CHAPTER
13
PISSED OFF VOICES woke Mercury. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, and then Karen snored softly and Gemma murmured something in her sleep. Oh shit! The apocalypse. Mercury sat straight up. Imani was gone. Stella was gone. Raised voices drifted through the cracked door to the suite, which made Gemma stir in her sleep. Mercury quietly got out from under the covers she’d burrowed beneath and tiptoed to the door and opened it.
“Shh! Y’all are gonna wake up Gemma and Karen—” Mercury swallowed the rest of her admonishment when she realized the two people who were arguing in the hall were Imani and Sadie—Gemma’s mom. “Oh, hi, Sadie. Gemma’s inside, but she’s sleeping. She got up several times last night to check the wounded, so we should probably let her sleep, but if you—”
Imani stopped Mercury’s words with a lifted hand. Then she turned to Sadie. “Tell Mercury what you just told me.”
Sadie sighed heavily. Her shoulders were bowed. Her hair was lank and greasy, and dark circles made her eyes look bruised. Sadie looked a decade older than she had the day before when they’d met her on the side of the road. She reluctantly lifted her gaze from the floor and spoke in a hushed voice. “I know Gemma was up most of the night, so I figured she’d still be asleep. I came by to ask you ladies to give her this for me.” The hand Sadie lifted held an envelope that had Gemma written in bold letters across it.
“Wait—why? She’ll be up in a little while,” said Mercury.
Sadie’s gaze shifted back to the floor. “I won’t be here.”
“I don’t understand,” said Mercury.
“She’s fucking leaving with Ken to go to Government Camp—which no longer fucking exists—and then they think they’re just going to take a day trip or whatever to Gresham, a suburb of Portland, which also does not fucking exist anymore, to try and find her husband.”
Mercury closed the door softly behind them. “Sadie, you will most likely die if you head into Portland, though I don’t know how you’re even going to get there. The highway west of the turnout where our group was when the bombs hit is destroyed.”
“Yes, I understand that,” said Sadie.
“Do you really?” Mercury asked. “Portland was on fire. Leveled. Gone. For miles and miles. Not to mention that there was some kind of biological agent released in that green fog. You’ve seen what it can do—how it makes people dissolve. So heading into a huge area that’s on fire, with a biological agent drifting around, is not a rescue mission. It’s a suicide mission.”
Sadie’s grief-shadowed eyes lifted to Mercury. “I have to go to him. He’s my husband.”
Imani shook her head and let loose a verbal attack on the woman. “Gemma is your child! Do you know what I’d give to see my babies again? Anything. Literally I would give anything. And you’re just going to walk away from yours on a fool’s chase.”
Sadie slowly took one of Imani’s fisted hands in both of hers. “Then if I don’t come back, I know you’ll be there for my Gemma.”
Imani yanked her hand from Sadie’s grasp. “This is the stupidest white woman shit I’ve ever in my life experienced—and that’s saying something because white women do some stupid shit.”
“She’s not lying,” said Mercury.
Sadie turned to Mercury. “Will you give Gemma this?” She held up the envelope with her daughter’s name on it.
Mercury nodded and took the envelope.
“You don’t understand, but Gemma will. And thank you. I know you’ll look after her.” Then Sadie turned and walked away without looking back.
“Jesus Christ,” said Imani.
Mercury shook her head. “This is horrible for Gemma. Should we wake her up? Maybe she can catch her stupid mom and stop her.”
“And what if her stupid mom doesn’t stop? Or stops only until the next time Gemma’s asleep?” Imani blew out a long, disgusted breath. “No. Let the child sleep. Maybe Sadie will get a clue and come back—before someone worse than that douchebag who tried to take your truck gets a chance at her.”
Mercury stared down at the envelope in her hands. “God, I hate that I have to give the kid the letter that will basically tell her she’s an orphan.”
Imani gently took the envelope from her. “I’ll do it. Sadie was right about one thing. I’ll be here for her child.”
Mercury met Imani’s eyes and felt a rush of compassion for her friend. “Gemma said it best last night. You’re a really good mom.”
“Being there for your babies isn’t being a really good mom. It’s just being a mom.”
“Still. You’re a really good mom.”
“Thanks.” Imani folded the envelope and put it in the pocket of her jeans, which Mercury realized were clean—along with the thick “BLM” sweatshirt that actually fit her, unlike the giant lumberjack PJs Mercury was still wearing.