Page 124 of Meet Me on Greenwood

Houston took me out of the room where a group of Black men were stationed with guns. They were on high alert at first, but once they realized it was Houston, they nodded.

"Be careful," one said. "The shots have died down, but they may be back."

Houston nodded, continuing through the hotel until we reached the same elevator where we’d been discovered and everything had dissolved.

"I did this," I said as he pushed the up button.

The elevator opened immediately, probably because everyone had cleared out or were hunkering down. Houston entered, waiting for the doors to close before saying, "None of this is your fault, Gema. The world being bigoted and unaccepting of two people in love is not your fault."

Tears streamed down my face. "But I knew what would happen. I knew, and I did it anyway. I’m so sorry."

Once the elevator opened, he carried me to the floor where the generators were still running, even though most of the lights were out.

"I’m not sorry at all," he said, lowering me to the ground and peering into my face. "You are the one thing I will never regret."

"What are we doing here Houston?" I asked. "I mean it when I say no one is coming. You need to get everyone to safety."

He nodded. "I will, but right now I’m concerned about you."

And then I saw it, that mask that every doctor wore when they were holding back bad news. "My injury," I said, looking down at it.

"Won’t heal," he said gravely. "Even if I could get you to a hospital—to the best hospital." He bent his head down to mine. "I can’t save you," he said. His voice was strained like he was in agony.

We stayed there for a while as I soaked in what he was truly saying. One of my intestines had probably been torn. There didn’t have sophisticated enough screenings to be able to locate the issue and save me, and they wouldn’t be invented for at least another decade.

"I see," I said slowly. "You want me to go back."

"No, I don’t," he whispered, meeting my gaze again. "I need you to go back—to live."

"I can’t," I said, feeling the lump in my throat. "Not without you."

"You are going to have to try, because I plan to find you. When our times collide, I will find you, I promise."

I could see and feel the earnestness in his voice. "But then we will have missed our window. You will age."

He nodded. "But you will live, and that is all I care about."

"I’d rather die here."

"If you die here," he said sternly, "I die with you. I mean it, I won’t try to fight those men out there. I will cease to want anything."

"All of those people…"

His hand grazed my cheek. "Pale in comparison to you. It is just the truth."

After a while, he pulled out my phone, which was at thirty percent battery. “What do I need to do?"

"I’m not doing this."

"If you don’t," he said, "I’ll try to do it myself and probably kill us both in the process." His voice was solemn but unwavering. He meant every word.

I sighed deeply, which only intensified the pain. "Okay," I said, relenting.

He shifted closer. "I'm listening."

"You see the two generators. Each one has a main output cable running from the right-side terminal. Heavy gauge. Black casing."

He looked. "I see them."