Page 51 of Into the Mist (Into the Mist 1)

“I am not hungover.” Karen winced as she spoke too forcefully. “Never mind. Perhaps I did imbibe too much last night.” She paused and a smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Though I do not regret it.” Then she disappeared into the bathroom.

“Apocalypse Karen is nicer than regular Karen,” said Mercury.

“I was just going to say something like that,” agreed Imani.

They went to two overstuffed chairs that sat in front of a coffee table and a newly obsolete flat screen TV. The chairs were loaded with clothes and toiletries. Mercury easily picked out a pair of her favorite jeans and her “Rogers Ropers” sweatshirt. The khaki slacks, beige blouse, and flowered cardigan were obviously Karen’s, which left a pair of boyfriend jeans, a cream-colored tank top, and a red cable-knit sweater for the teenager.

“Here ya go,” Mercury said, handing the clothes to Gemma. “Stella foraged these for you.”

“Thanks.” Gemma took them and then sat on the end of the coffee table. “Tell me what’s up.”

“I’m gonna always be straight with you,” said Imani as she sat on the chair closest to Gemma. “So you know I’m being honest when I say I’m pissed as hell, but your mom asked that we give you this.” She took the envelope from her pocket and offered it to Gemma, who reluctantly took it.

Gemma’s finger traced her name on the outside of the wrinkled envelope before she looked up at Imani. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Imani said. “She left with Ken. She’s going to try to get to your dad.”

Gemma’s gaze went from Imani to Mercury. “But you guys think he’s dead.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Mercury answered. “From what we saw when the bombs went off in Portland and the surrounding area—as well as Salem and the area around it—no one could’ve survived that. If we thought for an instant something different, we would tell you.

Gemma nodded somberly. “And then there’s the green fog that’s probably still around. It did something good to us. Or at least it seems good so far. But it kills other people—other male people.”

“Do you remember whether your mom said anything about feeling funny when the fog went over you?” ask Imani.

Gemma shook her head. “No, we didn’t talk about it at all. We were too busy trying to take care of the people who were still alive.” She looked down at the envelope again and slowly opened it.

“Would you like us to give you some privacy?” asked Imani.

“No. I’m a fast reader.” Gemma’s gaze flicked back and forth across the handwritten page. When she was done, she smoothed it carefully before refolding it and putting it back in the envelope, which she gripped in both of her hands as she stared at it and spoke softly. “They left me years ago. This pretty much just makes it official.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” said Imani. “I’m here for you.”

“So am I.” Mercury spoke up. “So are Stella and Jenny and Karen. “

Gemma’s eyes lifted from the envelope. They were dry. They were also decades older than sixteen. “Aren’t you going to leave too?”

Imani leaned forward and looked into the teenager’s old eyes. “If we do, I give you my word that it won’t be to head to a bombed city, and if you want to come with us, you absolutely can.”

“We promise,” said Mercury.

“I’ll try not to be a pain,” said Gemma softly.

“You’re not a pain. You can make things grow, remember?” Imani said.

“Well, potatoes for sure,” added Mercury.

“We should go tell Doc Hilary,” said Gemma.

“Agreed, and we need breakfast,” said Mercury.

“I could use some coffee,” said Gemma as she stood, took off her bathrobe, and began pulling on the clean clothes. She left behind the neatly smoothed envelope with the goodbye letter from her mother, lying on the coffee table like a lost dream.

“Coffee? Really? Are you sure you’re sixteen and not sixty?” Mercury said.

Gemma’s head poked out of the sweater as she answered Mercury. “Does how old I feel count?”

“In every way,” said Imani.

“Then I am definitely not sixteen today.”