Into the Mist (Into the Mist 1)

Gemma met her gaze. “Don’t say that just to make us feel better.”

“I’m not. But the truth is I don’t actually know what they were. No one really does. This—all of these bombs—have never happened before.”

“Nuclear fallout isn’t green,” said Imani. “And it certainly isn’t a green fog that expands and covers everything after the initial blast.”

“It was something biological,” said Gemma.

“Why do you say that?” asked Stella as she tore the plastic from jars of Motrin and Advil and poked through their protective coverings.

“Common sense,” said Gemma with another shrug. “The green fog stuff covered us too. Right after that, most people exposed to it started to die.” She stood and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Okay, we have enough bottles. Let’s start administering them and lighting these candles. Do you guys need me to help you?”

“We can handle it.” Mercury squinted in the shadowy candlelight at the dosage instructions on the bottles she held. “We ask if they’re allergic, and if they aren’t, we double the regular dosage and write in on the piece of paper tucked under their mattress, right?”

“Right.” Gemma nodded as she spilled a basket out on the floor and piled the alcohol, pots of candles, and several Tylenol bottles in it. “Let’s get to work.” The teenager strode away toward the doctor.

“Damn, Gemma is like what would happen if Florence Nightingale and a Roomba had a baby,” said Stella. “I like her.”

“Me too,” said Mercury as she straightened with her own loaded basket. She paused before heading out to the wounded. “I thought there would be more people.” Mercury took a quick count. “Thirty wounded people—plus the doc, Bob, Tyler, Ken, and those women dragging the mattresses in. That’s still less than forty. It seemed like the lodge was full this weekend.”

“It was,” said Imani. “A few checked out, but most people were having breakfast and waiting for their shuttles when the bombs hit. They died. I swear more than a hundred of them.”

“I heard Bob tell Jenny that there were a little over two hundred guests here and thirty-ish lodge staff,” said Stella.

Mercury swallowed several times before she could form her next question. “Are there no other people alive?”

“I don’t think so—unless Ken actually found some survivors in the parking lot,” said Imani as she hefted her own basket.

Stella shook her head. “He won’t. I looked while I jogged back to you guys. The bodies I saw were like Coach Davis and Mr. Hale.”

Mercury met her friend’s gaze. “The green fog is bad news.”

“At least for most men. For us?” Stella shrugged. “I guess time will tell.”

“I can’t think about that right now. Let’s go help people,” said Imani.

It wasn’t as terrible as Mercury had expected. The majority of the survivors had breaks and cuts—which Dr. Hilary, with Gemma’s steady-handed assistance, was splinting and stitching. Nathan’s broken ribs and Marge’s open leg wound were among the worst injuries, though both were resting peacefully thanks to Dr. Hilary’s administration of morphine.

“Hey! I need help!” Jenny stumbled into the foyer with Bob leaning heavily on her. Blood flowed freely from his nose and dripped from his chin to make a Jackson Pollock painting of his shirt.

Mercury sprinted to Jenny with Stella and Imani on her heels.

“There’s an empty mattress over there on the other side of the fireplace,” said Mercury as she put her arm around Bob’s waist. “Let’s get him to it.”

“Gemma,” Bob’s words sounded wet. “Need Gemma.”

The four women helped him down to the empty mattress as Gemma and Dr. Hilary rushed up.

“I need a towel! Someone go to the kitchen of the Cascade and see if there’s still ice. If there isn’t, go out and fill a bag or basket or whatever with snow,” Dr. Hilary shot orders.

“Here’s what’s left of a towel.” Karen handed Dr. Hilary frayed strips of terrycloth as she averted her gaze from Bob and his blood. “I’ll get ice or snow.”

“G-Gemma,” Bob gasped.

The teenager went to her knees beside him and took his hand as Dr. Hilary applied pressure to his nose. “It’s okay, Bob. I’m right here.”

“Stack something under his legs so that they’re elevated,” said the doctor.

“Got it!” said Stella as she sprinted back to the boutique and then emerged with a cowhide-covered stool, which she and Imani gently propped Bob’s legs up on.