The Phoenix Project Series: Books 1-3: The Phoenix Project, The Reformation, and Revelation

by Pritchard, M. R.

  I hear the man on the ground groan and roll to his side.

  “What she talkin’ ‘bout?” one of the other gang members shouts.

  We both ignore him. I’m sure it seems odd that I should know a gang member, but I have never known him like this. I never pictured him as a thug or being in a gang. I knew him as a nervous father when his girlfriend gave birth to his son five weeks early. He always dressed nicely when visiting his son. He was polite and quiet. I taught him how to change a diaper, how to dress his baby boy, how to give him a bath.

  “How’s Junior doing?” I ask. I wait for a response, hoping that mentioning his son might save me. He drops his arm and shrugs a little. “How old is he now, three months? I bet he’s rolling over by now, isn’t he?” I press on. I stand there, glaring at him. Finally he smiles, the sun bright on his white teeth, almost blinding me.

  “He’s great, Andie.” Ricardo takes a step towards me and wraps his long arms around me. It takes a minute for me to realize that he’s hugging me. He pats me so hard on the back it hurts. “I never got to thank you for all you did for us. When Junior was discharged you weren’t working.”

  I may actually get out of this alive. “So what are you doing?” I ask him again as he pulls back from hugging me.

  “After the earthquake they closed all the stores. We’re out of formula for Junior.” I give him a questioning look and he holds his palms in front of himself, defensively. “Hey, I’m just trying to help my family. Find food for my son.”

  “Well, Ricardo, this is your lucky day.” I reach into my bag and pull out the box of baby formula. “I will only give you this on two conditions.” Ricardo no longer looks at me, instead he is focusing intently on the box of formula. “You let me walk out of this city. I have a family to take care of too, and I need to get back to them. And, you leave that man on the ground alone.”

  Ricardo’s features change quickly. He is no longer loose and relaxed, now he is tense with a cold look on his face, as though he’s preparing himself for an argument. He turns away from me, back to his companions.

  “We done here. The white girl goes.” He points to the ground where the injured man lies, “Him too.”

  Ricardo turns to me with his hand out. I place the box of formula in it. They start walking back towards the city. One of the men stops, kicking the foot of the guy on the ground.

  “Take care of that baby, Ricardo,” I urge him. “He needs a father to grow up with.”

  Ricardo nods at me and walks away. I stand and watch them until they are so far away I can barely see them over the river of stalled cars.

  The man on the ground groans. I bend down placing my hand on his shoulder and roll him onto his back. He opens one eye. The other is swollen shut and his bottom lip is cut and bleeding.

  “Sit up slowly,” I tell him. He groans again as I apply pressure to his shoulder, pushing him up to a sitting position. “Are you dizzy?” I ask. “Do you know where you are?” He doesn’t respond.

  I hold my index finger in front of his nose. “Follow my finger,” I instruct him. His light blue eye follows my finger as I pass it in front of his face. I pull a paper towel from my tote and hold it to his lip. I look him over. He looks young, healthy and muscular, like he should have been able to put up a little more of a fight for himself. I don’t see any more wounds or bullet holes in his shirt. Whatever the gang wanted from him they must have gotten it or I have a feeling he would be dead.

  “My name is Andie. I’m… well, I was a nurse at the hospital in the city.” I point back in the direction of the hospital.

  “Who names their kid Andromeda,” he asks me, rubbing his shoulder.

  “What?”

  “Your name.”

  “How do you know my name?” I sit back on my heels, certain he has me confused with someone else.

  “You’re wearing a badge.”

  I look down and see my hospital badge clipped to my shirt. “Oh, my parents were really into mythology.” I pull the badge off and throw it in my bag, feeling like an idiot. “You look like you’re going to be fine,” I tell him, “but the hospital is still open if you want to get yourself checked out. Just follow this highway to the third exit.”

  “I’m not going back into that jungle,” he tells me. It’s strange, his voice doesn’t waver. His tone is deep and even. Unlike that of a person who was just confronted by a gang of men with guns. And even though he was on the ground, I get the feeling he wasn’t afraid of them.

  “Ok then,” I stand and haul my bag over my shoulder, “I have to go.”

  He says nothing. Just nods his head and looks down at the crusty pavement at his feet.

  I walk away, leaving him in the road, and resume my walk home.

  --

  It is late afternoon and I’ve finally reached my exit to head north towards home. My thighs burn and my shirt clings to my back, saturated with sweat and the heavy humid air. I stop and lean against an empty car. My stomach is grumbling and the back of my throat is dry with thirst. I climb up onto the hood of the car and set my bag next to me. I pull out the apple and the water I took from the hospital. I twist my body, sitting at an angle, my feet dangle near the tires, so I can watch the highway extending from the city. I don’t want any more surprises. It’s eerily silent and I’m thankful that I haven’t run into anyone else. The confrontation with the gang was enough to shake me and I’m not sure I’ve fully recovered from it.

  I can see the back lots of a housing development from where I sit. Even though it’s still bright outside, it looks like the glow from a back porch light peeks through the thin row of trees. I’m relieved at the sight of electricity. Hopefully it has been restored to the rest of the city, and that might keep people off the road.

  I take a bite of the apple and open the bottle of water. I drink half of it, splashing some on my hands and rubbing my face, trying to wash the sweat off from my walk. When I look up, I see someone walking towards me. Limping actually, wincing with every other step he takes. I sit on the hood of the car and wait. There is no place for me to run out here. I watch him as he gets closer. When he’s a few hundred yards away I can see that his right eye is swollen and bruised, and there is a cut on his lip. This is the man I left behind in the road.

  He’s looking at me as he walks straight towards me. I stay sitting on the car, holding my ground. I reach into my bag trying to find one of the long needles I took from the hospital, hoping that I don’t need to defend myself from this man after I saved his life.

  He stops in front of me pushing both of his hands into his pockets.

  “I never thanked you for saving my life,” he tells me.

  “You’re welcome,” I respond.

  There’s an awkward silence because I’m sure we are doing the same thing; trying to figure the other person out, judging each other based on what we look like. He’s dressed nicely enough-a pair of dark jeans, leather work boots and a dark blue T-shirt. His hair is dark brown, almost black, and I can see the dark ink of a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. I know what I look like, a sweaty ex-nurse, which I’m sure is not at all flattering. I continue to search my bag, trying to find one of the needles.

  “My name is Adam,” he pulls his hand out of his pocket and holds it out towards me. “You’re Andie, right?”

  “Yeah.” I give up searching for the needle and shake his hand.

  “Are you headed north?” He asks.

  I don’t have to ask him how he knows, it’s obvious from the exit sign I am sitting under. “Yes,” I tell him hesitantly.

  “So am I. How far are you going?” He raises his hand, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. There is something about him that’s oddly familiar, something that I can’t quite place. He talks with the local dialect, pronouncing his O’s with a harsh emphasis, like only those of us from northern New York do.

  “Do I know you from somewhere?” I ask him.

  “I don’t think so. Where are you from?”


  “Phoenix.”

  “So am I.” He smiles showing a row of perfectly straight teeth.

  I stare at him, still unsure. “I’m not sure if I believe you, Mr. Adam. Tell me what your favorite restaurant in Phoenix is?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He rocks back on his heels, still smiling, “Jacko’s.”

  Only a townie would like that place, it’s nothing more than a trailer by the river serving hot griddle meals. I continue with my quiz. “Favorite Bar?”

  “Front Door Tavern.”

  “The name of our local homeless man?”

  “Stinky.”

  “Dear God, it truly is a small world,” I mumble at him, rolling my eyes.

  “Would you mind if I walked with you?” He asks.

  Part of me does mind. I stare at him for a moment longer, trying to judge what he might be up to. Finally, I give up pondering. What could it hurt? I started out my journey alone, but now that night is coming it might be good to have a partner to travel with.

  “I guess,” I reply as I hop down from the hood of the car.

  I collect my things and throw the apple core across the road into the tall grass. Then we walk. Actually, he limps. For miles we don’t speak much. Every so often I hear him let out a grunt when he steps down on his right foot. I let him continue for another mile or so, avoiding the fact that he is injured and slowing me down, until I can’t take it any longer.

  “Ok, let’s take a break and I can take a look at your foot. I can’t listen to your yelps of pain any longer.”

  He stops, exhaling deeply. I signal him to sit on the hood of an abandoned car that’s low enough for me to work. I watch him as he hobbles over and sits down. I pull up his right pant leg. His ankle is deeply bruised and swollen. As I start to pull up his left pant leg he puts his hand down to stop me, grabbing my wrist.

  “What?” I ask him. He doesn’t say anything. Instead he reaches down and pulls it up himself. Strapped to his ankle is a gun.

  I step back, my hands up. “Why are you carrying a weapon?” I ask.

  “Why are you inspecting my uninjured ankle?” He stares at me sternly.

  “I have to make sure both your ankles don’t look like pounded rump roast.” I glare at him. “So why are you carrying a weapon?”

  “Why do you care?”He asks me, looking annoyed.

  “Because I didn’t agree to travel with you having a gun strapped to your body.”

  Adam removes the gun that’s strapped around his ankle, and pulls out a Swiss army knife that was tucked down in his boot. “It’s for protection.”

  “Then why didn’t you use it against those men on the overpass?”

  He laughs at me. “When it’s seven to one, it doesn’t matter if you have a gun.”

  “I didn’t have a gun,” I reply, standing back from him, waiting to see what he’s going to do next.

  “Could you just look at this, please?” He asks, setting the weapons down behind him.

  I inspect each ankle and check the pulse in each of his legs. Then I palpate the swollen area, causing him to wince in pain again. “It looks like you have a sprain. I would suggest wrapping it with an ace bandage, taking some ibuprofen and staying off it for a week.” I stand up straight and look around. “But it looks like we will have to improvise.” I dig through my bag and pull out the scrub pants I wore last night. I toss them at Adam. “Cut these into some long strips with your weapon there.” I point at the Swiss army knife.

  I walk down the road, searching the glove boxes of a few nearby cars until I find what I’m looking for; an emergency First-Aid kit-which I take. On my way back to Adam, I search the tall grass and brushes off the side of the highway. It takes me about five minutes until I see what I’m looking for: a thick tall tree branch. I break the extra limbs off the branch until I have a single long stick.

  Using the longest strip of my now cut up scrub pants, I wrap his foot and ankle as tightly as I can. I use another small strip to tie a knot around his ankle, holding the wrap in place, and then use another to wrap an area on the branch so Adam can hold it without getting splinters.

  “Here’s your new cane. Treat it well.” I hold the stick out for him. “Oh, I almost forgot!” I open the emergency kit. “Jaaackpot!” I sing high and off key. Inside are a few medical supplies and a travel pack of Tylenol. I hand the medication to Adam.

  “I don’t know how I feel about what I just saw,” he says flatly, accepting the pills from me.

  “Well, most patients would be grateful they have a nurse with two brain cells to rub together. So count your lucky stars that I found you and not someone else.” We stare at each other for a moment.

  “There is something truly wrong with you.” He rips open the Tylenol and throws both tablets into his mouth, swallowing them without water.

  “Yeah, well, I’m bored with this playing nurse thing that’s going on. And I’m kind of in a rush to get home and find my family. So if we could get this train rolling that would be great.” I pick up my bag and throw the emergency kit on top. As I’m walking away I hear Adam limp up behind me. He’s walking a little faster now, groaning a little less. We still don’t say anything for a long time, and I’m a little angry that he didn’t even thank me. I can feel him looking at me, judging me, trying to figure out if he can trust me; just as I did to him a few miles ago.

  --

  We have been walking for hours. Ahead of us I can see the off ramp for the mall near Sam’s apartment which means we aren’t far from the county line, but it’s starting to get dark. I stop and look around. The area ahead of us is filled with stores and restaurants, and I know there is a hotel not far from the highway.

  “I think we should stop somewhere for the night,” I tell Adam. I wait for his response. “I have a brother that lives in an apartment, a few miles that way.” I point off to the side, away from our final destination. He lives in the wrong direction which would put us behind, probably by another day.

  “That’s the wrong direction. It would put us behind. I don’t know about you but I want to get home as soon as possible,” Adam responds, reading my mind. I’m relieved that it’s not just my decision to bypass Sam’s place, but I will have to get in contact with him later. Right now, getting back to Lina and Ian is more important. “There’s a hotel,” he points straight ahead of us. “Looks like they have power. We can rest there for the night.”

  By the time we reach the front doors, the sun is gone and all that is left is the settling dusk. The air is cooler now, crisper, and a strip of fog hovers above the ground. I can hear the dense hum of a generator. Adam holds the door open and waves me in. There is a young woman at the front desk who seems shocked to see us. When I catch a glimpse of myself in a wall mirror I know why. We are disheveled, tired and dirty looking. Adam’s busted face looks even worse in the overhead fluorescent lighting. His swollen eye is highlighted in purple and the split on his lip shimmers.

  “Do you have any rooms for the night?” I ask the clerk.

  She clicks away on her keyboard for a moment. “Do you want a king suite?” she asks raising her eyebrows at us.

  “No, we actually need two rooms.” I respond quickly. I see Adam, out of the corner of my eye, smirking at her question.

  We pay separately and lucky for us it’s half price due to the power outage. As the young woman hands us our keys she points to a dining room across the hall. “There are complimentary snacks and breakfast in the morning. That is, if we still have power.”

  I thank her and walk to the dining room. After working all night and walking all day, I’m hungry and exhausted. There’s a buffet table with minimal food. Bread, bagels, fruit, bottles of water. I take a bagel, a banana and water and sit at one of the nearby tables. Adam follows and sits across from me. The tension from the highway is gone, and both of us are completely exhausted. Still, we find enough energy for some small talk.

  He tells me he just got back from deployment in Germany for two years and he
is headed home to see his parents and younger sister. I find out that we went to high school together, but never crossed paths much since he was a few years older than me. I tell him about Lina and Ian and what happened during the earthquake at the hospital. I leave out what I heard in the basement between the security guard and the Colonel. When we are done eating we part ways, our rooms in different hallways, and we agree to meet in the morning.

  I close the door to my hotel room and turn the deadbolt lock. I feel a little better after hearing it click heavily into place. I have never stayed in a hotel room alone. I stare at the two beds before choosing the one by the window. I sit for a minute and stare at the phone. When I pick up the receiver there is no dial tone waiting for me to punch in a number, there is simply no sound at all. I check my cell phone, it is still blank. The ache in my chest is back again. I think about Ian and Lina, hoping that they are safe. I tell myself that tomorrow I will see them again. I have to.

  chapter seven

  I wake up groggy, aching and still tired, the previous day’s events still consuming my thoughts. It’s strange; like a dream, like a nightmare. There’s only lukewarm water for a shower, but it’s enough to wake me up. I go out to the dining room to see if Adam is there. I am relieved to see him sitting by the window looking refreshed, even though he’s wearing the same clothes as the day before. I head straight for the coffee carafe and pour some into a mug. I grab a few bagels and apples and cross the room to sit with him.

  As I settle across from him I notice that I can see both of his light blue eyes and the swelling in his face has gone down. The split in his lip has even healed itself into a bright red slash.

  He looks at the pile of food in front of me. “Are you starving to death or something?” He asks me.

  I wasn’t ready to be greeted by a bad attitude. I would like to throw one of the apples at his face but instead I wrap it in a napkin with one of the bagels and tuck it into my bag. I eat in silence and stare out the window. Outside the hotel windows I can see the morning is heavy with fog and dew. The sun is starting to rise over the suburbs and a layer of dense fog covers the ground and roads, rising slowly, in unison with the sun.