Page 68 of Into the Mist (Into the Mist 1)

CHAPTER

19

STELLA WOKE THEM a little before dawn. The five women dressed quietly and made their way to the kitchen, where Stella had prepared a big breakfast—which they ate in the rubble of the Cascade Dining Room so they wouldn’t wake the wounded, sleeping comfortably in the hearth-warmed foyer/infirmary. As they were cleaning up the dishes, Dr. Hilary joined them in the kitchen.

“I still wish you were staying,” she said after she hugged each of them.

“You’re a good leader,” Stella told her. “The people here will be safe as long as they listen to you.”

“And if they don’t?”

“You shouldn’t force anyone to stay,” Stella said. “Let anyone who wants to—or who causes problems—leave. Do it with goodwill and send them off with supplies, but in return make it clear that Timberline must remain a secret.”

The sharp-eyed doctor nodded somberly. “I understand. If anyone leaves, I’ll willingly help them but also get their word that they’ll keep us a secret. And you have the route written down? It’s not difficult at all. Take a left onto highway 26 out of Timberline Highway.”

Stella nodded. “And follow it down to Madras. I didn’t need to write it down because Jenny found an actual paper map of Oregon in the boutique. It’s already tucked away in the glove box of the truck with Sim’s CB that Jenny and Tyler installed.”

“Jenny is brilliant.” Mercury hooked her arm through Jenny’s and grinned, though her eyes were suspiciously bright.

“If you cry I will lose it. I mean it,” said Jenny.

“Right. No tears. Promise.” Mercury wiped quickly at her cheek.

“Changing the subject!” Jenny said firmly after she wiped at her own cheeks. “So, what are you going to tell people about where y’all have been since the bombs?”

“Mercury has that covered,” said Stella. “She’s a good storyteller who should’ve taken those manuscripts out from under her bed and sent them to a publisher.”

“Huh? You write stuff?” Gemma asked.

“I did. Just for fun. And those manuscripts aren’t hidden under my bed. They’re hidden in my computer. Well, they were. But I actually have been thinking about a story we can tell,” said Mercury.

“Told ya so.” Stella grinned cheekily as the group turned expectantly to Mercury.

She drew a deep breath, released it, and then launched into her fiction. “’Kay, well, a foundation in fact helps fiction to be believable.”

Gemma nodded like she was an aged professor. “That actually makes sense.”

“Thanks, but I can’t take credit for it. My creative writing teacher at OSU–Tulsa, Tess Miller, said it—and I’ve never forgotten. So, we were camping at—” She paused and then quickly added, “Uh, I have to check that map and find the name of a campground somewhere around here.”

“Frog Lake,” said Gemma. “Say that. My parents and I have camped there a bunch of times, and we’re tent campers, not glampers.”

“Girl, you can pitch a tent?” Imani looked impressed.

“Totally,” said Gemma.

“Good to know,” said Stella. “So, we were tent camping at Frog Lake.”

“Yep,” continued Mercury. “We’re teachers who take off every spring break and do something together. This break we came here. When the bombs hit, we didn’t know what to do, so we didn’t do anything until it started to snow. Then we knew we had to try to find help—and we ran into Sim on the highway. He sent us to Madras.”

“Good story,” Imani said. “But it doesn’t explain Gemma. She could pass for eighteen, but that’s not old enough to be a teacher.”

“My story is that I live nearby and my family was camping at Frog Lake for spring break. My parents died in the first blast.”

The women were silent as they gazed at Gemma. Mercury was trying to figure out something adult and wise to say when Imani spoke as she put her arm around Gemma. “And then our group found you.”

Gemma looked up at Imani—her eyes bright with unshed tears. “No, I found you.”

Together the group followed Stella, who led them from the dining room. They paused in the hallway to retrieve the filled backpacks they’d left there. As they picked their way through the foyer, several of the wounded stirred enough to wave goodbye—mostly to Gemma. Marge sat, stopping the teenager so she could hug her, and then thanked Stella again for not leaving her and Nathan to die on the side of the road. Then the teenager approached the doctor and handed her an envelope that had “Mom” written on it. “In case she comes back.”