Page 13 of Into the Mist

“Did I hear you saygun?” Stella head popped into view through the open driver door.

“Yep. It’s a .38.” Mercury squinted as she looked through the rest of the glove box. “It’s loaded and there’s a box of shells for it. There’s also a big pile of napkins and”—she paused and then held up a clear plastic bag full of little oblong balls of color—“jelly beans.”

“Gross,” said Stella. “I hate jelly beans.”

“Ditto.” Mercury put the bag back in the glove box.But it is sugar and energy, and we may need to eat those damn things.

“Here, y’all. I had two bottles of water in my backpack.” Jenny lifted the bottles as she joined them.

“Let’s split one of the bottles and then get out of here,” said Mercury.

Jenny opened the water and handed it to Mercury—and her eyes went huge as she spotted the .38. “OMG, you found a gun!”

Mercury closed the glove box and gulped the water, then gave the half-empty bottle back to Jenny before she answered. “Yeah. I know Stella’s proficient with firearms.”

“Fuckin’ A, I am.” The color was returning to Stella’s cheeks. She stopped before she drained the rest of her bottle of water, pulled an old balled-up tissue from her jeans, wetted it, and told Mercury, “Hold still. I can’t look at the dried blood that’s smeared all over the side of your face anymore.” Stella gently wiped the blood from Mercury’s forehead, nose, cheeks, and neck while she continued. “But let me be clear. I’m proficient with firearms,andI’m for sensible gun laws.”

“Yes, as am I, which is why I have never fired a gun in my life,” said Mrs. Gay.

“What about you, Jenny?” Mercury asked.

Jenny shrugged. “I’m for sensible gun laws too.”

“No. Well, yes. We all are, but I meant do you know how to use this .38?”

“Oh yeah. My dad taught me before I went away to college. One of my high school graduation presents was a little bitty Glock 43X. I also shot a .38 when Daddy took me to the range at Zink Ranch,” Jenny said as she handed the rest of the water bottle to Mrs. Gay.

“Okay, good to know.”

“There,” said Stella as she studied Mercury’s head. “How are you feeling? Any headache or weird vision?”

“Nope,” Mercury responded automatically, and then she realized she’d also responded correctly. Her head didn’t hurt at all, and it had completely stopped bleeding. She felt a wave of relief. When it had been bleeding all over her face, she’d thought she was going to keel over any second—when she’d had time to think about herself at all. “I’m fine. It musta just been superficial.”

Stella snorted. “I don’t know about that. It looked pretty scary just a few minutes ago, but you do seem okay now.” She lifted her hand to touch the wound on her arm and then stared down at it. “Thought mine was worse too, but it’s just a scratch.” Stella shook her head. “Guess my mind was really rattled back there ’cause I thought it was pretty deep—as in it probably needed stitches. Glad I was wrong.”

“Well, my wrist still hurts.” Jenny rubbed it and grimaced.

“Do you think it’s broken?” Mercury asked.

“Nah, just a sprain. Karen, looks like you’re going to have a black eye,” Jenny said. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I don’t believe so.” Karen touched her bruised and swollen cheek gingerly.

“Well, I’m glad we’re basically okay.” Mercury returned to going through the cab of the truck. She lifted the old-fashioned lever that allowed the bench seat back to tilt forward. There was a black duffle bag stuffed behind the seat. She unzipped it and looked through an assortment of tools and zip ties. “Huh, these guys even had duct tape in here.”

“All that stuff’s good in case we need to MacGyver something.” Stella peered over the seat at the open bag. “Any more ammunition in there?”

“I don’t see any.”

“I really don’t like that the gun is loaded. I–I’m just not comfortable with violence,” said Karen after she drained the water bottle.

“Karen, someone bombed America. Comfortable or not, it looks like we’re in the middle of violence,” Stella said

“We don’t know what happened!” Karen snapped back at her.

“No, we don’t,” Mercury said. “But, like my dad says, let’s prepare for the worst and hope for the best.” Those few words,like my dad says,left Mercury’s mouth, and with them her memory easily replayed her father’s gruff, loving voice—and her knees went rubbery. Mercury grabbed the open passenger door and pressed her forehead against its faded blue metal. She blinked hard, over and over, as she tried to stop her panicked panting.

Dad! Is he okay?Mercury had always been a daddy’s girl—from day one—but she was also close to her mom, who—Oh God! Mom! And my brothers—their wives and kids! They have to be alive. They have to be alive. Please, oh please, they have to be alive!