standing around the fire, passing a bottle of liquor and two lit blunts between themselves.

As I neared my car, I could hear my phone ringing again with clarity. It sounded like the door was open. I picked up the pace, trotting up to my car to see the passenger window broken in. None of the valuables were taken, and sitting on the seat was Mike’s coded pages as well as Elliot. The stack of pages was thicker and Elliot was missing an arm.

I picked up the pages, rifling through them. They appeared in order, but added to the stack were pages with Icelandic writing on them. Whoever stole them had translated the code. I looked at the last page, which had large amount of writing in large print. It was dated three years ago. It read:

To whoever finds this after I die: <...

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