James Smith - The Flock

"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.