The cab, as could be expected at this point, broke down on a remote dirt road. Dai She was a large man with active sweat glands. The lack of air conditioning had turned him into a sopping wet mess. Not even the breeze blowing through holes in the floorboard could help. However, there was one small consolation. As soon as he stepped out of the cab, road dust clung to every pore of his exposed skin. For the first time in his life, Dai She looked tan—enough so that he had no problem hitching a ride on a passing bus.

By the time Viktor realized he was flying in the wrong direction, he had more than doubled the time it should have taken to rendezvous with his master. He knew that Dai She would punish him in some way—probably by withholding a few meals.

Even so, turning around was out of the question. Viktor wouldn’t risk another run-in with the condor.

So he headed inland, hoping to find another route to his master—and perhaps some fresh roadkill to tide him over.

Dai She giggled, high and shrill. A very sound sleeper, he was gradually awakened by a tickling sensation on his left foot. His giggle died. The goat that was licking his toes didn’t stop until Dai She had given it a sound kick. He slumped back against a stack of crates that held a variety of fruits and vegetables in various stages of decay, wondering if this journey could get any worse.

Besides the decaying fruit and vegetables, the bus also contained goats, chickens, and a single dirty brown goose that gazed at him over a warty orange beak. If the goose had half the brain it was born with, it might have thought it was looking into a distorted carnival mirror. Instead, it waddled up next to the tan man in the mottled yellow suit with the blotchy orange nose and settled in for a cozy nap.

To the casual observer, they could have passed for siblings.

Viktor had flown for hours without finding a single morsel of roadkill. Exhausted, lost, and very hungry, the vulture decided to rest his weary wings. He settled on a rusted brown bus, which was kicking up a trail of dust mixed with gray smoke from a failing exhaust system. With a loud THUMP he landed on its roof and skidded to a grinding halt in the dead center.

Once the offensive smells of burning oil cleared his senses, he detected a scent that was much more appetizing. It was coming from inside the bus. The odors of rotting fruit and fresh fowl renewed his hunger. The only sound louder than the rickety bus was that of his growling stomach.

He was in the middle of planning a strategy for getting at his next meal when another odor came forth—one that was very familiar. Could it be?