Page 42 of Phoenix Chosen 3

“Sure as hell looks like it.”

We walk around the lean-to and into the trees to reach the hidden stash of stolen loot. I brush the cover of leaves and branches away, revealing a neat row of amphorae and several stacks of boxes.

“That’s the shipment,” Gral says. “That’s what was stolen.”

“What about everything else?” I ask. “All of the other wagons he raided?”

“Some of that may be right here,” Kalistratos says, pointing to wooden crates tucked away behind large rocks.

Inside are sacks of food, the kind of stuff that doesn’t spoil quickly. It’s not much, though. Maybe just enough for a week for one person to eat.

“Hello!” Kalistratos reaches far into the crate. “I like the look of this.” He pulls up a heavy leather sack, jangling with the sound of metal, and affectionately pats the side of it. “Looks like he’s been getting on just fine.” He tips the sack and a cascade of heavy coins pours satisfyingly across the wood

I push aside the ragged wool cloth acting as a door and enter the lean-to. The rock wall forms a small nook-like overhang where a bedroll is tucked away. Nearby is an amphora with a spigot at the bottom, a ceramic cup, a leather pouch with some jerky inside, and surprisingly, a big balloon filled with water.

Puzzled, I pick up the long white balloon and jiggle it back and forth between my hands. Then I see the nipple tip poking out at one end and nearly drop the damn thing on the ground.

“Oh, gross,” I say.

What the hell is he doing with a water-filled condom? Then I remember something I’d read once, that a condom is a perfect survival tool because it can hold a gallon of liquid.

I crouch down to peek into the bed nook and see something pushed into the far rear corner. I reach in and drag it out. It’s a backpack—tan, with a digital camo pattern.

“Yeah, that’s definitely not local,” I say, as if I need more convincing that this guy isn’t from around here.

I do a quick check of the bag. When I peek inside the main compartment, I see a first-aid kit next to a bundle of clothes with a wallet peeking out of a pants pocket. I take it out, and find a couple of quarters, a two-dollar bill, and a small scrap of paper neatly folded. On the inside of the paper is a rough drawing of what looks like a phoenix, done in Sharpie marker.

Maybe it’s like one of those inkblot tests and I’m just seeing what I want to see. The long neck, the curving shape of its wings, the long tail feathers… I mean, it could be a peacock, or something else entirely.

But no… My gut tells me this is supposed to be a phoenix.

I flip open the wallet’s side fold and find an ID card with a very official-looking stamp.

“Armed forces,” I say, reading the text printed in bold across the top. “Jackson Bird.” I look at the birth date. My estimate wasn’t far off—he’s twenty-three, two years younger than me.

“Why don’t you eat a dick!” shouts an unfamiliar voice.

“Oh, our friend is back,” I hear Airos say. “And he is quite excited.”

“Excited to shove my foot up your ass. Untie me. Let me go,now. Hey!”

I emerge from the shelter and see the guy hopping on his knees towards Airos, who keeps stepping back every time he gets close. I half expect him to shout, “I’ll bite your legs off!”

“Jackson Bird?” I call out.

Surprised by the sound of his name, Jackson freezes and nearly falls forward. Airos glides around him and catches the center of the rope like he’s holding a man-shaped luggage. Jackson glares at me.

“How do you know my name?” he demands.

I hold up the ID between two fingers, like a cigarette. “Found this.”

“Hey, you don’t touch my stuff, alright? Put that back where you found it.”

I bring out the backpack and place the wallet and the ID on top. “We’re not after your stuff. Like we said, we’re here to help.”

“Alright, then untie me.”

“Not gonna happen. Not yet.”

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