A Merciful Promise (Mercy Kilpatrick #6)(6)

“We were very particular about what we chose for you,” Carleen said. “This has been worked out for weeks. Everything you need is in there.”

“No gloves, no poncho. Not even a first aid kit,” Mercy muttered as she scattered the belongings. “I’ll bring my own underwear, thank you very much,” she said, tossing used underwear into the wastebasket.

“They’re new,” Carleen clarified. “But they’ve been washed.”

“Still . . . I’ll wear my own shit.” She set aside three pairs of pants. “These aren’t my size. I’ll grab my own tonight.” She held up a sweatshirt, eyeing the proportions. “This works.”

“Don’t pack designer jeans,” Neal told her. “Jessica wouldn’t have the money for those. Pack old stuff. There’s little power out there, so that means no hairdryers or curling irons. And you can expect your belongings to be searched by members of the group—possibly a few times. Privacy won’t exist.”

“I know what to pack when roughing it,” Mercy stated. She wasn’t surprised by the prospect of multiple searches. Paranoia was rampant in that type of crowd, and it started with the leaders, trickling down to everyone else. “I need my own bags from my vehicle.”

Mercy was always prepared. She’d grown up the child of survivalist preppers and had never been able to shake the compulsion to plan for disaster. Any disaster. Fires, destruction of the nation’s electrical grids, attacks from foreign governments. Even attacks from her own.

Secreted in the Cascade mountain foothills, she had a cabin prepped and ready if she and her loved ones needed to hide. They could survive for years. Maybe decades.

“No. Everyone is allowed a single bag of belongings.”

“Then I’ll cram my contents into this.” Mercy looked up from the floor. “It’d be stupid to show up without appearing semiprepared.” An idea struck her. “My person has a medical background. She’d have some supplies on hand.” She spoke quickly before Carleen could disapprove. “I’ll let you examine what I choose to take with me, and you’ll see it’s not out of character.”

The ATF agents exchanged a glance. “We’ll take a look,” Carleen agreed.

Mercy tossed her key fob to Neal. “Black Tahoe. Second row. There’s a backpack and a medical kit in the back.” He spun and left without saying a word. Mercy continued to empty the duffel. “Jessica isn’t stupid,” she mumbled. “She grew up in the center of Washington State. She’d know how rough the weather and land can be. She’d be prepared for that.”

I don’t even see a Leatherman tool.

Carleen was silent as she watched Mercy root through the bag. Mercy kept the socks, the Tshirts, two sweaters, and a jacket. She approved of the bare-bones plastic bag with basic hair products, toothpaste, and toothbrush.

Neal reappeared with Mercy’s GOOD (Get Out of Dodge) bag and medical kit, both of which she always kept in her vehicle. She thanked him and proceeded to dissect the contents of the GOOD backpack, weighing what was most important. Neal opened the medical kit and inspected each item. He set most of the products to the side as she watched out of the corner of her eye, clamping her lips shut.

That was her equipment. Her lifelines. Her preparations. And he was artlessly dividing them up.

He might as well be slowly removing each of her fingers.

Neal eyed the packs of large syringes full of tiny white tablets and tossed them in the reject pile. Her heart jumped.

“No!” Mercy shuffled over on her knees and grabbed the packages, shoving them into the duffel.

He stared at her. “What are they?”

“Fucking lifesavers,” she told him. She’d plunged the tablets of crustacean shells into a gunshot wound in Eddie’s chest. They’d expanded, stopped the bleeding, and saved his life. She wouldn’t leave them behind. Ever.

Neal sat back and let her sort. Bandages, tape, Benadryl, ibuprofen, an analgesic inhalant, scalpels, supplies for stitches, and on and on. She mentally grappled with leaving any of it behind.

The old duffel was nearly bursting at the seams by the time she was done. She’d also added water purification tablets and a few MREs, crossing her fingers that food wouldn’t be an issue at the camp. She’d wear her own boots and heavier coat, but she still needed space for her own pants and underwear.

Screw their one-bag rule. She had a casual shoulder bag with a deceptive amount of storage. They’d expect a woman to have a purse.

She sighed and sat back on her heels, feeling satisfied with her preparations. Her earlier sensation of floating in the air had been tempered by the act of packing. Neal and Carleen silently regarded her.

“What’s next?” she asked.

Neal removed a folder from his case. “Time to learn about the people you’ll meet in America’s Preserve.”

“I thought you didn’t know much about anyone beyond the leader, Pete Hodges.”

“We don’t. This intel has been gleaned from Chad’s reports and the few background checks we’ve managed to do. A lot of these guys have changed their names several times.”

“Great.” Mercy checked the time. It was nearly eight o’clock. “One more hour. Then I’m going home.”

Carleen nodded. “We’ll pick you up at six a.m. tomorrow and take you to the bus station.”