The Flock (28 page)

“Thank God for your eye,” Grisham told Redmond. “I knew I was making a wise choice to add you to the team.”

Redmond said nothing as the pair hit the Colonel's property boundary, moving quickly for two people who had been kicked in the guts by a creature who stood ten feet tall and weighed roughly one thousand pounds. They were jogging, in fact, Grisham scanning 180 degrees to the fore, while Redmond watched their backs. If Walks Backward had seen them, he would have approved.

“Damned good shooting back there, too, son.”

At that, Redmond spoke up. “I didn't hit a one of them.” He was thinking of the way they could alter their coloration, in a way in which they blended almost perfectly with their surrounding. He would almost have thought them capable of changing color as a chameleon does, until he realized that they had been moving their
feathers
to achieve the effect. As he'd admitted, he had been unable to strike a single one of the birds, although Watkins had slightly wounded one of them. It must have been that one good shot from Watkins that had let them understand what the gunshots meant.

“But you held them off, son. You frightened them away.” Grisham moved with determination, but there was something like fear in his eyes as he went. And he was glad that Redmond could not see his face. He'd faced enemy fire in Vietnam and half a dozen other places the American taxpayers would never know of. But this was the first time he'd actually been frightened of anything. When he'd come to and seen those
things
moving toward him, he thought that was going to be the end for him. Being eaten was not something for which he could prepare.

“I couldn't save Watkins,” Redmond blurted. “Or poor Joyner.” There was a catch in Redmond's voice, and his own ruddy features went a shade darker at the memory of the huge things slashing and tearing at his two comrades. Watkins had exploded like a balloon overfilled with crimson dye.

“That's the kind of price we pay, son. We're all of us expendable.” Now that it didn't look probable that he would end up that way, Grisham could speak of such things. He shuddered, though. They weren't home, yet.

Redmond said nothing at that. He only wanted to be out of this place. He only wanted them to find their way back to Grisham's house and to the safety of four well-built walls. Even the idea of a bellyful of good cooking was beginning to appeal to him. The whole venture had been a debacle, though he didn't know that he could lay the blame at Grisham's feet. Who knew those creatures could do the things they had seen them do? Who could have known?

“We can still salvage this operation,” the Colonel suddenly said. He stepped through a broken section of barbed wire that had parted long ago, one of his
posted
signs hanging by a rusted nail from a cedar tree.

At that, Redmond actually tore his bloodshot gaze from their rear and he stared at his commanding officer. But he said nothing.

“We can still find Holcomb. I'm not going to let him get away with this.”

“Sir. He's most likely in a very safe place by this time. We both heard the motor of his ATV.”

“That was our only real mistake,” Grisham blustered. “We should have incapacitated that machine. But I'm not going to let this get the best of me. I can still pull a victory out of this. We can still get the job done. Part of it, at least.”

“Part of it, sir?” They were now on familiar territory. Within minutes they would find themselves at one of the outer pastures. The farmhouse would even be visible if they were where Redmond thought they were.

“Yes. Those animals. Those creatures. Now that we know what they can do, we'll be ready for them. I made a vow that we'd exterminate them. I'm a man of my word.”

“But sir. We lost three very good men. Watkins and Joyner and Gant. They all have families, sir. Is it wise to go back out there? Take more men out there?”

“We don't have much time, boy.” Grisham turned his head and glared at Redmond without slowing down. His own stride was growing as they neared sanctuary. He was gaining confidence and strength the closer they got to his home. “If Holcomb gets away and word gets out, I doubt that we'll have much more than twenty-four hours to kill these things.”

“But, sir. I don't think we should…”

Grisham did not let Redmond finish. “You'll do as you're ordered, son. You took a blood oath when you joined this militia. You will
not
foul this up. Do you understand?” Grisham had stopped and turned to deliver this final bit.

Redmond stared into Grisham's mad face. “I understand, Colonel. I understand.”

They broke through the line of young slash pines at the edge of the pasture and in the morning sun they could see Grisham's farmhouse and barn off in the distance. The Colonel was all but jogging as he strode through the green grass dotted all about with mounds of cow manure. “We can still get something done,” he said.

Redmond followed at a distance, and continued to glance back, to make sure that nothing appeared from the forest to kill them.

His plan had worked well, the Scarlet rogue thought.

The presence of the humans had frightened off the main body of the Flock for a time. Initially, when he'd run amidst the humans and had taken them down, he had wondered why the Flock had always been so frightened of them. With only a little surprise, they were indeed easy to incapacitate or kill. In fact, they moved so slowly that they were easier to kill than anything that the Scarlet had encountered for such heavy creatures.

But the men that the Scarlet had left behind him had frightened the Egg Father and the others. Even though none of the men seemed to be even awake, the Flock had held back. The Scarlet knew this because the sounds of pursuit had died down and eventually vanished. That gave him enough time to find water. He had gone down to the banks of one of the streams that fed into the river that bordered the west side of the Flock's domain. On the other side of that river were the humans, in large numbers. He had thought briefly of swimming the distance and retreating there. None from the Flock would dared have followed him in that direction.

Still, something held him back. He had never crossed that barrier. Not because he could not swim it, because swimming was something he could do and do well. It was just
strange country
to him, and he didn't want to risk it. Not yet.

So he had drunk his fill, had run down and devoured a couple of armadillos. Revitalized, the Scarlet had done his best to cover his spoor, wading to the center of the stream, and swimming for a distance when it became too deep to walk. From that point he had come out and headed toward the huge rocky nest that belonged to
The Man Who Watches
. That area had been an old gathering space for the Flock before that man had invaded it. Once, they had used it as a wallow, playing in the pits of sand there and searching for the large tortoises that were so tasty. But the Flock had been forced to abandon it when the men had arrived, constructing the gigantic nests.

There were
always
men there, at this space they had once known as their own. The Scarlet was counting on more men being there. Men enough to dissuade the Flock from further pursuit. They were after him, to kill him. He was certain of that, now, having heard this strange new song coming up from the flock members who pursued him so rabidly. They were referring to him as some kind of enemy, as something to be eaten. And it had become his plan to make them break away from this chase and leave him alone, at least for a while. He needed time to plan, to organize his thoughts and decide what he should do.

As he had come upon the place, the Scarlet had sensed that something was not right. It was empty of sound, of movement, of activity of any kind. The men were not there. He could scent the thousands of strange smells, the alien stench that welled out from it. But of men there was nothing. And this was not good, for he had once again sensed the Flock on his trail.

Going right up to the structure, the Scarlet rogue had called out a challenge to any man that might wait inside. Nothing came out. Only the odd light spilled from the place. He even made his imitation human calls. “Jesus,” he said. “It killed me,” he called. There were no humans to answer him.

His last chance was the place where the humans had built nest upon nest. Where they lived in numbers far outweighing those of the Flock. It was where the Scarlet had explored in the night, moving around the perimeter, slaying and eating the dogs. If that was where he must go, then he would. And just as he had decided to head there, the wind altered direction. There
were
humans nearby, in the realm of the Flock. The scents were coming from a point north, off in the depth of the oak forest, from near the deep sinkhole that had appeared in the face of the earth some years before. So the Scarlet rogue had moved off in that direction, leading the Flock on. They had obliged him by following.

Along the way, the Scarlet rogue had slowed his pace. He wanted to let them get closer. They would be right on his tail, and his own scent would fill their nostrils. He even began to urinate as he raced atop the forest loam, kicking up the dirt and leaving a powerful pungent mix of urine and hormonal scents overloading the unmatched olfactory senses of his pursuers. If they did not sense the humans until it was too late, that would serve his purposes well.

Soon, with the night ending, the Scarlet took a chance and peered back. Despite the fact that he wanted them to be close, he was surprised to see Egg Mother and Walks Backward less than four body lengths behind him. Walks Backward was in an impudent mood, he saw, the beta male's great brown crest lifted high as if he were leading the Flock. How great that one's hatred was. Putting on a burst of speed, he lengthened his stride and gained a bit of ground. He was coming upon the site of the sinkhole, and the humans were there. The scent of them came to him as he sprayed a last volley of urine mist into the faces of those who were at his tail.

Going wide of the great hole that gaped in the earth, the Scarlet almost fell to the slashing blows of the Egg Father who had come up on his left. The huge terror bird leaped toward his disobedient son, but his talons missed the mark and he was left to gather his speed and give chase again. The Scarlet knew that others would be waiting to make similar feints at his position, and he knew that he would not be able to last long now that they had caught up to him. He only had one chance, now.

And it came.

The rogue suddenly came upon the sinkhole. He rushed past the lip of it and peered down into it, seeing two humans who were lying partially submerged in the clear waters. It would not do him any good at all if this is all there was. He looked ahead and plunged on, and saw the others. There were not as many men as before, but this time the Flock was so close on his tail, and he had covered their scent so well that as he ran amidst the confused humans and left them behind, the Flock found themselves face to face with the men.

He ran, leaving the scene of complete confusion behind him. There was an urge in him to caw with laughter, and he did, despite the situation if his plan failed. Behind him the Flock found themselves revealed to men. This had not happened in a very long time. The terror birds, who could sense in others the urge to fight and kill, suddenly sensed that the humans were ready to inflict damage upon them. Egg Mother reacted first. She lashed out at the nearest human, cutting him down and ending his garbled screams. The other men also began to yell, to begin to make the motions that the guardians of the Flock knew could mean death for anything on the other end of that motion. Walks Backward leaped to the right, toward a man sitting high in the branches of a great live oak. The gnarled limbs allowed him easy purchase and he all but raced up the side of the huge tree, using his short forearms to tear at the bark and add stability to his movements. Reaching up with his razored beak, he grasped the man by the thigh and pulled him down before he could aim his gun. Falling to earth trailing a hot stream of jetting blood, other adult birds were on him. Egg Father found the third man who was attempting to fire at a young male and pounded him to the ground, dismembering him quickly.

Walks Backward detected two other humans down in the sinkhole, but felt no threat from them. No terror bird went to seek them out with no order from the leaders. For a very confused instant, the Flock milled about the bloodied killing ground. None of them fed on what had been killed.

With a cry mixed with rage and confusion and
fear,
Egg Mother and Egg Father commanded the Flock to retreat, to end the chase for now. The Sun was rising; the rogue had left them behind and had utterly fooled them. Following the Parents, the Flock quickly sped back toward the interior of their domain, into the inviting places that had for so long protected them.
Away from here,
Egg Father called.
Back to safety,
Egg Mother reinforced. And each of the flock members did just so.

But for one.

As the Flock headed north and east, he turned. He turned on his track and moved south and west. Toward the Scarlet rogue. Damn the humans. Walks Backward would kill the fool.

“Well, I have to admit I had my doubts when I asked where you were taking us,” Mary said, wheezing. They were moving down a trail with which Ron was familiar. He had walked it before.

“I told you I've been here,” Ron said. “This is the path I took when I thought a python was killing the dogs in Salutations. That's the substation where you met me the other day.” Riggs was pointing at the neat square of crushed red brick atop which the substation sat, the whole thing surrounded by chain link. It was a very familiar and reassuring sight. “You saw it from the other side. All we have to do is go about fifty more yards and we'll be out on the street at the edge of Salutations, USA.”

“God bless Berg Brothers Studio,” Mary shouted. Gripping her rifle a bit more loosely, she began to jog ahead of Ron.

Together, the pair trotted past the substation and moved beyond it. The sun was up and the full afternoon heat was bearing down on them. The couple looked to have been chewed up and spit out by a very large and very nasty critter. They were covered in mud and a thin sheen of sandy muck made up of forest detritus and human sweat. Where they weren't dirty, they were bloodied, a wealth of minor scratches, abrasions, and insect bites covering their exposed arms. No one was going to open a door for them, of that both were certain. They were either going to have to march into downtown Salutations or, more likely, await the arrival of a security detail. Probably the latter, from what they knew of the artificial town.

Coming out to the street, they were surprised to see a number of cars moving a bit more rapidly than the authorities in Salutations generally allowed. Standing there, staring at the caravan of speeding BMWs, Cadillacs, and Volvos they were surprised when a sedan pulled over to the shoulder of the road. An electric motor hummed as a tinted window quickly levered down. A familiar face appeared as Mr. Brill, he of the severed dog foot, leaned across the seat to address them.

“Hey! You guys must be chasing those giant birds.”

Ron and Mary just stood and looked at one another.

Mr. Brill looked a bit bothered by their confusion.

“You
are
after those dino-birds or whatever the hell they are.
Aren't you?
” His reddish face was sweating, even in the interior of his air-conditioned Cadillac.

“Yes,” Mary blurted. “We've been chasing them for
miles
.”

“Well you sure as damned hell aren't going to catch them on foot. Damned things are fast.” He swept his hand along to indicate just how quick they were. “Need a ride?”

“Hell, yes,” Riggs told him. He reached for the door handle and jumped in beside the old man. “Sorry about the upholstery,” he said as he smeared his way across the seat.

“Don't worry about it, son. Just get in and I'll take you in the general direction of where they were headed.” Brill waited while Mary hopped in and made a similar mess of his back seat. And then he peeled away from the shoulder of the road and was soon doing a good sixty-five. His passengers seemed to wilt, luxuriating in the cool air flowing over and around them. There was a moment in which he actually heard them sigh in pleasure.

“What happened to your truck?” Brill asked.

“Huh? Oh. My truck. Left it back at Vance Holcomb's compound.”

“Holcomb, huh? I thought that crazy jillionaire probably had something to do with this. Wonder where he found those things?” Tires squealed as he took a turn a bit too sharply. People pointed from big picture windows in big houses. Some braver citizens stood on front steps to watch.

“How many? How many of these birds did you see?” Mary asked.

“Saw two of them. A red one being chased by a brown one. The red one's bigger, but the brown one is doing all the chasing.” He grunted, gripped the steering wheel and took another turn. “Those things are what ate my dog? Aren't they? Huh?”

“Well, probably.”

“You told me it was a
snake
. Isn't that just
like
the government? Hide things. Cover them up.” He took half a second to scowl at Ron.

“Truthfully, sir. We didn't know it was a giant bird at the time. I really did think it was a python. I swear. We only found out later what was going on.” Ron had his left hand raised as if taking an oath; his right hand was gripped firmly around the rifle rather than resting on a Bible.

“What
is
going on, anyway? What
are
they? Where'd they
come
from? They look like
dinosaurs
for God's sake. I thought they were some kind of allosaurus or something until I saw the feathers.” They were coming in close to downtown Salutations.

“Well, they're phorusrachids,” Ron said. “Big predatory ground dwelling birds that we thought had been extinct for a long time. Either a million years or fifteen thousand years depending on which paleontologist you talk to.”

“They don't
look
extinct.”

“Obviously not. And apparently they've been here all along. Living here on what was the military base and bombing range. Kind of protected by the base, strangely enough.”

Brill slowed the car, his big hands gripping the wheel. His faced looked sober and very serious. He had slowed the auto to a more sedate thirty miles per hour, still over the posted limit. “I'll be damned,” he said. “You know…it kind of makes sense.” Then he turned and stared directly at Riggs. “What's going to happen?”

“What do you mean?” Ron said.

“With these things here. There must be more than two of them. Right?”

“I'd say so, although we only actually saw one. But you say you saw two. Where there's two, there's probably more, I'd say.”

“Right. Right. So, what's going to happen to this place, now? Isn't this some job for the EPA, or some agency like that?”

“Department of the Interior, most likely,” Ron told him. “Some branch of it, anyway.”

“Right. So, what's going to happen to us? What's going to happen to
Salutations?
”

And if Ron had had any doubts as to what had been going on for the previous two days, they were gone. Mr. Brill was no dope. He turned in his seat and looked back at Mary who had leaned forward. They nodded at one another.

“I'd think,” Mary told Mr. Brill, “that the media will gather in vast numbers here. Other than that, I couldn't tell you. I reckon we'll all find out.”

Suddenly, the old man braked the car. Ron, who had not been buckled in, slipped forward and slammed against the dash, making a big black mark there. Brill was going to have to pay some bucks to clean his car, unfortunately. “Look,” the driver said, pointing.

In front of them, at the next intersection, at least thirty cars clogged the streets. They were parked everywhere and in every conceivable angle. Most of the people who'd brought them there were still inside, locked safely behind a shield of safety glass and whatever currently passed for auto steel. A few, perhaps foolhardy, souls had gotten out to stand outside their cars and watch. The only clear area was the intersection itself, now a roughly circular spot of black asphalt and pale concrete sidewalks and curbing. In the center of that hard-surfaced ring, something like the ultimate cockfight was going on. Walks Backward had finally caught up to the Scarlet rogue. One of them was going to go down.

 

Walks Backward had not obeyed the orders of the Egg Parents. For the first time in his life he had failed to follow their dictates. It wasn't that he thought that he could continue to keep the Flock a secret from Man. That was done and over. The Scarlet had ultimately and completely seen to that. No, what he wanted, what he
needed
at this point was to satisfy his hatred. He wanted and needed to kill the Scarlet rogue. Nothing less than that could satisfy him.

And so he had left the path of retreat the others had made. It had been his job to scour that path, to close it off to pursuit to any who tracked them. He hoped that another had now taken up the name he had lived with for so long. But beyond that he had no concern other than to catch and kill the rogue who had put him in this position and who had possibly doomed the Flock.

Initially, the Scarlet had not detected that he was being followed. That was good for Walks Backward. If possible, he wanted to attack from a position of complete surprise. The rogue had proven wilier and a bit wiser than any of them had supposed. In the warning oaths communicated by his Flock elders, he had detected some perverse pride in the confusion the Scarlet had brought on them. But that pride was canceled by the danger he had created for them by allowing Man to discover their presence. Initially the Flock had suspected that the one man, the one they called The Watcher, had seen them, but later they had decided that he had not actually spotted them and only suspected their presence. Now there was no doubt. Man knew of them.

For some miles Walks Backward had trailed the rogue. The larger bird had moved closer and closer to the new abode Man had placed at the edge of their domain. The other was going to get as close as possible and bed down there at that dangerous place. That much he supposed. It had been his intention to wait until a time when the Scarlet would rest; then he'd strike. This surprise, coupled with his experience of longer years, would enable him to achieve the kill. It was what he hoped.

Almost, his plan had worked. As he'd thought, the rogue had worked closer and closer to the place where humans made their huge nests. On the very edge of the forest, where it gave way to the great paths on which the humans moved and to the short, grassy spaces that surrounded their nests, the Scarlet had found a sheltered patch of shade where he had stopped. There, he had settled down and actually rested his great head on the forest floor. At that instant, still undetected, Walks Backward had struck.

The smaller bird had sprinted in, covering the fifty-yard distance between them. He'd been happy that he had been able to creep that close without being seen, but the wind had been with him and the Scarlet had not been able to gather his scent. With the rogue still trying to rise to a defense posture, Walks Backward had kicked with his left leg, rising into the air to deliver a single downward slash with his right talon. The blow had been a good one, claws meeting solidly along the rogue's left side, tearing away a good swatch of those red-tinged feathers and leaving a deep furrow with his sturdy middle claw.

After that, the battle had not been so easy. The Scarlet had found his footing and had risen quickly to full height. Even though his adversary was the second largest member of the Flock, the rogue was considerably taller and roughly one hundred pounds heavier. From a standing posture he could look down on the feathered crown of Walks Backward. This gave him an attack advantage based on leverage, and the added weight meant that each blow he delivered would connect with that much more force. Screaming a return challenge, the rogue joined the battle. He did not intend to lose, despite having suffered the first wound.

Lashing out with his own great claws, he was able to force his attacker to back away. After that, he lowered his head and charged, meaning to get in close and bite at the other's deep, fleshy chest. The muscles there were large and thick and vulnerable to attack. Jaws wide, he lunged in and came close, retreating with a beakful of earthtone feathers.

But Walks Backward had expected such a move and had intentionally left that part of himself open to a feint. Waiting until the last possible instant, he had backed away, then kicked upward as the rogue drew back with his meager reward of chest feathers. His upward traveling foot smashed into the younger bird's head, snapping it back and up in a powerful and disorienting blow. The Scarlet rogue was stunned and at a sudden and overpowering disadvantage. His body reeled drunkenly and it even looked as if he would go down.

However, as the elder terror bird lunged to slash again with his right claw, the Scarlet was able to turn. Moving quickly the rogue found his feet steady beneath him, churning the loam and sending himself away from immediate danger. In seconds he had picked up a considerable speed and was heading directly for one of the human homes. There was only a stand of small pines and a low wooden barrier separating their battle site from the human nest. The Scarlet rogue rushed through those green limbs and bounded easily over the barrier.

Walks Backward hesitated only for a second and then followed the object of his hatred. It was too late to play the old games any longer. With a scream, he was after the larger bird.

Immediately the dogs of the humans began to emerge from small dens and from the nests of humans, barking and yapping and sending up a clamor of alarm that was not unfamiliar to any member of the Flock. They had heard the sounds many times from the packs of feral dogs who sometimes tried to insinuate themselves into the birds' domain. With the two sprinting across the grazed grassy patches that surrounded the human nests, men began to emerge from those nests, to see the two creatures who were moving at great speed and in plain sight. Now, if there had been any doubt, a long and successful era was ended for the Flock. With renewed hatred Walks Backward did his best to reduce the lead the Scarlet rogue had produced with his quick retreat and great stride.

The terror birds raced on and on through Salutations USA. The puny humans emerged time and again from their homes, chattering and screaming, chattering and screaming.

 

Ron got out of the car first. Gripping the rifle in his sweaty, bruised hands, he moved as fast as he was able past the parked vehicles and the people who were milling this way and that to get a good look at the battling monsters.

“What are they?” some woman asked him.

“They look like
dinosaurs,
” someone answered.

“They ain't dinosaurs. All the dinosaurs are dead,” a learned individual informed both.