Page 26 of Outfoxed

Anyone who’d survived a full season gave that answer, and like the sensible, she didn’t press to learn more about where I’d come from, why I lived in the outskirts, or what I planned to do with the rest of my life—or what was left of it.

The cops had been kind enough to give me a lighter, and as we’d run out of bodies in easy range, I went to work lighting the paper-wrapped logs so they’d ignite the rest of the pyre. I gave it an hour before a thick column of black smoke trailed into the sky and notified Inner Tulsa bodies burned.

Personally, I wouldn’t have wasted the precious long-burning logs on lighting a pyre, but I didn’t want to stick around and watch Carl go up in flame and smoke, not after being foolish enough to harbor hope of friendship. If the devastation went closer to Inner Tulsa, I’d have more bodies to bury or burn.

I didn’t want to lose either of my bosses, nor did I want to say goodbye to any more of my co-workers. Some days, I questioned everything about my life.

Someone with a soft heart didn’t belong where death came daily, and I was tired of the tragedy.

I was so tired.

To keep the rest of the world from discovering how tired I was, I headed to the gym to shower away the smoke and pretend it was just another day in Tulsa.

Sunday, May 3, 2043.

Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

McCoy’s Bar & Grill still stood, and I wanted to cry. It wasn’t joy or some other form of happiness; those evaded me as always. The relief of not having to bury McCoy or the others, who worked hard to appease the gossiping crowd, was what threatened to do me in. Within thirty seconds of stepping through the door, I learned six tornadoes had made a mess of Tulsa’s outskirts.

My neighborhood had only dealt with one of them, but Mother Nature had brought out her biggest guns in her effort to get rid of us. For the most part, she had succeeded.

What a bitch.

“Jade,” my boss bellowed from the kitchen.

Damn. Did he have eyes in the back of his head or had he installed a security camera overnight? I hadn’t even been in the bar long enough to figure out if anyone was missing, although it looked like most everyone had made it to work. Turning my ears back, I eased through the throng and pushed through the door. “Sir?”

“Good. You made it. I figured if you’d survived, you’d show up on time as always—or send someone to tell me you would be late. How’s your neighborhood?”

“I’ve got a cellar.” I figured even if one of the bounty hunters talked to my boss, they wouldn’t have a hope in hell of figuring out which cellar belonged to me. “A lot died in my neighborhood,” I confessed. “There wasn’t much left in the morning, and it’s a good thing I was in the cellar, or I’d be like them, too.”

Probably. I didn’t want to think about what it must have been like to be outside when Mother Nature’s fury wiped out so many lives in such a short period of time. All I could do was harbor the hope Carl hadn’t suffered long before his death.

“Same with most. They think the entire outskirts on our side got wiped out with some stragglers here and there. What have you heard?”

“Heard? Nothing. Seen? We gave up on our pyre after we piled more than a hundred bodies on it.”

“Any friends?”

I nodded, as I wouldn’t dishonor Carl despite not having a chance to find out if we would’ve become actual friends. “My landlord died, too, and the cops did the papers.”

“That’s the worst luck, ain’t it? You lose, but you win, too. Still, a damned shame it has to go that way.”

It sure was. “I guess so, but the cops were identifying bodies, and I knew who he was. I set up the pyre for him, but the other survivors helped with it.”

“I bet it took longer to do the papers than to start the fire.”

Sometimes, I forgot my boss had lit more than his fair share of pyres, too. “About the same time. It was a pretty big pyre.”

“That’s the story going around this morning. Before you go on shift, there’s a few things you need to know, because it’s important.”

“How important?”

“Life or death at this point.”

Shit. “What happened?”