The Queer Rebels

Chapter 26: Leaving

Before I can answer Marcy–before I can even try to come up with an explanation for my absence and where I was and what Harry and I did–Jenelle interrupts. "We don't have time for this," she snaps. "We gotta go."

Marcy and I both turn our heads towards the bed. Tyree's blood stains the sheets, but he's sitting up now, Mitchell next to him, holding his hand.

"You're right," Marcy agrees.

And for a moment, I'm annoyed that she immediately agreed with Jenelle. That those two words slipped out of her mouth so easily when talking to someone else. Someone who's not me.

But this isn't the time.

I nod. Then I tap the keys in my front pocket. "I have a car."

"That'll make it easier," Jenelle says, already stepping towards the door.

Mitchell gets up, his attention wholly on Tyree. "Can you stand?" he whispers to him.

"I'm good, I'm good," Tyree says as he moves, twisting his torso tenderly, then swinging one leg to the ground.

"Are you sure?" Mitchell asks, concern etched into his forehead.

"Yes," Tyree huffs. His movements are still ginger, but in a moment he is standing next to his boyfriend. "Those things are miracles. Let's make sure to have one on hand the next time we're in the path of an invading army."

Mitchell chuckles. "Yes, for sure."

As much as I regret everything that's happened in the last few hours, I'm grateful that I showed up when I did. Can't imagine what would have happened if I didn't.

"Come on," Jenelle prompts.

"Let's go." Mitchell takes Tyree's hand and steps forward.

We navigate towards the exit of the building. When we walk out of the compound, the group from before has dispersed. I feel a twinge of guilt about Alex. I hope they caught a ride to the Meeting Place. But I guess I'll find out soon enough.

In a few minutes, we are at the car. Jenelle, Tyree, and Mitchell squish into the back, and Marcy takes the front passenger seat. Which leaves me to drive.

"I barely got this thing to move before," I admit as I slide the key into the ignition. "Maybe one of you would be a better driver?"

"Just go," Marcy says, her voice rough, insistent, helicopters still buzzing in the air over us.

I press down on the brake as I turn the key and shift the car into drive. As I ease my foot off and the tires roll forward, I glance into the rearview mirror to look at Mitchell. "Where to?"

"Leave the parking lot and turn left," Mitchell directs.

The car jerks less this time. Maybe I'm getting the hang of it.

Marcy is beside me, her posture rigid, her eyes staring vacantly at the landscape of destruction all around us. A steady stream of dark black smoke is rising from the sprawling building that was our home. As we drive through the parking lot, we pass several upside-down vehicles. Slick puddles drip from the crushed hoods.

I want to say something, anything that could ease the palpable tension, but the words seem lodged in my throat.

As we leave the parking lot, Tyree calls out, "What on earth is that?"

I look in the side mirror and, behind us, see a plume of dust rising on the road from the city.

"Ground support is on the way. We're leaving just in time," Mitchell answers.