Page 31 of Outfoxed

While faint, I could hear the rumble of Mother Nature winding up to give Tulsa yet another beating.

Poor Tulsa.

I could only hope she had some mercy for everyone, although the start of the storm season didn’t bode well for anyone. Could even Asylum survive through what Mother Nature lobbed at us? While protected from the weather, Asylum needed supplies.

If the storms took out the tracks and trains, even Asylum’s residents would starve.

A slow death through starvation scared me far worse than being fodder for a twister. If push came to shove, I’d stand outside with pride and let Mother Nature get me long before I wasted away for weeks. Either had the same result at the end. I would die.

Choosing my death beat waiting for the inevitable.

No, I would move on before I gave up, and I’d run to the South or the West before crawling back to the East if I had a say in the matter. I could find a nice beach in California and enjoy life for a while. I’d have to be more careful about bounty hunters, but I could carve out a new life for myself for the few weeks it took some asshole wanting a lot of money to spot me.

How had my life become such a mess?

At a loss, I explored, cracking open boxes and peeking inside to make a mental tally of my supplies. The first few crates contained canned goods, most of it fresh enough I wouldn’t have to worry about what I’d be eating for months. I’d have to figure out how to heat up some of it, but Carl hadn’t been joking around when he’d set the place up.

I hoped he rested in peace, and if he found his way to a new life, that it treated him a hell of a lot better. He deserved it.

He’d given me a new lease on life, as long as I could dodge the bounty hunters until they lost interest or searched for more profitable—and safer—waters.

Even through the thick walls, the storm’s fury reached me, and I wondered who I would mourn in the morning. Would the best parts of my current life wait for me buried under rubble, or would everyone dodge death yet again?

It amazed me I still clung to my sanity when so much destruction surrounded me day in and day out.

I tired of running.

Going through the boxes gave me purpose, and I divided my cellar into sections, moving all the potable water to one corner, food to another corner, and blankets, other bedding, and clothes to another. Beneath the bedding and clothes, I discovered heavy crates nailed together. The cellar’s toolbox contained a hammer, which I used to crack open the first of the largest crates, which I couldn’t move no matter how hard I tried.

The lid fought me, and I growled curses at it until I peeled it off, wincing at the crack of wood. The nails bent, rendering them useless without a lot of hammering to straighten them. I’d spend the time, as no one made nails anymore in Tulsa, and only the rich could afford to import them.

I’d never appreciated the difficulties Tulsa’s residents faced until I’d wanted to do the little things, like build a box, acquire a sword, or even buy some treat like coffee or chocolate. Each passing month raised the value of nails, a good sword ventured into the realm of being priceless, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had chocolate.

I set the lid with its bent nails aside, eyeing the canvas cloth within. I touched the material, satisfied over its thickness.

Good canvas, much like nails, was hard to find.

“Damn, Carl. You could have left the Alley with the fortune in this cellar.”

The food and blankets alone would have gotten him out of the city had he sold them for even a pittance. If I took care, I could head to a new quadrant to escape the attention of bounty hunters. I eliminated surrendering as an option.

What was the point of living if I couldn’t live on my terms?

I lifted the canvas and folded it, restraining my curiosity until the valuable commodity was safely put away with the rest of the cloth-based goods stashed in the cellar. Canvas-wrapped bundles filled the box, and I recognized the shapes of weapon hilts and long blades, ranging from short swords to bastard swords. If the upper layer of six blades proved to be weapons as I believed, I’d inherited a true treasure.

I waged a battle with myself, afraid to check the first.

What would change if I’d discovered a cache of weaponry? Selling even one in Tulsa would draw unwanted attention to me but provide enough cash to go to any quadrant I wanted. I might even be able to skip across the border into Mexico, where magic treated its residents far kinder.

Or so the rumors claimed.

I considered my options and the consequences for what would happen if I did discover a cache of weapons in the crate. At worst, my witch magic would activate, and I would learn far more than I wanted. With the number of times I’d shifted recently, using any magic at all could turn lethal, which decided me.

For a short while, I would allow my fears and worries to rule me. After I slept, I would deal with the cellar’s contents, and I would be grateful for the future Carl had left for me. I could decide how to handle my unfortunate circumstances later.

Monday, May 4, 2043.

Tulsa, Oklahoma.