CHAPTER FORTY
Grief is that strange beast who lives inside all of us waiting to be awakened. It rises from its slumber, more powerful with each meal. And Mulberry’s death is a feast.
My entire body hurts, my stomach in knots, cramping and painful. I work in the medical suite, my mind focused on the patients I’m helping even as grief tears at my insides.
At some point, when the patients have dwindled, Dr. Guilder forces me to leave. Forces me to go rest. Blue and I find our way to my apartment. I peel off my clothing—bloodied and stained—climb into bed and lie there, the lightning flashing, thunder rumbling, ash and volcanic rock pinging against the windows, my soul screaming in pain.
Sleep does not come. The ash stops falling, the lightning and thunder fade. The power hums back to life and my apartment looks the same. There is the crib that Mulberry built, white and solid and waiting for his son.
That’s when the tears come. When the twisted pain erupts. Blue presses close and I curl around the baby still inside me, hugging myself and him. Grieving for our incomparable loss. For his father, my friend…our family.
There is no coming back from this and yet I must. Grief never takes more than it can in one sitting. It leaves you broken but alive so that it can continue to feed.
I get up. I clean up. I feed Blue, then pull on fresh cargo pants, and one of Mulberry’s shirts—it’s big enough for me and my baby. I find a clean pair of boots. My stomach still hurts, my body still aches, I have not slept, but I need to move.
As I’d lain in bed, I’d heard the announcements—Dan’s voice updating us all on the ongoing emergency.
The elevators are still not operable—the top half of the fucking mountain is sealed off, the fire that consumed our backup batteries is still burning apparently. Just wearing itself out on all that was up there. But despite that, our power and network are operational again. They pumped out the lower floors battery rooms and were able to get them working again. Finding the walkie talkie in my discarded, dirty pants, I pull it out. “Come in, Dan, it’s Sydney. Over.”
“Syd.” His response is quick. “Where are you? Over.”
“In my room. Are you still downstairs? Over.”
“Yes. Over.”
“I’ll come to you. Over.”
“Okay. Out.”
When I push into the stairwell, the cramps in my stomach torque so hard they steal my breath. I grip the handrail and bend forward, searching for relief. The cramp passes and my breath returns to normal, but nausea remains. I have not slept or eaten in I’m not sure how long, longer than a pregnant woman should…but the idea of food makes me sick. The idea of everything makes me sick.
At least when James died, I could drink away my sorrow. My son is forcing me to fester in it.
Blue and I start down the stairs. My legs are shaking by the time we reach the lobby. It’s transformed again—the water now ash-thickened sludge. There are two women dressed in cargo pants and T-shirts whom I don’t recognize standing by the broken front door. Hazy sunlight streams in.
“Hi,” I say, holding up a hand in greeting.
Their eyes are wide as they take in my giant belly and even gianter dog. “Hi,” one of them says back. “I’m Gail. Can we help you?” She’s holding one of those industrial brooms which look like they can sweep anything…but I’m not sure that the lobby is salvageable. Will we abandon this place?
“Just passing through,” I say. “Headed downstairs to the operations room.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, concern flickering across her face as she glances again at my belly.
“I’m good,” I say, holding up the water bottle I brought with me.
“You sure?” the other one asks.
“Promise.” I cross the room, the ash mud suctioning onto my boots. Memories of the water swirling around my ankles makes my skin tingle. I take a deep breath before pulling open the next door. This is the last place I saw Mulberry alive. Don’t think about it. Do. Not. Think. About. It.
I turn that into a mantra. Each step is a word. Do. Step. Not. Step. Think. Step. About. Step. It. Step. Then I find myself on the step. The one where I last kissed him. Pain overwhelms me and tears break free again. I lower onto the step and Blue sits with me, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder. I lean my face into his and let the tears ride. Pain writhes in my chest, back, and stomach.
Grief takes its fill, leaving me wasted. A few sips of water and I pull myself to my feet and begin down again.
Dan sits in the same place I left him, but his eyes are now hung with dark circles and his skin is almost blue. “Did you sleep at all?” I ask.
He shakes his head as he rises to stand. Dan opens his arms and I move into them. The scent of coffee and Dan fills my senses. My already swollen eyes burn with fresh tears. He rubs my back and makes comforting sounds—not hushing or assurances, just small sympathetic noises letting me know he knows. “Dan.” His name comes out as cracked and broken as my heart.
“Yeah.” His voice is a rumble in his chest as much as a vocalized breath. But I don’t really have anything to say so I just hold onto him and let some more tears leak out while he rubs my back. “There is something you should see,” Dan says. I pull back to look up into his face. His lips lift into a sad smile.
“What is it?”
“Sit.” He gestures to the chair Mulberry occupied however many hours ago…I don’t even know. I just stare at it. Blue’s wet nose swipes at my fingers, unlocking me. Dan returns to his seat and we both look at his computer screen.
He brings up a video file—full color facing a doorway. “You know what happened?” Dan says. “That the locking mechanism wouldn’t function so Mulberry stayed behind to lock the door and save us.”
“Yes,” I whisper, new tears sliding down my face.
“He…” Dan clears his throat. “The fire would have taken the whole complex.”
“I know. The noble fucker died like he lived.” I hiccup a laugh and Dan gives me that sad smile again.
“I think he’d want me to show you this…”
The video starts to play. At first, it’s just the doorway—a white metal door with a keypad next to it. Smoke pours into the frame and five people run to the door—three men and two women. I recognize the one I bandaged up, Pam. She’s holding her burned arm to the side, so that it’s not touching anything. One of the men yanks open the door and everyone but Pam and Mulberry pile out.
He stays with her as she messes with the keypad. I can see the back of his head and broad shoulders, the sharp lines of his stress evident in the set of them. Pam turns to him, speaking words I can’t hear. “The audio didn’t survive,” Dan says. “This camera had a backup battery and continued to feed its data to the server but the microphone didn’t.”
