Page 61 of Outfoxed

“Yes. We’ve had several blows come earlier than expected, catching some Asylum residents outdoors. We’ve had a few deaths. Mr. Mansfield has authorized our hospital open to treatment of some individuals, but we don’t have a great deal of space. Our hospital is meant to handle Asylum’s residents.”

“Which is far smaller than Tulsa’s population. It would be unreasonable to expect a hospital meant for a small population to be able to field a lot of trauma victims.” I hated the words I spoke, but it made sense.

Mr. Mansfield didn’t care about everybody in Tulsa. He had an agenda, just like Sandro had an agenda, and I understood that. That Mansfield had helped even a little impressed me.

He seemed like the type to refuse to help at all.

“Well, don’t you worry about that. If all goes well, you’ll be headed home with Mr. Moretti in the morning, which will be a far more restful healing environment for you. So, do your best to be patient until then. You’re doing well, and I don’t foresee that changing overnight.”

I forced a smile and hoped he was right.

Wednesday, May 13, 2043.

Asylum, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

According to Dr. Thresher, I did well and he saw no reason to keep me in the hospital when I could rest and recover elsewhere, so he discharged me. The remainder of the bill headed to the East, where the assholes in charge of my bounty would pay it. As the bill had several more zeros than I appreciated, I might even be forced to choke out some gratitude for not having been saddled with it. Sandro handled the details and borrowed a wheelchair for a few weeks until Dr. Thresher cleared me to begin physical therapy and get exercise.

I could walk, but he wanted me to limit my efforts to no more than a few steps at a time to keep from doing additional damage to myself.

I’d taken those first few steps in the hospital to discover just how much walking with cracked ribs sucked. Even the act of breathing hurt, and it would for several more weeks, assuming I continued to heal at my current pace.

The bullet—which had entered along my side in the back, punched through where my spleen had once been, and exited between two of my ribs—would set me back for several months. I expected my Asylum pass to be revoked the instant anyone realized I’d be unable to work for a while.

As far as I could tell, Asylum’s operators disliked those who weren’t readily useful within the underground sanctuary.

It took Sandro twenty minutes to push me across Asylum to his residence, one of the larger properties in the first district Mansfield had built. “You’re either favored, wealthier than any one man needs to be, or you somehow hoodwinked influential people here.”

Sandro’s home reminded me of a miniature Victorian manor, made from local stone and limited wood. However much I disliked Mansfield for choosing who lived and died, I marveled at the craftsmanship, wondering how he’d built so much in such a short time. “Where do you think he got the stone carvers for this? Doesn’t stone take a long time to carve?”

“People like me helped with the building,” Sandro replied, wheeling me to the stone steps leading up to his home’s entry. “I actually did most of the carving on my house, and I purchased this lot in exchange for doing carving work on several of the other homes here. That’s what originally brought me to Asylum in the first place. Benedict needed quadrant mages who could potentially work with stone. I can. When I trained to become a quadrant mage, I came to the Alley last, and as my mage powers here are fairly dangerous, I stayed here the longest. The first time I came to the Alley, it was before Asylum went under construction. Benedict has limited abilities as a witch and as a mage, but he lacks the power required to do the kind of work with stone I can.”

I eyed the steps, wondering how I’d make it up without either falling on my ass or putting myself through a ridiculous amount of pain. “Mansfield uses two magic types?”

“He can see a little into the future, although his witchcraft is mostly uncontrolled. He built Asylum because of a reoccurring dream of the storms.”

Interesting. I lurched to my feet, which did a good job of shifting my injured ribs, and I clenched my teeth together so I wouldn’t start cursing over the throbbing in my side. “A piece of advice, Sandro. Don’t get shot.”

Sandro took hold of my elbow. “You can yell at me for making assumptions and being overly gentlemanly after you’ve made it up the stairs without falling.”

“I do not want to fall, so thank you.”

The instant I was safely on the porch, Sandro retrieved the wheelchair, opened his front door, and rolled it inside, revealing a spacious entry. Wood paneling gave the place a cozy feel, and while he had electric lighting installed, several oil lamps waited on a small table beside the door. “Oil lamps? Why do you have oil lamps?”

“The power is turned off during all storms, except for in the ventilation systems. If there is a problem with the electricity during the storm, this makes it safer to be fixed. The ventilation systems are on a different power system with several backups, and the rest of the electricity in Asylum is separate. So, I use oil lamps. Some use flashlights, but I keep a stash of oil around and use lamps. I also imported some propane and a propane grill from the East, as I am spoiled and enjoy grilling. I’ve taken some steps.”

I eyed the wheelchair, and after determining I couldn’t cope with standing for much longer, I sat. “I’m never laughing at someone with broken ribs again.”

“Yeah. Broken ribs hurt like hell, and there’s not a whole lot they can do about it beyond let them heal and make sure they don’t break further and damage something important. Your broken ribs aren’t bad. You got lucky on where the bullet went. It could have been worse.”

“I guess. That doesn’t change the fact I’m short an organ now.”

“Could’ve been your lung,” he pointed out, and he waited for me to be settled in the wheelchair before pushing me out of the way so he could close and lock his front door. “There are some problems.”

“With my Asylum pass?” I guessed.

“Surprisingly not. Your association with me trumps the passes acquired from your employers. It’s about your bounty.”