I hadn't told him I was leaving--because he'd have sent someone with me, someone he trusted, and I wanted him to have all of those with him.
Adam's cry suddenly made sense, but I was terrified of what he'd done when the connection had blown.
It might have felt like I had died or fallen unconscious.
I should have called him instead of waiting until I could drive here.
Adam's pack surrounded the trailer, staying out of the way of the fire department.
The fire must have started while the meeting was still taking place or shortly thereafter--I firmly squelched the notion that they might have set it on fire in effigy.
My eye slipped over familiar faces--there was Darryl, Auriele, Paul--and some not so familiar--Henry and George.
I couldn't find Adam anywhere in the bunch.
My stomach clenched in fear at his absence.
I parked by the side of the road as close as I could get with the fire trucks everywhere, but it was still well back from the fire.
I sprinted up to the closest of Adam's pack and grabbed her by the arm--Auriele.
"Where is Adam?" I asked.
Her irises widened in shock.
"Mercy? Adam thought you were in there when it blew." Blew? I looked around and realized that it did look as though the trailer had simply exploded.
Bits of siding, glass, and trailer were scattered a dozen yards from the burning hulk that used to be my house.
The trailer had gas heat; maybe there had been a leak.
How long would it have had to leak before blowing up? If it had been leaking when I left, I would have smelled gas.
Tomorrow, I'll feel bad about losing my home and the things that are important, like my photos .
.
.
poor Medea.
I left her locked in because I always lock her in at night so she'll be safe.
I don't want to think about what happened to her.
Tonight, I have more urgent fears.
"Auriele," I said slowly and clearly, "where is Adam?" "Mercy!" Arms snagged me hard and pulled me close.
"Oh God, oh God, Mercy.
He thought you were effing dead.
Went through the side of the bloody trailer to find you." Ben's voice was hoarse from the smoke and almost unrecognizable.
If it hadn't been for the British accent, I wouldn't have been certain it was him.
"Ben?" I peeled myself out of his embrace with some difficulty--and care, because the hands that clutched me convulsively were burned and blistered--but I had to be able to breathe.