Page 16 of Into the Mist

“And he’s okay, this, um, hops farmer?” Mercury asked.

“Well, I don’treallyknow him. He’s more of an acquaintance.”

“No, I meant does hefeelokay. Is he wounded?” clarified Mercury.

“He seemed to be fine. He and his men were in that Range Rover.” She pointed to a big black vehicle that had skidded to a stop on the near side of the Winnebago. “When the green stuff hit and all that debris came with it, their group was shielded by that thing. Rutland had a bloody nose, but besides that he was walking and talking, so…” She shrugged.

“And the other men walking with him? They’re not, uh, wounded?” Stella said.

“Nah. They all hunkered down against the Winnebago, which saved them from the worst of it. Some bloody noses and scrapes, butnot bad enough to stop them walking away.” She lowered her voice and added. “More than half of the people died, though. It’s really awful. The men just—just dissolved. My daughter and I, we left them where they fell. We didn’t know what else to do.”

“There’s really nothing else you can do,” said Stella. “We need to focus on the people who are alive.”

“Speaking of which, how about we get those wounded people in the bed of our truck,” Mercury said. “If you don’t mind the wind, you can ride back there with them too.”

Sadie’s shoulders slumped with relief. “We don’t mind at all, but we’ll need some help getting them into the truck. We have one with a broken leg, and I think another has some cracked ribs. And the others—two men from the Winnebago—are unconscious but seem to be breathing just fine.” She paused. “You came from the other side of the pass?”

“No, we weren’t through the mountain when the explosions happened,” Mercury said. “We were only a little farther down the highway, at the scenic turnout.”

Sadie’s eyes lit. “So, you could see a ways?”

Mercury nodded. “Yeah, all the way to Portland and even Salem.”

“Between here and Portland—did bombs or whatever this is—hit that area too?”

Mercury moved her shoulders. “It was hard to tell, especially because we’re from Oklahoma and don’t know the area, but it looked like most everything there”—she jerked her thumb over her shoulder to point behind them—“is either on fire or torn up by the earthquakes.”

Sadie looked down and didn’t appear to be able to speak. When she finally met Mercury’s gaze again, her eyes were filled with unshed tears. “Our home—it’s just this side of Portland in Gresham. My husband always stays home on Sunday mornings so Gemma and I can have a mother–daughter brunch.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stella said.

Sadie nodded and wiped her eyes. “He could be okay. We do have a basement. I’m—I’m just going to believe he’s okay. He has to be. He just has to be.”

“I hope he is. I, uh, think we should get going,” Mercury said gently. “An aftershock could happen any time.”

“You’re right. Yeah, we need to get out of here.” Sadie drew a deep breath and wiped her face again. “Can you help Gemma and me get them into your truck?”

“Absolutely,” said Mercury. “Mrs. Gay, Jenny and I will work with Sadie and her daughter to move the wounded while you lift the tarps and push the luggage out of the way.”

“And I’ll stay behind the wheel in case we need to get out of here quick,” added Stella.

Mrs. Gay narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, but she unlocked her door and lumbered to the rear of the truck so Mercury and Jenny could slide out. Mercury put down the heavy old tailgate, and then she and Jenny boosted Mrs. Gay up into the bed.

“We should hurry,” Mrs. Gay grumbled.

“Yeah, that’s what we’re doing,” said Mercury before she turned to Sadie. “Okay, let’s get these people out of here.”

Together Jenny and Mercury went to the roadside with Sadie. There were four adults on the ground—one woman and three men. Mercury went to the woman, whose jeans were ripped open down one leg, exposing a nasty break. Someone had placed two long sticks on either side of the leg in an attempt to stabilize it and tied them together with what looked like torn-up strips of a T-shirt.

Mercury glanced at Sadie. “Did you make that splint?”

“No, the teenager did,” said the woman with the broken leg. Her face was sallow, and a film of sweat beaded her upper lip.

Mercury’s gaze went to Gemma. “Good job with that.”

Gemma shrugged. “During school breaks I volunteer at OHSU.”

“OHSU?” Mercury asked.