Page 52 of Up in Smoke

I’ve held on long enough.

Saturday, May 23, 2043.

Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

Frankie liftedthe heavy body of a Pentax K1000 and snapped a photograph of the developing storm system from her front porch in the ruins of Tulsa’s outskirts. Brent stood at her side, his expression souring with each passing minute.

“It’s starting at the same place again,” the old woman commented, and she adjusted the lens of her camera before snapping another photograph. “The exact same place, the exact same time, and with the same exact cloud structure. That ain’t natural, Brent.”

“No, it’s not.” The bar and grill owner crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes as he observed the forming storm. “How many pictures did you get of it?”

“I’ve enough. And I’ve gotten some good shots of the storm developments from other parts of the city, too. I’ve charted the pattern.”

“I can get you into Asylum,” Brent whispered.

“Bless your sweet heart, Brent, but I’m an old woman. You bought me some time as it is, but we both know I’m dying anyway. It might be this storm, too. Did you bring the dolly?”

“I brought it.”

“When you see her, you tell that little fox I’d brought these down to you. If all them rumors are true, she’ll be able to turn this into something useful. Sure, she won’t be saving me, but how could she? My heart ain’t what it used to be, and them Asylum doctors made it clear what’s goin’ on. But I can do this, and you can make sure it gets into her hands, along with the full will and my other notes. The doctored will you’ll give to that Mr. Mansfield, so he won’t be meddling with those boxes.”

“He won’t be under my watch,” Brent promised. “Did you have any luck downtown?”

“Some, but not as much as I’d like. I was able to get into the City Hall, and I’ve taken some pictures, but I don’t know if they’ll do the trick—or provide proof. I’ve filed my inheritance papers for this place and the others I’ve gotten over the years, and the directions are in the will; you have the copies. You’ll make sure it gets to the appropriate places and not into Mr. Mansfield’s hands.”

“They won’t,” Brent promised. “He’s not going to like it, though.”

“Yes. How dare someone other than him own critical parts of the city he wants to rebuild ‘after the storms calm’ as though he controls the weather? And if the things you’ve said are true, those deeds are best off in those hands.”

“As long as they don’t sell it.”

“They won’t,” Frankie announced without a single hint of doubt in her voice. Thunder cracked, and her attention focused on the growing storm in the distance. “You best be moving on, Brent. Get underground. This is going to be a bad blow.”

“How bad?”

Frankie lowered her camera and pointed at the distant clouds, which darkened to pitch black. “It’s growing at twice the normal pace, and the lightning has already started. It’s going to surround the entire city at this rate. You don’t want to be outside when this one hits.” Frankie turned, stepped into her small, battered home, and opened a box, setting the camera inside. “I will hope what I’ve done helps someone else.”

“If Jade has fallen in with Moretti, I doubt you’ll be disappointed. I’ve seen that man work, and above all, he hates abuse and injustice. There’s nothing just about this situation, and I’d say choosing who lives and dies is a huge abuse of power.”

Frankie turned a sad, lonely smile to Brent. “I guess this is it then, old friend. And if tomorrow does work out for me, you can come back and bitch at me for having gotten it wrong. And if I got it right, bury or burn me, whatever feels right to you at the time—and try to make sure that girl knows she was never to blame, because we’ve all seen her after every bad blow. She’d save the world if only she could, and that’s frustrating.”

“I’ll make sure she knows,” Brent promised. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve held on long enough, and I’d rather the storm get me than go through another heart attack. Once was enough for me, and after that nightmare? This isn’t scary, not anymore. It’ll be fast, and these old bones hurt. Now is as good a time as any, but I’m glad I’m no longer afraid. The other options are worse.”

Brent’s sigh carried the burden of grief. “We’ll miss you.”

Frankie smiled. “I’ll see you on the other side some day, Brent. Watch your words, watch your step, and stay safe. In Asylum, Mr. Mansfield has eyes and ears everywhere, even in the walls.”

“I know,” he replied, and he stepped away long enough to bring a dolly to the bottom of her porch step. “Four boxes?”

“And a small one for little Lora if anyone can track her down. Maybe ask that clever fox. She knows her way around—and if she’s landed in with that sweet poet, he can do what she can’t.”

“You just like him because of Lora,” Brent accused in a fond tone.

“He’s easy on the eyes, too. He best charm that little vixen properly. She deserves a sweet one who is easy on the eyes. Lord knows she otherwise got the short straw.”