Page 97 of Into the Mist

“Good idea,” said Mercury. “Gemma, if you have to do that, look for a mausoleum. That’ll help you hide.”

“Okay, got it,” said Imani. “Do you think it’s safe for us to build a little campfire and heat up some of the stew we brought? I know we have lots of sandwiches and granola and fruit, but it’d be good for the kids to have something warm in their bellies.”

“Stella should weigh in on this, of course,” said Ford, “but we’re far enough from the town center, which is where Sim said the mayor was housing survivors, that you should be fine if you keep the fire small and under the bridge. I’d build it down by the water and have someone keep a lookout while you’re cooking. If anything stirs, you can kick it into the creek.”

“Sounds like a solid idea,” said Stella.

“It’s going to be really dark.” Georgie’s voice was small and scared.

“Yeah, it is,” agreed Mercury. “Imani, I know we’re saving the batteries of the flashlight we brought, but this is probably a good time to use it.”

Stella nodded. “Turn it on when you’re in the camper shell. Don’t feel bad about using the batteries. If it makes you and the kids feel better—use it.”

“I have a flashlight with me,” Ford said. “So, we’ll have a spare if the batteries in the one you have give out.”

“Okay,” said Imani. “Don’t worry about us. You just get in there—figure out what’s going on—and get out.”

“That’s the plan,” said Mercury. “We’ll see you no later than the day after tomorrow.”

“If we’re gone both nights, be sure you have the truck loaded and ready to go early the next morning. Just in case,” added Stella.

“Be safe.” Imani hugged each of them—even Ford.

“Hurry up and come back.” Gemma hugged Stella and Mercury before she went to Ford. “Bend down. Let me see your dressing.”

Ford did as she asked and sighed in relief when she touched his forehead.

“How bad does it hurt?” Gemma asked.

“When you touch it—not at all. Otherwise, it aches and I have one hell of a magnificent headache.”

“I’ll get you some ibuprofen.” She started to turn to the truck, but Stella touched her shoulder to stop her.

“Instead, just press your hand to his wound and think about the pain going away.”

“That’s cra—” Karen began, but Stella shushed her.

“Let the kid work through it,” Stella told the history teacher.

Karen’s lips disappeared into a tight, disapproving line.

“Try it,” Mercury said to Gemma. “The worst that can happen is nothing, but it could be like this backpack—light and easy to handle.”

“Okay,” Gemma said. She wiped her hands on her jeans, drew a deep breath, and then, as Ford bent down, Gemma pressed the palm of her hand over the gauze bandage.

“Concentrate,” Stella told her.

Gemma closed her eyes. Her brow furrowed.

Ford closed his eyes too, and within just a few heartbeats his face relaxed into a smile. “Such a relief,” he murmured.

Gemma bit her lip as she continued to concentrate. Sweat beaded her face, and she began to shiver. Gooseflesh prickled the small hairs on her forearms.

Stella touched the teen’s shoulder. “That’s enough.”

Gemma’s hand dropped heavily from Ford’s head. She opened her eyes and blinked several times, and then rubbed at her forehead—in the exact spot of Ford’s wound.

“D-did anything happen?” asked the teenager.