Phoenix Rising

This story is by Billy Thorn Rose and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Sheriff Phoenix recoils, angry, unable to ignore the stench of feces from Saloon 21. It claws at her nostrils. She walks in anyway and lets the foul odors of piss and whiskey overpower the stink of death. Throwing down coins for a drink of firewater, the shade of family tragedy clings to her. The old bartender obliges.

 Whispers of the full-moon disappearances, and the terror of the outlaw Blackjack and his gang, the Spades, are spreading like a plague. A reckoning is coming. It’s the calm before the storm. Phoenix feels it in her marrow.

She knocks back a shot. Her throat tightens, the fiery liquid dancing down in vengeful flames. She prays for strength, and a sigh escapes her lips. Around her neck, the Star of Justice is a beacon shining in the dimness of the saloon. Phoenix grits her teeth around a sudden sharp, sour taste of metal. A lifetime of training, all in readiness for this: to end the reign of that deceiver, that devil Blackjack, who leads his violent pack beneath the full moon.

Protocol requires that a new sheriff check in at the office, but Phoenix is fired up to find Blackjack and the Spades before they kill again. Duty calls; tradition be damned. From outside, the howling of a wolfpack insinuates a general unease. The sulfurous aroma of death returns, spreading fear. Mournful voices echo. As a scarfed Spade stumbles forward, horror slams into Phoenix—slung on his back is a rifle she last saw in her father’s arms; even now, she carries its silver bullets with her Flashes of her parents’ murder resurface, triggering a tempest of rage that pulses through the veins of her forehead.

The Spade taps the bar. “Boss, King, a round?” He grins at Sheriff Phoenix.

Phoenix clutches her head as a throbbing pain intensifies. Without warning, she fires. Done! The Spade crumples, lifeless. Before anyone else can react, Phoenix vaults over the counter, both guns drawn. Revenge, sweet as honey, drips coldly from her stare, a promise of judgement.

“I am justice!” she thunders and the room scatters. The bartender cowers, scrabbling to leave, but the Sheriff’s fierce next, words stop him short. “Not you, King. Remember me?”

He pules. “Yes. I can explain…”

“That’s my pa’s Winchester, his initials are on it, and I’m taking it,” Phoenix tells him.

“You don’t understand—” King begs.

“Then explain!” Phoenix yells, pushing a barrel into his gut. King wails, offering no resistance.

As Phoenix raises her arm to strike King, a blonde cowgirl bursts through the batwing doors and rushes to his side, crying, “No!”

Phoenix teeters backward. “Rosemary?”

A dark cloud of sorrow washes over Phoenix. Frozen, she takes aim at the couple. The saloon falls mute, only Rosemary’s sobs breaking the silence. Phoenix’s jaw throbs in anguish. “This is a trick!” she insists, quivering.

“No.” Rosemary’s voice quavers. “The Spades kidnapped me. King found me.”

Furious, Phoenix jabs her gun into the man’s chest. “Who are you, then? What’s going on here?”

King is shaking as he explains. “No sheriff takes on Blackjack. We have a deal, for our son’s safety. Blackjack uses the saloon.” His shame is unmistakably sincere.

“Where are they now?” Phoenix asks. Her gun remains pointed at King.

“We don’t know,” King pleads, his tone desperate.

“Phoenix, it might be worth looking for them in the area. Word is, they loot at night,” Rosemary adds, imploring her.

Then King points to a bracelet on Rosemary’s wrist. “They call that the bracelet of truth.”

Phoenix’s remaining composure melts and she exclaims, “The Jewels of the Earth?”

Rosemary removes the bracelet and gives it to Phoenix. Its surface warm to her touch, it hums with a steady pulse. Its power to mend and shield is the stuff of Comanche legend, and here in her hand it reminds her that revenge is not the only thing binding her to Rosemary.

“It’ll protect you. King’s honest, you’ll see,” Rosemary murmurs, tears cascading down her cheeks.

Phoenix relaxes, lowering her weapons, and allows Rosemary to put the bracelet on her, in that action transferring its spiritual qualities.

Then Phoenix takes the scarf from the dead Spade. She knows she can track its malodorous musk. In the saloon’s grimy mirror, she can see herself, but the dead Spade is invisible. His spirit rests in eternal silence, his forbidden presence no longer disturbing the earthly plane. Grimly, Phoenix reclaims her father’s rifle.

Hands clasped, Rosemary asks, “You’re coming back to me, right?”

“Yes.” Phoenix hugs her. A loving, wordless vow passes between them. Then Phoenix breaks the silence. “Gotta go.”

As Phoenix leaves Saloon 21 and mounts her horse, the moon is silver, casting sinister shadows across Durango. Memories surge forth to guide Phoenix through the Rockies: her mother’s stories of the Comanche spirit; the Comanche elders finding her, raising her, teaching her to uncover the earth’s mysteries one smell at a time. And, to signal her lineage, granting her the Star of Justice, that sister of the Jewels of the Earth.

Quiet in her saddle, Phoenix plods across the mountains, her father’s Winchester in shaky grasp, the weight of the silver bullets in her pockets. The solemn purpose of her hunt—to honor her parents. At a crossroad, she doesn’t falter. Her senses, refined by the Star of Justice, are sharp under the full moon. Following the scent of the dead Spade’s scarf, it is not long before she reaches her prey.

At an isolated ranch on the mountain fringes, Phoenix dismounts, the loaded Winchester light in her impatient arms. She creeps forward, closing in on Blackjack and the Spades.

She counts six Spades unloading a stagecoach—surely stolen—while Blackjack riffles through a thick wad of bills. Beads of anticipation shimmer on Phoenix’s brow. With a ferocity, she unleashes a volley of five shots from her Winchester. Shell casings leap to the floor around her as the bullets find their marks, and the Spades collapse. Blackjack releases bestial fangs in defiance and engages the shootout, sparks flying as smoke fills the air.

Sheriff Phoenix runs for the cover of a tree and reloads, bullets zipping past her. As she locks eyes with Blackjack, the sixth Spade charges, and now he transforms. Facing the beast as it pounces, Phoenix breathes deep. Ready… Set… Fire. The silver hits, and the werewolf drops with a whimper.

Blackjack snarls, his yellow eyes catching the moonlight, and he blasts a fury of ammunition. Phoenix darts back behind the tree as bullets ricochet, then stop. Peering out, she sees that Blackjack too has taken wolf form. She targets and snipes, striking his shoulder, and he shrieks and tumbles, bellowing. He struggles to maintain his form. Phoenix pops off another round. Death swirls fog-like around Blackjack and takes him.

Phoenix towers over the dead werewolf. As the ripples of gunfire fade, screeches ring out from the ranch house. Sidearm in hand, Phoenix approaches the building and enters cautiously. Inside, bound, is an elderly woman.

“There’s no-one to come for me. My family is too scared,” she whines.

“I’m the law now,” Phoenix states, freeing her. “You and your family are safe.”

The woman’s shoulders shudders as she warns. “Blackjack’s wolves, always seek retribution.”

But Phoenix is certain now. “I’ll take care of the wolves.”

~ ~ ~

Near the town in the mountains a new dawn breaks.

Reflected sunlight blazes from the Star of Justice. Phoenix turns to Chief White Wolf, and grounds her focus. The Comanche chief’s fingers trace patterns only spirits can read. He guides the sacred invocation and dance, a ritual to banish the evil spirits. Rosemary, again wearing the Jewels of the Earth, stands close by.

The townspeople hush as Phoenix and the chief step forward. The wolves lurk in the shadows, hurling savage growls. Chief White Wolf’s dance is ancient, his movements a silent prayer; Phoenix moves in harmony, her body in rhythm with his. Then, in time with her steps, Phoenix shoots, silver bullets flying true from her father’s Winchester. The wolves fall, one by one, as the Chief lifts his voice in incantations that reverberate through the Rockies.

Amid the cheers of the townspeople, the chief nods at the two women.

“Phoenix, Rosemary.” His voice rides the breeze. “Comanches—your mother was my sister.”

The sisters smile, their connection blossoming, radiant and rose-like.

“Our momma’s stories,” Rosemary exhales, “are true.”

The sunrise paints the sky. Phoenix’s past transforms into fertile soil. Her soul, once a boulder in water, floats free now as leaves in the wind. Rosemary hopeful for a fresh start, beams confidence.

“We beat the devil out of our past,” Phoenix tells her. “We don’t owe anything to anyone.” And she weeps.

Standing between her sister and Chief White Wolf, Sheriff Phoenix knows that she has risen from the ashes of her past. More than mere survival, this is rebirth—to a life that fully embraces the light.