both of them soaking wet.

“Where’s Carrie?” Greg said, looking around.

“I don’t know,” Amber said.

Greg ran into the kitchen and family room. He flew up their stairs and circled back to them just as fast. “Where are they? Where did Jeff and Carrie go?” Greg huffed. “We saw Jeff headed this way. Where’d he take her?”

Seeing Greg so angry only made Amber more frightened. “Jeff just left with his boys,” she said, “but Carrie’s hasn’t come back yet. Why? What’s going on? What happened?”

“Why isn’t she home?” Braden asked.

“I don’t know! Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Greg shook his head, breathless. “First, tell me what happened with Jeff. Fast.”

As Amber recounted Jeff’s coming and going, the fury swelled in Greg’s eyes. When she finished, Greg looked at Braden. “He won’t go lookin’ for Carrie, will he? Wherever she went, he’s not gonna hunt her down, will he?”

“I don’t think so. It’s dark out, but…” Braden shook his head. “No, not with the boys.”

Greg whirled around and punched the door.

Amber’s heart stopped. “Somebody better tell me what’s going on right now. This is my sister we’re talking about. I have a right to know what happened!”

“Go ahead,” Greg said to Braden. “I’m goin’ out to look for Carrie.”

As Greg took off, Braden leaned against the door. Amber and his sisters crowded around so he could recount the meeting. By the time Braden finished, Amber was the one punching the wall.

“I hate Jeff,” Amber said. “I hate him! Carrie doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, and he has the nerve to call her selfish? He just crushed her in front of the world. In front of Greg! I hate him!”

“Greg was about five seconds from leveling him,” Braden said. “We all were, but May jumped in. Hopefully Carrie knows Jeff’s just a hothead. This will all blow over.”

“No,” Amber said. “You didn’t see him. He was so mad. He doesn’t even want Carrie to babysit anymore.”

“He doesn’t?” Braden asked.

Lindsey shook her head. “He went totally nuts. It was so scary. Can you imagine if he knew the raid was Amber’s fault? He’d kill her.”

Braden’s head jerked up. “What?”

Amber froze.

Turning slowly, Braden regarded Amber, eyes turned to small turquoise daggers. “What did Lindsey mean, the raid was your fault?”

Amber couldn’t move. She couldn’t even look at him.

Lindsey realized her mistake, but instead of covering for her, she only made it worse. “Amber messed up the days, Braden. She’s the one that heard Oliver wrong, but you can’t tell anyone. I’m serious. Think what Jeff would do to her.”

Braden didn’t blink or turn away. His glare pierced Amber to the core. “It was you?” he whispered. “Careless Amber?”

Tears pricked her eyes and stung her throat.

Before she could explain, the back door slid open. Carrie came inside the kitchen. Her yellow work shirt was soaked and plastered to her thin body. Same with her hair. She didn’t even notice the four of them watching her until she reached the stairs.

She stopped and looked at them. There wasn’t a single flicker of emotion as rain dripped down her face like she was there but not there.

“Carrie?” Amber whispered.

Without a word, Carrie turned and walked upstairs. As her bedroom door shut, Amber’s eyes spilled over. It took every effort to face Braden again. He blurred beyond recognition, yet she could still see the anger rolling off him.

“And you hate Jeff?” Braden said.

Amber didn’t see the door when it slammed in her face.

thirty-one

“Can I come in?”

Carrie lifted her head. Zach stood outside of her bedroom door, watching her for who knew how long. She was lying on top of her blankets on the floor where she’d spent most of the day listening to the rain drip from her bathroom ceiling into a pan. She’d spent the previous day doing the same thing. Listening. Thinking. Rain could do that to a person.

She was tempted to send Zach away so she could have more time with her thoughts, but the look on his face changed her mind. He looked upset, almost frightened.

Sitting up, she said, “Sure. Come on in. Let me dump the bucket first.”

Carrie went into the bathroom and dumped the heavy bucket into the tub. In another hour, there would be enough for a bath—a freezing one, but even that was a luxury since they stopped bathing at May’s. Amber wouldn’t have to worry about water for the toilets and washing hands for a few days either. Having a leaky roof came in handy sometimes. Indoor plumbing again. Although…they would have fresh water out their back door any day.

Because of Greg.

Once the first plings hit the empty bucket, she wandered back in.

Zach sat on her blankets, leaned against the wall. “Are you okay, Carrie? Are you sick or somethin’? You didn’t even tell me to do the chickens today.”

She sat next to him. Sick wasn’t the right word. Depressed maybe, although that wasn’t quite right either. She wasn’t sure what she was. Lonely. Confused, maybe. “No. I’ve just been missing Mom and Dad.”

“Really? I didn’t know you still thought about them.”

“Of course I do!” she said. “Why would you think something like that?”

Zach stared down at his hands. “We don’t talk about them anymore.”

With a stab of shame, she realized he was right. While her parents were never far from her thoughts, it was less painful to vocalize that life-shattering loss over and over again. “I think about them every day, Zach. Sometimes every hour. Especially when I’m sad.”

“Like right now?” he asked softly.

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Like now.”

Her head throbbed. It wasn’t a stabbing pain, but a dull ache that had kept her horizontal for two days. She pulled her knees to her chest to compensate for the void. Zach did as well, and for a time, each was lost in their memories.

Growing up, Carrie thought her family was average. They laughed. They fought. They worked and played. But more and more, she realized what a treasure her parents were. From the time she was born, their world revolved around their three kids. Never once had she doubted herself or their marriage, creating the safest environment any child could have. Then life crashed, and they were gone.

Going from the center of their universe to the center of no one’s was by far the most painful thing she’d ever experienced. People say time heals all wounds. It was a lie. The longer it went, the less she could remember their voices, their smiles, the way their hugs felt. The longer it went, the more it killed.

Yet looking at Zach, she found a pain surpassing her own. He was an orphan more than she was. She lost her parents at seventeen. He, at eight. And as she looked into his blue, frightened eyes, she caught a glimpse of what that loss had done to him. So she decided to open up the part of herself she kept hidden from the world: her heart.

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “I wish Mom and Dad were here so I could ask them questions.”

“Like what?”

Instead of going into the twisted emotions of Greg and Oliver, May and Jeff, she chose a safer path. “I’d ask Mom how to make carrot soup exciting or how to get stains out of your new shirt without soap.”

Zach noticed the green streaks on his shoulder. “Hey, it wasn’t my fault. Tucker blocked the plate, but I had to slide. I had to. Even Greg said so.”

She smiled sadly. Zach’s two new obsessions: baseball and Greg. Both turned him into a little kid overnight. She couldn’t figure out why or how Greg found time to play baseball with Zach when he seemed to spend every waking moment on the well.

Her well.

The first well.

Greg.

The happiness was short-lived, but the sadness was always there, pounding against her like the rain pounded on the roof.

“There are times,” she whispered, “I would give anything to talk to Mom and Dad again.”

“Me, too.”

Zach sniffed, and she glanced sideways. His eyes were red and his skin, splotchy. Suddenly, she saw herself for what Jeff said, a selfish person, thinking only of herself. Even knowing Zach was in pain, she still obsessed about what had happened.

She decided right there that while she was no longer the center of someone’s universe, Zach could be. She owed him that much.

Straightening, she nudged him with a smile. “What would you ask Mom and Dad if they were here?”

“Well…” he wiped his nose, “I’d ask Dad how to fix a tire so I could ride my old bike. CJ said I could have it since I lost Dad’s baseball in the raid, but both tires are flat.”

“I can patch them,” Amber said from the door. “Dad taught me.”

Carrie looked up in surprise. She hadn’t heard Amber come upstairs. Of course, up until a few seconds ago, she hadn’t heard anything but her own narcissistic thoughts. Amber looked as miserable as Zach did. Carrie’s two days of self-absorption had taken its toll on her siblings. She waved Amber to join them on the floor. Amber sat on the blankets and laid her head on Carrie’s shoulder.

“What else?” Carrie asked, trying to add more joy to her tone.

“I’d ask Mom to be my teacher again,” Zach added. “She was a lot funner than you.”

“More fun,” Carrie corrected automatically, and then she elbowed him. “Thanks a lot, by the way.”

He laughed. “What? It’s true. You’re boring.”

“I am?”

When both siblings nodded, Carrie frowned. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. What about you, Amber? What would you ask Mom and Dad if they were here?”

Amber’s beautiful, dark eyes turned to liquid. “How to make a guy stop hating you.”

“What?”

Amber’s head fell on her knees, and her shoulders began to shake.

“Amber?” Carrie put a hand on her back. “What happened with Braden?”

“Nothing!” Amber wailed into her arms.

Carrie looked at Zach who just rolled his eyes. Carrie stroked Amber’s long hair. Once the tears slowed down, she could find out what happened. Until then, it was useless. Just another sign she’d been in her own world far too long.

“What would you ask Dad, Carrie?” Zach asked.

She didn’t answer immediately since her question would be close to Amber’s. Between Greg, Jeff, and all men in general, she’d never felt so confused. Add Oliver into the mix, and she had a migraine. But she found something less painful.

“I’d ask Dad how to fix a leaky roof. Or how to keep a door from jamming in the winter.”

Amber looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “I would ask Dad for a hug. One of his big ones.”

The three siblings instinctively wrapped their arms around each other. Carrie couldn’t help but think how lucky she was to have Amber and Zach at least. Each of them held remnants of their parents. Amber, with their mom’s auburn hair and quick wit. Zach, with their Dad’s freckles and fun-loving nature. And Carrie, with the ability to love them both unconditionally.

“Do you think they miss us?” Zach asked, sounding much younger than thirteen.

Carrie laid her head on his. “I know they do.”

“I bet they watch us,” Amber added. “I bet they smother us with hugs and kisses while we sleep. Our own guardian angels.”

A smile spread inside of Carrie. She liked that. She liked thinking she was still the center of their universe, only in a realm she couldn’t see.

“What would they tell us if we could see them?” Carrie asked.

“Clean your room,” Zach drawled. “Wash your hands. Don’t punch Amber.”

“Dad would tell me to quit whining and fix it,” Amber said, sniffing. “As if that would help.”

Carrie nodded. “Dad would definitely say that, but I was thinking more about what Mom would tell me right now. ‘People who give sunshine to others can’t help but give some to themselves.’” She paused, pondering the sudden burst of wisdom. Her dad got her through the meeting. Maybe her mom could get her through the consequences. “I could really use some sunshine right now.”

“Me, too,” Amber whispered.

“You’re both wrong,” Zach said. “Mom and Dad would say, ‘Who wants ice cream?’”

Carrie nodded slowly. He was right. Her parents always found joy in the pain, the sunlight in the rain. That was them. And she decided right then and there that it would be her, too.

“How about it, you guys? Should we make ice cream?”

“What? We can’t make ice cream,” Amber said.

“No. I think we can,” Carrie said, heart racing with excitement. “Zach, go to May’s and ask for some ice. There’s not much left in the freezer, but we only need a few chunks, and we’ll put it back when we’re done. Amber, find out who got the fresh milk today and ask if we can have some. Wait,” Carrie remembered. “We’re out of sugar but, hey, it will be close enough, right?”

“What about salt?” Amber asked. “Don’t you need salt for something?”

“Oh. Right. Shoot.”

Carrie deliberated. Her siblings needed this. She needed this. “Tell you what, if you’re willing to have tasteless soup until Terrell gets back, I’m willing to use the last of our salt. What do you say? Who wants ice cream?”

Zach was up and out of the room before she finished.

Amber smiled a slow smile. “Okay.”

Carrie laughed when her siblings showed up ten minutes later with not only the right ingredients, but half the kids in the clan.

Even though everyone only got a spoonful, and even though it was the runniest, most bland ice cream ever, it was perfect.

***

“Here you go, Greg. I apologize I’m not the chef your mother is.”

Greg inspected the plate Richard handed him, unsure what to make of the yellow mush. It looked like soggy bread covered in wanna-be-Alfredo sauce. Even then, Greg’s still-traumatized stomach rejoiced at the sight of any meal. He stabbed his fork into the mix, brought out a chunk of something and, to his surprise, enjoyed the flavor. “Not bad,” he said. “Thanks for dinner, Richard.”

“Sure. Sure.”

While they ate, they watched out the upper window of Richard’s two-story home. Greg was glad Richard agreed to entertain him for a bit. Being with the old accounting professor was not only mentally stimulating but vastly refreshing, especially during four hours of guard duty.

“It’s scary how fast I’ve grown unaccustomed to guarding,” Greg said. “Especially considerin’ how much of the last five years I spent watchin’ my back.”

“Six,” Richard corrected. “Do you realize it will have been six years this summer?”

Greg did the math. The first stock market crashed the fall of his freshman year. UNC ran out of funds faster than the banks, and the school shut down mid-sophomore year, well before the second stock market crash, the one that finished off the dollar.

“Wow. Time flies,” he said.

“Sometimes.” Richard motioned to the window.

Greg straightened, realizing he wasn’t watching the main road very well. Braden better be doing a better job down at the South Entrance. Both of them had warning bells—Jeff’s old duck hunting whistles. Incidentally, they’d bumped up blocking off the South Entrance on the priority list. With luck, finding a doctor would be added to the list soon. If not, Greg was striking out on his own. Carrie wasn’t the only one who could make decisions without clan approval.

“It’s not my fault I’m so antsy,” Greg said. “There’s always somethin’ to be doin’ around here. Carrie’s well caved in today with all this rain. Now it’s a huge mud pit. Watchin’ a road feels like a real waste of time, one of my not-so-great ideas.”

“No. This is good practice. This is practice, right?” Richard asked. “Or do you actually expect a patrol car to drive up that road?”

Greg shook his head. “Regardless of my grandma’s threats, if there’s an Oliver-less raid comin’ up, Carrie woulda told us. She’s mad, not suicidal. I suppose I could march over to her house and ask, but I figure she needs some space. Everybody does.”

“True. Have you seen Jeff yet?”

“Nope,” Greg said. “Fine by me.”

Richard took a bite of his own dinner. “I heard both Green families are moving into the cul-de-sac. Watsons, too. It’s nice to know something positive came from all this.”

Nodding, Greg took another bite. “What do you think Oliver will do when Carrie tells him off?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been able to get a good read on that man.”

Greg sighed. “If he was any other guy, he’d turn vengeful and take us all down, Carrie worst of all. But I think he’s got a lot of Carrie in him. How is it that two people who are so similar aren’t already together?”

“Maybe they’re too similar. Opposites attract, you know.” Richard shot Greg a smirk which Greg ignored before continuing. “But don’t be fooled. Just because Oliver is quiet, doesn’t mean he has good intentions like Carrie does. He could run, disappear, or retaliate, and nobody knows which he’ll choose. Not even Carrie. All I know is that if he does retaliate, no amount of guarding will keep us safe.”

Greg stirred his yellow mush. “Man, what I’d give for some sort of listening device, a phone, or walkie-talkies. Somethin’ so I could hear that conversation.”

Richard smiled. “Why’s that?”

“So I can gauge how fast he’s gonna destroy us.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

Greg rolled his eyes. Again with that? “If Carrie can just wait a bit to talk to Oliver, I figure we could be ready to live without him in two weeks—worst case scenario, maybe four.”

“And best case scenario?”

Greg took another bite of noodles. “Oliver and Carrie live happily ever after, as does the clan.”

That finally wiped the smile from Richard’s face. “You just can’t give up, can you? I thought Carrie made her feelings abundantly clear at the meeting. She’s not interested in Oliver.”

“Oh, she did. You just asked for best case scenario.”

Richard shook his head. “For the life of me I can’t figure out what you have against that girl.”

“Nothin’.” At least not anymore.

“Then why aren’t you making a run for her yourself? If Jeff’s right, she’s seen something good in you.”

“Jeff’s not right.” Carrie hated him. He was ninety-eight percent sure—maybe ninety-seven. Then again, the way she’d reacted in that meeting…or during baseball…

Greg shook his head. Even if she’d liked him on some level for a short time, it hadn’t gone beyond the surface. Nice girls didn’t fall for jerks like him—or at least, they shouldn’t. She should know better. Everyone else did.

“Jeff is not the only one who has wondered,” Richard said. “You’d be crazy to ignore the possibility. Carrie is about as perfect as they come.”

“Exactly,” Greg said. Drove him nuts.

Richard gave him a strange look. “What’s wrong with perfection?”

Greg struggled with how to respond without slamming Carrie because, in all honesty, she’d grown on him. He liked her well enough. He even respected her. But that’s a far as it went.

“Different people define perfection differently,” he said. “I prefer the less-than-perfect type, you know? The human type. The un-squashable kind.” Like the girl he’d left behind, although not exactly that either. Nicole was too hard, too untouchable—obviously. He was still ticked Sasha had brought her up in the meeting. He’d never told a soul about her, which meant his mom had. So much for promises.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit odd?” Richard said.

Greg laughed. “More times than you’d guess.”

They grew quiet again, eating and watching out the dark window.

“Actually,” Greg said after a minute, “the best case scenario is for citizens—not just cardholders, but real citizens—to band together, decide they’ve had enough of these emergency laws and overthrow the new regime.”

“True. But collective revolution requires some means of communication. We don’t even communicate with clans a mile away. It could be a third world war out there, and we wouldn’t know it.”

“So you’re reconsidering my fourth proposal?” Greg asked. “You ready to branch out to other clans?”

Richard smiled through his gray goatee. “No. Nice try. Without electricity, technology, newspapers, or even snail-mail you could never pull enough people together to revolt. Until you find a way around the communication barrier, people are stuck forever. How convenient for…who’s the President again?”

“Still Rigsby. His eight years are up, but he’s not goin’ anywhere. You should see his picture on the new currency.” Greg pulled a face. “Ugly guy.”

“Have you read the New Day Times yet? You would think they had created the world’s first utopian society from the way they talk.”

“Don’t need to,” Greg said. “I got enough of that propaganda pounded into me in Raleigh.”

“You should read it—and don’t tell your mom I said that—but you can’t fight what you don’t know.”

Greg turned. “Who said I’m fightin’? I’m just flappin’ my jaws to pass the time.”

He glanced back out the window, realizing he was watching his food more than the road. Again. He was far too comfortable in this clan. They all were. Security was a dangerous thing. It made people lazy.

“Speaking of your mom…” Richard set his dinner aside. “While I have you here, Greg, I hoped to ask you something.”

Greg took another bite of yellow mush, finally keeping an eye on the road. “Yeah?”

“Actually, I hoped to ask her something. A question.”

“What question?”

“The question.” Only instead of saying the, Richard said thee.

Greg turned slowly.

Richard’s goatee split into a wide grin. “I want to ask your mom to marry me.”

thirty-two

Greg’s fork splattered to the ground. “What? You barely know her!”

Richard laughed and picked up Greg’s fork. “I should have predicted that. I know her well enough. Your mom is a wonderful woman. Amazing cook, too.”

As the implications sunk in, Greg shot to his feet, dropping his plate of mush as well. “You can’t. There’s things you don’t know about her, things she hasn’t told anybody—not even my grandparents. It’s, it’s…” He wanted to say more, but he’d been sworn to secrecy. “It’s complicated. You can’t marry her. It’s not right.”

Richard studied him with an unreadable expression. Then he sighed. “She already told me, Greg. But it doesn’t change anything. I still want to marry her.”

Greg couldn’t believe it. His mom broke their pact without telling him. Another promise broken. This one was her secret, but still…

He started to pace, hands running over his short hair. “How can it not change anything?”

Richard knelt down and scraped the mush out of the carpet. “I’m old, Greg. I’m no longer living for the future. I’d like to enjoy the present. Quite honestly, I don’t want to be alone anymore. I love your mom and amazingly, she loves me, too.”

Greg couldn’t even think straight to apologize for Richard’s carpet. She told Richard. Richard knew. And he still wanted to marry her. His mind went faster than his feet.

“But I don’t even know how much time she’s got,” he said. “I don’t even know what’s wrong with her. I just know she’s convinced she’s dyin’. That’s why we ended up in Illinois. She wanted to see her folks before…before…”

Greg slumped back in his chair, head falling into his hands. “I told her the trip would kill her. There were days I thought it would, but she’s hickory stubborn.” He looked up. “That doesn’t mean she’s better, though. The episodes are gettin’ worse.”

“Then I feel honored she would give me whatever time she has left.”

Greg studied Richard in a new light. His hair, pulled back in a ponytail, was peppered gray, his goatee was more salt than pepper, and he looked older than his mom by at least a decade. From what Greg knew, Richard’s only family had been his wife, and she died right after the Collapse. Greg enjoyed his company well enough, but he couldn’t figure what his mom saw in him.

Then something clicked.

“Wait, you already talked to her about this?”

Richard beamed. “Yes. She wanted to discuss it with you first since she knew you might have a hard time understanding. Maybe she should have been the one to break the news.”

“I don’t think it woulda helped. W…o…w…” Greg said. “It won’t be too hard on you? Sometimes I can’t stand to watch her. She keeps tellin’ my grandparents it’s migraines or an ‘ol’ cough.’ But she’s in more pain than she lets on.”

Richard’s expression went soft. “I want to be with her, Greg, for as long as I can. I promise to help her with whatever she needs. I will take good care of her. You have my word.”

Greg’s thoughts turned unexpectedly evil: that Richard was in it for the citizenship. Why else rush a marriage? He wasn’t sure how far residency laws went nowadays—he and his mom got their cards easily enough—but this would be the homeowner’s son-in-law. Not a blood relative. It was a stretch to think the government would let Richard into their exclusive society.

Although, it was one more person to tax.

At this rate, his grandpa would be broke by the end of the year. Yet implying Richard was in it for the yellow card—especially when yellow cards in Carrie’s bubble world were virtually useless—was an insult to both his mom and Richard.

No. It had to be legit.

Greg tried to remember any times he’d seen his mom and Richard together. Richard was a regular at the house now. More often than not, he’d lag behind meetings to talk. He’d laugh. She’d laugh—but then she always laughed. Plus, Richard spent more time talking to Greg anyway. True, they could have been spending time together when Greg was working, but still…it happened so fast.

Richard, the hippy-looking accounting professor. His mom, the southern spitfire. Opposites attract indeed.

Richard O’Brien, Greg mused.

Mariah O’Brien.

Mariah Trenton Pierce O’Brien?

No matter how Greg tried, he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It had been twenty years since his mom kicked his drunken dad out of the house. Since then she’d been happily single. So happily single Greg figured she’d stay that way. Yet if what Richard said was true, if she already agreed and if Richard knew the cost, then maybe it was for the best.

Greg looked up. “Y’all have my blessing if that’s what you’re waitin’ for.”

Richard clapped him on the shoulder. “Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful!”

Greg shook his head with a slow smile. “Well, Richard, welcome to the family.”

***

Carrie lifted her face to the bright sunshine. Her resolve took a while to come by, but once she found it, there was no turning back. The weather mirrored her mood with brilliant overhead rays and not a cloud in sight. Add to it the yellow buds poking out of the forsythia bushes—officially making it time to plant peas—and it was going to be a perfect day.

Eventually.

As she strolled toward the end of the cul-de-sac, she saw Sasha carrying her basket into one of the vacant homes. With Greg’s consolidation plan, Woodland Drive was going to be a busy place again. But after another house, Carrie’s feet grew heavy. Resolve or not, good intentions or not, she was scared to death.

People who give sunshine to others can’t help but give some to themselves.

She recited her mother’s words one last time and rapped the clan signal on the Kovach’s door.

The moment she saw Jenna, she forgot her rehearsed greeting. It had only been a few days, but the change in Jenna’s face took Carrie’s breath away. Her eyes were sunken and her dark, frizzy hair drooped over her tired shoulders. One whiff of the house told Carrie her nausea hadn’t improved either.

“Come on in, Carrie,” Jenna said tiredly.

Distracted from her purpose, Carrie followed her inside to where Jenna laid back down on Carrie’s old green couch.

“How are you feeling?” Carrie asked. “If you don’t mind me saying, you look awful.”

“As if I don’t know it,” Jenna said. “Why did the Collapse take our makeup, wrinkle creams, salons, and hair gels, but not our mirrors? It’s a cruel world, Carrie. A cruel, cruel world.”

Carrie laid a supportive hand on her arm but jerked back. Jenna’s skin was cold, almost rubbery.

“Have you been eating?” Carrie asked.

Jenna pulled a blanket over her shoulder. “What’s the point? It all comes back up.”

“Is there anything that sounds good? Anything at all? We have to find something you can keep down.”

“Who would have thought pregnancy was the best diet?” Jenna sighed with a faraway look. “I bet I weigh less than I did for the pageant. If only Patrick Friedman could see me now.”

Carrie frowned. A diet was the last thing she needed. Already she looked anorexic. She didn’t show any sign of a bulging stomach under Carrie’s purple shirt either.

A tiny smile lit Jenna’s gaunt face. “You know what sounds good right now? A Big Mac. I can’t believe it. I never liked Big Macs before, but it sounds divine. Crazy, huh?”

Carrie churned on that, half-remembering that cravings indicated a deeper physical need. Maybe Jenna was iron deficient. Or maybe she needed more protein. Probably both. With the raid, they’d cut meat rations in fourths, but Jenna obviously needed more than her allotment.

Well, if it’s a burger she wants…The thought of a goat burger made Carrie’s stomach churn, but they had to do something to help this woman who had somehow fallen asleep during Carrie’s short thought process.

Carrie stood quietly. Jenna’s eyes fluttered open.

“Sorry,” Carrie whispered. “You sleep. But first, where are the boys?”

“Mariah has them. Sasha’s taking them tomorrow.” Jenna’s eyes flew open. “Oh, Carrie. The meeting! Jeff told me what happened, what May said to him. If I would have been there, I would have stopped it. Why didn’t you? May only listens to you. Why didn’t you stop her? She was so mean to Jeff.”

Carrie bit her lip. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. Is Jeff home?”

“Yeah. I think he’s in the garage.”

“Okay.” Carrie tried to smile through a sudden burst of nerves. “I’ll be back with some food in a bit. For now, try to sleep.”

She wandered into the kitchen. Even before she reached the garage door, she heard loud, furious hammering coming from the garage. Her stomach clenched but before she could change her mind, she yanked open the door.

Jeff’s head came up in surprise. The second he spotted her, his eyes hardened in anger. “What are you doing here?”

Carrie cleared her suddenly-dry throat. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“No.” Jeff went back to work, striking the side of a dented wheelbarrow with deafening blows.

She thought of a dozen reasons to turn tail and run, foremost being self-preservation. Sunshine…her mom whispered. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled the door shut and walked over to him.

“I came here to apologize, Jeff.”

The look he shot her sent shivers down her spine. “Don’t play games with me, Carrie. I’m not sorry for what I said. You coming here won’t change that, so leave.”

She didn’t, because in that instant she was struck with the same thought she’d had when she saw Jenna. Jeff looked exhausted, almost haggard. Like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Greg was making all the men take turns on guard duty, but even Jeff? Probably. And for what? Carrie’s pride?

The guilt soared. But so did her courage.

“I came to apologize, and I’m not expecting anything in return.”

He dropped the hammer on the cement with a clang. “Alright then. Get on with it.”

He wasn’t going to make this easy.

She twisted her hands. “I realized your family’s safety is the last thing you need to be worrying about right now. So…I wanted to let you know the sweep is tomorrow and Oliver is scheduled. I’ll let everyone else know. It was childish for me not to say something sooner.”

“What about Oliver?” he asked, without acknowledging the first part.

Carrie spent all last night wondering the same thing. Everything came back to the fact that Oliver was a good man—a great man—and really, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life single. Truth was, she could do a lot worse than Oliver Simmons. For all she knew, she was in love with him already.

“I think I never gave Oliver a real chance. At a relationship, I mean. And, and…” She tucked some hair behind her ear. “I’d like to try again before I talk to him.”

The lines around Jeff’s eyes softened. “That’s all I was asking, Carrie.”

That wasn’t true. His stinging words from the meeting still made her insides ache, but it was time to let it go. It was over.

Her shoulders lifted, feeling proud of herself for sticking it out. She’d hurt a lot of people, and it felt great to right some wrongs. Her mom had been right. Sunshine was contagious.

“What about Greg?” Jeff asked.

The sunshine faded.

“What about Greg?” she said, leery.

“Is it distracting having him around?” Jeff asked. “Because if so, I’ve talked to some other guys, and we’ll force him out. We’ll do it if it will help you focus on Oliver.”

Carrie wanted to crawl under a hole. Nothing like having thirty-six people analyze every emotion she’d ever had, even the fleeting ones during a stupid baseball game.

“Do you realize how ridiculous that is?” she asked. “If it’s distracting having Greg around then I have no business being with Oliver anyway.”

His eyes narrowed skeptically. “So you’re telling me you’re not interested in Greg? Truthfully? At all?”

Carrie had a response ready to spit out, but it caught in her throat. Truthfully, she was so confused she didn’t know which way was up. Over the last few days, her opinion of Greg had changed drastically. His apology. Her well. Zach. His girlfriend in North Carolina—why hadn’t he just mentioned her before? His “chivalrous attempt” according to Amber to find Carrie in the rain plus sticking up for her in the days following. Ever since the meeting, Carrie had caught herself thinking about Greg far more than she should and, unfortunately, her cheeks were giving her away.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t think so, but—”

Jeff jumped to his feet. “I knew it! Greg should leave!”

“No, please! Sending Greg away won’t make anything right.” She could only picture that altercation. I told you Carrie’s in love with you, Jeff would say. Now leave. “Please,” she begged. “I said I’d give Oliver another chance, and I need you to trust me. I promise not to put you or your family in any danger. Just let me handle this, okay?”

Jeff sat by his wheelbarrow with a grunt. “Fine.”

“Thank you. Now, will you stop being mad at me so I can help Jenna?”

A shadow crossed his face, but he didn’t answer. She hoped his silence signaled a ceasefire.

“I’m going to May’s right now to find her some food she’ll hopefully be able to keep down. I’ll be back in a little while. Okay?”

“We’ll be here,” he mumbled.

Carrie felt like a different person leaving the Kovach home than she had going in. She was smiling again, soaring actually, and she loved her parents more than ever.

The happiness, however, was quickly replaced with a new dread. In some ways, her next conversation would be harder. May tended to overreact about things, especially when it came to her surrogate granddaughter. She wasn’t going to like this new peace treaty. Not to mention, Carrie never knew who might be lurking around the Trenton home. She hadn’t seen Greg since the meeting. As far as she was concerned, she could go the rest of her life without seeing him.

Googly-eyed.

Those words would haunt her forever.

The second May opened her door, she threw her arms around Carrie. It was the kind of hug that said, Where have you been? I’ve been so worried. Let me baby you.

“Hi, May,” Carrie said cheerfully. “How are you?”

“How are you?” May said back.

“Great.” Carrie scanned the house. All seemed quiet. “Where’s Mariah? Jenna said she had the boys today.”

May’s hands went on her hips. “What do you mean, Jenna said?”

Oops.

May scowled so hard her wrinkles had wrinkles. “Tell me you haven’t been talking to Jenna. She and Jeff are horrible, mean-spirited people. I still can’t believe Mariah took their boys today.”

“Now May,” Carrie said, “be nice. Jenna’s having a hard time. Jeff, too. You should see him. He looks as bad as Jenna does.”

“You saw Jeff?” May shrieked. “Carrie Lynne Ashworth, what in heaven’s name have you done?”

Carrie laughed. “Wow. You sound like my mom.”

“Carrie…”

There was no way she was letting May ruin her sunshine now. She took her arm and led her into the kitchen. “I just fixed what needed to be fixed, but don’t worry about that. I’m here to ask for your help. I need some food—the goat meat, actually. And extra carrots if you have any.”

That distracted her. “Why, dear? Didn’t you get your allotment?”

“Yes. I was just…” Carrie winced. “I’m taking some to Jenna.”

“Is that so?” May’s chin lifted. “Well, I don’t have any. The goat meat is for emergencies, and the extra carrots are for something else.”

“Like what?” When May couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough, Carrie put an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t go stubborn on me, May. Jenna is really, really sick. If she doesn’t get help soon, I worry about what will happen to her. I think that’s why Jeff got so out of hand on Thursday. This isn’t the time to threaten his family’s safety.”

“Don’t you dare defend that man!” May said. “It wouldn’t have mattered what was happening at home, he would have said the same thing. I will never forgive him for what he said to you. Never!”

“Can you blame him? I was being selfish.” Carrie sighed deep and long. “I should be trying to make Oliver happy—and everyone else for that matter. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Carrie Lynne Ashworth, you stop that right now!”

“Wow. My full name twice in one day?”

May wasn’t about to be sidetracked. “You have every right to do what’s best for you. I should have let Gregory pop him one.”

That did it. Carrie burst out laughing. “Come on. This was my fight, not yours, and definitely not Greg’s. But the fight is over. Jeff and I made up, and there’s nothing you can do about it. So are you going to help me or not?”

***

Greg lowered another rock to Dylan, still mad he hadn’t thought to fortify the sides of the well before the rain started. Unwilling to make the same mistake twice, they were taking turns lining what remained of the walls before the next round of digging. It was hard to tell in knee-deep, muddy water, but Greg thought they’d dug close to five feet. At least they’d hit the sand level.

Nobody liked being stuck in that dark hole for long, especially covered in cold mud. They were lucky it was a warm day or they’d all end up with hypothermia. They needed a flashlight, which nobody had. Candles were asking for trouble when it was barely wide enough to fit a man and his shovel. Greg looked up at the sky, wondering if they could use mirrors to reflect the sun. All he knew was Carrie’s well was taking way too long.

Dylan’s arms barely reached ground level as he hefted the rock back out to Greg. “Nope. Too big.”

Greg went back to the pile in the woods. All the middle-sized rocks had been used already. Everything else was too big or too small. He found a large rock, hefted it up, and dropped it on a pointed one. The rock split in two. He grabbed both and headed back.

Halfway there, he stopped, spotting somebody coming around the side of Carrie’s house.

“Tell me that’s not Jeff,” Greg said.

The others looked up. “Yeah,” Braden said. “That’s him.”

Greg dropped the rocks. “This’d better be good.”

Richard grabbed his arm before he could storm past. “Hey, keep it clean, alright?”

Greg looked down at the mud dripping from every part of him. “I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?”

Jeff met Greg on the side of Carrie’s yard with a dark, smug smile. “Guess who was just at my house.”

thirty-three

Though May grumbled the entire time, Carrie ended up with a full basket of food. May even tossed in some extra cheese when she thought Carrie wasn’t looking.

“Do you want to come with me?” Carrie tried one last time.

“No,” May said. “I have to finish lunch before Gregory and Mariah come home.”

There was nothing left to finish. Carrie made extra burgers and everything, but she smiled anyway. “Suit yourself. Thanks for your help, May.”

May followed her to the door. “Carrie?” From her sullen expression, Carrie would have thought someone died. “I didn’t know my Gregory had a girl in North Carolina.”

Before Carrie could say it was fine, that it didn’t matter, and there was nothing going on between them anyway, May went on in a rush.

“He just didn’t tell me—although I can’t imagine that Nicole girl being anything compared to you. There’s not a girl in the world as sweet as you. Or as pretty! I mean, look at the way your hair glows. And your cute little figure. I don’t know what that boy is thinking! Every time I ask him, he says—”

“I have to go, May,” Carrie interrupted before her self-esteem took another hit. “Thanks for the food.”

***

Braden leaned over the hole. “There she goes again.”

“Help me up!” Greg said. “C’mon. Get me outta here!”

Braden grabbed one hand and Dylan the other. They heaved Greg up and out of the mud pit. Once Greg was free, he broke into a run. His shoes slogged in the grass, and his jeans weighed twenty pounds, leaving a trail of mud across Carrie’s lawn. But that’s not why the guys laughed. He was going to pay for this.

“Carrie!” he called, sloshing onto the street.

Either she didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him. She kept up her fast pace, passing both him and her yard.

“Carrie,” he tried again, catching up to her. “Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?”

She gave his appearance a once over, nodded, but kept up her fast pace down Woodland Drive.

Falling in line next to her, Greg eyed her basket of food. He nearly lost his cool right there. He was half tempted to trip her and let Jeff’s food go sailing. Instead he said, “Somethin’ smells good. Where ya headed?”

That did it. She stopped mid-stride. “Do you need something, Greg?”

“Yeah.” Only he wasn’t sure where to start. There was a lot he wanted to say, about the meeting, about Jeff, but something told him she wouldn’t want him to. Still, he tried.

“Sorry about the meeting,” he offered.

She smiled curtly. “Don’t be. It’s all worked out. What do you need?”

It’s all worked out. With four short words his blood boiled. He knew only too well how she’d worked it out. But he focused on the question at hand. “Terrell’s still gone, and I figured somebody ought to check on him.”

Her light brows pulled down. “Why? Do you think something’s wrong? Sometimes it takes him a week to meet up with that guy, and then he has to wait for the supplies.”

“Probably not. With luck, he’s got a boatload of stuff and could just use some help cartin’ it back.” Greg scratched some dried mud from his cheek. “I’m goin’ tomorrow to find him and I, uh…” He paused, wondering if he was about to get a slap or a kiss. “I was hopin’ you’d go with me.”

Her eyes popped open. “What?”

“I wanna find other clans along the way,” he added to sweeten the deal. “You, more than anybody else, know how badly we’ve gotta find a doctor. Richard said you’ve been to the other clans, so I figure you can show me the way.”

“I thought contacting other clans was outvoted.”

“It was,” he said.

She cocked her head to the side, throwing her honey-colored hair over a shoulder. “Does Richard know you’re doing this?”

He wiped his forehead with the corner of his shirt. “Nope.”

“Does anyone?”

“You,” he said. “If we find a doctor, we’ll tell everybody else. If not, no harm done.”

She took this in a moment before squinting up at him. “Why me? Can’t you take someone else?”

He pointed to Jenna’s food. “You’re motivated. Plus, I’ve got another idea for the clan, but I wanna run it past you first.”

Instead of jumping up and down at the prospect of being alone with him for the day, she looked around the neighborhood as if searching for an escape. “I don’t know, Greg. I’m supposed to help Kristina make cheese tomorrow, and I need to get the field ready for the early crops. Plus I have to teach school, and I want to take Little Jeffrey and Jonah again for a while.”

A list of excuses. Weak ones at that. Not quite the reaction he expected considering what Jeff just told him. Regardless, Greg still needed her help. Not to mention, the curiosity was eating him alive.

“What about Jenna?” he said. “She needs a doctor.”

Carrie hugged the basket and her shoulders fell in defeat. “That takes priority, I guess. What time do you want to leave?”

“When are you up?”

“With the sun.”

“Me, too,” he said. “I’ll meet you outside after dawn.”

She nodded and started away from him, swiftly headed for the end of the cul-de-sac and the food’s final destination.

Jeff.

Greg’s fists clenched, one still burning from before. There was no way he was letting her deliver that package.

“You know,” he called, “Jeff was just at your house.”

As hoped, his words brought her to a stop. She turned slowly.

“Said he wanted to help with your well,” Greg went on, “though he, uh…couldn’t stay long.”

She broke into a wide smile. “Wow. That was nice of him.”

“Nice? Nice!” The small twig containing his temper snapped. “He told me what you said to him, Carrie. Every. Last. Word.”

Her mouth dropped as she, no doubt, played their entire conversation over in her head. But it wasn’t until she realized what Greg meant that her cheeks flushed and she dropped her chin to hide behind her thick hair.

Seeing her mortification upped his rage. She hadn’t shown her face since that meeting, and now Jeff just decimated her. Again. Jeff deserved everything Greg had done—and more.

Greg picked the easiest part first. “Jeff said you’re givin’ Oliver another chance. Is that true?”

She nodded but didn’t look up.

“Why the sudden change of heart? It wouldn’t have anything to do with Jeff bullying you, would it? You were dead set against Oliver before. What changed?”

Her blue eyes lifted, but not to Greg. She took in the bright overhead sun. “Someday I’m going to live in a place where what I say to one person doesn’t make it around the neighborhood before I can. Being a private person makes living in a clan like this…” She rubbed the basket without finishing.

There was probably a nicer way to broach the subject, but he couldn’t think of one.

“Do you want me to leave the clan, Carrie?”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Jeff’s convinced I’m distractin’ you from Oliver, but I don’t mind leavin’ if that’s what you need.” Especially now that his mom had Richard. Not that Greg had anywhere to go. He refused to go back to North Carolina. Ever. But maybe up north. Or out west to find his uncle.

He waited for a denial of her affections, a few lies, or even the less-benign twisting of the truth. What she admitted to Jeff obviously hadn’t been meant for his ears, but her behavior toward Greg was impossibly contradictory. Several people, including her little sister, confirmed she wasn’t interested in him. He wanted to think Jeff had just spewed a mouthful of lies, but if that was the case, why wasn’t she saying so?

For a long time, she stayed that way, eyes down, avoiding him. He wasn’t sure if she’d answer since his question had been direct. Then again, that’s how he’d always been with her.

Finally, she met his gaze, although it took obvious effort. Her cheeks and neck were splotchy. “If anyone should leave, Greg, it should be me. What I would give to be swallowed up in a big city like Chicago or somewhere with a few million people,” she added wistfully. “But…I can’t leave Zach and Amber, and this clan needs your ideas, so”—she shrugged—“I’ll just have to make the best of what life has given me, which seems to be several slices of humble pie.”

She did it again. He expected a, What? I can’t stand your guts! Or at least a barrage of excuses, yet she took it in stride. Which meant what?

Was Jeff right? Was Carrie in love with him?

He was stuck on that intriguing question when she turned to leave. Toward Kovach’s.

“You’re still takin’ them food?” he called angrily.

“None of your business,” she replied as she decidedly walked away.

When Carrie returned five minutes later, she wasn’t smiling. In fact, she looked angrier than Greg had ever seen. And there was no question who she was angry at.

Dylan laughed. “She’s going to kill you. I can’t wait to see this.”

“She should,” Richard added with a sharp look.

The rest of the guys laughed. Greg wasn’t about to indulge them in witnessing his slaughter. He ran up the hill, hoping to get out of earshot before Carrie started in.

She didn’t wait.

“What gives you the right to punch Jeff?” Carrie snapped.

Greg folded his arms. “He deserved it.”

“He was coming over to help me, Greg! This is my yard and my well.”

“In my book, he came three days too late. He didn’t deserve your apology, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why you gave it. He’s a jerk and a bully, and you never shoulda gone over there. From what Jeff said, he didn’t even apologize in return. Said he’d done nothin’ wrong, so what was there to apologize for.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Don’t you get it? Jeff coming here was his apology. That’s just the way he is.”

“Believe me,” Greg said darkly. “He wasn’t comin’ to apologize. He was comin’ to gloat.”

“So you decided to teach him a lesson by slugging him in the face?”

“Yep.”

Her blue eyes blazed, her fists balled like she was ready to punch something—him from the looks of it.

His temper kicked up a notch. There’s gratitude for you. Jeff slandered her in front of and behind her back, and he got a hot meal. Greg defended her amidst digging her new well, and he was about to get a hot slap across the face.

“After everything you’d done for him, Carrie, everything you were doin’ that very minute for his wife, after every vile thing he’s said to your face and behind your back, I can’t believe you’re mad at me. You called him out about pimping you out, and the guy didn’t even flinch. Then the second you left his house, he ran over here to brag about how you, of all people, admitted to bein’ selfish. You, Carrie. Selfish. Then to top it off, he had no problem tellin’ not just me, but every guy here, that you’re madly in love with me. Believe me,” he seethed, “Jeff deserved a lot more than a little black eye.”

A few other guys grunted their agreement.

Carrie glanced over his shoulder, realizing they had eavesdroppers behind them. The other guys suddenly went back to work, but her freckled face still flushed with fury. And embarrassment.

“I’m so sick of everyone butting into my life. Would everyone just leave me alone?” she yelled to the world.

“No,” Greg said bluntly.

She jerked back around. “Excuse me?”

He knew he should bite his tongue—he was on her side now; truce—but somebody had to say it. “Look, Carrie, you once told my mom that this clan is a family, which means we watch out for each other like family. If Jeff had said all that to my little sister, I woulda done the same thing, if not worse. What’d you think your dad woulda done in my place? Sat back and let Jeff sell you off? Who next? Amber?”

She jerked back at the mention of her father. And Amber.

“I didn’t think so,” Greg said. “What happened to the whole, right being right regardless of the consequences?”

Her mouth dropped. “How did you know about…? Amber!” she growled, answering her own question.

“You had every right to stick up for yourself against me and Jeff,” he said. “And for a second there, I thought you’d put us both in our place. But Jeff didn’t quit. He kept throwin’ punches, and you went down in the first round. Well, I’m not lettin’ it happen again. I’m steppin’ into the ring now. Jeff’s gonna have to take his miserable life out on somebody else.”

“This isn’t your fight! I can take care of myself just fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “Really? ‘Cause last I checked you only take care of everybody else. Zach. My grandma. Jenna. Amber. You about took off my head when I overheard Amber the night of the raid. Or what about when you risked your life and my hand”—he flashed his scarred palm—“to save Jeff’s stuff? When I see that Carrie stick up for herself, then I’ll back off.”

Her eyes flew to his hand, finally realizing what happened to it. But that’s not why he kicked a dirt clod, sending it flying.

“I can’t believe it!” he fumed. “You’re doin’ it right now! You’re ready to kill me—not ‘cause I attacked you, but because I attacked your attacker. You’re your own worst enemy, Carrie, and until you learn otherwise, I’m standin’ my ground. You’re welcome, by the way,” he added bitterly. “How about thankin’ me next time instead of bitin’ my head off.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she hissed. Then she whipped around and disappeared inside her house.

Greg watched her go, ready to pull out his hair.

Women! he cursed, swearing them off for good.

He turned back, ready to finish Carrie’s stupid well once and for all. He was met with several smirks. Braden laughed outright.

“Man, there’s no way Jeff was right,” Braden said. “Carrie totally hates your guts.”

“Yes, she does,” Greg agreed. No question about that now. Tomorrow would be interesting. His next idea was the boldest by far. Unless he could find a way to smooth things over with her before then, it was going to be a long day. For both of them.

“Although I have to say,” Dylan said, “I think I like her better mad.”

Greg thought about her gold head tipped back, her chin jutted out in defiance, and those deep, blue eyes blazing in anger. A slow smile stole over his face. “Yeah. Me, too.”

thirty-four

As the first rays of dawn lit the budding trees of Illinois, Carrie saw him striding up her walkway. Him being the dreaded Greg. She’d hoped—prayed—their yelling match had scared him off. No such luck. He held a walking stick of some sort in his hand—the hand she now knew she’d ruined. She squinted, and her heart jumped in her chest. It wasn’t a walking stick. It was a rifle. Was he expecting violence today? She remembered Jeff’s swollen eye and frowned. Of course he was.

She thought back to Jeff’s voice echoing through his house, yelling at Jenna as if Carrie wasn’t five feet away and able to hear every word.

“You tell Carrie and that new boyfriend of hers to stay away from me and my family! And tell her I’m holding her to her promise. If Oliver so much as sneezes the wrong way, I’m holding her personally accountable. It won’t just be Greg who’s kicked out of the clan!”

Carrie watched Greg walk up her sidewalk. New boyfriend? Had he thought through that consequence when he punched Jeff?

Before she’d been able to apologize for Greg’s rash behavior, Jeff slammed his bedroom door shut and Jenna threw up in the sink. One step forward and three steps back. And now Greg was ten yards away from spending the entire day with her.

Her head fell against the wall. If it wasn’t for Jenna, Carrie would have faked appendicitis. Anything to get out of going. But Jenna couldn’t wait for her pride to recover. She needed help.

Carrie whisked the door open before Greg could knock.

“Mornin’,” Greg said with a smile.

His cheerful greeting caught her off guard. She echoed him. “Mornin’.”

But just as fast, his smile faded. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Neither was I,” she admitted.

“You still mad about Jeff?”

She didn’t know what to say. Knowing that Jeff—pushy, overbearing Jeff—turned around and blabbered everything she had said in confidence made her furious at him again. But knowing that Greg—pushy, overbearing Greg—had punched him for it made her furious at him again. Add to it Jeff’s haunted face in the garage and Greg’s mention of her dad, and it cast indecision over the whole mess. Luckily, Greg didn’t press for an answer and instead took a second to appraise her outfit.

She wore her mom’s blue blouse. When she put it on ten minutes earlier, she was sure Greg would notice and so was almost prepared for what he said next.

“Tryin’ to impress me again?” he asked with a smirk.

She pulled her door shut and stepped onto the porch. “Might as well at this point.”

“You picked well then,” he said without missing a beat. “Blue looks good on you. Brings out your eyes.”

Her cheeks flamed as they headed across the cold grass. “It’s just that since we’re trying to reconnect with other clans, I thought I should look nice. This is the nicest thing I own—it used to be my mom’s—and it doesn’t even fit all that well, but…” It took her that long, blabbering like an idiot, to notice he wore a green button-down shirt she’d never seen either. It, too, brought out his eyes. His brown hair was combed to the side, finally long enough to lie flat. “Looks like I’m not the only one dressed up today,” she noted.

He brushed down his shirt. “Guess I never had anybody to impress before.”

Blunt as usual, his words brought her back to reality.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea we go together today?” she asked. “Alone? All things considered?”

“Why? You got plans of attackin’ me along the way?” Her eyes widened, but he continued with a crooked grin. “No worries. Even if you’re suddenly overcome by my charms and good looks, I’m pretty sure I’ll come out on top.”

By the time he finished, she was blushing so heavily she couldn’t stand it. She turned on heel and headed back across her front lawn. Let Greg find someone else to play tour guide.

“C’mon, Carrie. I know I’m irresistible. I tried to warn you.”

“Actually,” she grumbled, “the more you talk the less interested I am.”

“Ha! That’s more like it. Now”—he grabbed her arm and turned her around—“let’s go. I need your help. So does Jenna.”

Jenna.

Why did Greg even care about Jenna’s health after he punched her husband? Carrie followed him, trying to figure him out. His girlfriend back home had to be pretty thick skinned to put up with him. Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. With long legs. And thick, dark eyelashes. That seemed like Greg’s type.

Knowing he had a girlfriend took some of the sting out of his rejections. He was just being loyal. He could have said as much instead of being so brash. As they crossed the street, she wondered if he had plans to visit Nicole sometime. Or worse, bring her to Illinois.

Even more horrified, she said, “For the record, I never told Jeff I was”—she cleared her throat—“interested in you. Just that I wasn’t sure.”

“Oh, you were. Or are.” He stopped to study her face. “I better keep it at were, at least for now.”

“Man,” she said, “how do you walk around with that ego?”

“What? You don’t think I’m serious do you?” Whatever he saw in her expression wiped the smirk from his face. “Well, let me assure you, it was easier to believe Amber than Jeff. You hide your feelings for me well—even from yourself, apparently.” He chuckled at his own joke.

She upped her pace down the sidewalk. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this, Greg. Not only are you wrong, you’re just so, so… And I’m not even…I mean, I never was…”

“Alrighty,” he cut in. “Don’t hurt yourself. I was just teasin’. I figured if I made you mad enough at Jeff, you might forgive me for what I did.”

She stopped. So maybe that was Greg’s game. Divert her anger to where it belonged—or at least where he thought it belonged. It was working.

Somewhat.

Curiosity won out. “What exactly did Jeff say?” But before he could answer, she held up a hand. “Never mind. I doubt he got it right, so let’s leave it at that. Besides, I’m supposed to be focusing on Oliver anyway.”

They rounded an empty house and started for the fields. This early in the morning, last year’s grasses and weeds were thick with dew, soaking her socks through the tear in her shoe. But the clan was still asleep, making it was worth it to leave so early. Who knew what would happen if she and Greg were spotted together sneaking away for the day.

“You never answered before,” Greg said. “Why the sudden change of heart about Oliver?”

She hugged herself against the morning chill. “I decided that I’d never even given him a chance. I’ve never allowed myself to think of him that way. He deserves better than that. Especially from me.”

“Especially from you?”

She felt her headache returning. She hadn’t slept much the night before, reliving Greg’s censure. If Jeff had yelled all of those awful things in the meeting about Amber instead, would Carrie have let Amber mend things? Apologize? Would Carrie be giving Amber the advice she was taking now with Oliver? Even taking Amber out if it, what would her dad have done in Greg’s place?

No sleep, and yet no answers. So she clung to the one thing she was sure of. She liked Oliver. Hopefully enough.

“Oliver deserves better,” she said and left it at that.

“In my defense,” Greg said after a moment, “I gave Jeff a whole two minutes to explain before I punched him.”

“A whole two minutes? How noble of you.”

“Too long, right?”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. Sobering quickly, she sighed a long, deep sigh. “Was he really that bad?”

All humor vanished from Greg’s expression. “Just ask Braden or the other guys.”

Or Amber who, in typical Amber fashion, was convinced Greg punching Jeff was the most romantic act in all of history.

Carrie’s feet moved faster, swishing through the long grass. If Greg hadn’t been next to her, she would have cherished this morning walk. Spring was exploding across Illinois in a thousand colors. The trees budded with lime green and yellow, and the first of the flowers popped up in lavender and fuchsia. It was beautiful. In contrast, Greg kept the rifle in the crook of his arm. Between the gun and the slingshot in his back pocket, he looked like he was heading to war.

“Um,” she said, “I planned on taking you to a few clans on the way to Terrell. But would you rather check on Terrell first?”

“No. The clans are fine.”

Her eyes fell on the rifle. “These other clans are peaceful. Maybe you should…um…leave your gun in the woods, so you don’t scare them off before we can talk.”

“They were peaceful three years ago,” he corrected. “Who knows what they’re like now. But this”—he tapped the rifle—“is for dinner.”

“Oh.”

She quieted her step as they entered a thick patch of trees, hoping they’d spot a deer. Jenna could use the extra meat. The path had overgrown with trees and shrubs since the last time she’d visited the Ferris clan, the first one she planned to visit. The trail was barely visible. She eyed his gun again, skeptical of his answer. Dinner or not, she had the feeling he brought that rifle for protection. Was it possible the other clans had turned violent since they’d last had contact? But she immediately dismissed that. Terrell never took a rifle with him to trade with Barry. They’d never taken a rifle back when they’d had contact with these other clans either because they were peaceful clans. So why did Greg always assume the worst of people? Guilty until proven innocent.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Carrie said.

One of his dark eyebrows cocked, but he nodded. “Sure.”

She struggled with the question for a time but decided to ask anyway. “Why do you hate the world?”

He stopped in the dappled sunlight and looked down at her. “You think I hate the world?”

“Sometimes.” Other times, not at all, and the difference caused her head to spin with confusion.

He smiled a tiny smile. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment. Let me ask you somethin’ first. Why don’t you?”

She shrugged.

His smile faded as if her answer saddened him. He studied her in the tree-covered woods, green eyes searching hers, as if looking for more of an answer than the lame shrug she’d offered. With his gaze that intent on her, that probing, she regretted asking him such a stupid question.

“Let’s just say, I didn’t used to,” he finally said, and with that, he started off again.

She took that in for a time. So what had he been like back then, before the Collapse stole everything good and happy about his life? Was it possible that man still existed inside of him somewhere? She shook out of her thoughts, tired of trying to figure him out.

Greg pulled up a low branch, ducked underneath, and held it for her. As she stooped to follow, she spotted the long, red scar running down his palm.

“By the way,” she said, “I’m really sorry about your hand. I didn’t realize that—”

“What?” He turned, forcing her to stop. “That for the rest of my life, every time I see my hand I’ll think about Carrie Ashworth?”

She winced. “I’m really sorry.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Well, you taught me a valuable lesson that day. Stay outta Carrie’s way when she’s tryin’ to save the world.”

His hand was perched above her, holding back the branch, and she took a sudden accounting of how close they were. A foot maybe. Too close. Way too close. Only he was blocking the path, leaving her cornered under his arm. He smiled as if guessing her discomfiture. She sidestepped into a bush. Thorns and branches grabbed her jeans, but she pushed through and took the lead.

“Tell me about your girlfriend,” she said, voice tight.

His smile vanished. “There’s nothin’ to tell. I left. She didn’t. End of story.”

In other words, Butt out. Seemed unfair considering how much Greg knew about her supposed love life—which had somehow evolved to include him—but she let it drop. If she had her way, they wouldn’t talk the rest of the day.

Up ahead, she spotted the old stone wall, the most recognizable marker along the way. She gave a little sigh of relief. After three years, she hadn’t forgotten the way.

The rock wall was chest high and a foot wide. It was partially hidden with overgrown bushes, and she searched for the best spot to climb up. Greg just took a running leap and hoisted himself up. Once he was steady on top, he turned and offered her a hand. His scarred hand. She pretended not to notice and dug the toe of her shoe into the closest rock. With a heft, she got her stomach perched up top. The bottom half of her still dangled.

“I might hate the world sometimes, but I don’t bite,” he said, hand still out in offering.

You sure? Her toes scrambled until they found another hold. She pushed herself the rest of the way up with only a few scratches.

They stood on the stone wall, taking in the view. She inhaled a deep breath of fragrant spring air, which made him glance sideways.

“This used to be the unofficial boundary between us and Ferris,” she said quickly.

“Does that mean we’re halfway?” he asked.

“No.”

“Close to halfway?”

She frowned. “Not really.”

Grunting, he hopped down off the wall. Then he held out that same hand. She jumped freely and somehow landed on her feet.

“One of these days you’re gonna stop bein’ scared of me,” he said. “I promised to be nice.”

Maybe, but his idea of nice was different than hers.

As they started off again, legs swishing through the grass, she focused on the mission at hand. Next to Logan Pond, the Ferris clan was the largest she knew of. That meant they had the most possibilities for Jenna, including a friend of Carrie’s mom, Gayle Harrison, who had worked in an orthopedic surgeon’s office for many years. Carrie wasn’t sure how much Gayle would know about pregnancy when she barely understood orthopedics, but maybe she’d learned more over the years—or had met someone else who could help. If things went well, Carrie would point Greg in the direction of Terrell and head home.

Part of her worried if it would be painful to see her mom’s friend again. Gayle and her mom had served on the PTA for years. They had the same easy laugh, the same love of the outdoors. Only Gayle was still alive. Hopefully.

“She didn’t wanna come,” Greg said after a minute.

Carrie’s mind was elsewhere and it took a second to realize who she was.

Nicole.

“Didn’t wanna leave her family,” he continued, the rejection etching a deep line in his tanned forehead. “Not that I blame her, but still…”

Leaving North Carolina meant Nicole would never see her family again. However not leaving meant she wouldn’t see Greg again. Hence, the rejection. It was a breakup caused by circumstance only, which probably made it worse. One reason to hate the world.

“Was she part of your clan?” Carrie asked softly.

“Nah. Our clan wasn’t close like yours. She was just somebody I dated at UNC. Her family lived thirty miles north of Chapel Hill, so every month or so I’d sneak up there to visit. But without phones or any way to communicate, it was hard to keep things goin’.” He shrugged. “In the end, I guess there wasn’t enough of a relationship to make her wanna come.”

Carrie wasn’t sure what to say so she settled on a simple, “Sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I. Sorry I can’t get over it. Sorry it still eats at me. Sorry I’m lettin’ it get in the way of anything else.”

Her eyes flickered sideways. Greg stared up at the newly-budding trees as if in a trance. There’s no way he realized what his words sounded like to her, but an awkward silence hung between them, worse than before.

She pulled ahead of him by several feet. “So what’s this new idea you wanted to tell me about?”

He surveyed the small clearing. “Mind if we sit for a bit?”

Yes. But she found a large boulder and sat, hands clasped in her lap. He didn’t sit, though, and instead began to pace in front of her, tapping the rifle mindlessly against his leg.

Carrie watched him while he gathered his thoughts, the enigma of a man. He looked good in his green, button-down shirt and combed hair. More businessman than outlaw. Unlike the rest of the clan, he still shaved, and his face had grown quite tan under his constant workload. With consistent meals, his body had filled out and bulked up, no longer the rail-thin man he’d been when he’d shown up. The manual labor had done wonders for his arms and—

She jerked up, realizing where her thoughts had strayed again. Oliver was the one she should focus on. Oliver, with the kind eyes and…and…

A sudden thought made her squirm on her boulder. If Oliver looked like Greg, would she feel different? She hoped she wasn’t that shallow. Needing a distraction, she pulled off the seeds from some old yellow grass.

“So this idea of mine,” Greg finally started, “was sparked by what you said that first dinner about buildin’ up America. I always figured the government needed to fix the big businesses, bail out the banks and such, and I’ve been biding my time waitin’ for such a day. But you said we should start smaller and get the little shops goin’ again. Your flower shop on the corner, who do you suppose owns it?”

“The government, I guess. Like everything else.”

“Exactly. So what if we fixed it up and started sellin’ from it?”

“Well,” she said, “like you said we’d need enough money to buy it, and that’s after we had enough to buy our citizenship back.”

“I’m a citizen, Carrie. As long as I stay outta trouble.”

“Right.” She forgot. Greg never excluded himself from work, or sharing his mattress or food, even though he didn’t have to. Which didn’t make sense either. One minute he was the most self-centered, arrogant man she knew. The next, he was racing through the rain to warn people about a raid, or striking out to find medical help for the wife of a man he hated. One minute he couldn’t stand Carrie, and the next he was giving her the first well, defending her against Jeff, or complementing her blue eyes. All the while, he created business plans to help thirty people two social classes below him.

Realizing she was distracted again, she said, “So are you saying you have a stash of money somewhere and you want to invest in my flower shop?”

“No. If I had money like that I wouldn’t be here,” he said. “But that’s the problem. As long as we can’t sell anything, we can’t make money. If we can’t make money, the banks can’t reopen which means we can’t get loans to buy a place where we can make more money, leavin’ us slaves to this economy for the rest of our lives. That’s the cycle we’re stuck in.”

“Right. So…?”

He stopped pacing and faced her. “So I’ve got a business proposal for the mayor of Shelton, and I’d like you to help me pitch it.”

Her brows shot up. “What?”

“I wanna propose that our clan—though I won’t call us that—will clean up downtown Shelton, repair windows, doors, sidewalks, and anything else to bring it back to life. In return, we’ll ask the township to first, turn a blind eye and stop askin’ everybody for cards, and second, lease us a building to sell from—that flower shop, if they’re willing. Except I wanna sell more than flowers. I wanna sell seeds, vegetables, even chickens and goats.”

“Like a farmer’s market,” she said slowly.

He looked pleased by her response. “Exactly. And I need you to help me pitch it to the mayor.”

It all sounded wonderful. Until that.

“Why me?” she asked.

“You know you say that an awful lot,” he said with a pointed look.

“Sorry, but I can’t imagine the mayor letting illegals wander freely on the streets, let alone give us a building to set up shop.”

“They wouldn’t be givin’ it to us,” he said. “They’d be leasing it until we could buy it free and clear. Besides, I haven’t finished yet. I’m willing to give them ninety percent of our profits for rent.”

Her jaw dropped. “Ninety? That’s huge.”

“It has to be to tempt them.”

She tried to wrap her mind around it. Clean up Main Street. Fix up her flower shop. Sell vegetables. Rent. Ninety percent. Amber was wrong. Greg wasn’t dreamy. He was a dreamer.

And yet…

“Who would shop there?” she wondered aloud. “The town is deserted. No one has money besides government workers, and I’m pretty sure green cardholders won’t risk their jobs to buy from illegals.”

“I’m not illegal, Carrie. Neither’s my mom or grandparents.”

Right. She kept forgetting.

“Still,” she said, “patrolmen have their own cities and stores, plus they get government handouts. No offense, Greg, but I think they’ll turn their noses up at you.”

He followed her lead and pulled off the tops of the weeds. “I bet with encouragement from you, Oliver would shop there. He could spread the word to his buddies. It’s worth a shot at least. My grandpa’s burnin’ through money faster than he’ll admit. Plus we’re never gonna buy any homes until we find a source of income.”

“Homes?” she cried. “Who said anything about buying our homes? That’s impossible.”

He rolled his eyes. “What happened to Little Miss Optimistic, or is that just a show for everybody else?”

“I…” She huffed. “Sorry. It’s just a lot to think about. Give me a minute.”

He didn’t.

“The way I figure,” he said, “we could save up one house at a time, get people legal one person at a time. It could take fifteen or twenty years to buy even one house, and it’ll get interesting deciding who gets the first one, but I’ll let somebody else deal with that. Who knows, it could take our whole lifetime, but we gotta at least try.”

Buying a house. Her flower shop. The chance at being a citizen again.

She could only find one word.

“Wow.”

His green eyes lit up. “Does that mean you like it?”

“It would be amazing if we can make it work.”

“Well…” He took a deep breath, “there’s something we’re gonna need first, a favor of sorts from Oliver. But I’m not sure how willing he’ll be to help.”

“Oliver would do anything I asked him to. Unfortunately.” She looked up. “Why?”

“I need him to get a couple of marriage licenses for me.”

“You’ve lost me again,” she said.

“I can’t do this alone, Carrie. My grandparents are too old and have given up on America. My mom’s the same, so I need to get a couple more people legal.”

Her nerves tensed, although she wasn’t sure why. “Still not following.”

“Richard officially proposed to my mom last night.”

Just like that. Without any warning whatsoever, Greg dropped that on her.

“What? How? I didn’t know they were dating, or seeing each other, or…anything.” She laughed as her mind caught up. Richard and Mariah. “That’s wonderful! They’re perfect for each other and…” Her voice trailed off as she noticed Greg’s expression, devoid of emotion. “What do you think?” she asked. Mariah was his mom after all.

He waved it off. “It’s fine, but that’s beside the point. Once they’re married, I think I can get Richard a yellow card. It’s a stretch legally according to him, but I’m gonna need his knowledge of numbers if we’re ever gonna convince the mayor. But with the help from Oliver and this girl in the township office, I think I can pull it off.”

Carrie frowned. Amber told her all about the blonde in town and how Greg had sweet-talked his way into citizenship. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did.

She pushed it aside to focus on Mariah.

“I can’t believe we’re going to have a wedding,” she said. “We’ve had three births, six deaths, but never a wedding.” Her thoughts bubbled with joy. “I’m sure Oliver will help you get a marriage license.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about.” Greg pulled up the rifle, aimed it at nothing in particular, and said, “It’s the other marriage he might have a problem with.”

It took a second for her to process. Then her stomach did a one-eighty.

thirty-five

Carrie laughed nervously. “Very funny.”

But Greg wasn’t smiling, and his eyes weren’t teasing.

“Wait, you are joking, right?” she asked.

“No.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “But you can’t mean…”

“I need you, Carrie. I need somebody who can fix up the shop, decorate it, spruce it up, and get it lookin’ like a real business again. I need your enthusiasm to convince the mayor we know what we’re sellin’. You’re just the kinda person who could make it work. But I need you legal to do it.”

She rose to her feet. “You want me to…” Her breathing sped up. “…marry…” Now it was her pacing. “…you?”

“Yes.”

For the space of two seconds her world froze. Then, like a bursting dam, it exploded.

“You can’t be serious, Greg. Your timing could not be worse. This has to be some twisted joke to make things even more uncomfortable between us than they already are. You can’t want to…” She couldn’t bear to say it twice. “You hate me!”

“I don’t hate you,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s for business purposes only. A sheet of paper, nothin’ more. Nothing more. Seriously. You and I’d be the only ones who know about it—and Oliver, since we’d need him to get it all set up.”

“And you think Oliver would agree to this?” she cried.

“Well, it wasn’t my first plan, but I promised not to bug you about the other anymore. This is plan B, though maybe it’ll work out better this way.”

“Better for who? Not for me. Not for you. Definitely not for Oliver.”

Greg shrugged. “I’ve thought this through, and I think if I talk to Oliver and explain my relationship with you for what it is—or rather, what it isn’t— he’ll agree.”

She shook her head over and over as she paced circles around him. Greg wanted to marry her.

Her!

“Think about it, Carrie. Havin’ you illegal has to stress that poor guy out—especially after the raid. This’ll put his mind at ease. You just told me he’d do anything for you.”

“Yes, but could and should are two totally different things. I can’t do it,” she insisted. This was no better than what had Jeff suggested. In fact, it was worse. It was Greg! Her parents taught her to cherish marriage, not to use it to propel themselves up some…some…ladder!

“Well, there’s still the other option,” Greg said. “Though it’s harder on Oliver.”

She stopped and glared at him. “What could possibly be harder on Oliver?”

“Marry him,” he said simply. “Only Oliver might expect more outta the marriage than I would.”

Her mouth fell open, hardly believing Greg was real, that he’d just said what he did.

Her muscles went rigid. “I thought you said you were done being a jerk.”

“No, I said I was done tryin’ to be a jerk.” He held his arms out. “This is what comes naturally.”

In an instant, all of the pieces of the strange puzzle fit into place. The new Greg. The smiling Greg. The stick-up-for-Carrie Greg.

Lies. All of it.

She searched further back in her memories, piecing more and more together. Her well. Zach. The betrayal sliced deep.

“How long have you been planning this?” she whispered, unable to scream at him like she wanted to.

He wasn’t smiling anymore. Now that the charade was over, his true self was back. “A while.”

Her eyes burned. “I have to go.” Without waiting, she turned and started briskly for home.

“Wait, Carrie,” he said, following. “You’re just over thinkin’ it. It’s a piece of paper. Nothin’ more. It’s just a way to get around government red-tape, a way to get your flower shop. That’s it.”

She sped up, cutting through a huge field.

“At least consider it,” he said, struggling to keep up. “Just until things work out with Oliver—if things work out with Oliver.”

She was practically running to escape him.

“If there was somebody else, I’d do it. But you’re it. You’re the only single female I know.” Every word out of his mouth only made it worse, yet he wouldn’t stop. “We need somethin’ to get us outta this hole!”

“I’m perfectly content to stay in this hole forever,” she snapped over her shoulder.

His expression hardened. “Really? ‘Cause that can be arranged.”

She stopped long enough to point over his head. “The Ferris Clan is that way in another mile. Turn west at the barn. It’s a large neighborhood. You can’t miss it.” Then she spun back around.

“What about Terrell?” he called.

“He knows the way.”

Greg had used her. He was no better than Jeff. He was no better than anyone!

You’re the only single female I know.

“What about Jenna?” he shouted.

Her feet slowed. Jenna. Even then, it took another second before she stopped completely. Breaths coming fast, she stared down at the weeds, desperate for another option.

She heard Greg approach behind her.

“Why do you do that?” she said without turning. “You’re guilting me into helping you.”

“‘Cause with you it actually works,” he said flatly.

Her throat swelled with emotion. “That’s not fair. Nice people shouldn’t be punished for being nice.”

“Yeah?” he quipped. “Welcome to the real world.”

She fought back the heat behind her eyelids. Greg didn’t deserve her tears. He didn’t deserve to affect her like he always did.

“Look,” he said within a sigh, “Jenna shouldn’t suffer ‘cause I’m a jerk. I gotta find a doctor, but if I show up alone to these clans, they’ll think I’m a government spy and shoot me before I get a chance to explain. So, unfortunately, I need you. If you’d rather I didn’t say a thing the rest of the day, I won’t. But Jenna needs a doctor, and you know it.”

She weighed his words which was pointless. They both already knew he’d won. Then it occurred to her. Greg was the optional person on this trip. Not her. She didn’t need him to find Ferris. She didn’t need him to find anything.

With that, she turned and strode past him, not caring if he was following. Unfortunately, he was.

They settled into an uncomfortable silence as they crossed the field and entered another thick patch of woods. She began counting the steps. They had at least another mile to Ferris, plus another few to where Terrell met the supply guy. And then they had the walk home. At least then they’d have Terrell—assuming he was done and they didn’t have to camp out with him for a night or two. No. She was definitely leaving once they found—

A sudden rustling brought her head around. Something was charging through the trees. Startled, she stopped. It sounded huge, like a deer. And it was heading right for them.

Greg whipped up his rifle. “Get behind me.”

She shrank back. She’d never gone hunting, but she knew enough to know that deer didn’t run toward people. With a jolt, she thought about far more dangerous things than a charging deer. That thing could be human. A patrolman. A madman. Fear coursed through her as she crouched behind Greg and his rifle.

When the thing broke through the trees, it wasn’t a patrolman or a deer.

It was Zach.

Carrie grabbed Greg’s arm. “STOP!”

But Greg had already dropped the nose of the rifle.

Zach darted over bushes and weeds on a dead, lumbered run. One look at his face and a new fear leaped in Carrie’s throat. He looked terrified.

“What’s wrong, Zach?” she asked.

He ran straight for Greg. “Your mom,” he panted. “Fell. Hurt.”

That’s all he got out before Greg dropped the rifle and took off, sprinting for home.

Stunned, Carrie watched Greg disappear.

Zach doubled over, drawing in deep breaths. Carrie put a hand on his back.

“What happened?” she asked. “Is Mariah okay?”

“Don’t know,” Zach huffed. “May told me…run fast…find Greg.”

Carrie stared at the empty trees. Then her gaze dropped to the gun. She picked up the rifle, keeping it pointed at the ground, and said, “Are you ready?”

When Zach nodded, the two took off behind Greg.

thirty-six

Greg plowed through the group of concerned neighbors. His mom was flat on the couch, awake and talking to Richard who knelt beside her, holding her hand. Greg’s grandma sat behind his mom, crying, hands flittering nervously over her face. His grandpa stood behind all of them, gravely silent.

As soon as his mom saw him, she lit up. “Hiya, Greg. Back so soon?”

Greg crossed the room and knelt next to Richard. He took her hand. Her skin was pale and cold, which was typical, and she was smiling, which was—aggravatingly—also typical.

“What happened?” Greg asked.

“Oh, you know,” she said. “The usual.”

“Coughing?”

“Yeah. Only some people”—she threw a dark look up at her mom—“got a little jittery ‘cause of a little blood. They overreacted. I’m fine.”

Greg took in the front of her shirt, splattered with dark spots. A lot of dark spots. “Okay, Ma, how about you tell me the real story now.”

“She blacked out,” his grandma cried. “We were talking and she just fell! She just fainted dead away right in front of me.”

“I most certainly did not!”

“You did, too! You don’t remember, but you collapsed right in front of me. You fell and…and…” His grandma’s trembling fingers stroked her forehead. “You hit your head right here. It was…it was…”

Greg brushed his mom’s long bangs aside. Sure enough, there was a huge goose egg on her forehead with corresponding scratches. He felt sick. He should have been there.

“Well, maybe I did fall,” she said indifferently. “But as y’all can see, I’m fine now.”

Her hands weren’t shaking and she didn’t seem to be coughing up any more blood. She probably was fine. These episodes never lasted long.

His grandma’s eyes narrowed on him. “How long have you known she had cancer?”

Greg didn’t dare meet those watery eyes, knowing he’d committed high Trenton treason. “We don’t know if it’s cancer,” he said softly. “It could be anything. Ulcers or something else.” Kendra’s doctors said otherwise when they saw the blood. They’d given his mom six months to live back then, but they’d been wrong before. They could be wrong again.

“How long?” his grandma said, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks.

Greg looked at his mom, feeling life crash down on him all over again. “Nine months,” he whispered.

“And you never told us?” His grandma crumpled into a sobbing, emotional heap on her husband’s shoulder. “He should have told us, CJ. I had a right to know. That’s my daughter!”

Mariah pushed herself up. “Now Ma, don’t you be kickin’ up a fuss. I made Greg swear not to tell y’all for this very reason. I didn’t want you overreacting, and now look at you.”

While the two women went at it, Richard leaned over to Greg. “Your mom is still quite dizzy. I’m worried she might have a concussion. What do you think about taking her to a hospital? You’re both legal, and CJ says he has enough money to cover the bill.”

Greg said nothing. He knew his mom, he knew the fight, and he was tired of losing it.

“The closest medical unit is in DeKalb,” Richard continued. “Maybe we could track down Oliver to drive us.”

His mom overheard and turned back. “No, Greg. No hospitals. No doctors. Nothing!”

Greg knew where her obstinacy stemmed from. The scars from Kendra’s death ran deep. “I’ve tried more times than you know, Richard. She refuses to go.”

“Why Mariah?” a soft voice said. Greg turned and saw Carrie in the front door, having slipped in quietly after him. “You have your yellow card now. There’s no reason not to go.”

“There most certainly is,” his mom said. “The doctors won’t do a darn thing except dope me up and rack up medical bills nobody can afford.”

“We can afford it,” CJ said.

“Dad,” Mariah said, “you can’t even afford to turn on a light. No. I’m not bendin’. You wasted your money on our taxes. No hospitals.”

“What about another clan then?” Carrie asked. “Greg and I were just headed to Ferris to find someone with medical knowledge.”

Turning slowly, his mom glared daggers at him. “You said you were findin’ Terrell. You promised, Greg. You promised me no clans, no doctors, no nothin’.” She coughed and lay back down, looking more exhausted than she’d ever admit. “I don’t need it. I don’t want it. You promised.”

He stared at the floor.

She coughed louder and harder which made his grandma cry louder and harder.

Richard rubbed her arm. “Okay, love. No doctors.”

When she quieted, she looked at Greg again, eyes filling with tears. “Don’t you see? I got what I wanted. You brought me home, and now look what I found.” She squeezed Richard’s hand.

His grandma buried her face in her shoulder. “This can’t be happening. Not now. I just got you back.”

“It’s okay, Ma,” his mom whispered. “We’re together. That’s all that matters now.”

***

“Simmons!”

Oliver stopped mid-stride, surprised to see his boss still at work. Chief Dario stormed down the hallway toward him, looking far from happy.

“In my office. Now.”

Oliver followed him through the mess of desks, trying to remember the last sit-down meeting they’d had. Probably back when his boss asked—halfheartedly—if Oliver wanted a partner. Oliver wasn’t sure who was more pleased when he declined. There weren’t many on the force that would be sad to see Oliver knocked off in a raid gone bad.

When Oliver rounded the corner to the chief’s office, he stopped. David Jamansky sat inside. Jamansky turned and smiled at him, grinned actually. The chief motioned for Oliver to sit as well.

A thin sheen of sweat broke out on Oliver’s forehead.

“I’m restructuring, Simmons,” the chief said without preamble. “I feel you’d be better suited in a level 3 position.”

Oliver felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Level 3? May I ask why?” Though he could already guess. Jamansky looked quite pleased with himself.

Chief Dario’s eyes narrowed. “Letting a clan that size settle in your territory cost you one level. Letting them slip through your fingers cost you another. I just glanced over this month’s numbers, and it looks like you might end up at a level 2 before the first of May.”

“I won’t, sir,” Oliver said. “I’ll pull extra shifts.”

“You better believe you will!” Chief Dario bellowed. “Without pay. I want five people detained by the end of next week, or you’ll be dusting plants in Chicago’s lowest penitentiary. Understood?”

Five? Oliver’s areas were dead. Where was he supposed to look next? But he nodded. “Understood.”

Jamansky was obviously behind this, but Oliver didn’t know why he got to witness it.

The chief read his mind. “Meet your new boss, Simmons. Jamansky was the one who found that clan and scared them off. Because of that, he’s been promoted. You’ll report directly to him from now on. You’re both dismissed.”

Oliver felt ill as he rose. Jamansky stood, too, barely hiding his smug smile. He motioned for Oliver to follow him out.

“It’s going to be good working directly over you now,” Jamansky said as they headed down the hallway. “Let me know when you have those five detainees. I’ll be in my new office.”

Oliver grunted an answer. Jamansky was younger than him and far more brutal with illegals. How could Chief think this was a good idea?

“Oh, and Simmons,” Jamansky said, lowering his voice, “I expect a return of all of that other stuff by the end of next week as well. Who knows. I might be able to get you restored to Level 4. If not, well…” Jamansky’s smiled turned dark. “There is no if not. I will get that stuff back. Every last bit of it. Are we clear?”

Oliver swallowed. “Perfectly.”

thirty-seven

“What do you need?” Greg said.

Carrie fell back a step. Even though Greg lived there, she’d never actually seen him answer Trenton’s door. Usually, he was off working somewhere—although he hadn’t shown up at her well since their walk to Ferris. She didn’t blame him, though. She didn’t want to see him either.

“It looks like it’s gonna rain today,” Greg said, when she didn’t answer. “I didn’t figure you’d wanna head to the other clans in a storm.”

So he still wanted to find the other clans. Worse, he still wanted her to take him. She couldn’t deny helping him find a doctor now, but her gaze dropped to the cement, ashamed of the question she’d asked him yesterday. After watching his agony as he’d knelt next to his mom, after seeing his open wound as he tried to explain to his grandparents, who was Carrie to question why he hated the world?

Still, never had dark ominous clouds been such a welcome sight. But that wasn’t why she’d come.

He glanced at the daffodils in her hand, daffodils that suddenly seemed like a bad idea. “For me?” he asked.

“Yes. No. I mean…” She handed them over. “Here.”

“How thoughtful. They’re real lovely.”

She wasn’t positive, but it seemed like he was teasing. His face remained stoic, but there was the tiniest glimmer in his eyes.

“Who is it?” Mariah called, coming up behind him. Greg’s mom was the second to last person Carrie expected to answer May’s door. Mariah should have been in bed, resting. Her skin was pale, her eyes heavy, yet she lit up when she saw Carrie. “Well hello, darlin’. Come on in.”

“No, that’s alright. I just came to…” Carrie looked at the daffodils. “I wanted to see how you’re feeling today.”

Greg handed his mom the flowers. “I think these are for you.”

“Well, bless your heart, Carrie,” Mariah said, “they’re gorgeous!”

Carrie took a step back, preempting Greg’s attempt to separate her and his mom. He had enough things to worry about without Carrie barging in on his family all the time. But then Greg moved onto the porch next to her.

“I’ll leave you two ladies be,” he said. Tipping his Yankees hat, he moved past Carrie down the steps to the sidewalk. He wasn’t headed toward her house, but she didn’t care. He’d left her alone with his mom. She couldn’t believe it.

“Greg’s off to work on that barricade of his,” Mariah said. “Or at least, he better be. No more sneakin’ off to other clans!” she called.

He waved in acknowledgment but kept going.

“That boy,” Mariah said. “But come on in. Let me get these in water.”

Carrie followed Mariah into the kitchen. Mariah arranged the dozen daffodils in a glass facing outward like Carrie would have.

“How are you feeling today?” Carrie asked.

“Wonderful. And you?”

Wonderful? Not only did Mariah look sick, but Carrie felt sick knowing it wasn’t the first time she had. Even now, she could hear the soft wheeze of each breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Carrie whispered.

“Oh, no,” Mariah said, shaking a finger at her. “Don’t you be startin’. Ma’s bad enough. She’s been cryin’ in her room all morning.”

“I can imagine. This is hard on all of us, Mariah.”

“Come now,” Mariah said. “You’re supposed to be the happy one, so let’s be happy together. Besides, I have somethin’ wonderful to tell you.” She took Carrie’s hand and dragged her over to the couch. They were barely sitting before she announced, “I’m gettin’ married. To Richard!”

Carrie smiled warmly. “I know. Greg told me. Congratulations! When’s the big day?”

“Friday.”

“Friday?” Carrie repeated. “As in this Friday?”

Mariah laughed. “That’s the one. I know it was supposed to be planting day, but I figured you wouldn’t mind pushin’ it back a day.”

“Not at all. But…so soon?”

“Why not? I love Richard. He loves me. If I coulda had it my way, we woulda done it today, but Greg insisted we talk to Oliver first. Assuming all goes well, the wedding’s set for Friday!”

Mariah’s enthusiasm was contagious. Carrie found herself smiling. “That’s wonderful. Do you need help with anything? Food or…” Decorations seemed impossible. Same with invitations.

“How about more pretty flowers?” Mariah said.

“Really? Oh, I’d love to! I saw the most beautiful flowers on my walk with Greg. They were this amazing shade of…” Carrie trailed off, noticing Mariah’s sudden frown. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

“Greg told me about his talk with you,” Mariah said. “About his new grand scheme.”

“Oh.” Carrie dropped her chin. That.

“Actually, that clueless boy told me everything he’s said to you lately, about Oliver and Jeff. Even himself, of all the ridiculous notions. Askin’ you to marry him? That boy!” she spat like it was profanity.

Carrie smiled, glad to know she wasn’t the only one struggling to understand Greg.

“Is he too old to have his mama apologize for him?”

Carrie laughed. “Yes, I think so.”

Mariah settled into the couch. “I suppose you’re right. He wasn’t always like this, you know. He used to be a kind, thoughtful boy, but over the years he’s let life get the better of him. Now he’s just ornery and bitter. And stupid.”

The last five years had been hard on everyone, but in Carrie’s opinion, it didn’t give them the right to take it out on the world. Jeff. Jenna. Greg. Sasha. Of anyone, Mariah had the most reason to be ornery and bitter, yet she always seemed to bring a smile to everyone.

“Not that he doesn’t have every right to be bitter,” Mariah said, disagreeing with her thoughts. “The Collapse wiped out all his dreams and ambitions. He lost his education and a chance at a great career. Then to top it off, he had to move back in with his ol’ ma, poor boy.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind that too much. You two seem very close.” It was one of the things Carrie liked about Greg. He was fiercely protective of his mom. He’d do anything for her, even walk away from his life—and Nicole—to bring her back to her parents.

“I suppose that’s one good thing that’s come of all this,” Mariah said. “If only I knew what do with him now.”

You and me both, Carrie thought.

Mariah’s gaze went to the window, looking as worn down as she probably felt. “It’s just that ever since my baby girl took a turn for the worse, my Greg took a turn for the worse, too. You know, I offered to take Kendra to the doctors in Raleigh by myself, knowin’ Greg would feel like a caged animal in that municipality, knowin’ he’d never walk outta there a free man again. But he just carried Kendra those five miles, bullied his way through the gates, got us our blue cards, and started work in that chicken factory. The government didn’t want an old has-been like me, so everything fell on Greg’s shoulders. Every hour he put in the factory, Kendra got two in the hospital, which mighta worked, but every dose of medicine cost him another hour, and she needed four doses a day just to breathe.”

Carrie had no idea. She’d never heard Greg talk about his time in Raleigh, and the only time he’d mentioned his sister was like a slap to the face. “My sister was nice and cute, and she’s dead.”

Mariah’s green eyes glistened. “I’ve never seen a man kill himself like Greg did, sleepin’ two or three hours a night. He hated the work—absolutely loathed helpin’ the government in any way—but he worked himself to death to keep his baby sister alive.”

“After a week,” Mariah said, voice dropping, “he showed up at the hospital with a welt so thick his eye had swollen shut. They did somethin’ to his back, too, ‘cause anytime I came close, he just about jumped outta his skin.” A few silent tears slid down her cheeks. “To this day he won’t tell me what happened, but I’m guessin’ he mouthed off to his foreman, and they beat him somethin’ fierce. He hasn’t taken off his shirt in front of me since.”

Horrified, Carrie remembered Greg at her well and wondered what scars were bad enough he wouldn’t take off his shirt in front of his mom or the other guys. A few weeks ago, the patrolman clubbed his shoulder with a nightstick, and he acted like it was nothing. Maybe in comparison it was. She shuddered.

“When Kendra saw Greg that day,” Mariah continued softly, “when she saw how beat he was, what her sickness was doin’ to him, she just…she gave up.” Mariah sniffed. “She and Greg were real close, and I think she couldn’t bear to do that to him.”

“I’m so sorry,” Carrie whispered.

Nodding, Mariah tried to push her tears back, but it didn’t help. “Ever since, Greg’s blamed himself for being weak, for lettin’ Kendra see how broken he was. He blamed the rest of the world, too. First the doctors. He went off, yellin’ and hollerin’ that they hadn’t tried hard enough. Then he blamed the government for holding back Kendra’s medicine when his hours came up short. He even blamed his foreman for givin’ him the welts that put Kendra over the edge. But deep down, way down, I know he blamed himself most of all. He has ever since.”

Carrie couldn’t move. She could hardly breathe as a memory slammed into her. That day after lunch when Greg went off about Oliver.

“You’ll never forgive yourself if somethin’ happens to your siblings. For the rest of your life, every single day, you’ll hate yourself for not stopping it.”

Greg still blamed himself.

Every single day.

The thought of losing Amber or Zach, not only watching them die but feeling responsible for it, was unbearable.

Mariah’s voice dropped to a whisper, cutting through Carrie’s thoughts. “When they took Kendra’s body away, Greg went crazy on me. He threatened to set fire to the hospital, break outta the municipality, and start a revolution. He was a danger to himself and others. I’m lucky he only got us kicked outta the hospital and not somethin’ worse. But he wasn’t finished.” She pulled out a stained handkerchief and wiped her cheeks. “Outside he went on a rampage. He knocked over garbage cans and kicked a patrol car. I was terrified, absolutely terrified, so I took the biggest risk of my life.” Mariah paused and waited until Carrie looked up at her. “I told him I was dyin’.”

Carrie stared at her, lost in a world so horrific there wasn’t room enough for both of them. She wanted to leave Mariah alone to her grief, yet she couldn’t. She was rooted in place. Mariah sounded like a woman unburdening her soul, making Carrie think that she hadn’t told anyone else. Not these details. Not the whole story.

“One of Kendra’s doctors saw me have an episode,” Mariah went on. “Told me I probably had a tumor. But Greg hadn’t known I was sick until that moment. I’d been too scared to tell him. But I had to stop him, Carrie. I had to find a way to snap him outta his fit before he got us both killed. Well, I stopped him alright.” Her voice cracked, and for a moment she was too overwhelmed to speak. “I stopped him so bad he sat right down on the curb and stared at nothin’ for a full hour.”

Mariah swallowed. “The look on his face, Carrie… The look in his eyes…” She pressed her handkerchief to her trembling lips. “I killed him that day. I was the final straw that broke his back. The boy I raised, the man he’d become, was as dead and gone as Kendra.”

Carrie vividly remembered the moment she realized her mom was dying. It was here at May’s, in the back room, the ‘sick’ room. Carrie had raced through every future event she’d have to endure without a mom’s guidance—dating, marriage, babies—knowing full well there was nothing she could do to stop it. She understood a little of the pain Greg felt on that curb because part of her had died that November, too.

For a time, she and Mariah were lost in their own grief. Then Mariah’s red eyes went back to the window, her voice a little stronger.

“For whatever reason, life’s been chiseling away at my Greg, person after person, dream after dream, until he had nothin’ left. A woman will never understand a man’s need to conquer somethin’, whether it’s a job, house, car, or even a stupid rabbit. But I knew, I knew lookin’ at him on that curb that he was the one who’d been conquered. No twenty-four-year-old, cocky know-it-all should ever look that defeated.”

I didn’t used to. Greg’s words echoed in Carrie’s mind, haunting her. She reached out and took Mariah’s cold hand. Mariah clasped it tightly.

“But was I compassionate or caring like a mother should be?” Mariah asked, voice cracking. “No. I was cruel. Horribly cruel. After losin’ everybody that ever mattered to him, I knelt in front of him and told him he had to lose North Carolina, too. I told him I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my parents before I died. So I asked him to walk away from everything and everybody.” She paused, watery gaze lifting to Carrie. “Even Nicole.”

Carrie’s stomach dropped. She suddenly realized how intrusive she was being. This was Greg’s story, his extremely private life. She could guarantee he’d go ballistic if he found out his mom was spilling it out for her. She started to stand, but Mariah’s grip tightened, keeping her captive.

“The crazy thing is, he and Nicole weren’t even that serious,” Mariah said. “To be honest, I was shocked when he asked Nicole to come with us. Nicole was, too. I don’t blame her for turnin’ him down—not a bit—but Greg was devastated. It’s like he was graspin’ for anything or anybody to hold onto, but in the end, he was just losin’ another person. “So…” Mariah shrugged. “He just shut down.

“Now he doesn’t care who or what he offends. You. Jeff. My folks. It’s like he’s built a wall around that shattered heart of his, and anytime somebody threatens to break through, he throws up another wall to keep them out.” She blinked back a fresh round of tears. “I can’t tell you what it’s like as a mother to see your kid hurtin’ like that.”

Technically, Carrie wasn’t a mother, but she felt like it with Zach and Amber. Watching them suffer after her parents’ deaths had been agonizing. But she’d never thought of Greg like that. Hurting. Scared. Broken. It was so…human. So full of emotion. Nothing like the man she thought she knew.

A sudden disturbing thought cut through the rest. Did Greg see Kendra when he saw Carrie? They were only a year apart in age. Maybe when he saw Carrie, alive, happy, and basking in his grandparents’ home and love, he saw the life his sister could have had—should have had.

Did he—on some level—resent Carrie for it?

That very first time he’d seen her in the kitchen, standing next to his mom and grandma, she remembered how he’d stiffened with anger. Carrie felt sick. She wasn’t trying to take Kendra’s place. She hadn’t even known how it might look to him.

Without realizing it, she was sitting next to Mariah on the edge of the couch, practically begging for more details.

“I’ve asked myself a million times if leavin’ North Carolina was the right thing for him. I hoped if he got a fresh start at life, he’d find himself again.” Mariah smiled lightly. “Don’t spoil it, but my boy still thinks we came here for me.”

“He does?” Carrie said. “I mean, you didn’t?”

Mariah wiped her tears. “I wanted to see my parents again, sure, but I’d never considered leavin’ North Carolina until I saw him on that curb. It was the only way to get him back to a family who’d love him unconditionally like I do and become his support once I was gone.” Her shoulders lifted. “So I lied, convinced him I wanted to come home, and here we are.”

“Wow,” Carrie said. “I had no idea.”

Mariah smiled and patted her hand. “Well, it’s our little secret now. And I’ll tell you one more. I think comin’ here’s been the best thing for him. He’s found somethin’ to conquer again. There’s even been a few times I coulda sworn he was downright happy.” Her face brightened. “I never dreamt the good Lord planned so much for us, but it’s nothin’ short of a miracle that the one person Greg bonded with is the same one I did. Like Richard was meant to be a part of our lives.”

Carrie thought about pie with Richard and Greg. It was the first she’d ever seen the spark of something different in Greg, a spark of the old Greg, perhaps. And now Mariah and Richard were getting married, making Richard a permanent part of Greg’s life.

Her heart swelled. Mariah had risked her life to travel across the country to save her son. Even now, when Carrie came to lift her spirits, Mariah was lifting hers.

And she was dying.

Like everyone else.

Carrie’s throat burned. Her insides started to tremble. It wasn’t fair. Why Mariah? Why now? Another friend lost. Another mother gone. Her breaths came faster, and she felt a hot flood of tears building behind her eye lids.

Like all good mothers, Mariah sensed her need and pulled her in for a long hug. “It’s alright, darlin’,” she said, stroking her hair. “It’s gonna be just fine. You’ll see.”

That only made it worse. Mariah’s arms felt too familiar, like a whisper from the past.

Carrie squeezed her eyes shut and slowed her breathing. This wasn’t about her. This was about Mariah. About Greg. Still, it took another moment to pull herself together.

“Richard will be so wonderful for both of you,” Carrie managed.

Mariah smiled. “He already is. Just the kinda man to help Greg cope after I’m gone.”

Carrie flinched. Mariah was so casual about her impending death, it was unbearable.

Mariah sat up with a huff. “Look at me, carryin’ on like I am. I’m sure this was more than you ever wanted to know about my Greg, but…” She stopped suddenly and took both of Carrie’s hands in hers, eyes intent. “Listen, Carrie. One of these days my boy’s gonna wake up and realize he’s in love with you.”

Carrie jerked back. “What? No.”

Mariah smiled again. “It’s just a hunch or maybe just a wish, but sometimes mamas know these things before their kids. My only hope is that he doesn’t ruin things with you before he figures out how to break down some of those walls of his.”

“No. It’s not…it’s not like that with us.” Carrie’s face went hot. “Me and him—I mean, Greg and I, we aren’t…he doesn’t…” She couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence.

Mariah patted her hand. “Let’s just say his grandma’s not the only one who thinks you’re perfect for him.”

Carrie wanted to crawl under a hole. Yet in typical Trenton fashion, Mariah kept saying exactly what was on her mind with no regard for the other person whatsoever.

“Not that you don’t drive him crazy, ‘cause you do. Real crazy. But it’s in a good way, you know?” She winked at Carrie. “He talks about you an awful lot. Enough to give me hope.”

“Mariah, no. You don’t understand. That’s not how things are between us. At all. Like not even a little bit.”

“Then tell me somethin’. Why’s he pushin’ you so hard to be with Oliver?”

“So he won’t be…” Carrie looked up with sudden dread. She was about to say arrested, but then she remembered: “I’m not illegal, Carrie. Neither’s my mom.”

Or his grandparents.

Mariah grinned. “See what I mean? It’s just another wall. So I just hope he’ll shape up and become the kinda man who’ll be perfect for you, too.”

Completely mortified, Carrie stood. This is what she got for not leaving when she should have.

“Ah, darlin’, I’ve gone and embarrassed you. I’m sorry. I just wanted you to understand why Greg is the way he is.” Mariah shrugged. “Maybe then you’ll forgive him for his awful behavior—or at least understand it some.”

“I do,” Carrie said softly.

“Good.” Mariah smiled. “Who knows. Maybe someday you’ll figure out why he still shaves.”

That startled Carrie enough to distract her. “You don’t know why?”

“Oh, I have a hunch, but I don’t think it’s a conscious thing he does. But he’s never missed a day shaving in the last five years. Not a Saturday, not a nothin’—which is really somethin’ considering the livin’ conditions we had comin’ north. It’s gotta mean something, but I’ll leave that question to you.” She winked again.

Just like that, they were back to a place that didn’t, wouldn’t, and couldn’t exist. A place where Greg loved her—or even just tolerated her.

“It’s a piece of paper, Carrie. Nothing more! If there was somebody else, I’d do it. But you’re it. You’re the only single female I know.”

Mariah stood. “Alrighty. Enough yapping. What’d you say we go outside and scout out a place for the wedding? I was thinkin’ somewhere by the—”

Mariah swayed suddenly, eyes going wild. Her hands flew to her stomach and her face clenched.

“Mariah?” Carrie jumped up and grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”

With a low moan, Mariah closed her eyes, bent in half, and rocked back and forth. Her skin went from pale to white, and she started wheezing. Hard. Loud.

Carrie panicked. “Mariah? What can I do? Please let me help. Do you need to sit down or lie down or… Mariah?”

When there was still no answer, Carrie spun to the window. “Greg!” she shouted, even knowing he’d never hear. But she needed help. She needed something! What if Mariah started coughing up blood again? Or worse, fainted?

Mariah’s breathing was labored. She continued to rock, hands clutching her stomach. Carrie held her arm to keep her upright. “Mariah?” she kept whispering. “Mariah?”

“Just need…” Mariah wheezed. “…minute…”

Slowly, almost painfully, each breath came slower and slower, until with a raspy sigh, Mariah’s eyes opened. There was no color in her cheeks, no life left in her green eyes, as if the episode not only took her strength, but a part of who she was as well.

“Maybe…” Mariah said tiredly, “we outta discuss the wedding from right here.”

thirty-eight

Every time Oliver pulled into Logan Pond, his heart leaped in his chest. He had far more important things to worry about than some clan disappearing without him knowing, but all he could think about was Carrie and the builder of Carrie’s well.

As he pulled into the South Entrance, the very man who caused his stomach to knot ran out to meet him. Oliver clenched the steering wheel, wondering how much time the strapping, young Greg spent in Carrie’s backyard working on her well, working on her heart…

Oliver slammed on the brakes. He’d passed Greg by ten yards without meaning to. Greg ran to catch up to him. The guy was young enough Oliver didn’t feel too badly.

“Hey,” Greg said at his window. “You got a sec?”

Oliver had a meeting with his new, arrogant boss in twenty minutes, and he was seventeen minutes away which only gave him three minutes to talk to Carrie. “No. Sorry.”

Greg opened his door. “It’s important. Follow me. I need to show you somethin’ in the woods.”

Oliver scanned the woods off to the left with a new concern. It happened all the time. A patrolman went out for a simple sweep and came back in pieces. But Greg was part of Carrie’s clan now. He should be safe. Still, Oliver kept a hand on his gun as he followed Greg.

No sooner had they stepped into the woods than Greg started to explain: building a natural barricade, blocking off the road, and creating tornado-type damage to keep cars from entering the South Entrance.

“What’d you think?” Greg asked when he finished.

I think you’re nuts! Not only to plan this, but to have the gall to ask how to block off Oliver’s only access to the neighborhood. He was smart enough to realize why Greg was doing it. He wanted Oliver out of Carrie’s life—or was it the other way around? Was Carrie sick of Oliver bugging her?

“Of course, we’ll leave the North Entrance open,” Greg amended. “I hope you don’t mind usin’ that one from now on.”

“Oh.” Oliver scratched his receding hairline. As fast as he’d spiraled down the anxiety train, he climbed his way back up. Normally he did this several times a day, which explained why he popped a dozen antacids as part of his daily routine. He had issues.

He glanced at his watch. Two minutes late. Jamansky was going to kill him. But if Greg wasn’t blocking off both entrances…

“Why are you doing this exactly?” Oliver asked.

“Fall back. If there’s ever a time you can’t help us.”

“That time might not be far off,” Oliver muttered.

Greg looked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Oliver thought about his dilemma. Jamansky wasn’t bluffing, but Oliver refused to re-steal the clan’s stuff. Yet, if he lost his job, no amount of food or clothes would make up for the clan’s—or Carrie’s—impending arrest.

“What’s goin’ on?” Greg said.

Oliver really didn’t want to discuss this with Greg, but then again, Greg had been out in the world. He knew the realities of life outside of the clan. “I might have a slight problem,” Oliver said. “Or actually, a really, really, really big problem.”

Greg nodded carefully. “This about Carrie?”

“No!”

“Oh. Sorry. What’s up?”

How dare the young punk bring up Carrie with him, as if he had a right to talk about her? Greg folded his arms, unapologetic for throwing Oliver’s thoughts off kilter. He was waiting for an answer and, unfortunately, Oliver was out of ideas.

“I guess in a roundabout way it’s about Carrie,” Oliver said. “It’s about the whole clan actually. I’m, uh…” He scratched his forehead again. “I’m in a lot of trouble.”

***

Greg crept silently across the wet grass, stalking his prey. With the heavy morning fog, he didn’t have a shadow, and with the slight breeze, all sound was carried away.

It was too easy.

When he was two feet behind Carrie, he called as loudly as if he’d been across the street, “What’s the weather?”

Carrie and her handful of weeds went flying. She whipped around and laid a hand over her heart. “Greg!”

“Is it a three?” he asked innocently. “No, too warm. Your arms have goose bumps and your lips are purple. A two? How exactly does this scale of yours work? I haven’t quite figured it out yet.”

“Why do you do that?” she said, still breathing heavily. “I hate it when you sneak up on me.”

He grinned. “Then quit workin’ with your back to the road.”

“I’ll remember that next time.”

She turned back to her weed patch, avoiding him like she had since their walk to Ferris. She had come late to the meeting last night and left early, but the curiosity was eating him alive. Oliver had stayed at her house a whole five minutes yesterday. That was more than enough time to make a move.

Greg bent down and examined a bucket filled with flowers. All he saw in her old flower beds were weeds, weeds, and more weeds, but somehow Carrie found flowers. Pretty ones, too.

“For the wedding today,” she explained.

“And those?” he asked, motioning to the pile of weeds on the other side of her. “I thought you weren’t supposed to weed. You know, go for the whole deserted-house look?”

“I wasn’t weeding. I was admiring.” Her dirty hands spread apart some weeds to reveal three green vines.

He should have known. If it wasn’t the weather with Carrie, it was plants. It wasn’t until recently he figured out why. When the world fell apart, people scrambled for something to hold onto, something to anchor them to the past. Carrie chose plants and weather—probably unconsciously—because neither had been affected by the Collapse. It made sense now, which meant it no longer annoyed him.

Instead of giving her a lesson in Psych 101, he said, “Terrell got back late last night, but before you get your hopes up”—which was too late since she already leapt to her feet—“he just got the basics. He’ll take another load to trade in a week or two and get the rest. With the wedding today, we’ll divide up the supplies tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thanks, Greg.”

She knelt by her sickly vines again, ready to avoid him again. He wasn’t letting her get off that easy.

“I’m headin’ out to catch some fish that don’t exist in that pond of yours right now,” he said. “My mom wants some for the wedding.”

“Oh. About that.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Thanks for all the fish. It’s been a welcome change in our diet. Zach’s loving it.”

Zach, my foot! She was loving it. He’d bet his life on it.

“Care to join me?” he asked. Her brows shot up, but before she could slam him with another repulsed rejection—Marry you? Are you nuts?—his hands rose in defense. “I’ve got no grand ideas today. No marriage proposals. I just thought I’d teach you how to catch your own fish from now on.”

It wasn’t true. He was there for one reason only. He hadn’t heard anything since Oliver left, not even from gossip-girl Amber. Then again, he was dealing with Oliver and Carrie.

“I’d ask Zach to come,” he said, “but I’m guessin’ he’s still asleep.”

She looked up at the gray morning sky, not quite fully illuminated. A dense fog hovered low to the ground. Greg guessed it was barely 6 a.m. Probably why she expected to be alone with her weeds. It looked like they were the only two people awake in the world.

She stood and brushed the dirt from her hands. “Alright. What do I do?”

Only four homes backed Logan Pond. The Ashworth’s house happened to be one of them. Greg figured Carrie’s father had been a successful financial analyst because their home was one of the largest in the neighborhood.

He and Carrie headed down her backyard toward the pond. The fog floated above the water’s surface, like smoke rising out of its depths.

Greg crept along the edge, searching for a small eddy where fish liked to hide in the morning. Carrie followed, rubbing her bare arms against the morning chill. With the wind, Greg guessed it was around 40 degrees—maybe less—yet she wore short sleeves and no coat. His mom would probably insist on an outdoor wedding today. She didn’t mind the cold either.

“What’d you think of the meeting last night?” he asked, still searching.

“Seemed a little mild after last week’s,” she said. “No fist fights or anything.”

“Only ‘cause Jeff didn’t show up.”

Before Carrie could embark on a conversation about Jeff and ruin Greg’s mood, he pointed off to the left. “See those ripples there? The small ones by the reeds? Those are fish. A bunch of them. Doesn’t anybody ever pay attention to this pond?”

Her eyes found the ripples, but her thoughts looked far from. “I was surprised to hear you say you’re moving out of May’s.”

“Might as well now that my mom’s movin’ in with Richard.”

Bending down, he found a small, flat rock and sent it flying across the foggy surface. It skipped four or five times before sinking away. “I’m lookin’ forward to bein’ on my own again. It’s been far too long.”

“Which house are you moving into?”

He found another rock, but instead of skipping it, he offered it to her. “Wanna try?”

“Won’t I scare the fish?”

“Nah, they won’t care,” he lied.

She took the rock, bent slightly, and sent it sailing across the water. It skidded effortlessly across the glass a dozen times before sinking away. His brows shot up. Not only had Carrie skipped it twice as many times as he had, but she’d thrown it twice as far. And the way she’d thrown it, too.

“Where the heck did that come from?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I grew up by this pond. What did you expect?”

“Not that.”

She smiled a little. “My dad and I used to skip rocks all the time.”

“He ever teach you to throw a baseball?”

Though she didn’t answer, her smile grew in an intriguing way. She turned and started walking along the muddy shoreline. “So which house are you moving into?”

Greg’s curiosity was fully piqued. Miss Carrie Ashworth played baseball. And from the gage of that throw, pretty dang well. Then he remembered. Zach lost his baseball in that raid—his dad’s baseball. How often had Carrie played with Zach, with her dad? Greg would pester Zach about that another time. For now he looked through the fog up her hill. He hadn’t planned on telling Carrie which house he was moving into, but then he’d miss seeing her reaction.

He pointed. “That one there.”

She followed his gaze and went rigid. The house he’d chosen was directly across the street from hers.

“Too close for comfort?” he guessed.

Though her lips didn’t answer, her panicked expression did. Sure, the introvert might have a crush on him that came and went depending on the day, but not enough she wanted him living across the street from her, invading her space.

“Don’t get all excited,” he said. “I was just tryin’ to get as far from Jeff and my grandma as possible. You’re halfway in between, so unless you wanna give up your house, I’ll take the one across the street.”

She sighed. “Have you found a good spot to fish yet? I can’t be gone too long.”

“This spot’s as good as any,” he said, looking around. “Prepare to be wowed.”

“Okay. But…where’s your pole?”

The pole? Shoot. Thinking fast, he grabbed the slingshot from his back pocket, glad he’d shoved it in there before leaving the house.

She gave him a cynical look. “You’re going to teach me to fish with that? I don’t think I can shoot it, let alone aim it at a moving target under water. Why can’t you just use a fishing pole like normal people?”

“Since when have I been a normal?” he noted.

“True, but still…a slingshot?”

“Tell you what. When you find twenty feet of twine and a sturdy branch, I’ll teach you to fish the old fashion way. For now, watch and learn.”

She still looked skeptical. Quite skeptical, actually, and he decided Carrie was smarter than he gave her credit. He’d caught every one of those other fish with his grandpa’s fishing pole, but he wasn’t about to let her call his bluff. Especially after she killed him skipping rocks.

Bending down, he found four small stones, spherical this time. He dropped the first in his slingshot pouch. Pulling back the rubber, he fired a practice rock into the water. Like he expected, it angled downward, piddling toward the pond floor. Needless to say, he and his mom hadn’t eaten much fish coming north. So he decided to stall—or actually, to get to the point.

“What’d Oliver say yesterday?” he asked. “Besides the sweep.”

“He said you asked him to help with the marriage license, and that he might also be the one to marry them, which is really cool. That was it.”

So Oliver hadn’t told her about his little predicament at work. Greg wasn’t surprised. Oliver worried that if Carrie found out, she’d insist on giving everything back, which she would. Hopefully, Oliver was trying Greg’s suggestion. It was risky, but in Greg’s mind, the guy didn’t have many options. Oliver had to pull the plug on that Jamansky guy once and for all before Jamansky took them all down.

But…that still left question number two unanswered.

He dropped another stone in the pouch. “Did Oliver…ask you out?”

She jerked up. “What?”

“That’d be a big fat no.” Greg huffed. For all the time he spent coaching him, the guy could have at least tried.

Oliver!

“Why would Oliver ask me out?” Carrie said, anger coloring her voice. “Greg?”

He studied the lazy water. “‘Cause I told him to.”

thirty-nine

Everything went silent behind Greg. He turned.

Predictably, Carrie’s mouth hung agape and her eyes were stuck in the open position.

“In my defense,” Greg said, “he’s been wantin’ to ask you out for a while. I just gave him the courage to try. Or at least, I thought I did. What exactly did he say about the wedding?”

“Just that he’d find a way to make it official,” Carrie said. “He also said you invited him to dinner after, which was very nice, but that’s it.”

“Did he offer to pick you up?”

She went deer-in-the-headlights on him.

Greg rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. You said, ‘Oh, that’s okay, Oliver. It’s only three houses away. I can walk.’”

Her hands flew to her mouth. “He was asking me out?”

“You’re killin’ me here. Seriously. Both of you might as well dig my grave and throw me in right now. Tell me you at least offered to eat with him, dance with him, or somethin’?”

Her expression hardened. “Why do you keep butting into my love life?”

“Maybe I’m sick of Oliver checkin’ out the competition.” He grinned just to make her cheeks color.

They did.

“Why…how…” Her eyes darkened. “What did you do?”

He fired another useless pebble into the pond. “Bein’ the smart guy I am, I mentioned how my girlfriend’s clan back in North Carolina designed this kinda barricade or that. After a few times of hearin’ Nicole’s name, Oliver opened up and started talkin’ about you.”

Her soft lashes lowered. “Like what?”

“He asked if you ever talked about him. I assured him you did—though I left off the part where you about told him to take a flyin’ leap last week.”

She chucked a pebble at him. It hit his leg with surprising force.

“Wow,” he said, glancing down. “I’m seriously impressed with that arm of yours. That actually hurt.”

She paled. “Oh no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just…”

He shook his head. She still had a long ways to go. “Anyway, Oliver asked if I thought he had a chance with a girl like you. He thinks you’re out of his league—which you are—and that he’s too old for you—which he is—but I told him to go for it anyway.”

She started along the muddy shoreline again, careful with each step to keep from sliding into the pond. “Are you sure he thinks it’s a…”

“Date?” Greg supplied when she couldn’t. “He wanted it to be. You better hope he still thinks it is. Would you have said yes had you known?”

Her shoulders lifted. “I guess.”

He studied her less-than-enthusiastic response, disliking it for more than one reason. “Why are you tellin’ everybody you wanna date Oliver when you obviously don’t?”

“I did—I mean, I do. Never mind. I’ll shut up so you can fish.”

Greg followed her, feeling another of his great plans unravel. Oliver would never buy a half-interested Carrie. Not only that, but Greg had stalked her this morning for nothing. Although, being with her wasn’t all bad. His grandparents’ house was a flurry of emotion. Between his mom dying and getting married, his grandma hadn’t done anything but cry from grief and cry from joy. He couldn’t take much more. But he’d never seen Carrie cry. Not during his jerky days, and not with the whole Jeff mess, which made her a safe bet on the morning of his mom’s wedding.

Safe.

That’s the word Greg had been looking for. Carrie wasn’t sweet. She wasn’t perfect—or maybe she was both, but he didn’t particularly like that about her. But she was the least pushy person he knew. It took very little effort to make her hate him, which came in handy for a guy like him. Yes. Carrie was definitely safe.

She rubbed the morning chill from her arms. “What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I feel different about Oliver? It’s not like I’m trying to be picky.”

“No kiddin’,” he said. “From what I heard, you even considered me for a bit.”

“Exactly.”

He laughed. Carrie was growing a spine.

“You know,” she said, wandering down the foggy shoreline, “I decided the other day that if I could combine Oliver, Braden, and you, I’d have the perfect man.”

Greg cocked a brow. “Braden, eh? I didn’t know he was in the running.”

She spun around so fast she nearly slipped into the pond. Her fair skin couldn’t begin to contain her embarrassment, and he decided she wouldn’t be half as fun with a different complexion.

“He’s not,” she said. “He’s too young and Amber’s completely in love with him. But if he was a few years older, I’m not sure I’d be nice enough to stay away from him. That guy is something else.”

“So let me get this straight,” he said. “You take a little bit of Oliver, a little Braden, add a dash of Greg, and voila…Carrie’s perfect man?”

The coloring in her cheeks grew to a lovely rose. “I don’t think this spot is good for fishing. I’ll check the other side.” Then she took off, practically running to escape his pointed question.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, keeping up.

She shook her head. “Why do I always end up having conversations with you I shouldn’t, Greg?”

“And who should you be talkin’ to? My grandma? Little Jeffrey? Near as I can tell, they’re your only friends.”

She stopped. “Maybe there really is something wrong with me. Growing up I had plenty of friends. At least, I think I did.” She frowned. “It’s just that all the women in our clan are…”

“Self-centered, bratty gossipers?” he offered.

For a second it looked like she might agree with him, but she was too generous to admit it. In typical Carrie fashion, she placed all the blame on herself. However, he didn’t want to shut the small window the introvert had cracked open—a window she rarely opened for anybody, let alone him. So he tried again.

“So, a little Oliver,” he said, “a little Braden, add a heaping cup of Greg, and out pops Carrie’s perfect man?”

She sighed. “Something like that. Any chance a guy like that exists?”

“He’d be a strange sorta mutant, but I guess you can dream. What does Oliver contribute to the beast?”

“That’s easy,” she said warmly. “I’d take Oliver’s goodness. He’s the most generous person I know.”

“Debatable, but for the male population at least. And Braden?”

Without warning, she whirled around and shoved a finger in his face. “If you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, Greg, I’ll burn your new house down with you in it. Do you understand?”

With blue eyes flashing and head tipped back, it occurred to him how beautiful Carrie really was. Her hair waved dark blonde to golden red, depending on the light, and her freckles, which had once been probably deemed ‘cute’, had faded somewhat, adding to her soft charm. He definitely liked her feisty side better, and it was hard not to provoke her all the time. Although if she had this much spice, he might be giving Oliver a run for his money. Not that it’d be much of a run.

“Got it,” he said. “So, what does the mutant get from Braden?”

“I thought we were supposed to be fishing,” she whined.

He grabbed another rock and—without aiming his slingshot—fired it into the water. “Oops. I missed.”

She rolled her eyes. “All the Greg stories I hear, and I bet you can’t hit a thing.”

“Oh, ho, hold on a sec,” he said, pulling her to a stop. “Them’s fightin’ words.”

Turning, he whipped out another rock, dropped it in the pouch, aimed, and snapped off a branch twenty yards away. As her brows shot up, he grabbed another rock and spotted his next target.

“Squirrel for lunch?” he asked.

She spotted the furry thing scampering up a nearby tree and grabbed his arm. “No, stop! I believe you!”

“Watch his tail then.”

Greg pulled his slingshot back and let it fly. The rock skimmed the tip of the fluffy tail, startling the squirrel to high heaven. The squirrel dashed away, terrified, but unharmed.

Carrie watched long after it disappeared. “How does it work with fish?”

It doesn’t. He crept along the water’s edge, slingshot ready, although his eyes were far from alert. “How about I show you after you tell me about Braden.”

She hugged herself. “Braden has all the personality and charm. You should see him with Amber. He has her wrapped around his little finger.”

“Maybe he’s charming around you ladies, but around us guys, all that charm goes out the—”

“Please,” she said. “Don’t spoil it for me.”

“Alrighty.”

Without trying to, they made it to the back side of the sprawling pond. He kept pretending to search the cold water as he waited for her to finish up the last of their intriguing conversation—the only part he really cared about.

“So…?” he prompted when she still said nothing.

“What?”

“Oh, c’mon. What part of me would you use to make your little nonexistent man? And I promise,” he added with a smirk, “I won’t get mad if you say more than one.”

For a long minute, she didn’t answer. She stared into the fog with a faraway gaze. Her house had vanished along with the rest of the neighborhood, saving them from the rumors that would surely circulate if they were spotted together.

Finally, she faced him. “I’d take your age.”

“My age?” he repeated in surprise. “Not personality? Not unbelievable charm or my fun-loving nature? But…my age?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I get it.” He shook his finger at her. “You’re messin’ with me. You’re tryin’ to get back at me for all the times I’ve teased you. Clever.” Leaning down, he looked into those baby blues of hers, knowing she’d never be able to lie to his face. “You’re tellin’ me the only thing I can offer your perfect man is my age?”

She held his gaze steadily. “Yes. Is that bad? Braden’s too young and Oliver’s too old, so I’ll take your age. What are you, twenty-five, twenty-six?”

He fell back. Flabbergasted. Offended.

Enraged.

He started around the pond again at a furious pace. She struggled to keep up. Not that he cared anymore. So much for safe. So much for her little crush.

My freakin’ age!

“I suppose after the way I’ve treated you, I deserve a slam like that, but I thought you knew me better now, at least enough to say I’m good for somethin’ other than my stupid age.”

She huffed to keep up. “I’m sorry, Greg. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Yeah? Well, you did.”

“Don’t be mad. What do you think you can offer?”

“Plenty.” He whirled around and ticked them off on his fingers. “I understand women better than most men—at least I thought I did until now. I got enough charm to blow Braden outta the water, and I was top of my class at UNC. You said yourself that I had a good mind for runnin’ things. I’m a great kisser—though I guess you wouldn’t know that—and I thought I was at least somewhat tolerable to look at.” He paused, struggling to think of something else, but in his agitated state, his mind was too garbled. Still, he tried. “You want me to keep goin’?”

She laughed. “I guess you could contribute your confidence, although some might call it an ego.”

“Ego! Are you kiddin’ me? After a slam like that?” He growled. “I can’t believe it. I’ve lost everything. Stupid freakin’ age!”

As Carrie tried—in vain—to apologize again, he ran through the list. Oliver was nice, Braden had the charm, and Greg was the right age. That was hardly enough to make a perfect man.

Then he had it.

In a sudden burst of inspiration, he blurted, “You never said which one of us has the looks.”

She froze, eyes wide in horror.

A slow smile split his face. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

She ducked her chin. “I think Zach needs breakfast.” Then she took off.

There was no way he was letting her escape. He grabbed her arm and spun her back around. “C’mon, Carrie. I know it’s not Oliver. So who is it? Me or Braden?”

She answered by diverting her gaze and blushing head to toe—though not in that order.

“Ha, I knew it!” he said triumphantly. “Finally. One redeeming quality.” Carrie was attracted to him. Real bad from the looks of those cheeks.

She yanked free. “I hardly call good looks redeeming, Greg. You should be thanking your parents, not yourself.”

“I don’t care. I’ll take it.” He laughed, thrilled to have broken through her deceit. She’d been so convincing, too.

She started again at a brisk pace. He was only too happy to follow.

“So which part of me do you like most? Eyes? Hair?” He swept off his Yankees cap and rubbed his mop. “Though in all fairness, my hair’s longer than I like right now. Or how about my smile?” he added, flashing his best one. “Or is it the whole package?” He held out his arms so she could take a good look.

Her color deepened if possible. “I can’t believe you can think those things let alone say them out loud.”

“Hey, bluntness runs in the family. Blame it on the genes.”

Grinning, he shoved his hat back on. “So you think I’m good-lookin’, huh? What else are you holdin’ out on me? Brains? Brawns?”

“Would you stop?” she cried. “You’re driving me crazy. I think we should talk about something else.”

“Now when I’m onto somethin’, you wanna change the subject?”

“Yes. Please,” she begged.

“Okay. Let’s talk about you then.”

“NO! That’s so much worse.”

“Relax. I was just gonna ask what you’re wearin’ on this date of yours.”

She stopped and stared at him. “You did not just ask me that. What are you, a girl?”

“No. I’m a man, a good lookin’ one of the right age,” he added happily. “Shouldn’t that make me most qualified to tell you what you look good in?”

By the speed of her step, she was determined to beat him around the pond.

“This yellow shirt’s definitely out,” he started. “No offense. There’s the sweats, and though they’re sexy in their own way, they’re not exactly wedding clothes. We could force Jenna to give you back the purple thing, but don’t be fooled. Oliver will like you better in the blue.” He looked her over head to toe, picturing the way her eyes would pop with her mom’s blouse, plus the femininity it added to her few curves. He nodded. “Definitely the blue.”

“You’re the strangest person I know,” she said, struggling around mud, weeds, and grass to outpace him.

“That’s not sayin’ much considering the number of people you associate with.”

“True. Thank you for your bizarre attempt at helping me,” she said, “but if you don’t mind, I’d rather we stopped talking altogether. Quite frankly, I don’t think fishing is a good idea anymore either.”

He didn’t argue. He had enough ammunition on Carrie to last a lifetime. He trailed her as she finished her fast trek around the pond. She resorted to her former self, a conversational recluse. Several times she shook her head but never shared her thoughts. That was okay. He could be patient.

Sort of.

In her backyard, he tried one last time. Jumping in front of her, he forced her to stop. “I’m not leavin’ ‘til you tell me one thing you find attractive about me. C’mon. I’m dyin’ of curiosity here.”

“Fine,” she said without hesitation. “Your mouth.”

“My mouth? Really?” An odd thing to pick.

“Yes.” She smiled curtly. “But only when it’s shut.”

He chuckled. Carrie was definitely growing on him. “I’ll try to remember that next time. Thanks for the enlightening conversation.”

Without acknowledging him, she headed up her lawn. As she reached the stairs, Zach flew out onto their deck.

“Carrie? Where were you? I was lookin’ for—Hey, Greg!” Zach called, spotting him in the yard. “Why are you here? Where were you guys? Can I come?”

“I was just teachin’ Carrie how to fish,” Greg said.

“Really? Is it hard? Can I learn?” Zach asked. “I promise to be real quiet.”

Carrie rushed past Zach and was to the kitchen door when Greg called, “Sure, but I’m gonna need my fishing pole. Run on back to my house and grab mine, would ya?”

Carrie whirled around and stared at Greg.

Grinning, he tipped his Yankees hat. “See you at the wedding. Try the fish.”

forty

Carrie scanned the flower arrangements scattered throughout May’s house. She had scoured every yard in the neighborhood for remnants of pre-Collapse flowers, and it paid off. May’s front room looked beautiful. It smelled even better, like spring itself. She stood back to make sure the colors looked balanced. Whenever she got married—if she ever got married, which more and more wasn’t looking promising—she was going to insist on a spring wedding. The flowers were unparalleled.

“Put the daffodils over there,” she said to Amber, “by the ones I gave Mariah.”

May came into the living room and clapped her hands. “Oh, Carrie! They’re absolutely breathtaking. It’s going to be a perfect day!”

May obviously hadn’t looked outside. It had started snowing just after lunch. Carrie could already hear Greg. What do you mean it’s snowin’? It’s April! So much for Mariah’s outdoor wedding. But Carrie wasn’t about to spoil the mood now.

“It is going to be perfect,” Carrie agreed.

As May wandered around the room, inspecting her hard work, Amber nudged Carrie. “Can I go?” Amber whispered.

Carrie held up a finger.

“Look at all that yellow. Are those forsythias?” May said, squinting to make out the branches. Even with thick glasses, her vision was horrible. “And what are those pink ones?”

“Weeping peaches,” Carrie said, thrilled someone noticed. “Technically they aren’t blossoming yet, but I put the branches in warm water last night to force the blooms. It’s a trick my mom taught me.”

“Brilliant. Just brilliant. Everything is so beautiful just like you girls,” May added.

Amber rolled her eyes, but Carrie gave May a hug. She had missed her friend, missed her simple enthusiasm and adoration.

“There’s one more thing.” Carrie crossed the room to the kitchen and held up the cup which held pure white hyacinth, her favorite find of the day. She’d found them in Ziegler’s yard right before the snow started. They were hidden behind a severely overgrown bush, but somehow they survived neglected the last five years. Hyacinth had such delicate flowers, like a hundred brilliant white stars. The fact they only bloomed two weeks of the year made it a miracle they were ready today.

“These are for Mariah’s bouquet,” Carrie said, a token of the white dress she didn’t have. “They’re already wrapped in a wet cloth so just hand them to her before the ceremony.”

That’s when May started to cry. Happy tears, but still.

Carrie hugged her stooped shoulders. “It’s okay. Today is going to be perfect.”

“I know.” May sniffed twice and then brightened. “Now, it’s my turn to show off. You’ll never believe how Mariah’s dress turned out. It doesn’t even look like it was mine with the way it fits her. Come and see.”

As May tugged them forward, Amber shook her head furiously. Carrie had no idea why Amber was in such a hurry to leave. The wedding wasn’t until dinner. They had plenty of time to get ready. Carrie snagged Amber’s hand and dragged her behind May.

“I can’t believe you did all that stitching by hand,” Carrie said. “How long did it take you to—”

Carrie stopped mid-sentence as May opened the last bedroom door. Greg sat on a mattress on the floor next to his mom. Their quiet conversation ended abruptly, and Greg broke into another mischievous smile. He was gloating—still. But worse, Mariah’s smile matched her son’s. Who knew what Greg was telling his mom—or what his mom was saying in return. Carrie backed up into Amber.

“Don’t mind us,” May said, walking to the closet. “The girls want to see your dress.”

“Oh, it turned out just lovely,” Mariah said. “You’ll hardly believe it.”

Carrie entered the room but just barely. She could feel Greg’s eyes on her, and the most horrible thought occurred to her. If she’d said yes to his outrageous plan, would they be getting married today, too? A double wedding?

“Carrie,” Amber whispered. “I have to go.”

Carrie grabbed her hand in a vice-like grip. “Stay.” She needed all the people she could fit in that all-too-small room.

Amber shook her head vigorously. “I can’t. I have to go to all the houses. I have to tell everyone before the wedding.”

“Tell them what?” Carrie asked.

Amber’s dark eyes filled with tears. Instead of answering, she turned to the others. “Hey, May and Mariah. I have something to tell you. It’s about the raid.”

Carrie stared in dismay. “No, Amber. Don’t.”

Amber smiled and a few tears spilled down her cheeks. “I have to.” Turning, she announced, “The raid was my fault. Carrie didn’t hear the day of the raid wrong. I did. And I wanted to say how sorry I am. I’m a huge coward for not saying it sooner.”

May held the lavender dress, floored, Mariah’s eyes darted from Carrie to Amber and back again, but Greg nodded as if to say, It’s about time.

Amber looked at Carrie. “I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry everyone hated you because of me.” Then she threw her arms around her neck. “You’re the best sister in the world.”

Carrie barely had time to return the hug before Amber broke free. She took off down the hall, running toward the front room.

No one else moved. They stared at Carrie, waiting for an explanation.

“Excuse me,” she whispered, and then she rushed after Amber. “Amber, wait!”

Amber was already outside, snow swirling her dark hair. “No. It’s okay,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time. “I can do this, Carrie. I need to.” Then she took off through the slushy snow.

***

Amber purposely saved Zieglers for last. She’d been crying for the last half hour, and she was grateful for the late winter storm. She pressed her frozen fingers to her burning eyes.

Most people had been too stunned to say anything. Sasha had been nice enough to give her a hug. The only house she’d been afraid of was the Kovachs, but she forced herself to go anyway. Luckily Little Jeffrey answered the door. Amber snuck in and told Jenna on the couch without seeing Jeff. Jenna was too sick to care. So that left one more house.

The most important one.

She stood on Ziegler’s porch, frozen to the bone. Her long hair was damp and stiff as it flapped around her face. Braden probably already told his parents how evil she was, but she still wanted them to hear it from her. She wasn’t scared. Right was right, regardless of the consequences. She shivered from the cold. It had to be from the cold because she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t.

Maddie answered the door. “Hi, Amber. I thought you’d be—Whoa. Are you crying?”

“Hey,” Amber said. “Can I talk to your mom?”

“Yeah. You sure?” Maddie knew how much her mom didn’t like her. But she must have seen the determination in Amber’s eyes. “Okay. Come on in.”

Amber caught a glimpse of Braden in the living room. His perfect turquoise eyes widened in surprise. She quickly turned back before his expression turned to hatred and broke her heart all over again.

“Actually,” Amber said, “I’ll wait here.”

As Maddie left to find her mom, Amber stepped up and pulled the door shut. The snow hit her face and melted into numbing streams. That got her knees shaking, so she shoved her hands in her coat pockets and locked every muscle. She could freeze to death later. Not now. It made her look scared. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t.

When Mrs. Ziegler opened the door, she took in the sight of Amber, wet, frozen, and red-eyed.

“Oh my word, Amber! What happened?”

Amber smiled through her chattering teeth. “Hi, Mrs. Ziegler. Can you come outside for a minute? There’s something I need to tell you. Oh, and can you shut the door?”

forty-one

Carrie spotted Amber running up the sidewalk and flung open the door.

“What on earth are you doing? Are you crazy?” Carrie threw a blanket over her insanely-wet sister who, for some reason, was grinning ear to ear. “You’re frozen.”

“I did it,” Amber said, breathless. “No more hiding. No more Careless Carries. I did it!”

Carrie started to smile. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes.” Amber looked around. “Is Zach out of the bath yet?”

“Not yet.”

The two sisters raced upstairs. Amber pounded on the bathroom door. “Time’s up, Zach! Get out.” Her lips were tinged blue, and shivers racked her body. Carrie rubbed her arms through the blanket.

“The water has been sitting in the tub all day,” Carrie said, “but it’s still cold. Do you want me to heat up some water? You’re going to catch pneumonia if you bathe now.”

“With what wood?” Amber said.

Carrie frowned, remembering. Jeff hadn’t delivered any wood since Greg had punched him. She’d hoped the snow today would soften Jeff’s anger. No such luck.

“I’ll be fine.” Amber pounded on the door again. “Zach! Come on!”

“I’m coming!” he yelled back. “Geez!”

Amber continued to bounce up and down on her toes, whether to keep warm or from excitement, Carrie couldn’t tell.

“Braden smiled at me,” Amber said.

Excitement.

“After his mom went back inside, he looked at me and actually smiled. And guess what?” Amber continued in a rush, “Mrs. Ziegler already knew the raid was my fault. She’s known the whole time.”

“How?” Carrie asked.

“She lives next door to Jenna and saw you go there before Oliver showed up that day. That’s why she’s been so mad at me. She knew it was my fault. She was so happy I told her.”

“And you’re okay with all this?” Carrie asked in amazement.

Amber nodded faster than Carrie had seen anyone nod. “Just freezing. Come on, Zach! My hair’s never going to dry in time.”

If Amber’s hair wasn’t going to dry, Carrie had no hope whatsoever. But she couldn’t skip the bath. Her hair and body desperately needed washing. Not only would Oliver be at the wedding, but so would—

She caught herself in time. Just Oliver. Only Oliver.

“Come on, Zach!” Carrie yelled, rapping on the door. She had a date to get to. Maybe.

Amber put her mouth to the door. “Zach, if you don’t come out right now, I swear I’ll come in there. I don’t care what I see.”

Carrie heard quick shuffling, and the door flew open. Zach came out in a shaggy towel with his hair plastered to his head. “Girls are such a pain,” he said. “You got no idea what it’s like to be the only man of the house.”

“Man?” Amber scoffed. “You use that term loosely.”

Though Zach was barely thirteen, he’d recently hit a growth spurt. He stood eye to eye with Amber. He rocked forward, coming nose to nose with her as well. “You wanna say that again?”

Someone knocked the clan signal on the front door downstairs.

“Sure,” Amber said, not hearing. “You use that term—”

Carrie shoved her hands over their mouths. “Stop, you guys. Someone’s here. Zach, put on some clothes. Amber, please try to remember that I’m waiting.”

Carrie ran down the stairs, hoping it was Jeff. Maybe he’d seen the storm and had finally delivered their wood. Or—her muscles tensed—he’d come to take out his anger on Amber, the real cause of the raid. Or on Carrie for lying all this time.

She skidded to a stop on the bottom step. It wasn’t Jeff.

Greg peeked through the side window and waved at her with another stupid grin. Probably back to ask more humiliatingly-intrusive questions.

Why can’t he leave me alone? She was tempted to turn back around, but he’d already spotted her.

She opened the door and forced herself to smile like the mature adult she was. “Hi, Greg. What can I help you with?”

He dropped a pile of wood on her porch. It landed with a thud.

She stared. “How did you know?”

“What do you mean? I know everything,” he said.

“We were fine, but thank you. That was nice.” Very, very nice. They wouldn’t freeze tonight after all. “I’ll see you in a little bit.” She started to push the door shut, but his foot flew in, propping the door open.

“Actually,” he said, “I’ve got a favor to ask—or rather, I thought I’d do you a favor.” He rubbed his wet hair. “I thought I’d give you an excuse to run your fingers through my hair since I know you’ve been wantin’ to.”

“What?” she cried.

He rolled his eyes. “Sorry. I forget that kinda thing never works with you. Let me try it in your language.” Clearing his throat, he dropped his southern accent momentarily. “My dear mother hates my hair this long and would like me to look presentable on this, her wedding day. Would you, sweet woman, please provide me a service and cut my atrociously-long hair?”

“Cut your…” Her eyes lifted to his wet mop. “I can’t cut your hair!”

“You cut Zach’s just fine. Besides, it’s either that or do what I usually do and shave it bald. However, I’m a tad worried my mom will kill me if I show up bald to her wedding.”

Greg’s hair had been nearly buzzed when he’d first shown up in Illinois. It had grown out some since then, which meant it lay down nicely. Plenty of the men had hair longer than that. Plenty! Plus, he wore his baseball hat most of the time anyway. He didn’t need a haircut.

Desperate, she looked around. By some miracle, she pulled an excuse out of thin air. “I’m sorry, Greg. I don’t have any scisso—”

He whipped out something from his pocket. Something metallic. “Nice try.”

She gaped at Jenna’s scissors. “How did you get those? I thought Kovachs hate you.”

“They do. That’s why I got Dylan to steal them for me, which is why I need you to cut my hair. So are you ready, or do you have more excuses for me to shoot down?”

She made the mistake of glancing up. His hair was wet from the snow, turning it nearly black. She shook her head adamantly. There was no way she was touching Greg’s hair. None.

“Actually, I really need to wash my hair,” she said lamely.

“Wow,” he drawled. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.” He pushed the scissors toward her. “C’mon. It’s for my mom. It’ll be a wedding present from both of us.”

“Please no,” she whispered.

“Please yes. Besides…” He kicked the wood lightly. “You owe me.”

Guilt. His favorite weapon.

“Fine,” she said, “but no wise cracks, and you can’t shoot me if I mess it up.”

“Don’t worry. If it’s that bad, I’ll shave it off when you’re done.”

She glared at him. “Is that supposed to make me more or less nervous?”

“Less, but if you like I can keep my mouth shut now. Especially since I know you like it better that way.” He grinned, making her groan. Ushering himself inside, he stomped his feet on her old welcome mat. “So where’d you wanna do this?”

Carrie followed him into her kitchen, still working on how to get out of the haircut. Not only was it too awkward, too familiar, but he was the vainest person she knew—women included. If she cut one strand wrong, he’d never let her live it down.

“Your house could freeze salt water,” he said. “I can’t believe Jeff hasn’t brought you any wood. Why didn’t you say somethin’ sooner? Oh, wait. ‘Cause you’re Carrie, right?”

“It’s not that cold,” she insisted. The snow would pass. It could be 70 degrees tomorrow for all they knew. That was April in Northern Illinois.

Greg wandered to her kitchen sink and picked up the small sour cream container, her last surviving plant. “Where’d you get this?”

“I grew it.”

“I figured that, but I thought your plants all broke.”

She wasn’t sure how he knew about her plant fiasco, but she was fiercely proud of her little survivor. The tomato plant was now three beautiful inches tall and thriving. “That one’s a fighter, I guess.”

“A fighter. I like it.” He held it close to his face. “What kind is it?”

“A tomato, hopefully a pear tomato since the raid wiped out the last of my seeds.”

“Raid?” He looked up. “I thought you called them sweeps.”

She thought back to that horrible night. To Amber. To the fire and Terrell’s trip that still left their clan horribly short. “No. That was a raid.”

Greg studied her like he sometimes did, like he was analyzing the innermost parts of her soul. The first month of their acquaintance, it had been chilling. Now it was disconcerting. She took the sour cream container from him and, out of habit, blew lightly on the plant’s stem before setting it by the sink. Time was running out. Amber would be done any minute and Carrie wanted to look nice for the wedding. Oliver was expecting a date.

Maybe.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

He gave her a strange look. “Yeah, but…did you just blow on that plant?”

“Um, yes,” she said, embarrassed.

He started to smile. “Care to explain why?”

“It makes the stem stronger. I blow on it several times a day so the stem thickens. If I don’t, it gets too spindly and when I plant it outside, the first wind snaps it in half. If I had a fan, I’d use it instead, but I don’t, so I improvise.” Her shoulders lifted. “Fake wind.”

He did it again. He studied her long enough for her to realize how ridiculous her plant obsession was. While he’d crossed the country in the dead of winter without food, shelter, papers, or knowing if his mom would survive another step, she’d been learning every type of tomato plant. While he’d been fighting for his sister’s life and enduring beatings that left permanent scars on his back, she’d been dreaming of stupid, worthless peas. She no longer wondered why Greg used to hate her. She only wondered why he still didn’t.

Finally, he shook it off and held Jenna’s scissors toward her. It took great effort to take them. Even then, she couldn’t bear to look up.

“I don’t know how you want it,” she said, stalling.

“How about this. Pretend I’m your perfect little mutant man. Picture what his hair would look like, and cut it that way.”

“I think I’m ready for you to shut up now,” she growled.

“As you wish.” True to his word, he grabbed a kitchen chair and clamped his mouth shut, although she could tell he was fighting off another smile.

“I better grab a comb,” she said with a sigh. Then she darted upstairs to tell Amber not to come down in a towel. Amber made sure to throw out a remark about how Carrie was chasing the wrong guy, which Carrie ignored—plus the fact she had no hope whatsoever of looking nice for the wedding now.

When she came back down, Greg was still smirking. He knew how uncomfortable this made her, and he loved it.

Sadly, she kind of liked him better when he hated her.

Circling his chair, she worked to calm her nerves. Just pretend he’s Zach. Except Greg’s hair was too brown and too…Greg. It didn’t help that he watched her from behind tight lips. Having him silent was almost worse. At least when he talked, she knew what he was thinking. As it was, she found a spot behind him where he couldn’t see her.

His thick, brown hair happened to be one trait she liked about him. Thankfully she hadn’t let that slip—yet. And now she was free to cut it however she wanted. She was clueless but started anyway. Cutting. Snipping. Combing. His hair was wet and freezing, but so were her hands, which she hoped explained the trembling. She kept envisioning Zach’s mop in her fingers instead of Greg’s so she didn’t constantly obsess about touching his scalp.

She cut his hair slightly shorter than what she liked, hoping it would last longer before he had to cut—or shave—it again. Only once did she make the mistake of standing in front of him, which left his green eyes laughing up at her. The rest of the time, she stayed out of sight.

Amber came down halfway through, toweling off her hair and wearing the burgundy dress she’d saved for such occasions. The second she saw Carrie fumbling with the scissors, she burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you trust your hair with her, Greg.”

He shrugged.

“Thanks a lot, Amber,” Carrie said. “As if I’m not nervous enough.”

Amber didn’t even acknowledge her. She leaned against the table. “Do you know if there will be dancing, Greg? I heard CJ’s using electricity so we can have music. Is that true?”

Dancing? Carrie’s stomach tied in knots.

Greg tried to nod, but Carrie held a thick chunk of hair in her fingers, keeping him captive.

Amber’s face fell. “Why aren’t you talking to me? Are you still mad at me? I told everyone about the raid, I swear I did.”

Greg’s eyes lifted to Carrie, begging for help.

“Greg promised to keep quiet while I cut his hair,” Carrie explained. “It has nothing to do with you, Amber. But honestly, having him quiet is only making me more nervous.”

“Does that mean I can speak now?” he asked.

“If you behave.”

“Good. Yes, there’s gonna be dancin’,” he said, “but don’t get your hopes up. It’s gonna be old lady music on an old lady player. And as for my vow of silence, it’s ‘cause Carrie said she loved my mouth, but only when it’s shut. I was just tryin’ to oblige her.”

“Oops!” Carrie cried.

The scissors crashed to the floor.

Greg whirled. “Oops? What do you mean, ‘oops?’”

Carrie squeezed her finger. Pain throbbed. Along with fresh blood.

Greg’s hands flew to his hair, checking for damage. “You can’t say ‘Oops’ when you cut my hair. My looks are all I’ve got. Even if you make a mistake, you fake it. Lie! Somethin’! Don’t say ‘Oops!’”

Amber doubled over laughing. “I knew it! I knew she’d ruin your hair.”

Carrie shot her a dark look. “I didn’t ruin his hair. I ruined my finger.” She held it up to show the blood dripping down the side.

Greg whistled. “Whew. That was close.”

“Try not to concern yourself too much,” Carrie said bitterly.

“Oh. Sorry.” He shrugged at Amber, which made her giggle again. Then he reached for Carrie’s hand. “Here. Let me see it. How bad is it?”

Carrie recoiled away from him. They’d had enough touching for one day. “Not bad,” she lied. In reality, it hurt a lot. The first of the blood dripped onto her hardwood floor. She crossed the kitchen, grabbed a rag, and dabbed the cut. It looked like a clean cut even though it was deep and painful. She kept dabbing it to slow the bleeding.

Amber jumped up. “I’ll finish your haircut, Greg.”

“No!” Greg and Carrie said together.

“Fine,” Amber said with a tone that said, Whatever. “I’m going back upstairs.”

As Amber left, Greg approached Carrie, looking more penitent than before. He reached for her hand again. “Here, let me see.”

Carrie backed up and ran into the counter. “No. It’s better now. See.” She held it up.

“Good. ‘Cause I really don’t want blood drippin’ in my hair.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, which only made him laugh.

“Why do you take me so seriously all the time?” he asked.

Maybe because you are so serious all the time. She picked up the scissors. “I don’t know. Can we just finish?”

“I guess we’re even now, huh?” He held up his palm, flashing his red scar.

She winced. “No. I still feel awful about that.”

“That makes two of us—about your hand, I mean.” He brushed some wet clumps from the chair and sat again. Tipping his head back, he looked up at her. “You want me silent now or speaking?”

“Speaking, I guess. But could you stop looking at me? I don’t want to mess up your hair.”

“Or your finger,” he amended. “Your hands are ice, by the way. I don’t care what you say. You’re cold.”

She tried even harder to keep from touching his scalp as she finished clipping around his left ear. As she worked, he rubbed the scar on his hand absentmindedly, making her wonder what he was thinking about, what it was like to be on the receiving end of such an uncomfortable haircut. Although, he didn’t look uncomfortable.

When she finished the left side, she combed his hair back to examine her work. Not perfect, but not half bad either. She worked on the right side to make it match.

As she reached his sideburns, she stopped. “Why do you shave, Greg?”

“Man, you really do like my mouth.”

Heat rushed up her cheeks. “Never mind.” She didn’t care why he shaved—and regardless of what Mariah thought, she never would.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said with a laugh. “You walked right into that one. You gotta be more careful what you say around me.”

“You’d think I’d know that by now. Why do you like to tease me so much?”

Instead of having a quick comeback or some humorous reply at her expense, he faced her directly. All humor had vanished from his face, causing her to pause. He motioned to her tomato plant by the sink.

“You’re the plant, Carrie. I’m the fake wind. When you’re back in the real world, you’ll thank me.”

She stared at her tomato plant. At the plant she’d saved, watered, cared for, and practically begged to grow. At the stem that needed irritation and resistance day after day to make it strong enough to survive in the real world.

She dropped the scissors and backed away. Away from Greg. Away from everything.

He watched her through hooded eyes.

“Why do you even care?” she whispered. About my well? About my wood? About Oliver? About getting me legal? Zach? Shaving? About me? Why! She had a million questions, but he didn’t even answer her first one.

His gaze locked on her. Steady. Unblinking.

It wasn’t until someone knocked on her front door that she was able to break away.

She made a beeline out of that kitchen and crossed the living room as the knocking turned to pounding, grateful for any reason to leave Greg. She prayed it was CJ or Mariah. Someone who needed Greg right now. Whoever it was sounded desperate. They weren’t even using the clan signal.

When she opened the door, her breath caught.

“Jeff?”

forty-two

Jeff stood on Carrie’s porch, coat pulled high to block the blowing snow. His upper cheek was still dark from Greg’s right hook, but his countenance was even darker.

While Carrie might have been at the bottom of his list of favorite people, Jeff liked Greg a thousand times less. Vice versa was even worse. She stepped onto the porch and closed the door.

“Hi, Jeff. Can I help you with something?” she asked.

He looked behind her, curious why she hadn’t invited him in when his breaths came out in little puffs of smoke. She moved to the left, blocking the side window as well.

“Amber was just at our house,” he said.

“She told me.” Carrie smiled up at him until she realized Jeff wasn’t smiling. Her stomach clenched.

“More lies,” he hissed.

“I know. I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just trying to protect Amber. Besides, I should have been home that day anyway when Oliver—”

“I need you to do something,” he interrupted.

She brightened. “Sure. Does Jenna need help getting the boys ready for the wedding?”

“The wedding?” Jeff leaned forward, his huge body looming over her. “You’re not going to that are you?”

“Um, I was planning on it. Aren’t you?”

His chest heaved and his eyes bored into her. “Why would I ever step into that conniving, scheming household again? In fact, why would you?”

“I…” She took a step back and then stopped herself, realizing what she was doing. Planting her feet, she refused to be intimidated by Jeff again. “Can we just talk for a minute? I think there have been some misunderstandings, but I know if we sit down with May and Greg, we can…”

Her voice dropped off as his gaze fell to the pile of wood by her feet.

“Where did you get that?” he barked.

She swallowed, mind racing.

“Who brought you that wood?” He kicked the bundle, sending it flying off her porch. “Who?”

The front door flew open.

“The real question is, why didn’t you?” Greg said.

It was like pouring alcohol on an open flame. Jeff’s face went red with rage. “You!” His eyes darted from Greg to Carrie. “Why is he here?”

Carrie could think of a million reasons Greg shouldn’t have been at her house, only one of which was that he’d virtually stolen Jenna’s scissors.

“What am I doin’ here?” Greg shot back. “You got exactly five seconds to explain yourself before I dropkick you all the way to California.”

Carrie whirled around. “Greg! This isn’t your affair. Go back inside.”

Greg folded his arms.

Feeling her own blood pressure rise, Carrie turned back. “I’m helping Greg with something. Don’t worry about him. What do you need?”

Jeff’s eyes turned to small daggers. “You swore to me, Carrie. You swore you’d stay away from Greg, but it was just another lie, wasn’t it?”

“Jeff, please…” She looked over her shoulder. “Greg. This has to end right now or else, or else…” She couldn’t think of a threat fast enough. “Just please,” she begged Greg, knowing she had a better chance with him. “This has to stop now.”

Greg didn’t even blink her direction. “Time’s up, buddy. Five…four…”

Desperate, Carrie whirled around. “Greg’s sorry for punching you, Jeff. Aren’t you, Greg?”

“…three…two…” Greg continued.

Jeff’s black eye bulged, zeroing in on the wet hair on Greg’s shoulders. His nostril flared. “Where are they? Where are Jenna’s scissors?” he bellowed.

Without waiting for a response, he shoved past Carrie and Greg and stormed into the kitchen where Greg’s hair was scattered on the floor, convicting them. Jeff snatched up the scissors and swung back the way he’d come. Carrie jumped out of the way as he pushed onto the porch and down the wet sidewalk.

“Jeff, wait!” Carrie started to follow him, but Greg grabbed her arm.

“Let him go,” Greg said softly.

“Let go of me!” She yanked free and ran into the snow. “Jeff, please! This is all a big misunderstanding.” Although she couldn’t remember what or how it even started. “Just calm down so we can talk. Please!”

Jeff spun around. “You want to talk? Then don’t go to that wedding.”

The betrayal stung deep. “That’s not fair. I’ve apologized, I’ve helped Jenna and the boys, and it’s not fair for you to expect—”

“Jenna or Greg,” Jeff said. “Make your choice.”

A lump formed in her throat. The snow swirled around them. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“You can’t play both sides anymore,” Jeff said. “It’s Jenna or Greg. If you’re not at my house in five minutes, I’ll know what you chose.”

He whipped around and stormed down her wet driveway.

For a full minute, Carrie couldn’t move. She took in several slow breaths of frozen air. She needed to stay calm, to not lose it, yet her insides shook as she tried to comprehend his incomprehensible words.

Choose. And she had five minutes.

She walked back up her steps, past Greg into the kitchen. Hair was everywhere. She found the broom to start cleaning up.

“How bad is it?” Greg asked.

She gripped the broom. “Bad. I don’t know if Jeff will ever forgive me this time. Or forgive you. Or if May will forgive me when I don’t show up at the wedding. This whole thing has spiraled out of control and in a confined community like this… We can’t live like this.” She had to fix it somehow. Somehow without Greg.

“No,” Greg said. “I mean how bad’s my hair?”

Carrie turned slowly.

He patted his hair expectantly.

Shock, disbelief, and dismay warred inside her until all three exploded. “That’s what you’re worried about? Jeff’s ready to kill both of us, and all you can think about is…is your stupid hair?”

“Yes. And…?”

Her pulse sped up, her teeth clenched. She refused to play Greg’s games anymore. This wasn’t a game. It was her life—her clan—and he was ruining both!

“I’d like you to leave,” she said more calmly than she intended.

The light faded from his eyes. “Look, Carrie, I’m just tryin’ to make you see that in the whole scheme of things, Jeff’s nothing. He’s just a bad storm that does a world of damage, but then it blows over, and you move on.”

“Would you stop with the analogies?” she cried. “You don’t know me. You don’t know Jeff. And right now, I want you to leave both of us alone. So please…” She pointed to the door.

With a sigh, Greg brushed the hair from his shoulders. “Thanks for the haircut.”

Her hands trembled and she set the broom aside. She didn’t know if she should go straight to Jeff’s or wait for him to cool off first—although she couldn’t wait long. She dreaded another scene, but it had to be done. Someone had to put a stop to this once and for all.

Greg reached for the door handle but paused. “One last thing,” he said, “then I’ll leave you be. Jeff has to earn your friendship back. He treated you like garbage and until he does otherwise—including some serious repair work—you don’t owe him a thing.”

“And who are you to talk?” she said bitterly.

“The guy who gave you the first well, the first fish, and wood for a cold night.”

His blunt answer knocked the snotty reply from her lips. It was true. Greg had done exactly what he expected Jeff to do, only he’d done it with her fighting him the whole way.

She stared down at the floor. “How do you know Jeff wasn’t coming to do the same? He blew up at me before he even said why he was here.”

Greg nodded. “That’s how. I waited behind that door, givin’ him a chance to repair things. Believe me. He wasn’t here to repair.”

She hugged herself. Everything was so backward and upside-down, she didn’t know what to think. And frankly, she was too tired to figure it out on her own anymore.

“He wants me to choose,” she said softly. “Between you and them.”

“And you actually have to think about it?” For the first time, Greg looked hurt.

Her throat swelled shut. She wanted to choose Greg, she wanted to go to the wedding, but she was scared of why. Scared of Greg. Scared of things Mariah said and Amber wanted. Of Oliver. Everything that had happened since Greg Pierce moved in became a yelling match in her head, and it pounded with confusion.

He yanked the door open. “See you around. Or maybe not.”

“Thank you for the wood,” she said quickly.

He stopped but didn’t turn.

“And for the well. And the fish. And…” She bit her lip. “And helping Zach with baseball and protecting Amber all this time.” The faster the memories flowed, the faster the words tumbled out. “And for sticking up for me at that meeting, and against Jeff, and for…” She couldn’t spit out Oliver’s name, or the fact Greg was the sole reason they were about to have their first date. “And I’m sorry I didn’t finish your haircut.”

He slammed the door shut. “Why, Carrie? Why are you always sorry? Is it your fault you didn’t finish?”

“No.”

“So quit apologizing and accept life for what it is.”

“I’m sorry, but”—she winced, realizing what she’d done—“saying sorry is my way of saying I wish things were different. That I wish I could make them better.”

He leaned against the wall. “In that case, I’m sorry about Jeff.”

They stood in heavy silence for a time, both staring at the floor before Greg looked back up at her.

“In spite of what you might think,” he said, “or what I mighta said just now, I understand why you gotta choose Jenna. My mom will, too. Don’t feel bad about the wedding.”

“I…” Carrie cringed, anticipating major backfire for what she was about to say. But the yelling match had ended in her head, and while she didn’t completely understand why, she’d made her decision. “I’m not choosing them,” she said softly.

His eyes widened enough to color her cheeks. She studied the carpet wondering if Jeff or Jenna would ever forgive her. But the longer it sat in her gut, the more right it felt. She had helped Jeff and Jenna time and time again, yet every time it came back to slap her in the face. Making her choose sides? As if she was in first grade and not a grown woman? And really, she was choosing more than Greg anyway. She was choosing Mariah and Richard, May and CJ.

“I’d still like to come to the wedding,” she said. “If that’s alright.”

She risked a glance up. Greg looked absolutely floored.

“You sure?” he asked.

“No.”

“Yeah, you are.” The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “I can tell. Wow. You just picked me over a sick, pregnant lady.”

“Oh man. Don’t say it like that.”

“No, no. I’m kinda likin’ this. Greg over Jenna. This is new.” He squared his shoulders, standing taller. “I better go before you change your mind, or my mom kills me. Though once she sees me bald, she still might.”

“It actually doesn’t look that bad. Your hair, I mean.” Or at least she didn’t think so. It wasn’t combed the right way, but it still looked great. Greg always looked great. “I was almost done anyway.”

“Yeah?” He ran both hands over his hair. “It’s short,” he said in surprise.

“Yes. Sorry.”

He shot her another look. “I was just makin’ a comment. I didn’t know you liked my hair short, that’s all. Where’s a mirror?”

“No!” she said a little too desperately. “Look at it when you get home. I don’t want to see your reaction.”

He smiled. “You still scared of me or somethin’?”

“Very.”

“Well, then…” He whipped out his Yankees cap and shoved it on his head.

She shook her head. “Apparently I’m not the only one lacking confidence in my abilities.”

“Since you won’t let me see a mirror,” he said, “this’ll have to do until I see it for myself. But don’t worry. You’ll know my reaction soon enough. If I’m bald at the wedding, you’ll know why. See ya in a few.”

Carrie watched Greg jog out into the snow.

A few?

Remembering her own mop of hair, she dashed upstairs.

forty-three

“There,” Amber said. “Now Greg won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

Carrie leaned toward the mirror, unsure what to think about Amber’s hard work. Amber had swept Carrie’s still-damp hair off her neck in a twisty style that left a few curls loose—which how Amber had forced curls out of her wavy hair, she wasn’t sure. But it was the eyes that scared Carrie. Amber had “smoked” them, lining them with leftover coals from the fire—a technique she’d practiced with her friends. Between that and her mother’s blue blouse, Carrie’s eyes screamed for attention.

Greg would definitely notice.

She grabbed a wet towel to wipe them off. “I look ridiculous.”

“No, don’t!” Amber snatched the towel from her. “You look great. I’m telling you, Greg won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

“First off, Greg only has eyes for a southern girl. Secondly, I should be trying to impress Oliver anyway. And thirdly…” She wrapped an arm around Amber’s waist and looked in the mirror. “I’ll always look plain next to my gorgeous little sister, and I’m okay with that.”

Amber leaned over the counter and drew more charcoal on her own eyes. Unlike Carrie who had her hair pulled back, Amber’s dark hair was down and brushed to a shiny mahogany, setting off her dark lashes. The burgundy dress looked great on her, too, flowing and curving in all the right spots. Still, Amber looked dissatisfied.

“I wish I had blush,” Amber said, pinching her cheeks. “It’s not fair. I was never old enough to wear makeup before.”

Carrie pushed her hands down. “Makeup is for plain women like me with scrawny eyelashes and freckles.”

“No one but you thinks you’re plain, Carrie. Like I said, Greg won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

“Stop, Amber,” Carrie said sternly. “Seriously. You promised.”

“Whatever. I saw him downstairs.” Amber grinned. “He likes you.”

“Amber!”

“What? I know men.”

Carrie huffed. “At sixteen, you better not. You scare me.”

“No. The truth scares you.”

Amber jumped out of the way before Carrie could smack her. Then she ran a brush one last time through her long hair. “Do you think Braden will ask me to dance?”

Carrie laid her chin on Amber’s shoulder. The two sisters, who looked as different as sisters could, took one last look in the mirror. “Just flash Braden a few of your beautiful smiles and pay close attention. Then you won’t have any doubts about how he feels.”

Amber gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, sis.”

The two of them grabbed Carrie’s blanket and huddled underneath to run down Woodland Drive. Their feet were soaked and freezing by the time they reached Trenton’s, but their hair stayed dry.

The front door flew open even before they knocked, as if someone had been watching for them. Oliver.

“Hi, Amber and…” Oliver’s eyes found Carrie and widened to large circles.

Amber elbowed Carrie with an I-told-you-so look.

Carrie’s stomach did a little flip. Let the date begin. She resisted the urge to pat her overdone updo and rub off her smoked look. “Hi, Oliver.”

“You look, um…” He swallowed.

“…nice?” Amber offered.

Oliver nodded quickly, which made Carrie blush.

“Thanks. You do, too,” Carrie said, even though he looked like he always did: green uniform, dark hair brushed over his bald spot, and a heavy pull to his prematurely graying brow.

Amber’s nails suddenly dug into Carrie’s arm. Carrie turned. Braden crossed the crowded room toward them. By the time he reached them, his eyes were as wide as Oliver’s, only unlike Oliver, he retained the ability to speak.

“Wow, Amber. Just wow.” He smiled, showing the small chip in his tooth. “You look gorgeous.”

Amber gave the most controlled, stunning smile Carrie had ever seen. “Thank you, Braden.”

“I saved a spot for you up front if you want to sit by me,” he said. Then he held out his hand.

Carrie felt Amber stiffen. Though she and Braden had flirted privately, holding hands in public would leave no doubts about them being a couple. Not even for Amber.

A small smile tugged on Amber’s mouth, and suddenly she was glowing. She slid her fingers into his. “That would be great.”

Warmth filled Carrie’s chest as she watched them make their way to the two seats up front. Until she remembered she was on a date.

Maybe.

Oliver stood next to her, watching Amber and Braden as well. “They make a nice couple,” he said.

Carrie looked up in surprise. “Yes, they do.”

His sweet comment relaxed her shoulders. She could do this.

With a deep breath, she caught the sweet, floral scent. She couldn’t see Greg or the rest of the Trentons, but as she hoped, flowers brightened every corner of May’s house. The flowers, along with the overhead lights, were the only decorations for the wedding, the only sign that today was different from any other day. Most everyone wore their work clothes, but a few like Amber and Carrie wore nicer shirts and dresses. It looked like everyone had already arrived.

Almost everyone, she corrected with a pang. Though she knew better, she searched for Jeff, Jenna, Little Jeffrey, and Jonah. Nowhere. But in the process, she spotted someone else, someone she’d never seen before. An older gentleman stood in the far corner, picking at his fingernails.

“You found someone?” she said to Oliver. Last she heard, Oliver was going to perform the short wedding himself. Richard and Mariah—or more accurately Greg and Oliver—would find a way to make it official later.

“Yes,” Oliver said. “He’s an old judge. I talked it over with Richard, and he seemed okay with it. Don’t worry, he won’t bother anyone. He’s, uh…” He paused with a frown. “He’s kind of my uncle.”

Her brows shot up. Not only was Oliver’s relative in May’s living room, but the wedding felt suddenly official. She studied the older judge, trying to spot any family resemblance. He was slightly younger than May and CJ, though portly, with a round face. He and Oliver looked nothing alike.

“That’s great,” she said anyway. “I hope you’ll introduce me.”

Oliver swallowed. “Uh, okay.”

Carrie fidgeted with her blouse. She stunk at first dates. Always had and always would.

Resisting the urge to run, she said, “Do you want to sit by me and Zach?”

Nodding, he followed her between the rows of people and mismatched chairs. Everyone had brought their chairs to the adult meeting the night before, and they’d been split down the middle, forming a small aisle in May’s front room. Carrie sat next to Zach, and Oliver sat next to her.

Sasha caught Carrie’s eye from the across the row and motioned to Oliver with a quick thumbs up, almost like she knew it was a date. Did she? It felt like everyone watched them, probably curious after the blowup with Jeff.

“When are you planting the early crops?” Oliver asked.

“Hopefully tomorrow,” Carrie said, “if it warms up. Although I feel so far behind on the field, I might have to spend a few days digging before it’s ready.”

“Oh. And how are your peas?”

Turning, she regarded Oliver, wondering how he knew about her peas. “They’re great. About five inches now.”

“Does…does the snow hurt them?” he asked.

“No. Not much.”

“Oh, that’s good. I was worried.”

About my peas?

That reinforced it. Carrie would definitely take Oliver’s goodness. He was too good, too accommodating, and she felt guilty for not being the same in return.

“Do you like to fish?” she asked him suddenly.

He gave her a strange look. “No. Why?”

Before she could answer, CJ cleared his voice from the back of the room. “Good evening. Thank you all for coming on this snowy, wonderful day. It’s time to get started.”

On cue, the whole Trenton family entered the kitchen behind CJ. Carrie spotted Greg and let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He wasn’t bald. In fact, with his short hair combed the right direction, he looked great. He wore his dark green, button-down shirt coupled with one of CJ’s blue ties. Under normal circumstances the two would have clashed, but somehow Greg made them look good.

Next to Greg, May wore her pink dress and a tear-filled smile. And next to May stood Richard and Mariah, breaking from tradition as they appeared together, hands clasped. Richard wore one of CJ’s old gray suits which was too short at the wrists and ankles. His gray hair was pulled back in a slick ponytail. And like May promised, Mariah looked beautiful in the remade lavender dress like they’d bought it just for her. There wasn’t much color in Mariah’s cheeks, yet her eyes were bright and alive. Mariah and Richard radiated pure and unrestrained happiness, and a smile bubbled up inside of Carrie. It would be a perfect day.

May spotted Carrie up front. With a huge grin, she leaned over and whispered something to Greg. Carrie quickly twisted back around, realizing she was missing CJ’s speech.

“We’d like to thank Judge Simmons for coming today,” CJ said. “He traveled some distance to be with us, and we feel honored by his presence. So if you’re ready, Judge?”

Oliver’s uncle moved forward to start the simple ceremony.

And simple it was.

There wasn’t any music for Mariah to march to. No formal line or procession. No fancy preacher or gifts. Not even wedding rings for them to exchange. CJ walked Mariah down the ‘aisle’ while the little kids giggled. Mariah carried the beautiful hyacinth bouquet, and Greg stood in as best man. May stayed next to her daughter, crying even before the judge began.

“I just have two questions for you,” Oliver’s uncle said. “First, do you love each other now?”

“Yes,” Richard said. “I love her more than she’ll ever know.”

Mariah smiled, and her eyes filled as well. “Love you, too,” she whispered.

Carrie couldn’t help but watch Greg, wondering what it would be like to see your mom get married, especially since he and his mom were so close. They’d had a difficult past and an even more difficult future, yet he looked pleased by their simple words, which only sweetened the ceremony for her.

“Good,” Oliver’s uncle said. “You’d be surprised how many can’t answer that question anymore. Believe it or not, some people are marrying for citizenship—people who barely know each other.”

Oliver leaned over to Carrie and whispered, “It’s gotten so out of hand, the government’s had to crack down on it.”

Carrie felt the floor drop out from under her. Oliver couldn’t know about her wild conversation with Greg—hopefully no one did. What would Oliver have said had she agreed?

Without permission, her eyes flickered back to Greg, only this time he was looking at her. With a smirk, he inclined his head toward the judge as if to ask, What do you think? Wanna get your yellow card today?

Mr. and Mrs. Greg Pierce.

Her stomach did a back flip. Though she knew he was teasing—he couldn’t still think that was a good idea—her fingers grasped her folding chair. She couldn’t find her voice to reply to Oliver.

“Then I just have one more question,” Oliver’s uncle said. “Do you promise to love each other forever—or at least for a while?”

Carrie cringed. What kind of question was that? From the look on Oliver’s face, she guessed he wondered the same thing.

“Forever,” Richard whispered.

Mariah barely managed a nod as a few tears fell down her pale cheeks.

Oliver’s uncle straightened. “Good enough for me. I now pronounce you man and—”

“Wait!” Richard cried. “Already?”

“What else did you have in mind?” the judge asked.

“Would it be alright if I said a few things?” Richard looked around for permission as if anyone in the clan would deny him his moment.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

Richard faced Mariah and took her hands in his. She shined with pure joy under his watchful care. Seeing them made Carrie wish she had watched her parents’ wedding videos like they always begged her to. She pictured them looking at each other just like Richard and Mariah were now, minus thirty years.

“I don’t remember exactly how it goes,” Richard started, “but I think it’s something like, for better or worse, for richer and poorer—which is fortunate, since neither of us have a dime to our name.”

Mariah laughed softly. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

“That we are, my love.” Richard reached up and wiped her wet cheeks with infinite tenderness. He didn’t even come close to keeping up with her happy tears, but he still tried.

“In sickness,” he whispered, “and in health. To love and to cherish from this day forward until…until…” His face scrunched suddenly. His eyes darted to CJ and then to the rest of the room, desperate to find someone to save him from the phrase he hadn’t anticipated.

It didn’t matter. Carrie’s mind had already supplied the words:

Until death do us part.

Richard’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and his mouth struggled to form the words. May’s tears grew to loud sobs. CJ stared at the floor, and so did Greg. Yet Mariah, ever-perfect Mariah, simply lifted Richard’s hands and kissed them.

“How about until forever,” Mariah said.

Richard stepped up, took her face in his hands and kissed her soundly.

The room gasped. He wasn’t supposed to kiss her yet. That came at the end. Man and wife.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably next to Carrie, but Greg just smiled. So did Carrie. Mariah had been right. Richard was perfect—for Mariah and Greg.

When Richard pulled back, he gave the judge an embarrassed shrug. “Sorry. I got a little ahead of myself.”

Oliver’s uncle waved a hand. “That’s fine. I was done anyway. Go ahead. Man and wife.”

The second time, Richard was more reserved. He cradled Mariah’s face in his hands and kissed her with all the tenderness of a couple who had been married for decades, not seconds.

And just like that, two were made one.

Everyone clapped wildly. Braden whistled and Amber cheered. The wedding was done before it had begun, and yet it was the best wedding Carrie could remember. Stripped down to the basics, it was all about two people in love, and nothing else mattered.

forty-four

Oliver followed Carrie, unsure where else to go. She congratulated the happy couple, telling them how perfect and beautiful it had been, at the same time Oliver thought she was pretty perfect and beautiful herself. The way her honey-colored hair twirled away from her face, the way her blue eyes jumped out and her large smile beckoned to him… She was—

Someone put a hand on his shoulder. His uncle. He, too, eyed Carrie with obvious admiration. “Who is that little thing?” his uncle asked. “It can’t be your date, can it?”

Carrie heard him and turned.

Oliver groaned. Introducing a girl to family was like announcing a relationship. A date? He squirmed, but Carrie just smiled her beautiful smile and extended a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you Judge Simmons. I’m Carrie.”

“Carrie?” His uncle’s eyes grazed over her, head to toe. “What a pretty little name.”

Oliver figured he had two seconds before the old judge turned uncle on him.

Too late.

“I saw you sitting there by my Ollie, and I wondered, Who is that pretty little thing? Now I know. Carrie. What a pretty little name for a pretty little thing.”

Oliver grabbed his hand and pried it from Carrie’s. That’s what he got for buying his uncle a few drinks on the way.

Ollie? he cringed.

He gave his uncle a gentle nudge toward the door. “Don’t you need to be going, Uncle Gerard?”

“No. We were just getting acquainted. Carrie,” he said for the third time. “What a pretty little name for a—”

“Excuse me,” Oliver interrupted, unable to look at Carrie again. Then he grabbed his uncle by the shoulders and directed him through the crowd toward the front door. Carrie went back to Richard and Mariah, smiling and chatting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Greg, however, watched Oliver escort his inebriated uncle outside.

Great. Pretty boy even got sober relatives.

Let it go, Oliver told himself. Greg has a girlfriend.

In North Carolina.

A thousand miles away.

On the porch, Oliver pulled out the pen and marriage certificate from his pocket, but Gerard held out a greedy hand, one that cared nothing about paperwork.

Oliver stifled a sigh. “Sign it first.”

“It’s cold,” Gerard said.

“Sign it.”

“Sure, sure, sure.” Gerard propped the marriage license against the front door. Oliver watched over his shoulder to make sure he got it right.

“No. It’s 659 at the end,” Oliver said to his uncle who was too drunk to get his own authorizing numbers right. Good thing Oliver hadn’t let him transcribe Mariah’s or Richard’s citizenship numbers—their fake numbers he’d stolen off some file in town. He was counting on ditzy Ashlee to gloss over it. She was lazy. Hopefully lazy enough.

Uncle Gerard gave back the papers and held out his hand again.

Oliver glanced nervously toward the window. “Can’t we do this another time?” he whispered.

“I just need something to gimme home.”

Oliver took out his wallet, but before he handed over the bills, he said, “Remember, not a word of this to anyone, understood?”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t talk to anyone anymore anyway,” Gerard said.

Why do you think I picked you?

Money in hand, Oliver’s uncle wandered down the slushy steps to his car. “Carrie,” Oliver heard him say to the cold wind. “What a pretty little name for a pretty little thing.”

With any luck, he’d buy himself a few more drinks and never remember today happened.

By the time Oliver made it back inside, Greg stood by the door, waiting for him. The guy just couldn’t leave anything alone.

“Thanks,” Greg said. “For everything.”

Oliver handed over the marriage license. “No problem.”

“You sure?” Greg motioned to the door.

Oliver clenched his teeth. Greg had heard every bit of that conversation. He’d probably even counted the bills, passing judgment before Oliver made it back inside. “Yes.”

“Good. How’s everything else goin’?” Greg asked.

Oliver found Carrie in the crowd, smiling, laughing, and looking more beautiful than ever. May said something, and Carrie’s blue eyes danced with excitement. She was a vision. “Good. Really good, I think.”

Greg followed his line of vision and scowled. “I meant at the precinct.”

“Oh.” Oliver lowered his voice. “Jamansky is threatening to change my route. Who knows what he’ll do when I come up short on the supplies and my arrests.”

“Make your life a living hell. And ours.” Greg blew out his breath. “Anything on the truck?”

Oliver nodded. That was the only good news. “It’s in the log. They aren’t the brightest guys on the planet.”

“Perfect. Here’s the list.” Greg pulled a crinkled paper from his pocket and handed it over. It was an inventory of everything Oliver had returned to the clan. Greg had been thorough, right down to shirt color and size. It was almost too specific.

“I’ll have to transfer it into patrol lingo,” Oliver said.

“Do whatever you gotta do to make it believable. Just remember,” Greg said, “truth sells. Use as much of it as you can. It’ll be your best chance.”

“What will be your best chance?” Carrie asked, joining the two men by the door.

Oliver’s heart jumped in his chest. He shoved the paper in his pocket. “Nothing.”

She eyed his pocket. “Something wrong?”

Oliver couldn’t think fast enough. Thankfully Greg took over.

“Oliver’s stressed about work,” Greg said, “but I was hopin’ to convince him to stay a bit longer. He’s worried he’d be intruding if he stayed, but he wouldn’t be. Right Carrie?”

“Not at all.” She flashed another dazzling smile. “We’d love to have you stay.”

“For dinner and dancing,” Greg added pointedly.

“Dancing?” Oliver said, feeling woozy. “As in…dancing?”

Greg shot him a dark look. “Yes.”

Oliver glanced at his watch. Only 5:21. He definitely had time for dinner and had planned as much, but dancing with Carrie? In a room with thirty other people? Why hadn’t Greg mentioned that before? If Oliver had time to practice, maybe, but his feet suddenly felt like lead. Yet, he couldn’t turn Carrie down. In a hundred years, he’d never be able to turn down Carrie Ashworth.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll stay.”

***

If he hadn’t been the son of the bride, Greg would have sat somewhere else. As it was, he did his best to keep his eyes on his plate as Oliver got his first taste of dinner at the Trenton table. The poor guy nearly fainted when he found out being Carrie’s shadow entitled him to place at the table of honor with the whole fam.

The conversation moved ninety miles a minute as Greg’s grandma yapped Oliver’s ear off. “Where do you live?” “What made you become a patrolman of all things?” “Is it as awful as it seems?”

Oliver did his best to keep up. “Sugar Grove.” “I don’t know.” “Yes.”

Thankfully Carrie was equally curious, asking all the right follow-up questions, like a seasoned diplomat. Greg was fascinated by the way Oliver answered Carrie’s questions versus his grandma’s. His whole body relaxed under her care. He even smiled a few times, although his answers painted a sad, lonely life. His uncle was his only living relative. He’d lost several in the Collapse, but it was “fine.”

As much as Greg hated to admit it, Carrie really was sweet. She was gentle with the awkward patrolman, laughing in all the right spots. She overlooked his profession, his odd looks, and creepy uncle to see the guy underneath. Of course, she did that with everyone: Jeff and Jenna, Amber and May. Greg only knew one person she didn’t see through rose-colored glasses. Oliver was lucky it wasn’t him.

Amber had done a number on Carrie, too. It had to be Amber because Greg couldn’t picture Carrie willingly inflicting that kind of detail into her looks. Dark-lined eyes. Hair swept back, except a few soft curls which hugged her cheeks. She’d taken his advice and worn the blue blouse, which completed the whole package. She was a sight to behold. Amber had done well. Very well.

Those blue eyes turned toward him, as did her broad smile. “The fish is amazing, Greg,” she said. “Thank you.”

Greg wanted to smile back at her, but Oliver’s jaw tensed, seeing the same thing Greg had. Her smile was aimed at the wrong guy. Oliver was her date. Not Greg. Oliver was the goodness, Greg was the good looks. Oliver was her future, the one who could offer her a life of freedom, peace, electricity, hot showers, and white picket fences. But more importantly, no more running.

Greg never should have let her choose him.

He pushed his potatoes around, tuning out the rest of the conversation while calculating how soon before he could politely excuse himself. He had to get out of that stuffy room. If his grandma hadn’t changed topics, he would have slipped out after the carrots. As it was, he was suddenly stuck.

“So, Oliver,” his grandma said, adjusting her thick glasses, “do you have a nice girl back in Sugar Grove?”

Greg about choked on his carrots. He looked up. Oliver’s fork hung mid-air. Carrie froze, too.

His grandma took another bite, unaware. “I’m sure a nice man like you must have someone special. What’s her name?”

A bead of sweat formed on Oliver’s forehead, followed by a thousand more. He looked at Greg, panicked. Sadly, Carrie did, too. They might as well have been twins, wearing the same pitiful expression:

Help!

Anger welled up inside Greg. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t let Carrie do this to Oliver, to the clan, to him. It was time for her—and his grandma—to know where her heart belonged.

“Actually, Oliver,” Greg said, “aren’t you and Carrie on a date right now?”

Everything at the table came to a screeching halt. Carrie’s cheeks lost all color, and Oliver turned whiter than the snow outside. For some reason, Greg’s mom gave him a hair-raising glare, but his grandma looked just shy of a heart attack. His grandpa was the only one clueless enough to respond.

“Really?” CJ said. “How nice.”

“I hope you like to dance, Oliver,” Greg continued, knowing he was pushing them over the edge but no longer caring. “Because Carrie loves to dance. Isn’t that what you told me this morning, Grandma? That Carrie loves to dance?”

“I…” His grandma looked at Carrie. At Oliver. At Greg. “Yes, but…”

Greg pushed away from the table. “Man, I’m stuffed. Anybody else done? Here, let me take your plates.”

He spent the next twenty minutes with his back to the table, scrubbing and drying each dish to perfection. It was the first time Carrie didn’t help with clean up, the first time his mom didn’t offer to dry, and it was the first time his grandma left well enough alone.

forty-five

The kids were hyper and the adults giddy as CJ pulled out his old music player. The Glenn Miller Orchestra started up, filling the home with jazzy saxophones, dancing horns, and a lot of laughter.

Carrie stood off to the side with Oliver, watching the festivities and wishing for another lost piece of technology: her camera. She would have given anything to capture the kids’ faces as they bounced around May’s squished house. She couldn’t help but think that Little Jeffrey should have been there. And Jonah. But it looked like she was the only one missing the Kovachs.

Richard held Mariah in his arms, nearly carrying her as they swayed to the Big Band music. Amber held hands with Braden in a far corner, looking blissfully content, and Zach bounced around with the Dixon twins in his first attempt at dancing. About the only ones not smiling were Carrie and Oliver. They hadn’t done much of that since Greg’s little announcement. Of course, neither had Greg, who stood in the far corner of the kitchen, leaned against the counter, arms folded.

Oliver bent down and peered at Carrie. She quickly faced front.

“Do you like music?” he asked over the noise.

“Yes,” she said, “but it’s been a long time since I’ve heard any.” Music was another victim of the Collapse. Yet instead of the ‘old-lady music’ soothing her, she felt herself growing tense. The last time she had danced with anyone was in high school in the throes of teenage awkwardness. She felt just as awkward standing next to Oliver. More so. She wasn’t a great dancer, and she had the inkling he wasn’t either.

One song ended, and another revved up: “In the Mood.” CJ and May moved to the middle of the crowd and demonstrated a few basic swing steps. Everyone stopped to watch the old pros. Within seconds, people were laughing and mimicking their surprisingly agile moves.

Oliver straightened and brushed down his uniform.

Carrie took a quick breath. Dancing it is.

“Well,” he said, “I better go.”

“You’re leaving?” she said, unable to hide the panic in her voice.

“Yeah. I have a shift and…” He shrugged. “I should go.”

She followed him through the bouncing bodies, feeling her energy zapped with every step. She should have been thrilled he was leaving. That meant no dancing, no more pretending. But she felt sick. Greg would blame her for this.

Oliver stopped by the door, gray eyes searching hers as if waiting for her to say something. That’s what normal people—normal couples—did. They talked before saying goodbye. Yet for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Her mind was a jumbled mess.

“Um, Carrie,” Oliver said. “I wondered if sometime you and I…could maybe, uh…”

Her stomach dropped. He was asking her out. For real this time. She could see it in his pained expression.

Please don’t, she begged silently. This is all I can give you right now.

He cleared his throat. “…that maybe we could…”

Normally Oliver spoke in short, clipped sentences, and normally she waited for him to say what he needed, but in a knee-jerk reaction, she stuck out her hand and blurted, “See you Thursday, Oliver.”

His brows rose. He stared at her outstretched hand before forcing a weak smile. “See you Thursday.”

As he left, her head fell against the wall. Unlike the bubbly room around her, it felt like her world was collapsing. What was he going to ask? Why did he leave so soon? But more than anything, why did Greg do that to him? To them? She didn’t want to hurt Oliver, or Greg, or Jeff, but she was sick of the games. She was tired of fighting with herself and losing.

Love shouldn’t be this hard.

Amber had been wrong, too, she thought. Greg hadn’t had a hard time keeping his eyes off Carrie. He’d barely looked at her all during—

“Couldn’t get him to stay?” Greg said over her shoulder.

She flinched as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Recovering quickly, she glanced out the window. “I guess not.”

“Me neither,” Greg said.

The two of them studied the lazy snowflakes while the Glenn Miller Orchestra played behind them.

After a minute, he nudged her arm. “You’re mad at me.”

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, part of her knew Greg had done the right thing at dinner. There was no reason to hide things with Oliver. But the worst part had been watching May stumble over her words to find something polite to say after Carrie’s betrayal. Oliver. Not Greg. Even Mariah grew uncharacteristically quiet.

“I shouldn’t be,” she said. And before he could crush her, she changed the subject. “You’re not bald.”

He rubbed his short hair. “Nope. So is this how you envisioned your perfect man?”

“Yeah. It looks good.” Really good. Too good.

His eyes narrowed. “Do I detect a bit of confidence in those words, Miss Ashworth?”

“I guess I didn’t do too badly.”

“I thought so, too. You’re hired,” he said with a smile.

Great. More haircuts. More alone time. More teasing and fixing her weak little stem.

Her throat burned with emotions that had no business being there. It was a wedding, for crying out loud. The whole room laughed and bounced around them. There was no reason to be mad at Greg, or hurt by what he’d done, or…

“Carrie?” he said gently.

It took a moment to steel herself for what was coming: It’s all for the best. The clan needs you to do this—you need to keep them safe. I’m not interested in you, but Oliver is. It’s time for you to grow up and get over it—over me. For once in your life, make the right decision and stick to it. She blinked rapidly, anticipating it all, yet feeling like one word out of his mouth could shatter her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She laughed. She couldn’t help it.

“What?” he said. “You can apologize up and down, but I can’t?”

“No. You just never say what I expect you to, Greg. So does that mean you’re sorry Oliver left, or that things aren’t better between him and me? Or are you sorry for blurting my love life out to the world? Or that you broke your grandma’s heart?”

His eyes lit up. “All of it, actually.”

Though it didn’t take away all the pain, it took away some. That’s how it usually was with Greg. Painful, but usually for the best. The stupid plant analogy fit more than she cared to admit. At least he cared enough to help her. At least he was her friend.

Her head jerked up. Greg’s my friend.

More than Jenna or Sasha. Even more than Amber or May. He knew what was going on in her life better than anyone right now—and he cared about her, too. Really, the same was true in reverse. She cared about Greg, truly deeply cared about him. Not as a boyfriend, not as a fellow clansman, but as a friend.

Her friend.

The thought was startling and comforting at the same time because she finally knew she had chosen right. She’d chosen Greg.

Curious, he watched her. “Why the sudden change?”

“I think…” She smiled, finding it silly and wonderful at the same time. “I think you’re my friend.”

“And you’re only realizin’ this now?”

She loved that he didn’t question her childish wisdom, just how long it took her to find it. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m slow.”

As she turned back to watch the dancers, her spirits lifted to the beat of the music. She was no longer alone at the party. And really, neither was Greg.

He leaned over. “By the way, you look real beautiful tonight.”

Her smile grew, and she forced herself not to fidget with her swept-back hair. “Thanks.”

“Quite stunning, actually,” he continued, although his eyes stayed on the dancers. “I told you Oliver would like the blue. Although it’s not fair for you to leave him tongue-tied and speechless all the time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he still hasn’t recovered from seein’ you like this.”

Before she could think of something to say, but after blushing head to toe, Mariah and Richard joined them.

“Oliver’s gone?” Mariah said. “I didn’t even get to thank him.”

Richard hugged her. “Yes you did, love. Four times.”

“That’s not near enough.” Mariah’s head fell against Richard’s shoulder. She gave a little sigh before her gaze shifted to Carrie. Her expression shifted, too. “We also came to check on the walls over here. How are they holdin’ up?”

It took a second for Carrie to understand her meaning, then the blood drained from her face.

“What do you mean?” Greg said.

“You know. The walls.” Mariah pointed behind Carrie with a mischievous look identical to her son’s. “They aren’t as strong as they seem, are they?”

Greg looked behind him as if expecting to see actual damage to the interior walls. Richard rubbed the paint, playing into his confusion.

“With this loud music and everyone bouncing around,” Richard said, “there’s always the danger of a crack or two, don’t you think, Carrie?”

Richard was in on it, too?

“Yes,” Carrie squeaked. “No. I don’t know.” Help!

While Richard pointed out a convenient crack over Greg’s head, Mariah bent close. “You and Greg had us real worried there at dinner,” she whispered. “But things seem to be lookin’ up. Any walls comin’ down?”

Carrie thought back to her new realization about her new friend and nodded. “Yes. Only they’re my own.”

“Really? I suppose that’ll work just as well.” Mariah grinned.

“No, wait. I didn’t mean…” Carrie flushed. Greg was looking at Richard like he was completely nuts. There’s no way she could explain to Mariah about her and Greg’s simple friendship, or how much it meant to her. Mortified and wanting a few walls of her own, Carrie studied her torn shoe.

Mariah laughed and tugged on Richard’s hand. “Come, love. The music is callin’ to us.”

As Mariah and Richard headed into the dancing crowd, Carrie glanced sideways. She could see the wheels churning in Greg’s brain, making the room shrink around them.

“Do I wanna know what all that was about?” Greg asked.

Carrie shook her head.

“Didn’t think so. Well, since Oliver won’t do it…” He held out his hand. “Wanna dance?”

She stared at his outstretched hand, the one with her name practically autographed on it.

“Hey,” he said, “you can’t be scared of me anymore if you’re gonna be my friend.”

He was right.

Clinging to the word friend, she reached forward and took his hand for the first time. His skin was warm, making her self-conscious about her ice-cold fingers. He didn’t seem to be affected by the touch like she was, and she yelled at her heart to stop pounding so wildly.

Friends.

He led her by the hand into the group. “I should probably warn you,” he said over the music, “I’m a lousy dancer. I hope that doesn’t bump me from your list.”

His teasing helped her relax a little more, and she managed a genuine smile. “No. I’m not much of a dancer either.”

“Really?” He grinned. “Prove it.”

forty-six

Greg lied.

He danced as well as his relatives, if not better. Sadly, Carrie told the truth. She stunk. But the Big Band music was the type to keep her from taking herself too seriously. In between horns and saxophones, there was a lot of bumping elbows and stepping on toes. Before long, Carrie was laughing along with everyone else.

She kept her eyes on the room, finding it easiest while Greg worked his magic. His hands were confident and strong—and awfully warm—as he led her through the steps. Holding her waist. Twirling her around. Dodging bodies. Clutching her waist again. Unlike her, he seemed completely at ease, but it took her until the second song to get up the nerve to compliment him.

“I’m never believing a word you say again,” Carrie said loudly. “You’re a good dancer.”

Greg pushed her away and tugged her back again. “Grandma gave me a couple crash courses this week in anticipation of dancin’ with her beloved Carrie. ‘You don’t want to mess this up, Gregory,’” he said in his old lady voice. “‘Dancing is important to girls, especially to my Carrie. She loves to dance—LOVES to dance! You need to get it right. Practice, Gregory. Practice!’”

She laughed. “I’m not sure why May thinks I like to dance. I don’t.”

He stopped moving. “What?”

“I mean, it’s a little fun, but mostly it stresses me out.”

His thick brows pulled down. “Why didn’t you tell me this two days ago? You coulda saved me from a whole lot of old lady dancin’.” He twisted the two of them around so he could spot May through the crowd. “Grandma,” he growled.

Carrie laughed again, and his glare turned on her. “What? You think this is funny?”

She tried to wipe the smile from her face. Tried and failed, because she pictured Greg and May dancing in the living room. May was half his size and hunched over with arthritis, but she would have ordered him around like a drill sergeant. Greg would have rolled his eyes yet still submitted to the two-step.

“Great,” he said. “You’re picturing me dancin’ with her, aren’t you?”

Carrie’s smile grew to giggles. “Yes. But don’t worry. It’s very cute.” Because while he pretended that his grandma drove him crazy, he never would have put up with her if he didn’t, on some subconscious level, absolutely adore her.

He tried to keep his expression stern, but a tiny smile played in his eyes, betraying him. “Well, you better not tell her you hate to dance. She still has hopes for us.”

Carrie’s smile faded. “She does?”

“Yeah. She cornered me in the kitchen just now and told me I wasn’t tryin’ hard enough.” He chuckled. “She told me to fight for you.”

So May hadn’t given up on them. And Greg thought it was funny.

Fight for Carrie?

Hilarious.

“If she finds out you hate dancin’, she’ll blame me.” He twirled her around, grabbed her waist, and pulled her tight against his muscled chest. “You sure it’s not my fault?”

She couldn’t breathe—or didn’t dare—overly aware of his hand pressed into the small of her back, of the shape of his chest under her own hand. “Yes. You’re a good dancer, Greg. Very good.” Then she politely pushed him away.

“Hmmm. That’s what I thought. Alrighty. Keep up with me while I show her I’ve done my neighborly duty.”

As Carrie digested the words neighborly duty, he made a point of weaving them closer to May and CJ. Then he did it again. He caught hold of her waist and pulled her close.

“Flash her a few smiles,” he whispered in Carrie’s ear, “so she thinks you’re havin’ the time of your life.”

She smiled as best as she could under the dizzy confusion she found herself in. Greg insisted he had enough charm to blow Braden out of the water. She no longer doubted it. He had a way of looking at her, holding her close, then leaning in and whispering that she looked “quite stunning.” Then again, he also had a way of dropping a “neighborly duty” bombshell on her.

“Not convincing enough,” he said.

Carrie threw back her head and laughed. May was fooled. She flashed Greg two wobbly thumbs up when she thought Carrie wasn’t looking.

“Thanks,” Greg said. “I owe you big time.”

He skillfully spun them to the outer edges of the crowd. Carrie complied, completely at his mercy. Not just in dancing either. Where he led, she followed. When he laughed, she laughed, too. If he pulled her in for a slow step, she yielded, trying to ignore the way it felt to be in his arms. She wasn’t graceful, she wasn’t even comfortable, but she was accommodating, and one dance turned into two. And then three.

And then four.

“You’re awful quiet,” he remarked as the fourth song started.

I’m not the only one, she thought. He’d barely said a word during the last song, yet the new Greg wasn’t quiet. Not even close.

“You don’t look too happy either,” he said, regarding her.

She wasn’t unhappy, she just kept reminding herself that he had Nicole and she had Oliver. Greg was her friend. Nothing more. He has Nicole. He has—

No one, her thoughts cut in.

“I left. She didn’t. End of story.”

“You mad?” he asked, watching her internal debate with curiosity.

“No. Sorry.” She shook it off. “I’m just trying not to break your toes.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it was close enough.

“Good,” he said. “You had me worried there. For a sec, I thought you were wishin’ I was somebody else.”

“No. Not at all.” Are you? she wanted to ask in return. But without Amber’s—or his—candidness, she couldn’t.

He nodded softly. “Good.”

Though the trombones sped on, his feet slowed. So did hers.

Carrie chanced another glance up. Once she met his gaze, she couldn’t look away. The way he looked at her. It’s like he was speaking some silent language to her, and not only was she supposed to understand, she was supposed to respond as well. Except she didn’t know what to say. Or think. Or feel. Or do. She knew absolutely nothing except in that moment, she didn’t want to be anywhere else. With anyone else.

His feet stopped altogether, forcing her to stop, too, even though the song hadn’t ended and the room swayed around them.

“Carrie…” he said, her name a whisper on his lips.

His piercing green eyes studied her with a depth they never had before, taking in not only her smoked eyes, but her swept-up hair, her cheeks, and then…her mouth.

Her heart pounded like mad.

Greg had thrown out that compliment earlier with little thought or effort, but as he studied her so intently, she wondered if a small part of him really did think she was beautiful. Stunning even. Was it possible?

His warm hand tightened on her waist, and he started to pull her closer. His head lowered a fraction toward her, and her breath caught. If she didn’t know better, she would think Greg was two seconds from kissing her.

“One of these days,” Mariah whispered from her memories, “he’s gonna wake up and realize he’s in love with you.”

Dylan and Sasha bumped into them, jostling them.

Greg blinked. That’s all it took.

He jerked back and glanced around, as if he’d forgotten where he was—who he was with. Then Carrie watched the transformation take place, first in his eyes, and then in his entire expression. Everything seemed to melt. Then harden. And then freeze. In a blink, he was the Greg from six weeks ago. Cold. Hard. Unbending.

Stunned, she froze, too.

He was mad at her. There was no other explanation for the sudden change. His jaw was tight, and his hands no longer held her with warmth but gripped her tightly. She rushed through the last minute to figure out what she’d done. She hadn’t stepped on his toes. She hadn’t said much either, hopefully not insulting his ego.

Then she found it.

The three words that had ruined everything:

“Not at all,” she had said, admitting for the first time to Greg—and herself—that she didn’t want to be with anyone else. Not even Oliver. She wanted to be with Greg. Dancing. Laughing. Forever. Like Oliver, Greg had a deep goodness to him, he had more charm than Braden, and she wanted what May, Mariah, and Amber wanted. Only she wanted him to want it, too. Desperately.

And he was furious.

Braden and Amber brushed past them next, snapping Greg out of his glare. He loosened his death grip on Carrie’s waist, gave her one last twirl, and stepped away.

“Thanks for the dance, Carrie.”

The song was nowhere near done, but she heard herself thank him in response while processing another rejection. This time unspoken.

Out of nowhere Lindsey Ziegler appeared. She stood next to Greg with large, puppy-dog eyes. He took the hint and the two of them picked up where he and Carrie had left off.

As Carrie watched them spin away, heat mounted behind her eyes. She breathed slowly and blinked rapidly.

An arm slipped around her shoulders. “You okay, darlin’?” Mariah asked.

It was the wrong person at the wrong time. Carrie closed her eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Oh, sweetie.” Mariah hugged her. “It’ll work out. Just give him some time. You’ll see.”

“Excuse me,” Carrie whispered. “I need some air.”

She pulled free of Mariah’s embrace and rushed out the door.

***

Carrie sat on the wood bench on May’s front porch, letting the snow wash away her cares. The spring snow shower was cleansing and smelled like rebirth, the cool temperature was perfect for her flushed skin, and the moisture blocked out all sound, as if there wasn’t a party going on inside without her.

The brisk air also cleared away any silly hopes she had formed inside. Already she felt a million times better. She was grateful Greg had stopped her wild behavior before she humiliated herself further. They were friends. Nothing more.

If only she never had to see him again.

The door opened behind her, and her surrogate grandpa walk out. CJ’s face shone with the joy of the day, lifting her spirits even more. He sat next to her on the wood bench.

“Other than this storm,” he said, “I’d say this has been a perfect day for our little clan.”

“The best day yet,” Carrie agreed.

The strongest urge came over her, and she laid her head on CJ’s shoulder. It had been a long time since she’d done it, yet CJ acted like it was as natural as it once had been. He reached up and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. The warmth of his friendship sank down to her core. In a way, she’d lost grandparents when Greg and Mariah moved in. It was nice to have CJ back, even if only temporarily.

“I don’t think it gets any easier seeing my baby girl get married,” he said a little gruff. “I’m going to miss her.”

“Mariah’s only moving a few houses away,” Carrie said fondly. “You’ll still see her.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I guess not.” Just like it wouldn’t be the same having Greg live across the street from her.

They sat in silence, drinking in the soft snow. Carrie shut her eyes and relived the best parts of the day. Mariah and Richard. Amber and Braden. Even her walk around the pond with Greg, her new friend. It really had been a great day. Mostly.

“What is that?” CJ said, sitting up.

Carrie opened her eyes. Something in the distance was coming toward them. Down the street. After a second, she made out the shape of a person. A man. Someone seemingly in a hurry.

“Is that Jeff?” CJ asked.

“Yes. It is.” She tensed, knowing she’d never gone to Jeff’s house or smoothed things over. She’d chosen Greg, and now Jeff was running down the street toward them—toward her. “Maybe he’s coming to the wedding. Maybe he changed his mind?”

“No,” CJ said. “Where are Jenna and the boys?”

CJ stood and Carrie did, too. Jeff’s feet slapped against the wet pavement, running fast enough the snow couldn’t cling to his clothes. The closer he got, the more Carrie’s pulse pounded. CJ was right. Jeff’s strides were long and furious.

The second he hit the driveway, he spotted them on the porch.

“You!” he shouted, pointing at Carrie.

She shrank back into the brick.

Still, she expected Jeff to slow when he reached the sidewalk. He didn’t. He covered the last of the distance in three great strides and leaped up on the porch. He grabbed Carrie by the neck and rammed her against the brick wall.

“You!” he yelled in her face.

Pain exploded in Carrie’s head. She tried to gasp but couldn’t find air.

“You did this! You killed her!”

Jeff’s grip tightened on her neck, squeezing the air from her throat.

CJ grabbed his arm. “Stop! Let Carrie go! What happened?”

Carrie already knew. She couldn’t breathe, but she knew.

Jenna was dead.

forty-seven

Carrie struggled to gasp. To think. Her mind begged for another explanation while her lungs screamed for air.

Jenna…

…dead…

Jeff’s face started to swim in front of her. He clutched her neck and pushed her harder against the brick. Pain spread down her spine. He was twice her size, and she had nowhere to go. She kicked wildly and connected with nothing.

Please! she screamed in her mind. Stop!

“How does it feel to die?” Jeff hissed, murderous eyes inches away.

She couldn’t think about Jenna anymore. She clawed his fingers on her throat, his arms. Dark spots crowded her vision. Her limbs were going numb, her mind blank.

Air.

“Jeff!” CJ shook him roughly. “Let Carrie go!”

Jeff’s massive weight shifted. In one fluid move, he dropped Carrie and whirled. At the same time Carrie fell on the cement, she heard a deep grunt. A dark shape dropped beside her.

CJ!

She gasped and coughed, struggling for the air to shout like she needed to. She scrambled over to his still form. “CJ?”

No response.

She hunched over CJ and shook him. “CJ, please!”

“Jenna!” Jeff wailed above her.

***

Greg dropped Lindsey’s hand. He listened again. Somebody was yelling outside, although he couldn’t make out who it was over the loud music. Normally he wouldn’t have thought twice about it in a group this big, except it was cold and snowing, and the yelling wasn’t the fun, screw-around, teenage kind. It sounded desperate. Angry.

“What’s wrong?” Lindsey asked, trying to get his attention back. “Do you want me to ask May to play a different song?”

“No. Quiet!”

Greg scanned the room, looking toward the window. He couldn’t see anything through the mass of people. Then he heard it again. Only this time it wasn’t yelling. It was screaming. Female.

Carrie!

Greg bolted for the door. His mind raced. Oliver’s uncle had ratted them out. Patrolmen. Carrie was being arrested. He couldn’t get through the mass fast enough.

Somebody different yelled outside. A man.

More people turned, and the room became a mass of obstacles blocking Greg’s path. He swam upstream, shoving to get outside. Carrie screamed again, and Greg nearly knocked over Vanessa Green to get out the front door.

When he burst outside, the scene was nothing like he expected. Instead of finding Carrie surrounded by a dozen patrolmen, she knelt on the porch by a pair of legs. Somebody was down, and she was shouting at them to wake up. Greg jumped over to help.

He saw the butt of the rifle a second too late.

The rifle smashed into his skull, just below his hairline. He spiraled back and hit brick.

Everything went black. The pain was blinding. Splotches of shapes. Blurs. Movement. And more shouting.

He tried to push himself up through the fog of sound. Didn’t make it. His face pressed to the cement, head pounding like a bass drum. He grunted and tried again. Pushing. Failing. The pain was excruciating. He blinked several times to clear his eyes. Enough to make out the shape of somebody hovered over him.

“Greg!” Carrie said, frantic. “Oh no! You’re bleeding. Please be okay. Please be okay!”

With effort, he reached up and felt the side of his face. Warm liquid oozed down. He blinked a few more times.

“What happened?” he asked.

Relief flooded Carrie’s eyes. “You have to help your grandpa. He’s hurt and—”

“Get away from him!” a man yelled.

A hand grabbed Carrie’s shoulder and yanked her back. Carrie was gone again.

Greg suddenly remembered. The patrolmen. He rubbed his eyes like a maniac. He needed to see!

Using the brick wall, he pushed himself to his knees, ready to tackle the patrolmen. A surge of dizziness nearly knocked him over, and he bent in half. Blood dripped on the cement below him. He grabbed his head, desperate to clear it.

“Stop, Jeff!” Carrie cried. “Please! You’re hurting people. You have to stop!”

Jeff?

In an instant, the situation clarified. Jeff had clubbed him with the rifle, not a patrolman.

Greg squinted through the haze in his mind. Carrie stood in front of Jeff Kovach on the wet sidewalk, holding his arms back, forcing him to back away from Greg on the porch. Jeff breathed heavily, murderous gaze on Greg.

Greg felt his forehead again. Warm, sticky, and swelling, but his eyes—and thoughts—cleared with every heartbeat.

“Greg didn’t hurt Jenna,” Carrie said, nearly hysterical. “He’s been here the whole time. Please, don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt anyone! Just tell me what happened. Let me help.”

Jeff’s eyes were wild like a raging tiger. They left Greg to sweep the scene, and Greg did the same. Person after person streamed onto the porch to see what was happening.

“You did this,” Jeff said to the group. “All of you. She’s gone and…” His chest caved. “You did this.”

“That can’t be true,” Carrie said. “Jenna can’t be gone.”

Jenna.

The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Jenna was dead, Jeff had gone ballistic, and the whole clan was streaming out of the house to watch it. Greg felt sick. Carrie stayed between Jeff and the crowd, holding him back.

“She’s gone,” Jeff moaned. “She’s gone. She’s gone.”

“Just let me help,” Carrie said.

His eyes, wild and ferocious, went back to her. “You can’t help! She’s dead!”

A few people gasped.

Jeff nodded. “That’s right. Jenna’s dead. Are you happy? I shouted for help, and no one came. Not a soul. You were all here at your party, and now she’s dead. Dead and gone. And it’s all your—”

Another scream pierced the air. Female again, only from behind Greg. His mom flew out of the house and collapsed over the still form on the cement. The one Greg had forgotten.

“Dad?” his mom cried. “Dad!”

Greg scrambled over to them. His grandpa lay silent on the porch, with a huge, red welt on the side of his face. Only unlike Greg, his eyes were closed, his face was white, and he looked dead.

“Grandpa?” Greg shook him. “Check for breathing.”

“Dad!” his mom wailed without hearing.

Greg pressed his ear to his grandpa’s chest. He heard fast thudding but couldn’t tell if it was his own pounding pulse. Greg felt his grandpa’s neck. He couldn’t tell. Couldn’t tell! The adrenaline pumped too hard through his veins.

Richard pushed his way through the crowd and knelt next to them. “What happened?” Richard asked.

“Jeff went crazy and attacked Grandpa,” Greg said. “Now I can’t make out his heartbeat. Check for me. I can hardly think straight.”

“Whoa!” Richard grabbed Greg’s arm, eyes zeroing in on the blood running down his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just check to see if Grandpa’s still—”

His grandpa groaned. It was a small, pained mutter, but it was something. His eyes remained closed. Still, he was alive.

“Dad?” his mom cried. “Please, wake up!” When he didn’t respond, she whirled. “What did you do to him!” she screamed at Jeff. She cleared her throat, but the damage was done. She coughed. “What did you”—another cough—“do!”

Greg grabbed her. “Ma! You gotta calm down. Fast.”

She doubled over as the coughing grew more pronounced. “Attacking…an old man?”

Jeff’s head swung around. “A life for a life,” he said without emotion.

She lunged.

Greg caught her and yanked her back. Jeff missed the threat, already back to surveying the crowd with his blank, dead eyes. Greg locked his mom in his arms. She shook with more hacking coughs, struggling to pull in air. The wheezing was closing off her airways. If he didn’t get her in control quickly, he’d have a lot more than a crazed lunatic to worry about.

“Ma, calm down,” Greg whispered, desperate. “Grandpa’s gonna be fine.” At least, he better be. Greg turned and glared at Jeff. The shock was wearing off and in its place, rage started to boil.

“Let me get things in control before Jeff loses it,” Greg said. “Before he…” His breath caught in his throat. His thoughts went rigid. A rifle hung loosely from Jeff’s hands. Jeff hadn’t punched Greg. He’d clubbed him with the butt of the hunting rifle.

A rifle that now hung inches from Carrie.

Carrie faced away from them, still keeping herself between Jeff and the crowd. But she had screamed. Greg heard her. From this distance, he couldn’t tell if she was hurt like him and his grandpa, but the tip of the rifle was down and swinging all over the place. Greg had seen Jeff hunt. His aim was impeccable. It would take less than a second—less than a thought—to raise it and fire off a deadly shot.

And if Jeff blamed Carrie for Jenna’s death…

“Carrie…” Greg whispered.

Richard turned and saw the same thing. “I got your mom. Go!”

Greg jumped up. His head screamed at him, but he slid along the brick, crouching behind everybody. Carrie and Jeff were down the wet sidewalk ten feet. She stayed in front of him, hands up as if that could somehow block him or his rifle.

“I want her back,” Jeff said. His eyes, his face, everything was in a state of shock. Snow swirled around him, but he didn’t notice. Bombs could be exploding and he’d have had the same, blank look. Greg knew because he’d had it once, too, outside of a municipality hospital.

“I know.” Carrie said, voice cracking. “Just let me help.”

If Jeff spotted Greg moving through the group, he’d start shooting, regardless of who stood in the way. Careful, Greg slid behind Amber and crouched behind Braden. He tugged on Braden’s jeans and Braden glanced down.

“Get everybody inside,” Greg hissed. “Then take a couple guys and go around back. I’ll head Jeff off this way.”

Braden nodded and jumped into action.

Greg kept moving down the line. With every step Carrie pushed Jeff back, Greg took five, working his way up front. Jeff’s first blow still had his head reeling. The next one would be fatal. But Greg had to get Carrie out of there.

“Get inside,” he told person after person. “Go slow. No fast movements. Quiet.”

Nobody listened. Half were rooted in their spot, the other half suddenly realized what Greg had: armed lunatic. They shoved their way back inside. Within seconds, it was chaos.

“Stop!” Jeff shouted, raising his rifle. “Nobody move. It’s over!”

People froze.

“That’s right,” Jeff went on. “It’s over. I’m shutting down this clan. I’m finding the first patrolman and turning you all in. I’m getting my reward. I’ll even turn in Oliver.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Why not? Oliver chose Carrie. Carrie chose Greg. Greg chose to stay. Everyone chooses themselves around here, and now Jenna’s dead. So it’s over. You’ll all be arrested by morning.” His expression hardened. “Say your goodbyes.”

forty-eight

Nobody moved. Nobody except Greg. He kept sliding in the shadows.

“Go!” Greg whispered. “Get inside. Move slowly.”

One by one, people started shuffling again, only more carefully. His mom and Richard dragged his grandpa inside. Everyone else followed. In another second, it would just be Greg, Jeff, and Carrie outside—and with luck, just Greg and Jeff.

“Please, Jeff,” Carrie said. “You’re not thinking straight. What do you want?”

His nostrils flared. “I want Jenna back.”

Greg climbed off the porch and hugged the bushes, careful to not make any sudden moves. Carrie and Jeff were halfway across the snowy yard now. Somehow she’d pushed him that far back. But Greg knew Jeff’s state of mind. There was no reasoning with a man whose wife died. He’d attacked a seventy-year-old man, and Carrie was a foot from that rifle. If Greg could knock the gun out of the way, he could drop Jeff with a single blow. But with Carrie that close, Greg had to tread carefully.

He slid a few more steps onto the wet grass. He scanned the side yard. Nothing. Hopefully Braden and the other guys were closing in.

A sudden blur of red shot off the porch and whizzed past Greg.

Zach.

“You stay away from my sister!” Zach screamed, headed right for Jeff.

Greg jumped up to snag Zach. Too far. Too far!

Instinct took over. Jeff’s rifle rose.

Time seemed to slow. Zach skidded to a stop, eyes wide while Greg suddenly couldn’t move.

“NO!” Carrie lunged and rammed into Jeff, throwing him off balance. The rifle teetered but didn’t fall.

Greg slid across the slushy grass, trying to reach Zach. “Go!” Greg yelled at him. “Get back inside now!”

“Freeze!” Jeff shouted. “Both of you, not another step!”

Greg stopped dead. So did Zach. Because Jeff had snatched Carrie. He whipped her around to face them, clutching her by the neck. At the same time, he leveled the rifle at Zach’s chest.

“Go ahead,” Jeff said, taunting Greg. “Move an inch, I dare you. See which one dies first.”

Greg’s hands shot up high in surrender. “Wait. I’m not movin’. Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot!”

Carrie’s eyes were pure terror. She went limp in Jeff’s arms. “Please, Jeff. I’ll do anything. Leave Zach out of this. This is our fight, not his.”

“Leave Carrie alone!” Zach shouted back.

“Go, Zach!” Carrie yelled.

“No! Let my sister go!”

Greg said nothing. He didn’t hardly breathe for fear Jeff would kill Zach or Carrie. Or both. Jeff’s gaze, dark and animal, never left Greg, as if he hadn’t heard either Ashworth.

“Please, Jeff,” Carrie begged, voice hoarse from his tight grip on her neck. “I’ll do anything.”

“Fine,” Jeff finally said. “Choose. Zach or Greg?” His rifle waved between them. “Which one will you save this time?”

“Zach!” Greg yelled. “She chooses Zach.”

“Silence!” Jeff screamed. “Carrie is going to choose, only this time I’m waiting for her decision instead of sitting at my house, wondering. I want to hear her choose her new lover over her little brother so everyone knows what kind of person she is.”

Carrie’s eyes went to Greg with a tortured, agonized look. Tears leaked down her cheeks.

“Choose now,” Jeff hissed, “or they both die. Now!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Greg.

Relieved, Greg nodded. He never would have forgiven her if she’d chosen otherwise.

“There,” Greg said. “She decided. She chose Zach, so let him go. In fact, let them both go. You can shoot me after they’re inside. Don’t make them watch.”

Jeff took that in a moment. “Fine. Zach can go, but Carrie stays. She’s going with me to the township.”

To the township where Jeff would expose their clan. Carrie would be arrested. Even Jeff would be arrested, and Greg figured he didn’t care. Greg locked his muscles to keep from doing something impulsive. He couldn’t afford to lose it now.

Zach planted his feet. “I’m not going!”

“Go, Zach,” Greg said calmly. “Go inside now.”

“NO!” His fists clenched. His face was red with tears and rage, morphing into the teen by the barn, ready to die for his family. Only Greg couldn’t let him.

Cautiously, with hands still raised, Greg crossed the last few feet to Zach. Then he turned his back to Jeff and lowered his voice.

“Zach,” he whispered, “I need you to help me save Carrie.”

Zach’s eyes widened.

“Go inside and find Braden,” Greg continued, urgent. “Tell him to grab some guys and head outside around the back way. When I give the signal, tell them to jump Jeff from behind. Okay?”

Zach nodded. In a flash, he turned and flew inside. Hopefully, before he realized what Greg had done, Richard would snag him and lock him in a bathroom until this was over.

Greg made sure Zach was all the way inside before turning back. More tears streamed down Carrie’s face, this time in gratitude.

“Alright,” Greg said. “Let her go. Take me to the township instead and shoot me there if you want.” Greg slid a few inches forward. “Oliver already hates my guts. You and he can take turns shooting.”

“How romantic,” Jeff sneered. “Dying for the woman you love. You killed the love of my life. Maybe I should kill yours.”

Jeff’s grip slid up the rifle to swing it around, one-handed, to face Carrie. Greg’s stomach lurched. But the rifle was too long. Jeff couldn’t point it at Carrie and keep hold of her neck. Realizing the same thing, he pointed the rifle back at Greg’s chest and clamped his thumb and fingers on the veins in her neck instead. She winced but stayed limp in his arms.

Greg locked eyes with her, begging her to break free. She needed to fight. An elbow. A head butt. Anything. But he knew she wouldn’t risk it—risk Greg.

Keeping his hands up, Greg slid another inch forward. He didn’t know where Braden or the others were. Even if they were perched on the side of the house, they wouldn’t risk him either. Not with a gun pointed at his chest.

“I don’t love Carrie,” Greg said, stealing another inch. “Everybody knows I only love myself. So if you wanna take out your revenge on somebody, it’s gonna have to be me and me alone. Let. Carrie. Go.”

“If you don’t love her, why do you care what I do with her?”

“You don’t wanna hurt her,” Greg insisted. Jeff and Carrie were still ten feet away. Just a little more and he’d be close enough. Another inch. Two inches. “You wanna hurt me. You’ve hated me since the second I moved in.”

Jeff’s eyes hardened, but so did his grip. Carrie gasped and choked, unable to hold back anymore. She clawed at Jeff’s monstrous hand, desperate. He was twice her size and strength. Her efforts did nothing. In his state of mind, he’d kill Carrie and not even know it. Frantic, Greg stole four more inches, careful to keep his upper body motionless.

“Carrie made her choice,” Jeff said. “She killed Jenna. Now she’s going to pay. Everyone is.”

“So you’re gonna ruin everybody’s lives?” Greg asked, sliding a full foot. “You’re gonna shut down the clan? All these years of working, hiding, helping, and you’re gonna end it, just like that?”

Carrie’s eyes closed. Her body went still. She was giving up. C’mon, Greg begged. Just another second.

“Seems fair to me,” Jeff said.

“Seems cruel to me,” Greg countered.

Jeff’s eyes hardened, grip tightening on the rifle. “That’s life.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

Greg sprung forward. In one leap, he charged and rammed into Jeff and Carrie, shoulder hitting their stomachs. Jeff wasn’t prepared. His feet slipped on the slushy grass, and the three of them tumbled back.

The rifle went sailing.

Jeff scrambled for it. Greg was faster and kicked it out of reach. Jeff screamed, jumped up, and threw a fist. Greg saw it coming and spun. Unable to anticipate the extra momentum, Jeff went sprawling on the wet grass.

Greg jumped on top of him at the same time Braden, Dylan, and Terrell sprang out from the bushes. The four of them pinned Jeff face down in the slushy snow.

“Get off me!” Jeff bellowed. In his rage, he had the strength of two men, but they kept him tackled. His limbs flailed less and less until finally they went slack.

“Jenna,” he moaned.

As the last of the fight went out of him, Greg fell back on the grass, sucking in deep breaths. Braden and the others took care of Jeff, which was good because everything in front of Greg went in and out of focus. It felt like somebody rammed his head against the wall with each heartbeat.

As his breathing slowed, his mind sped up, realizing the magnitude of the situation. Jenna. Jeff. His grandpa. Carrie

Carrie!

Greg turned to find her. She’d gone down, too, but that’s the last he’d seen her. He twisted further but didn’t see her anywhere.

Gathering his strength, he pushed himself up. His clothes were cold, wet, and heavy. Still, Carrie was nowhere. Panicked, he squinted to see the porch. Half the clan huddled around the window. The rest stood at the front door, blocking it. Carrie couldn’t have made it inside to check on Zach.

Then Greg found her. The opposite direction. She was sprinting down the street, away from Jeff. Away from all of them.

“Carrie!” he yelled.

She kept running, frantic.

He started after her as fast as his weary body could take him. “Carrie, wait!”

She slid to a stop and double-backed to him. “I have to go,” she huffed.

“No. It’s okay,” Greg said. “It’s over now. Jeff’s done. He’s not gonna hurt you or anybody again.”

She shook her head, too out of breath to explain. Instead, she pointed.

Greg followed her finger, and his eyes widened. Carrie wasn’t running away. She was headed for the end of the cul-de-sac. To Jeff’s house.

To Jenna.

“No!” He shook his head adamantly. “You can’t go there. We don’t know what happened. It might not be—”

“The boys?” she cried. “Who has the boys?”

A chill ran down Greg’s body as he realized what she had. Little Jeffrey and Jonah were at home alone.

With their dead mother.

Greg looked at Carrie, back at Jeff, then he took off down the street.

forty-nine

Carrie couldn’t run fast enough. She passed yard after enormous yard, desperate for time to slow down or her feet to speed up. All she could think about was Jenna, her unborn baby, and the boys too young to understand any of it.

Somehow she picked up speed, but Greg outpaced her. He was already to Kovach’s slushy driveway and up the front steps. Then he stopped. He stood on the porch waiting for her to catch up. When she did, she saw why. The front door was blocked by a couch. A huge, ugly, green couch.

Her hands flew to her mouth. “No!”

Carrie’s couch was wedged in the doorway, like someone wanted to be rid of it. Like someone went in a fit of rage and tried to return it to its owner. Only it got stuck.

A wave of nausea hit her strong and hard. She clutched her stomach.

“You did this! You killed her!”

The couch was perched at an awkward angle, blocking off the entrance from above. Greg shoved all the corners to find a way through. It didn’t budge.

“Jeffrey!” Carrie shouted, her voice raw and weak. She pressed her face to the side window. The sun was setting, making it dark inside. She couldn’t see anything. “Jonah!” she tried to scream. It’s like Jeff was still choking her. She couldn’t yell and she couldn’t hear anything either.

Greg threw his full weight against the couch. Nothing. Carrie spotted an opening below. It wasn’t huge, but it was enough to squeeze her small body through.

The second she crouched down, Greg grabbed her back. “No, Carrie. You don’t know what’s in there. Let me go.”

Before she could argue, he flattened himself on the porch and somehow wiggled his way underneath until he disappeared on the other side. She wasn’t about to sit around and wait. Scrunching down, she followed.

The second she was inside, she scanned the house for any sign of life.

“Jeffrey!” she tried again. “Where are you?” Her tender throat couldn’t project, her eyes struggled to adjust to the lesser light, but her ears were alert. All stayed silent except her pounding heart.

Greg helped her to her feet. “I don’t see Jenna anywhere,” he said. “Stay here and let me check things out.”

Carrie started to nod but caught sight of something. A dark red stain was smeared on the carpet below her. Her stomach pitched. The room spun. She saw another dark spot down the hall and another beyond that. Her feet started moving before she could stop them.

“Jenna?”

Greg grabbed her by the shoulders. He bent down and looked her squarely in the eye. “Carrie. Go upstairs and find the boys.”

“Jenna,” she breathed, starting to hyperventilate.

“Carrie,” Greg said firmly. “Go upstairs. Find the boys.”

She nodded, too paralyzed to do otherwise. The boys. The boys. By the third stair she was running to reach the top.

“Jeffrey! Jonah!” She scanned the upstairs hallway. The shock was shutting down her ability to move. “Jeffrey!”

She stumbled to the boys’ room. Empty. She yanked open their closet. Empty. Picking up speed, she ran back into the hallway, calling their names over and over.

Bathroom. Nothing. Spare bedroom. Nothing.

She headed for Jeff and Jenna’s room. “Jeffrey! Jonah!” Her voice was losing volume until it was barely a scratch of sound. She searched every inch of that room, behind the mattress, in the closet, in the bathroom.

If Jeff went nuts, maybe he…

No. He wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t hurt his boys. And yet she couldn’t hear anything. They should be crying or something. With the diminishing light, they could have been anywhere and she’d miss them.

“Carrie!” Greg yelled from downstairs. “Carrie, down here!”

She flew back the way she’d come, down the hall, down the flight of stairs, nearly tripping as she ran. Greg was coming up from the basement.

She shouted in relief when she saw him carrying the two boys. Jonah was crying, eyes red and puffy, his voice hoarse with tears. Little Jeffrey stared straight ahead in a state of utter shock.

Carrie grabbed them both from Greg. Her knees buckled under their combined weight and she sank to the floor, clutching them. Jonah’s crying picked up. Little Jeffrey didn’t move. She stroked their hair over and over again.

Greg crouched next to her. “They were locked downstairs. I think Jeff put them down there when he realized what was happening.”

Carrie closed her eyes and steeled herself for the question she couldn’t bear. “Jenna?”

Greg swallowed. “In the kitchen. I’m sorry.”

Her chest caved. Jenna was gone. Her baby gone.

Carrie buried her face in the boys’ shoulders as the grief consumed her. Then the shaking started. The fear, the anguish, the wet cold. Her entire body shook with terrible convulsions.

Greg sat on the floor next to her and gathered all of them into his arms. He laid his head on top of hers. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I’m so…so sorry.”

fifty

Well past midnight, Greg stood in the last place he wanted to be: outside of the Shelton patrol station. He was awake, barely. Instead of staying with Carrie to make sure she was okay, staying with his grandpa and mom to make sure they were okay, he was about to tell the guy Carrie was supposed to love that he had to arrest the man who almost killed her. Something Carrie was sure to hate Greg for. Oliver, too.

Had anybody else in the clan been willing or able to go, Greg would have sent them. But he stood outside the dark patrol station with his cursed yellow card, freezing to death.

The snow had subsided, which meant the temperatures had plummeted. Even with a coat, Greg blew on his hands to keep them from seizing up. His toes were ice blocks after making the trek into town. If Oliver didn’t emerge soon, he’d have frostbite to add to the day’s injuries.

He rubbed his swollen brow. The blood had crusted over, and his head ached like mad. He hadn’t looked in a mirror, and he didn’t want to. Carrie’s neck was already dark with bruises. Her throat had probably swelled to the point she could hardly swallow, and he wondered if she’d ever stopped shaking. Or if she’d found the energy to start a fire in her house.

If Terrell and the others hadn’t shown up at Jeff’s, Greg would still be at Jeff’s house, holding Carrie and the boys.

Thankfully, Carrie’s neck was the only place Jeff got her. His grandpa, while awake, was far worse off. He was disoriented and feverish. And his mom had been coughing up blood for the past hour.

Greg’s head throbbed. The night was far from over, but the worst was yet to come.

He leaned sideways. Oliver had been in that station a long time. With his yellow card, Greg could have gone in there and talked to him, but he didn’t have the energy to face anybody, let alone a room full of patrolmen.

A few minutes later, Greg heard voices. Somebody was shouting inside the precinct. Though it killed to do so, Greg strained to listen.

“You’re telling me you’ve known about this the whole time!” somebody yelled.

“No,” Oliver answered. “I’ve only suspected for a short while, sir.”

Oliver was talking to his boss. Greg slid closer to the door.

“All the things missing from the precinct,” the chief said, voice rising. “All the things disappearing over the years. You’re telling me it’s been two of my own guys selling it on the black market?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who?” his boss said, low and deadly.

Greg held his breath. One wrong move could detonate the whole plan. No wiggle room, he wanted to tell Oliver. You’ve got the upper hand. Use the truth to your advantage. Truth sells.

“Sir,” Oliver said, “I need a promise of protection first. If I don’t have that then my job—as well as my life—is in danger.”

It was quiet for a long moment. The precinct was the only source of light on the dark, deserted street. Greg pictured Oliver sweating bullets in there.

Finally the chief answered. “Deal. Who are they?”

“The raid in Logan Pond,” Oliver said. “Jamansky and Nielsen said there were twenty-ish squatters holed up there. But if so, where’s all the stuff? They said the clan had furniture and everything, yet they only reported an acquisition enough for one or two squatters—not twenty.”

Greg nodded. Brilliant.

“Where’s the rest of it?” his boss asked.

Oliver’s voice was a little shaky when he answered. “I don’t know where it is now, but I can tell you where it was the morning after the raid.” He paused. “Because I inventoried it.”

“You what?” The chief’s voice echoed off the deserted buildings of downtown Shelton.

“Here’s the list,” Oliver said.

For a long moment, it stayed quiet, and Greg figured the chief was reading through the list Greg had inventoried. Greg hoped Oliver had been smart enough to wait until he and his boss were alone. Otherwise, Oliver was a dead man. Jamansky would see to that.

“Why would you inventory all this without telling me?” the chief said.

“I heard them talking about the black market,” Oliver said, “but I needed proof. So, I waited to see if they would turn in the stuff after that raid. They didn’t, did they?”

More truth. He was on a roll.

“No. If this is true, Simmons, you’re getting a raise. If it’s true. How do I know you’re not just sabotaging your new boss to save your own hide?”

“Like I said, sir, the math doesn’t add up. If you look at the logs, Nielsen checked out the truck the night of the raid, plus the next morning. Why would he need a truck if they only found a few things that could have fit in their car?”

When the chief spoke again, his voice took on a hard edge. “Where are they now?”

“Home.” Oliver said.

Good, Greg thought.

“Follow me, Simmons,” his boss said.

Twenty minutes later when Oliver emerged from the station, he stood taller and more confident, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Greg double-checked to make sure the chief hadn’t followed, and then he stepped out from behind Oliver’s car.

Oliver jumped back and whipped out his gun.

Greg’s hands flew up. “Whoa. Take it easy, buddy. It’s just me.”

“Greg?” Oliver said. “What are you doing here?”

Greg didn’t answer until Oliver slid the gun safely into its holster. He’d had enough guns pointed at him to last a lifetime. “We had an incident. After the wedding.”

Oliver’s eyes zeroed in on the nasty cut over Greg’s eye. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story, but I need your help.”

The color slid off Oliver’s face. “Carrie?”

Greg opened the passenger door. “Get in. I’ll explain on the way.”

Greg was only halfway through the Jeff incident when Oliver glanced in the rearview mirror for the twentieth time. Greg stopped his narrative. “What’s wrong?”

Oliver checked his mirror again. He turned down a dark side road, heading away from Logan Pond.

“Where are we going?” Greg asked. “We don’t have time for this!”

Oliver gripped the steering wheel. “Someone’s following us.”

Greg whirled. Headlights trailed them a hundred yards back. Not even headlights. Just yellow parking lights. The car made the same turn down the same dark road.

“Tell me that’s not who I think it is,” Greg said.

Oliver started breathing heavily. “Jamansky. And his partner. That’s their car. Chief just served them notices. If they don’t return the stuff by morning, they’ll be…they’ll be…” Oliver checked the mirror again and pressed the accelerator. “Oh man, I’m dead. I’m dead, I’m dead.”

The car was gaining on them.

“Faster!” Greg said. “Go faster!”

Oliver pushed the pedal to the floor, speeding down the dark neighborhood. He barely slowed as they neared a bend. Greg grabbed the door handle as they hit the curve. He bounced and held on.

“If you think the government is hard on illegals,” Oliver said, “think what they do to rogue patrolmen. What was I thinking? Jamansky’s going to kill me—kill us—now!”

Jamansky had already threatened Oliver, and that was before he knew what he’d done. If he saw Greg with Oliver, a man he hated plenty on his own… If they were found together…

Greg ducked down in his chair. “What happened to your boss leavin’ you outta this?” he shouted. “Go left. Left!”

“I don’t know. Stop talking!”

“Left!” Greg grabbed the wheel and yanked hard. The turn came too late.

The car jumped the curb. Then snow-covered grass. Oliver swerved, overcorrecting. He managed to get back on wet pavement. They went barreling down another dark road, taking them further and further off the beaten path.

Jamansky’s patrol car didn’t make the turn. He slammed on the brakes, shoved the car in reverse, and took pursuit again.

“Where does this street lead?” Greg asked.

“I don’t know. A school, I think.”

“You think or you know?”

The road answered for them. Up ahead, Greg saw the looming shape of a building, long and squat. An abandoned school. A parking lot. A dead end. From his scrunched position, Greg scanned every inch of the road. No more turns. No other streets. The road ended at the school.

He threw off his seatbelt. “How fast can you run?”

“What?” Oliver shrieked. “They’ll run us over if we go on foot.”

“Not if we’re lucky. There’s woods to the right. It’ll work. Jump the curb there,” Greg said, pointing. “On the grass. No. Don’t slow down. Punch it. Go, go, go! The curb will—”

The car jolted as they hit the curb. Without a seatbelt, Greg flew forward and slammed into the dashboard. Recovering fast, he tried to see through the dark. Oliver’s headlights didn’t shine far enough. They flew over the bumps and dips in the grass.

“Around the school,” Greg said. “Loop around the playground and double back the way we came.”

Oliver didn’t argue. He headed over a sidewalk and right between two giant trees toward the school playground.

Greg glanced over his shoulder, calculating. Jamansky took the bait. He headed full speed for the curb.

Oliver’s car hit a bump, and Greg nearly flew through the windshield. He grabbed the door handle as Oliver cranked the steering wheel. The tires slid on the wet grass, struggling to find traction. They swung wide, sliding further from the playground. Greg watched in horror as they slid right for a huge tree. At the last second, the wheels found traction and leapt forward again.

Jamansky’s car disappeared behind a tangle of slides and dark equipment. Then suddenly he was in full view. Headed right for them.

Greg released Oliver’s seatbelt and braced himself for impact. “If we hit them, jump out and run straight back the way we—”

“We’re not hitting him,” Oliver said. “Hold on!”

Oliver didn’t let off the gas pedal. They raced forward, headlights to headlights. Greg had just enough time to realize they’d never survive a head-on collision. Not at this speed.

Jamansky flinched first.

He swerved hard to the right. Oliver cranked the wheel at the same second. Greg was too stunned to duck as they sped past. Jamansky struggled to right his car. His partner screamed at them through the window. Oliver jumped the curb back onto the street, and sped back through the parking lot, heading down the same dark street.

“Kill the lights,” Greg said.

Oliver switched off his lights, throwing the street into blackness so thick Greg had to lean forward to see. He searched every tree, every house for a place to hide.

Then he found it.

“There. On the far side of that house. Park fast. We’re makin’ a run for it.”

“No! We have a head start,” Oliver said.

Not with Oliver driving. They’d never make it. “Look,” Greg said, “I came a thousand miles on foot dodgin’ patrolmen. Get me off the roads, and I’ll keep you alive. You have my word.”

Oliver considered it a second, then he slammed on the brakes. He screeched up a driveway, drove over more grass, and slid to a stop on the far side of a dark house.

They jumped out of the car. Oliver started to run away from the school, but Greg grabbed him and yanked him back the opposite direction.

“Head toward them,” Greg whispered. “Patrolmen never expect you to run toward them. They’ll never spot us.”

“Are you crazy?” Oliver hissed.

“Yes. But I’m right.”

Crouching low, Greg crept up to the dark house that looked like it had been deserted since the Collapse. Weeds, twigs, and branches sprung out of everywhere, preventing them from hugging the house like he wanted to. They did their best, clambering below the bulk of the overgrown hedges.

Jamansky’s car slowed to a crawl on the road to spot where they’d dumped the car.

Greg paused, panting heavily. Oliver stopped behind him. The bushes lining the house were chest high. The clouds were out and the moonlight, obscured. It would have to be enough. Greg lowered himself, crouching low as he crept back toward the school. Oliver got even lower and used his hands to keep from slipping on the slushy wet grass.

They were to the corner of the house by the time Jamansky spotted their car and screeched to a stop. Jamansky didn’t bother parking behind Oliver’s car. He left his car in the street, and he jumped out with Nielsen, guns high and alert.

Greg dropped. Oliver did, too. They lay prostrate on the wet grass as Jamansky and Nielsen sprinted up the driveway, fifteen yards away. Greg was counting on their eyes needing time to adjust. They’d been in a car with dashboard lights. Hopefully they’d miss the two dark shapes on the front grass.

He held his breath and heard Jamansky whisper orders to Nielsen. One of them whisked open Oliver’s car door. When it slammed shut, they shouted at each other to check the house. They tried the door and then kicked it.

“Stop!” Jamansky hissed, trying to be quiet but failing miserably. “If the house is locked, Simmons didn’t break into it, did he? He’s not that bright. He must have headed for the woods out back. Let’s go. Quiet.”

Patrolmen were so predictable. They assumed people ran as far and as fast as they could in a straight line. They never looked up or down or behind.

As soon as they were out of sight, Greg started moving. He army crawled along the frozen grass. Slow. Methodical. Back toward the school. Branches snapped behind the house as the two patrolmen barged into the woods. That was Greg’s cue. He jumped up to a crouch and crab-walked across the next driveway, barely glancing behind him to make sure Oliver followed. When they reached the second house, Greg slid behind a tree trunk and motioned for Oliver to do the same.

They waited. Greg worked to slow his breathing to silence. Oliver nudged him to make a run for it, but Greg refused. At times like this, patience was the difference between life and death. Instinct was kicking in hard, and instinct always told the human body to run. But instinct also got people killed.

Another minute of listening to the two men clomp recklessly through the woods before Greg moved. He crab-crawled across the damp grass again. Next driveway. Next tree.

They were nearing the school parking lot when a shout went up.

“Simmons!” Jamansky’s voice echoed through the neighborhood. “Simmons, I know you’re out there!”

Oliver stopped, eyes wide in panic. They were far enough away from the patrolmen Greg didn’t push it. He stopped, too.

“So help me, Simmons,” Jamansky yelled, “if our stuff isn’t back before 6 a.m. tomorrow, you’re a dead man! You hear me? Tomorrow morning or you’re dead!”

Oliver’s eyes darted back and forth between them and Greg. His chest heaved huge breaths that were far too loud for their predicament.

“Come back now,” Jamansky continued to rant, “and we’ll work something out. We won’t hurt you. We’ll even help you get the stuff.”

Oliver looked ready to surrender.

Greg grabbed his arm. “We can make it,” Greg whispered. “We’re almost home free.”

“Simmons!” Jamansky yelled again. “I know you can hear me! Answer me or the deal’s off! Answer me or you’re dead!”

“I can’t help Carrie if I’m dead,” Oliver said in a strained whisper.

“They’ll be arrested by morning,” Greg said. “We’ll hide you in the clan until then. C’mon. Don’t back out now. You can do this. You can win.”

Though it took effort, Oliver finally nodded. “Okay.”

“Alrighty,” Greg said. “Stay low and close.”

“Thanks, Greg.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” They still had a long night ahead of them, one that had nothing to do with patrolmen. Greg motioned to the school. “Let’s go.”

fifty-one

By the time Greg and Oliver reached Logan Pond, Greg’s legs were burning and his mind sluggish. His hands and feet were frozen, or at least they were an hour ago. Now they felt like twenty-pound weights he dragged through the North Entrance.

Leaving Oliver’s car behind. Not his greatest idea.

The two of them entered the empty house next to Richard’s. Jeff didn’t even raise his scraggly head in the candlelight. Terrell and the other men had Jeff cornered and tied up. Sasha was there, too. But not Carrie. Though Greg wanted Carrie there—purely selfish reasons—seeing Jeff like this, knowing what was coming, Greg was glad Carrie had stayed with the little boys.

Jeff’s eyes were open, but he looked half dead in the flickering candlelight. His hands and feet were tied with old, ratted rope. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, but the men carrying the rifles still stood at attention.

The last time Greg had glanced at the dashboard in Oliver’s car, it had been nearly one in the morning. That had been forever ago. The men in the room looked as beat as Greg felt. They all dreaded what was coming. The sooner they got it over with, the sooner they could all move on.

They still had a body to bury.

“Braden,” Greg said, “go stand guard outside Richard’s house. Watch the street for any activity.”

Braden’s brows rose. “Why?”

“We’ve had a complication.” Greg was too tired to explain. Nobody cared about Oliver’s life anyway, not with another’s on trial. “Sound the alarm if you see any headlights comin’ up the road.”

Greg was fairly certain Jamansky and Nielsen hadn’t spotted him with Oliver. If they had, Jamansky would have shouted at Greg, too. Still, he couldn’t take the chance they knew Oliver had gone to Logan Pond to hide.

Braden seemed grateful to escape and left without a word.

Greg rubbed the huge welt on the side of his head. It killed, but he couldn’t stop rubbing it. Normally his grandpa ran meetings like this—or would have if they’d ever needed a trial before. But his grandpa was in no condition to go anywhere. Terrell stared at Jeff, holding one of the two rifles. Dylan held the other. Even Richard was there on the night of his wedding, looking too overwhelmed to say anything. That left it up to Greg.

“After Jeff attacked my grandpa,” Greg said to Oliver, “he clubbed me pretty bad. Another blow or two to the head, and he coulda killed me if Carrie hadn’t stopped him.”

“Carrie,” Oliver whispered for the hundredth time.

Had they not been running for their lives at the time, Greg would have found a better way to break the news. Once Greg mentioned that Carrie had been attacked, everything else had been lost to Oliver. Still was apparently.

“We didn’t know it at the time,” Greg tried anyway, “but the rifle wasn’t loaded. Jeff’s intent was to threaten, not kill.”

Jeff didn’t blink. He didn’t speak. He just continued to stare at the candle shadows dancing on the floor.

Greg hesitated. He didn’t know if he should say it, but he needed Oliver’s wisdom, which meant Oliver had to know what Jeff was capable of. “He choked Carrie pretty bad and told her she deserved to die for what happened. She has some nasty bruises now. He also threatened to expose the clan, even to expose you. Said he’d tell your boss how you’ve been helpin’ us.”

“Carrie…” Oliver repeated.

Greg gritted his teeth. “She’s fine! Shaken, but fine. We just don’t know what to do with Jeff now. He…” Greg blew out his breath. “He wants us to kill him.”

Jeff’s head came up. “Nobody came. She hit her head, and nobody came. She died in my arms. I yelled for an hour and nobody came. Jenna died, and it’s my fault. No one else’s. Not Carrie’s. Not Greg’s. Just mine. She told me she didn’t feel good, but I still made her help move the couch. So get it over with. I don’t want to live without Jenna, so do it. Shoot me!” His dark eyes rose, meeting Greg’s for the first time since the attack. “Do it!”

Greg felt himself age a few more years. He looked at Oliver. “Suggestions?”

Oliver jolted. “You want me to decide?”

Greg didn’t respond. He couldn’t think past his pounding, throbbing, agonizing headache.

“Wait.” Oliver’s eyes narrowed in the candlelight. “You brought me here to arrest Jeff, didn’t you?”

Greg studied the men around the circle. Terrell nodded. So did Dylan. The others watched Jeff, staying uncommitted.

“Honestly,” Greg said, “we don’t know what to do with him.”

Oliver’s jaw tightened. “You know what I do, Greg. You know my profession. You know my quota is due next week and my job is on the line. There’s only one reason you would have brought me here. You want me to arrest Jeff.” His voice hardened. “I just want to hear you say it.”

Greg looked at Jeff, at his downed head, scraggly beard, and hollow eyes. In that moment, he couldn’t think past anything but Carrie. Not what she’d seen. Not what Jeff had done to her or anybody else. But what she would do in Greg’s place, as Jeff’s judge.

Would she send Jeff to a work camp where he’d never see his kids again, never see anybody again, and never taste freedom again? Where he’d be worked and starved so badly he’d wish they’d shot him now? Or…would she give into Jeff’s wishes and shoot him?

Would she destroy Jeff’s life because he almost destroyed hers?

“Greg?” Oliver said. “Say it.”

Greg gave a long, deep sigh. “No. I don’t want you to arrest Jeff.”

Every head in the room came up, including Jeff’s. Jeff stared at Greg in dismay. He’d begged them to end his life, but he hadn’t realized they might actually go through with it. His head lowered in submission.

Greg watched him a long hard minute before turning back to Oliver.

“I just need you to tell me I’m doin’ the right thing.”

***

Carrie wasn’t asleep when the knock came. She couldn’t have slept for the world. Their family room was warm thanks to Greg’s wood. The fire had died down to nothing, but with the blanket blocking the entrance to the family room, the heat kept well enough.

Little Jeffrey and Jonah were curled up on Zach’s mattress since Carrie didn’t have one. Amber slept on her own mattress, and Zach was conked out on the floor like Carrie should have been. She had lain close to the boys, staring at the red embers for hours. She was glad it was a cold night and they had the excuse to sleep in the family room. She needed everyone close.

Though Jonah fell asleep immediately, it took Little Jeffrey a long time to settle down. She’d nearly taken him back to his house and his own mattress, but her stomach wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t go back there. Not until it was cleaned up. Possibly not ever. For all she knew, Little Jeffrey felt the same way. She didn’t know if he’d see his mom fall, if he’d seen her hit her head and breathe her last breath. She didn’t know anything because he refused to speak. So Amber told him every fairy tale they knew. Carrie would have, but her throat was raw and swollen from the attack. Zach even created a few bug stories until Jeffrey’s eyes started to droop. Then Carrie rubbed his back until he nodded off. She’d lain beside the boys ever since, staring at the fire. Her stomach felt like it weighed a hundred pounds even though she’d vomited twice. Hearing a soft knock on her front door made her feel like throwing up again.

They’d reached a decision about Jeff.

That was the only reason someone would knock on her door in the middle of the night. Greg was coming to report.

Carefully, she rolled away from the boys and slipped around the blanket. She crept down the hall toward the front door. Closing her eyes, she offered a brief prayer that they hadn’t killed him. It was the best she could hope for. Then she opened the door slowly.

Even in the dark, she could tell it wasn’t Greg.

“Braden?” She looked behind him, but Braden was alone. Tears pricked her eyes. It was so bad, Greg couldn’t even tell her.

“Sorry to wake you up,” Braden whispered. “I know it’s late.”

It was beyond late. Late was several hours ago. Now it was early.

Hoping to keep the boys asleep and out of earshot, she stepped onto the porch and closed the door. The cement still had a skiff a snow, freezing her bare feet. She hugged herself against the night and asked the only word she could manage.

“Jeff?”

“He’s safe,” Braden said. “Oliver didn’t arrest him, but they didn’t kill him either. I knew you’d want to know.”

“He’s safe?”

Braden nodded.

Her breathing sped up. Jeff was safe. Not dead. Not arrested. Safe.

“But he’s leaving,” Braden said. “We’re sending him away. He needs time to cool down—we all do. We all thought Greg brought Oliver to arrest him, but at the last second Greg said Jeff was free to leave the clan in peace. So sometime tomorrow, Oliver’s going to drive him to the border of Illinois and let him go. Jeff will have to make it the rest of the way on his own.”

Her exhausted brain couldn’t make sense of anything beyond the fact that Jeff wasn’t dead. She felt like she was in a dream, wading through thick Jell-O.

“Why the border?” she asked. It hurt to talk, but she had to know. “Where is he going?”

“He’s going to North Dakota to find his parents. He hasn’t seen them since the Collapse. He doesn’t even know if they survived. He’s going to walk there like Greg and Mariah walked here. Hopefully, he’ll make it.”

She stared at Braden. “What about…” She swallowed and tried again. “What about his boys?”

“They’re staying, at least for now. It would be too hard for him to travel with them, especially since he doesn’t know where he’s going.” Braden shrugged. “I don’t know much beyond that. Greg and Jeff are working through the details. Jeff’s still in shock, but I think he’ll come back for his boys at some point—if he’s able.”

“Greg saved Jeff?” she whispered. The gratitude overwhelmed her.

“Yeah. He’s worried the clan is going to be furious when they find out. He thinks we should have voted, but I’m glad we didn’t. I don’t think they would have let Jeff go. But it’s done now.”

She didn’t care what the clan said or thought. She pressed her fingers to her lips to stop them from trembling. Greg had more reason than anyone to punish Jeff—to kill him—yet he saved him.

“He doesn’t blame you, Carrie,” Braden said. “Jeff doesn’t. He said it himself. He knows the whole thing was an accident. He doesn’t blame anyone but himself. He wants you to know that, and he said to tell you that he’s very sorry for everything.”

A lump surged in her tender throat. She nodded.

“I was on my way home from standing guard,” Braden said. “I figured you’d want to know.”

“Standing guard?”

Braden glanced sideways and lowered his voice. “There’s been some kind of complication, I’m not sure what. But when Oliver and Greg showed up, Greg was pretty worried some patrolmen might have followed them here.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t think so. Oliver’s in some kind of trouble and…” Again, Braden’s eyes flickered sideways. “He’s actually here right now, and …um…needs a place to stay tonight. Greg’s taking over guard duty, so he’s not home. Richard offered to take Oliver, but it’s his wedding night. My parents don’t trust Oliver—at least not enough to let him stay at our house. Nobody does. So Greg thought that maybe…”

“Oliver can stay here,” she said quickly. “Of course. Tell him to come.”

Braden turned and whispered to the bushes, “I told you she’d offer.”

Carrie squinted and leaned forward to see around the edge of her porch. She spotted a tall, stooped-shouldered man moving out of the shadows.

“I’m sorry, Carrie,” Oliver said softly. “I never thought they’d bother you, or I wouldn’t have asked. I can find somewhere else to sleep. It’s not that much longer before the situation is resolved, so maybe I’ll just start walking home.”

Braden spoke before she could. “Greg said he can’t leave yet. Not until morning. Greg hoped you’d keep him safe until then.”

“Of course,” she said. “Come inside, Oliver.”

Braden backed off the porch. “Thanks, Carrie.” Then he trotted for home.

Oliver shuffled forward. He held a pillow and blanket from the Trentons. “I can sleep on the floor, wherever. I’ll stay out of your way. I promise. I know you have a full house already.”

She gave a tired smile and opened the door. “No worries. We have plenty of floors to choose from.”

Once inside, it was even harder to see Oliver. She didn’t know if Oliver was used to the pitch black like she was. Still, she didn’t grab a candle. It was too much work and her body felt numb from the day.

“We’re sleeping in the family room by the fire,” she whispered. “All of us are in there, including Jeff’s boys, but there’s plenty of room.” Although her large house seemed to shrink around them.

“No. I’ll sleep right here.”

“It’s a lot colder out here in the living room.” Her body gave a small shiver on cue.

“I don’t mind, really. I just…” Oliver paused. “Thanks for letting me stay, Carrie.”

Her eyes started to burn, and her insides started to shake again. “It’s small payback for all you’ve done for us—for me. What you’re going to do for Jeff tomorrow. Thank you for driving him to the border.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad to help.”

He always was.

It was silent a moment before he asked, “Are you alright? Greg said Jeff hurt you.”

“I’m fine.” At least physically. She was alive. Zach, CJ, and Greg were alive, which was more than she could say for Jenna.

She looked up at his dark form, unable to make out anything but his outline. “What’s going on with your job? Why would patrolmen follow you?” Suddenly she remembered interrupting the heavy conversation between him and Greg at the wedding.

“It’s just a temporary problem. It should be cleared up by morning.”

She waited for him to say more. Her tired mind swirled with possibilities, but when he spoke again, it wasn’t about his job.

“I’m sorry about Jenna. So very sorry, Carrie.”

Her emotions rose to the surface. She nodded, before realizing he couldn’t see her. “Me, too,” she whispered. Immensely sorry about Jenna. And Jeff. And their little boys. Even with Greg’s verdict, their future was bleak. The two boys would be parentless for some time—possibly forever if Jeff wasn’t lucky traveling like Greg and Mariah had been. And through it all, she couldn’t help but think what she’d been thinking all night:

It was her fault.

It didn’t matter what Jeff said now. She knew this was her fault. All of it.

She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Her nose started to run. She pursed her trembling lips to keep her emotions in check. If she started to cry now, she’d never stop.

“I also need to say something,” Oliver said. “And this is probably the worst time to say it, but I might not get a chance again, and I have to say it while we’re in the dark so I can’t see your face and you can’t see mine.” He took a quick breath. “It’s easier when I can’t see you.”

Her heart sped up. His shadow fidgeted with his uniform. He wanted to talk about them, about their relationship. Right now. When her emotions were ready to erupt.

“Greg’s a good guy,” Oliver said. “A really good guy, and I’m sorry I thought otherwise. Because now I see him for who he is and what he can do for you. And if you and he ever…I mean, if you ever wanted to, um…”

Date Greg.

That’s what he couldn’t spit out.

Oliver was giving them his blessing. He was giving her permission to love Greg. To choose Greg.

Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was the dark. Maybe it was the long, emotional day, or knowing Oliver was about to sleep at her house. Or maybe it was realizing how fragile life was, and how friends could slip through your fingers in the blink of an eye, but it was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“So are you, Oliver. You’re a great guy and an amazing person.” She reached out and found his hand. It was cold but strong, and she squeezed it tightly. “I am so, so lucky to know you. Your friendship means the world to me, and I hope that, no matter what happens in the future, we will always be friends.”

Her emotions were too raw to say more. In another second she would fling herself into his arms, desperate to have someone hold her and tell her it would be okay. Earlier, when the shaking wouldn’t stop, Greg wrapped his arms around her and the boys and held her together for a long time until Terrell and the others found them. She longed for Greg’s arms again—or anyone’s—to hold her together. It didn’t matter whose. Or maybe it did matter, but it would push her over the edge to think about Greg and everything he’d done for her. And Zach.

Or how close she’d come to losing him.

Then she realized whose arms she truly craved: her dad’s. He would have squeezed her until it stopped hurting. He would have stroked her hair and made promises of a better future—promises he couldn’t keep, but would have soothed her soul. But Oliver wasn’t her dad. She dropped his hand before she did something that crossed the boundaries of their friendship—in her mind as well as his.

“I should check on the boys,” she whispered. “Goodnight, Oliver.”

Heading down the hallway, she slipped around the blanket and into the warm family room. She checked on the two boys while her thoughts stayed on two others. It took a long time of staring at the red embers before she drifted to sleep.

By the time she woke up, Oliver was gone.

fifty-two

The small clan stood around Jenna’s fresh grave. Though the men had buried Jenna the morning after her death, the clan waited a few days for things to settle before they held the funeral.

Carrie’s eyes wandered down the line of mounds, first to Richard’s wife, and then to her parents. Jenna’s grave made number seven. Their own private cemetery on the edge of the neighborhood.

CJ insisted on officiating since Jeff had already left for North Dakota. Though CJ was doing a little better, standing still caused him migraines, so they kept the funeral short. Really, no one wanted to be there longer than necessary. Carrie most especially.

Little Jeffrey and Jonah stood next to Sasha and Dylan, their new guardians. That hurt the worst. Jeff requested that Sasha take care of his boys until he returned. Sasha always wanted kids of her own, plus Jeff was convinced Carrie hated him after what he’d done. She didn’t, but he’d already decided. A sharp pain stabbed her heart as she watched Little Jeffrey and Jonah. Those were her boys.

Greg caught her gaze like he’d tried to several times before. And like before, she couldn’t hold it. She clasped her unsteady hands in front of her and studied the newest mound of dirt.

She should have said something about Jenna, but the second CJ finished, she broke free of the emotional group and started for home. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She couldn’t even console anyone. She just wanted to get home and back to life.

Greg moved through the group toward her, and she knew he wanted to talk. They hadn’t spoken much since finding the two boys at Jenna’s. Greg had been too busy saving everyone. First Jeff, giving him advice on how to survive the long trek. Then Oliver, saving him from his coworkers—Richard had finally explained everything to her. But thinking about what Greg had done for Zach and her, what he’d been willing to do, put her beyond words. She owed Greg her life. She always would. But she couldn’t talk to him. Not now.

She pretended not to notice him and sped up. She should have headed straight to the garden to prep it. It was well past planting day now. More days were warm than cold, and there was a pile of work that needed to be done before anyone could plant. It was her job to get the field ready, yet she headed straight for the privacy of her own backyard and the basket of laundry waiting for her.

She picked up Zach’s dirty red shirt, and for some reason, that put her over the edge. The emotions engulfed her.

Zach. Jeff. Greg. Jenna.

She closed her burning eyes, knowing she had to stop doing this, stop reliving everything. Dropping Zach’s shirt into the basket, she sat on the grass, hugged her knees, and studied a flock of geese scattered across the surface of Logan Pond. They fought and scuttled around as her thoughts drifted.

Would Jenna’s boys remember their mom? Probably not. They were too young. How far had Jeff gotten? Would he come back for his boys?

Would it ever get easier to say goodbye to those she loved?

Could she ever forgive herself for what happened?

What almost happened?

“What’s the weather?” someone called.

Carrie didn’t jump. She didn’t even flinch. She should have known Greg would come. There was no stopping him when he wanted to talk.

“I don’t know.” Hugging her knees, she went back to watching the squawking geese.

“I’d say it’s a seven,” he said, coming down around the side of her house.

She shot him a strange look. That’s what she would have called it. It was a beautiful day, in stark contrast to the heavy funeral. Too beautiful.

He walked around her pile of dirty laundry and sat next to her on the grass. “You didn’t try the new well yet, did you?” he asked.

She glanced behind her. As far as she could tell, Greg stayed up all last night to finish her well. She was so excited to try it this morning—to get her mind on anything else—she gathered all their laundry and traipsed outside first thing. Only once outside, she lost the strength to work. The pile sat right where she’d dropped it.

“No. Not yet,” she said.

“Good. Don’t. It’s pure mud down there. It’ll take a while for the dirt to settle.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant her well or the clan. Maybe both.

“I still can’t believe you finished it,” she said. “How late were you here?”

He shrugged. “It felt good to get back to work. Work clears my head.”

Normally she felt the same, but she hadn’t been able to muster the energy to scrub their sheets. Life seemed too painful for such a mundane task.

For a time, the two sat and watched the fighting geese on the pond as the wind blew softly around them. Already her backyard was a mass of weeds and unkempt blades that, by summer, wouldn’t even resemble grass anymore. In the middle of it all were the starts of trees that had sprouted over the years, making her backyard look like a mini-jungle. It kind of felt like her life. A wild mess growing out of control, no one to keep it in check, no one to care for it when she couldn’t.

He nudged her. “How are you doin’? Honestly.”

She shrugged, thinking about Sasha and the boys, Jenna and the baby, CJ, Mariah, and everything. She had to stop this depression, this heaviness, and thoughts revolving solely around herself. She wasn’t the only one hurting.

Glancing sideways, she inspected the gash over Greg’s eyebrow. It wasn’t swollen anymore, but he still had a nasty purple and green bruise.

“How are you doing?” she asked in return. “Honestly.”

He shrugged.

“Yeah. Me, too.” She took a slow breath to keep her emotions at bay. April was almost over. May wasn’t far off. After that was June and after that…life.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t thanked you yet for saving Jeff.”

“It’s your fault, you know. You ruined me.” His gaze lifted to the blue sky. “The old Greg woulda sent him to prison, let him rot for what he did, but I’ve gone soft. You ruined me.”

Figured. She’d ruined everyone.

She laid her head on her knees, too tired to hold it up anymore. Four days and the pain was still all-consuming. Jeff blamed himself for the whole mess, but Carrie knew who truly was to blame.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered. “It’s my fault they had my couch and—”

“Don’t, Carrie,” Greg said. “Just don’t. It won’t help.”

But it would. She’d been avoiding Greg because he knew—he knew—it was her fault. The guilt was suffocating her.

“If I’d just gone to their house, Jenna would still be—”

“You wanna know whose fault this is?” he asked, rising to his feet. “I’m the one who punched Jeff, remember? I’m the one who set him off, and then made you feel guilty for not goin’ after him. While you made amends, I wiped it all out. But that’s my style, isn’t it? Search and destroy? Your clan was doin’ just fine before I showed up. You and Oliver. You and Jeff. You and everybody were perfectly happy. But I’ve destroyed everything in your clan, including you.”

“Your clan?” She looked up at him. “You mean our clan? And what do you mean, you destroyed me?”

“Before I moved in you were Miss Happy-Go-Lucky. Now look at you.”

She couldn’t hold his gaze. She was a mess. She knew that. But it wasn’t Greg’s fault. If anything she wanted to thank him for holding her together at Jenna’s, for sheltering her from the image of Jenna’s body that would have plagued her forever. For saving Zach when she couldn’t. Greg hadn’t destroyed her. He’d saved her time and time again.

He shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “You’re not happy, and you used to be, so I wanted to say I’m sorry before I go.”

Her eyes snapped up, knowing he wasn’t talking about leaving her backyard. His tone carried more weight than that. “Go where?”

“Home.”

She panicked. “This is your home, Greg.”

He sighed. “No. It never was.”

He was leaving. Going back to North Carolina.

“You can’t leave,” she said. “Our clan needs you.”

“This clan needs me to leave. Half of them blame me for what happened, and the other half should.” His eyes lifted to the sky again, looking more at peace than he should be with such a rash decision. “Everybody wants their life back. They’re ready to find some peace—especially you. You deserve to be happy, which means I gotta go.”

Just like that, he started away. He headed across her jungled grass to the hill that led away from her, away from everything. Carrie knew if she didn’t say something fast, she would never see Greg Pierce again. He was just that kind of guy.

She jumped up and ran after him. “What about Zach? He’ll be devastated.”

“Oh yeah.” Greg pulled something from his pocket and tossed it to her. She wasn’t prepared and the baseball landed at her feet. “Tell him goodbye for me.”

“What? No. You can’t—”

He yanked off his navy blue hat and threw it at her as well. Then he kept going. Up the hill. Away.

She picked up his stuff and ran after him.

“You can’t leave, Greg. You’re part of this clan now.” He was her friend. Her fake wind. A hundred more memories washed over her. Not all of them were bad. Greg was a part of her life, yet he was walking away without even so much as a backward glance.

“What about the barricade?” she tried.

“They’ll finish it.”

“What about the other clans? Working with the mayor?” she begged. “Buying houses? All of your ideas?”

“Nobody wanted them anyway.”

Desperate, she called, “What about your mom?”

He stopped dead in his tracks. For a long minute, he stayed facing away from her, but in the end, he just shook his head. “You’re tryin’ to guilt me into stayin’, Carrie. Only I’m not you. I never was.”

She refused to back down because if he left, he’d either get a few miles before the guilt won out and he’d turn back, or he’d make it to North Carolina and spend the rest of his life hating himself for not being here when his mom died. Carrie refused to leave it up to chance.

“Your mom needs you, Greg. And she needs you here.”

“She has Richard now,” he said softly.

“It’s not the same, and you know it. You’ll break her heart if you leave, and her heart is hurting enough. She just lost Jenna, and CJ isn’t well, and…and…” Carrie stared at the back of his UNC shirt. “Just don’t go, okay?”

He finally turned. “If I stay, then what?”

She shrugged. “Life. For better or worse.”

“You still think the two of us can live in the same clan?” he asked, incredulous. “What about Oliver? He wants me outta here more than anybody.”

A heavy blush spread on her cheeks as she thought about Oliver’s blessing. Obviously he hadn’t had the same discussion with Greg. “Oliver wants you here. I know he does.”

Greg cocked his head to the side. “He’s in love with you, Carrie, which makes me his biggest threat. With his new promotion, he can offer the clan more security than ever. This clan needs him, and he needs you.”

Oliver’s promotion. That was the only good thing to come of everything. As reward for turning in his coworkers, he not only got a larger salary, but a larger territory as well. Oliver’s boss was thrilled, but somehow Greg thought Oliver needed her?

She stood her ground. “Oliver will never turn on us. You know that now.”

“But he’s still a man, Carrie. If you reject him, he’ll promise to keep helpin’, but it’ll get harder and harder to see you. His visits will spread out until he disappears altogether. A guy like Oliver would rather be invisible than humiliated.”

She wanted to fight back, but she thought about how the darkness had helped Oliver speak the other night. Still, that didn’t mean he’d disappear, did it? She kept her answers vague a few nights ago. What happened when she didn’t?

“He can change things for the clan,” he went on. “You can change things, which means I gotta go.”

“Your staying has no effect on what happens between me and Oliver.”

Greg crossed her yard, heading back down the hill toward her. Only he didn’t stop when he should have. He came closer than normal, closer than friends should. Close enough her heart jumped in her chest. He stopped when his nose was inches from hers.

“You sure?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she squeaked. She never had romantic feelings for Oliver before Greg showed up. She still didn’t.

He shook his head which was way too close. “I’m not buyin’ it. I know you, Carrie. I know what you want. I know it more than you do. I saw it in your eyes when we danced, and I see it there now. You want things to change between you and me, but it can’t. It’s not good for the clan.” His voice hardened. “Or me.”

Her gaze dropped to his shirt, and she felt completely transparent. She wanted Greg to love her. Was that so horrible? Oliver gave them his blessing. Was it too much to ask Greg to want it, too? Apparently it was.

“I don’t love Carrie,” he’d told Jeff.

She blinked rapidly. Would she never learn?

“Carrie…” he whispered, voice pained. Slowly he reached up. His hands, warm and calloused, cradled her neck and face with infinite gentleness.

Her pulse pounded in her chest. What was he doing?

She needed to look up. She had to see. But it took great effort to lift her lashes. When she did, his green eyes were there, intense and focused on hers. They held the same longing as when they had danced, and for a moment, she allowed herself to hope.

Hands still cradling her face, his head started to lower to hers. She froze. He was going to kiss her. Her lips felt suddenly dry and her stomach did several flips, yet she found herself leaning into him. A peace settled in her chest. Mariah was right. Mariah was right. Carrie closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting for it.

When her breath ran out, and her lips remained untouched, her eyes opened. Greg was there, a breath away, but his expression was no longer filled with longing. It was filled with deep pain.

“Don’t you get it?” he said softly. “You chose wrong. You’re still choosing wrong, and I can’t let you.”

The implication of his words hit her. He didn’t want to kiss her. He wanted to prove a point. She wanted to kiss him. Badly.

Stunned, hurt, and eyes stinging, she backed out of his grasp.

You chose wrong. You’re the only single female I know. I don’t love Carrie. Everybody knows I only love myself. I’m not interested. I’m not interested. I’m not interested.

Maybe Greg should go back to North Carolina. Maybe it would be easier. Maybe it would end the battle raging inside her. Her stem might be weak, but his was completely snapped off.

Just as she was ready to tell him goodbye, to tell him good riddance, she realized something. Something that shifted everything in her mind.

Greg lied.

He told Jeff he didn’t love her, that he only loved himself, but it wasn’t true. He loved his mom deeply. His grandparents, too. And Zach. And the clan. And if that part wasn’t true…

He risked his life to save her from Jeff. He hadn’t even thought twice about it. Why would he do that if he didn’t love her, at least on some level?

She rushed further back in her memories to the moment he had stopped dancing. To the way he’d looked at her. Had almost kissed her. Like a light turning on in May’s house, everything clarified in her mind. Mariah. Walls. The reason Greg was so desperate to leave now. The reason he was pushing her away. Still.

She looked up. “You’re scared.”

He jerked back. “What?”

Her gaze dropped to his light blue shirt, finding it easiest, but she had to say it. For once in her life, she would say exactly what she felt.

“You’re just scared. You…” The words caught. You love me. But everyone he loved either left, died, or was stolen by the Collapse. So he was pushing her away, protecting his heart so it couldn’t be broken again. Oliver was just an excuse. Oliver was just another wall. Pretending to hate everyone and everything—even her—was a way to keep his distance so he couldn’t be hurt again.

Holding onto the few moments he’d let his guard down, she found the courage to finish.

“You weren’t the only who saw something when we danced,” she whispered.

It was silent far too long. She risked the tiniest glance up.

Instead of being angry, Greg was fighting off a smile. “No, you didn’t.”

He had been seconds from kissing her, she was sure of it. And that hadn’t been a test. It had been a moment when he’d dropped his defenses and forgot to protect his fractured heart.

She held strong. “Yes, I did. I saw it in your eyes. I saw it. I did.” The words stopped flowing, but her thoughts refused to quit. You thought I was beautiful. Stunning even. You loved me.

His smile faded. “So now you know why I gotta leave.”

Her cheeks warmed, not from embarrassment, but from the possibility she’d been right. Hope bubbled up inside of her. She played with a corner of her shirt, struggling to keep her thoughts in control.

“Look, Carrie,” he said, hand running over his short hair, “another time, another place it mighta worked—we mighta worked. But this can’t happen. I’ll never let it. Too many people need you, Oliver most of all. He’s better for you anyway.” Greg reached up as if to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, but he stopped just short. “He’ll take care of you. He’ll get you your citizenship. Amber and Zach’s, too.”

“Citizenship?” she said, startled.

“Carrie, Carrie, Carrie,” he said with a shake of his head. “If you’d ever quit pushin’ Oliver away, it’s only a matter of time before he proposes and makes you legal. Only he’s not some low-life yellow cardie like me. He’s a government employee with a new position and a raise. Think of the kind of life he could give you. Freedom. Money. New clothes. A house with electricity and hot showers and no lookin’ over your shoulder ever again. It wouldn’t just be for you either. He’ll get it for Amber and Zach. You could have your old life back. You could be permanently safe.” His brows pinched together, as if in pain. “You really expect me to stand in the way of that?”

She’d never thought beyond a simple date with Oliver because she never allowed herself to. But that list…the possibilities…

Only it came at a cost. Oliver. Not Greg.

Or her clan.

“I didn’t think so.” Greg took a quick breath. “I gotta leave.”

“No.”

“No?” he questioned.

“No!” She looked up and used his own words against him. “You told me to start sticking up for myself. Well…this is me sticking up for myself. Call me selfish, but I’m putting my wants above everyone else now. Above Oliver, the clan, and even my siblings. I’m not letting you leave. Not because of your mom. Not because it will break Zach’s heart. Not even if it costs me my citizenship. I want you to stay because of me and only me.”

His brows lifted, raising his nasty gash. She concentrated on the soft breeze too cool her flushed skin.

“You’re my friend now,” she said, “and friends don’t desert each other when they’re hurting. I’m hurting right now. A lot. So you have to stay. You have to.” Her voice started to lose power, but she forced herself to finish. “Because you’re my best friend.”

“Best friend?”

She felt her blush deepen, but she shrugged. “You’re my only friend, which makes you best friend by default.”

He chuckled softly, a sound which pleased her beyond all reason. But just as fast, his smile faded. “And Oliver?” he asked.

“Oliver is…Oliver.”

“And when he gets the courage to ask you out again?”

Pain was such a part of her life, it barely stung. Greg wouldn’t be satisfied until she and Oliver were married with four kids. But he’d given her a tiny glimmer of hope today, and it was enough. He loved her. She could wait until he was ready to admit it to himself—forever if needed. Until then, she forced herself to say what he wanted to hear.

“I’ll say yes.”

His whole body relaxed, tugging further at her heart. Yet it was worth it if it swayed him.

“So, you’ll stay?” she dared to ask.

His eyes, so full of pain and questions, searched hers. “You’re sure? ‘Cause at this point, I don’t know anything anymore. I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

“Stay,” she whispered. “Please.”

A spark of something lit him from the inside out. His eyes transformed first, followed by his face. Suddenly he was standing tall again, taller than he had in a week. In a month.

She held out his hat and baseball. He studied both with a shake of his head before taking them back. “You just want your flower shop, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” she said with a smile.

He returned her smile, making her heart skip a beat. Then he shoved his Yankees hat back on. “Fine. I’ll stay. But don’t be whinin’ about this later. You made this choice. No goin’ back.”

Let’s hope not.

“Well,” he said, “if we’re gonna be best buddies, then I need you to do me a favor. Two favors actually.”

“O-kay,” she said, instantly on edge. His last favor involved a haircut.

“We’re still just friends, right?” he asked.

“Right.” Although he looked far too mischievous for her comfort.

“Alrighty then. First favor…”

He opened his arms wide.

Carrie stared at his outstretched arms and her heart swelled. Without a single hesitation, she stepped forward and fell into him, letting him engulf her. It wasn’t a soft hug. It wasn’t even a barely-there hug. He clutched her like his life depended on it. She shut her eyes and lay against his UNC shirt, and when that wasn’t enough, she slid her arms around his waist and squeezed him in return.

Greg held her for a long time. She breathed in the scent of him, of the essence of her new best friend, and a deep peace settled within her soul. She could have fallen asleep there, even standing up. She concentrated on the steady rise and fall of his chest, of the strength of his arms and his hand pressing her head against his muscled chest, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving. He was inches from suffocating her, and she loved it.

“I haven’t thanked you yet,” he whispered into her hair. “For savin’ me.”

She remembered Jeff with a rifle hovered over Greg’s head and then aimed at Greg’s chest, ready to end the dispute once and for all, and she shuddered. Greg’s arms immediately tightened around her.

“You saved me, too,” she said.

“Hey. That’s what best friends do, right?”

She smiled against his chest. “Right.”

Tilting her head back, she looked up at him. His eyes, so steady and warm, took in her face, her hair, her everything.

“You really are beautiful,” he whispered.

It was the kind of compliment which implied more than looks, and she felt it seep into the deepest inches of her soul. Her lashes lowered. “Thank you.”

“Especially when you blush.” Reaching up, he stroked her cheek. Then his fingers trailed the skin of her face to her jaw, spreading heat down her spine. “Man, you’re soft, too,” he said. “Real soft. Alrighty then. I better let go of you now.”

Clearing his throat, he released her and stood back. Brushing down his shirt, he said, “Okay. We still good?”

She fought off a smile. “Yes.” Very good.

“Good. Then it’s time for favor number two. Meet me by the chicken coop in ten minutes.”

“Why?”

“Just be there in ten,” he said. “Oh, and bring your little plant.”

fifty-three

By the time Carrie made it to May’s driveway, her curiosity was fully piqued. A few clansmen were heading to Trenton’s like she was, only they carried shovels and hoes. And though she couldn’t see it yet, she heard the familiar sound of metal and tools clanging in May’s backyard.

“Hi, Carrie,” Sasha said, coming up from behind. She held a rake in one hand and Little Jeffrey in the other. The second he saw her, Little Jeffrey broke free and ran up to her.

“Look, look!” he said, opening his fist to expose a handful of ‘doodlebugs’ curled up in tiny balls of fright.

“Wow, Jeffrey. They—” The moment overcame her, and she scooped him up in a hug that was supposed to be quick, but ended up lasting much longer. Long enough he squirmed to be put down. She did and forced a smile. “They look great. You should go show Greg. He’s back there.”

Little Jeffrey took off for May’s backyard. Carrie clasped her tomato plant and followed.

As she rounded the side of the house, she stopped. Half the clan was in her garden, turning the soil. More were coming. Greg wasn’t by the chicken coop where he said he’d be. He wasn’t even by May’s house. He was right smack in the middle of the garden—her garden—back turned away from her, striking the ground with a hoe to break up the soil.

Greg did this. He was behind this coordinated effort.

Carrie watched him a long minute, watched the pull of his muscle. His arms. His broad shoulders. His Yankees cap which had twisted askew. A deep, contented sigh escaped her.

Smiling, she scanned May’s backyard for a way to sneak up on him like he always—

“You gonna keep starin’ at me all day?” he called without turning. “Jump on in and help already. We gotta lot of work to do.”

She felt herself blush. Leave it to him to know exactly where she was and what she was thinking.

Carrie joined him in the center of the garden. Her shoes sunk into the soft soil he’d already turned. He continued to break up the ground in front of him, halfway through an entire row.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He stopped and leaned on his hoe. “And here I figured it’d be obvious to you, of all people.”

“You know what I mean. What’s all this?” she said, motioning to everyone else.

“Well, I figured it’s high time to plant. In fact, we probably shoulda planted a while ago—my fault—so I thought I’d make it up to you.” He motioned to the sour cream container in her arms. “You ready?”

She glanced down and her stomach dropped. Greg wanted to plant her tomato. Right now. Today. He was extremely sweet. Over the top, but sweet.

“Actually, Greg, tomatoes can’t go in the ground yet.”

He rolled his eyes.

“No, seriously,” she insisted. “It could still freeze, and I haven’t hardened it off either. But thank you. Especially for all this. We should definitely start some peas and onions today.”

“And,” he said, “that tomato.”

He leaned forward to snatch it. She jumped back and blocked him.

“Wait!” she cried. “It’s not ready yet! What if it freezes tonight?”

“Can’t you cover it until the frost passes?”

“Yes. But what about hardening it off? I spend a week hardening off my plants—at least. And that’s at the end of May. Not April.”

He folded his arms. “Can’t you shade it and protect it from the worst of the storms? C’mon. You’ve been blowin’ on that poor little stem since the day it sprouted. I say it’s ready.”

“It needs more time,” she said, clutching it to her.

His expression softened. “No, it doesn’t. Not only is it ready now, but it’s been ready for a while. It’s a fighter, remember? Think of all it’s endured. I say it’s ready for some sunshine. Have some faith in it.”

Greg stepped forward, hands out, waiting.

Carrie didn’t budge. It was just one little plant. In the grand scheme of things, one tiny tomato plant didn’t really matter. Yet it mattered the world to her.

“If you don’t have faith in your little plant,” he said softly, “then have faith in me, your new best friend.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the warm air and the sun on her cheeks. Her field. Her future. Faith in Greg. Faith in everything. But more importantly, having faith in herself. She could do this.

Opening her eyes, she nodded. “Okay. Where should we plant it?”

the end

more about

LIFE: CITIZENS OF LOGAN POND

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books in the series

Life
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Liberty
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The Pursuit

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other novels by

REBECCA BELLISTON

Sadie | Augustina

discussion questions

1. The title of the trilogy is Citizens of Logan Pond, with the subtitles, Life, Liberty, and The Pursuit. Why do you think the author chose these titles?

2. How do the clansmen justify living illegally on government property? Would you choose the same?

3. How prepared are you for a broad financial collapse like the one mentioned in this book?

4. After Greg apologies, Carrie is quick to forgive him for his past offenses? Does she forgive him completely? Do you agree with her decision? Why or why not?

5. How did your opinion of Greg change throughout the novel? How did your opinion of Carrie change? Of Oliver?

6. Different characters reacted differently to hard times (Carrie, Greg, Oliver, Mariah, May, Amber, Jeff, Jenna). Which of the reactions do you identify with most and why?

7. Each person in the clan is assigned certain chores and responsibilities. If you lived in a similar situation, what skills or responsibilities could you contribute?

8. The clan allows each person to keep one nonessential item. Carrie chose a porcelain doll which had been her mother’s, grandmother’s, and great-grandmother’s. If you were allowed to keep one nonessential item, what would you choose and why?

9. Carrie’s father often taught her that right was right, regardless of the consequences. Do you agree? Are there ever exceptions?

10. Love is a major theme in this novel: love between siblings, parents and children, grandparents and grandchildren, young love, love in the later years, and even love within the bonds of friendship. Which love story spoke most to you and why?

available July 4, 2015

CITIZENS OF LOGAN POND

BOOK 2

Chicago is burning, a rebellion rises, but that’s the least of Carrie’s concerns. Patrolman Simmons is assigned new partners who threaten the security and secrecy of her clan. Everyone blames Carrie. Tensions are high, lines are drawn, and Carrie feels a wedge growing between her and Greg.

Haunted by past mistakes and impending tragedies, Greg knows he should distance himself from Carrie. He knows he should let her love the patrolman who can save her and her siblings, especially with money and resources dwindling. But knowing and doing are different matters. He’s busy hatching a plan to turn things around when his citizenship backfires, and he’s asked to do the unthinkable.

In this stunning follow-up to Life, loved ones are lost, allegiances are tested, and old enemies plot revenge. At every turn, the citizens of Logan Pond must ask:

What price would you pay for the liberty of those you love?

BUY | MORE INFO

about the author

Rebecca Lund Belliston is the author of the romantic suspense novel, Sadie, and its sequel, Augustina. She also composes piano, instrumental, and vocal music. When she’s not writing fiction or music or chasing her kids, she likes to cuddle up with a good book. She lives in Michigan with her husband and five children.

Rebecca loves to hear from readers. Visit her online at www.rebeccabelliston.com

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Table of Contents

*Dedication

*Quote
prologue
one
ten
twenty
thirty
forty
fifty

*Want more?

*Discussion Questions

*Liberty (book 2)

*About the Author