Into the Mist (Into the Mist 1)

CHAPTER

17

“AND YOU’RE COMPLETELY sure you must leave?” Dr. Hilary stood to the side of the massive kitchen as Stella, general-like, collected supplies to take with them, put the finishing touches on the enormous pot of stew that had been simmering for a day, and made notes about the inventory she’d taken that morning.

Stella glanced up from the sheets of paper she’d been filling with lists and amounts and simple recipes. “Yes. No later than dawn. But you and whoever stays with you aren’t in any immediate danger—especially since you’ll be snowed in here for a couple weeks. Just be sure you have plenty of wood. You should be able to make the food last for almost three months—and that’s without you growing any new veggies. I’ve written down ways to stretch the inventory, but you need to make use of that reefer grow setup in the basement and your magic blood. Plant the potatoes already sprouting, as well as carrots, onions, tomatoes, and such. Keep the meat frozen and use it sparingly. You’ll be fine.”

Hilary’s gaze went from Stella to Mercury, who was putting marijuana buds in mason jars—and checking to be sure there were seeds with the buds. Mercury paused and nodded. “Just FYI, Stella knows stuff now. It’s part of whatever changed our blood to grow things. She’s always had great intuition, but now it’s like superhero level.”

“Though not quite as predictable as X-ray vision or leaping tall buildings in a single bound,” muttered Stella as she went back to her lists.

“Well, I’d rather you stay, but you must do what you believe is best,” said the doc. “What do you think we should do about our blood?”

“Do about it?” Mercury asked. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do about it except to try to figure out the extent that green fog changed us.”

“No, she means should we tell people about our changed blood.” Stella didn’t look up from her lists. “And not only should we tell the people here, but they should all be given a spud and a knife.” She did look up then. “We can grow things. This is an apocalypse. We will never again be able to run down to Whole Foods and grab a bag of salad and some bread, and then go by the deli for salmon steaks. To survive, we’ll need to grow our food.”

Hilary nodded. “So, you think we just take potatoes and knives into the foyer and start cutting?”

“Yep. Mercury will talk to the group and let them know what’s up,” said Stella.

“I will?”

Stella nodded. “Use your teacher classroom-management skills. You’ll do great. We can handle hundreds of teenagers a day. Thirty wounded people are the size of a normal classroom. Keep that in mind.”

“Good point.” Mercury nodded, feeling relieved. Stella was absolutely right. Compared to a classroom of thirty-plus hormone-filled teenagers, the adults in the foyer were easy.

“While you’re doing that, I’ll be sure the back of our truck is loaded with supplies. It’s a major relief that that camper shell fit.” Stella made a shooing motion. “Go on. I need to concentrate. It’s almost dinnertime. I have to be sure all this is set for y’all after we leave, which is going to take me a good part of the evening. Then we need to sleep so we can get out of here at first light.”

“’Kay, let’s get this done, Doc,” said Mercury.

Together Mercury and the doctor selected a variety of veggies that could easily be planted under the basement grow lights if they did sprout, and a few razor-sharp chef’s knives. They put everything in a big stainless steel mixing bowl. On the way to the foyer, they stopped in the lodge’s boutique, which had become a makeshift medical supply area, and grabbed a bottle of alcohol and some baby wipes. Then, together they wound their way through the mattresses, where the wounded napped, quietly read books, or played cards. Mercury thought how interesting it was that this little group had settled in so well. A few of the thirty had retreated into themselves and either slept constantly or just stared and cried, but the majority of the survivors seemed to be in halfway decent spirits.

Mercury couldn’t figure out if it was good or bad that no one appeared scared shitless.

She and Dr. Hilary reached the enormous fireplace that crackled and popped and lent warmth and comfort to the large room. Hilary lifted her hand and cleared her throat. Every head turned in their direction as the room went expectantly silent.

“Some of you have already met her,” Hilary began, “but for those of you who don’t know, this is Mercury Rhodes. She has something very important to speak with you about. Please know that she has my full support.” Then the doctor stepped aside.

“Hi,” Mercury said. She’d already decided that it was stupid to equivocate. So, she launched directly into the truth. “When the bombs exploded yesterday, they released some kind of green fog.” She paused as people nodded. “We only know a few things about that fog. One is that it kills people—terribly. Another is that it doesn’t kill everyone, though it seems men are way more susceptible to it than women. Recently, we’ve discovered that it changed some of us—or rather it changed our blood.”

Marge propped herself up on her elbows. “What do you mean by changed?”

“My blood makes things grow,” Mercury said. “So does my friend Stella’s and Imani’s and Gemma’s.”

“And mine as well,” added the doctor.

“That’s sounds like sci-fi stuff,” said Marge’s partner, Nathan.

“Yep, but that doesn’t change that it’s the truth. Watch.” Mercury took one of the knives from the bowl. Hilary handed her an alcohol-soaked wipe. She disinfected the blade and her thumb, then she quickly cut herself, picked up the top half of a carrot, and smeared the drops of blood that welled onto it. Then she faced the room again. “Along with being able to make veggies grow, we believe that other things have changed about us too, though we really don’t know much more than the fact that some of us have heightened intuition, and we heal faster than before.”

“This is really hard to believe,” said a middle-aged woman whose head was bandaged and her ankle splinted and elevated.

Gemma stood from where she’d been crouched beside a mattress, finishing a bandage change on a man whose arm had a nasty gash from shoulder to elbow. “Yeah, Janet, it is, but it’s also true.” The teenager looked around the room at the people she had been treating—the people who had already come to respect her. They watched her intently as she continued. “My blood makes things grow, but I also know things about you guys. I can feel when you hurt. And I knew Bob was going to die before he started to bleed out.”

Mercury blinked in surprise at the girl, but before she could say anything Janet scoffed. “Oh, come on! That’s not even possible.”

Gemma met her gaze unblinkingly. Her voice was firm and much older than a sixteen-year-old’s. “Why would I lie? Why would we lie?”