Page 33 of Up in Smoke

We were as good as hitched and whipped.

Monday, June 22, 2043.

Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

Tulsa burned,and columns of dark smoke snaked to the clouded skies. At first, I thought twisters danced through the city on its hill, but the stench on the wind exposed the lies my eyes tried to tell.

We’d been too late.

I drew in a shuddering breath, flexing my hands and debating how best to handle my home’s new and painful reality. I longed to unsheathe Peace, find every last bastard responsible for the destruction, and cut them to bits before using their corpses as fertilizer.

“He must have moved everyone he cared about into Asylum before having the city itself torched. How better to start fresh than get rid of the old infrastructure? With his layout, he could open a section of Asylum to be accessible by road, something that hadn’t been possible while the city remained intact. He probably has the centermost part of the city secured, as that’s useful to him and has good infrastructure. The rest is just in the way.” Sandro scowled, cracking his knuckles one by one. “I want to know what happened to those who didn’t manage to get out by train.”

“How many do you think escaped by train?” I asked, observing the smoke coiling from the ruins of the city.

“I would think most of them, honestly. Once people found out how bad it was in Tulsa, a lot of trains came in and out. Inbound trains brought supplies, and the outbound trains took as many people as they could hold. They were getting a lot of trains in daily, and they’d send them out as soon as they were unloaded and refugees were boarded. They even went over the occupancy rates with the blessing from the Federal government so as many people as possible could escape.”

“But not everyone got out.”

“I expect there were a lot of stubborn people who refused to leave despite the various invitations to be sent to other quadrants.” Sandro spat curses and took the wagon handle out of my hand. “If I don’t pull this, I might start snapping my fingers and reciting poetry.”

“Yeah. All I get is possibly a trip into the past if I activate my magic, so take the wagon. And if you do snap your fingers and recite a poem that removes my clothes, I will be annoyed over your lack of patience. Make sure I have replacement clothes before you destroy them.”

Sandro stilled. “You trust me enough to remove your clothes with my magic?”

“Refined usage of magic is quite sexy,” I informed him. “And we have not yet destroyed our condom supply.”

“The keyword here is yet. I’m not sure I want to find out what happens if we actually run out. I know how many condoms I brought, and if we clear out my stash, I will have earned strutting, for I will have demonstrated I’m a god.”

As my fox wanted to worship the ground Sandro walked on, and I appreciated his company, I decided he could feel he was worthy of the title of being some god of sexual prowess. “All I can say is that I have never seen you and any god in the same room together, so I can’t dispute your claim.”

Sandro snorted. “Do you realize you’ve challenged me, Jade?”

I had? Puzzled, I turned to stare at him. “How?”

“I now have to prove I really am a god when I take you to my bed.”

Well, I had no idea what was going on, but if he wanted to go on a mission to demonstrate his sexual prowess, I would not complain. I headed for the smoking ruins of Tulsa, flicking my tail as I went. “Hold that thought until I find out how bad the damage is, how many bodies there are, and if they’ve completely blocked off Asylum. The smoke could be from pyres after a storm. They spit out a lot of smoke, especially after a bad blow. One pyre for fifty people can look like half the city is burning from a distance. I’ve made that mistake once.”

But death was a way of life in the Alley, and I knew better than to hold false hope. I would assume Mansfield was out to reign through renewal after destruction, and that the smoke was the fruit of his labors staining the stormy skies.

Monday, June 22, 2043.

Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

With most ofthe inhabitants of Tulsa gone to other quadrants, Mansfield had decided to kill two birds with one stone.

Those who braved the outskirts paid for it in their blood. A few survived thanks to their cellars, but everything I had known and held dear no longer existed as anything other than some rubble. At Mansfield’s orders, everything that couldn’t be salvaged for immediate use was to be burned, and what couldn’t be burned was sent to the junkyard zone, no matter how valuable.

A scavenger’s dream waited in the junkyard, and I would take advantage of it.

The people of Tulsa would need every penny they could get if they survived Mansfield’s machinations.

My little house, inherited from Carl, still stood, and an Asylum guard kept people away from it. I whistled, my ears pricked forward at the defiant structure. The roof needed work, but I marveled over how it remained despite the storms determined to tear her down.