Page 6 of Phoenix


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“In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix first must burn.”

—Octavia E. Butler

Phoenix

“Fuck!” I slammed my hand on the steering wheel, cursing Mother Nature. “What are the road conditions in Missoula?” I should never have agreed to the bullshit assignment in the first place.

Gage Beckham laughed. He’d been known as the Iceman while serving in the military, but for some reason he’d refrained from using it since his return. Somehow, I couldn’t stand the thought of using my real name any longer. “Borderline dangerous.”

“Great.” Just fucking great. I was in no mood to screw with a snowstorm. I had shit to get done back home.

Yeah, like what?

By his tone alone, I knew I was in for a shitstorm if I attempted to make it all the way home. “Hunker down, bud. The storm came in early. From what I can tell on the radar, it’ll be out of range in six hours, but it’s gonna pack a wallop. The roads are already getting icy. Even that big four-wheel drive you have won’t get you here.”

I was afraid that would be his answer. My buddy should know given he was the sheriff of Missoula. “Fine. I’ll get a motel for the night.” Yeah, in bumfuck Montana, which was where I was headed. ‘I know a shortcut,’ one of the smokejumpers from Billings had told me. I’d bought it, exhausted from the unexpected firestorm I’d been forced to help fight. If I had to guess, I’d say the son of a bitch had purposely led me on a wild goose chase.

“I heard about the fire,” Gage added.

“Purposely set. Burned almost four hundred acres before we were able to contain it.” I couldn’t get the images of the two unknown men out of my mind. After dragging them away from the burnout zone, the captain had made a calculated call to go ahead with the controlled fire, which meant destroying any evidence. There’d been no other choice or the fire would have consumed the campsite on its way toward the city limits. To think I’d been a guest speaker for a workshop hosted by Billings’ elite smokejumping team, who the Zullies considered their rivals. Then all hell had broken loose.

“We’ve had too many of those lately,” Gage said with a grumpy sigh. He’d been called out on several of them over the last few months.

“Yeah, I know. At least the blaze didn’t torch any buildings, but two lives were lost.”

“Shit.”

There was a quiet tension between us, the reason personal. However, we both knew better than to drag up the past, a conversation that had been forbidden to surface ever again.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he commented.

“Cause it’s my damn job.”

He snickered. We’d been friends for years, my return to the area as if I hadn’t bailed from Missoula for years in search of something I’d never be able to find.

Salvation.

He’d stayed, fighting the good fight against criminal activity. “You’re a damn good Zullie. No wonder they call you Phoenix.”

Exhaling, I turned the wipers on high. I loved being a smokejumper, but the long days had started to take a toll. “Not according to my captain.” Stoker Hansen was a tough son of a bitch, one of the best smokejumpers in the business, but the man had it in for me. I was too old, according to some of the guys, but I’d tested out just fine, top of the list. That had pissed a lot of other jumpers off. Fuck them. Staring into the eye of the beast as it threatened to consume everything around it was all I was meant to do. The rest had been nothing but a placeholder until I’d gotten my shit together.

“You do love to break all the rules. Look, the roads will be clear late tomorrow. Consider it a vacation,” Gage said then laughed.

Some freaking vacation. I hadn’t gone on one in more years than I could count. In my mind, I didn’t deserve days off. That didn’t mean I wasn’t feeling the effects of exhaustion. While I loved my job, the rugged danger I faced almost every day, I hated the politics I’d been required to play. At least volunteering to be a mentor would get me off the shit list.

Or so I’d been told.

“Yeah. Yeah. I hear you. Keep warm by a fire while I suffer in a bedbug motel,” I told him.

“Jesus. All doom and gloom as usual. Find a woman. That will improve your mood at least, you insufferable bastard,” he chortled.

“Women are the bane of my existence.” I had reason to think that way. I’d sworn off women. Forever.

“I’m not talking about a relationship, dude. Just find one you can fuck.”

“There are always strings attached.”

“After one night?”

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