Greg Cox - A Touch of Fever

Artie took shelter beneath the shower. He plopped his hard hat onto Claudia’s skull instead. “It’s making a break for it!” The bird monster smashed through the skylight on its way out. Cubes of safety glass rained down on them. Artie raised an arm to protect his eyes.

The glass cubes pelted him like hail. They bounced off Claudia’s hard hat. “Whoa!” she said. “That’s what I call an exit.” Alarms sounded all over the Warehouse. Spinning red lights imitated the tops of cop cars. A stentorian voice, immediately recognizable as belonging to Mrs. Frederic, boomed from the PA system. “Red alert! Warehouse security breach in progress. Repeat: security breach in progress.”

“Tell me about it.” Artie silenced the alarms by clicking a remote device in his pocket. He glowered at the shattered skylight. “That glass was supposed to be unbreakable. Do you know how much it cost?”

“Never mind that.” Claudia took off the hard hat. Her hair was still plastered with goo. “Big Bird has flown the coop.” She sounded like she didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned. “Where do you think it’s winging to now?” Artie already knew. “The thunderbird is a bird of prey. Its predatory instincts will surely drive it to attack the nearest populated settlement, just as it did over one hundred and fifty years ago.” “Populated?” Claudia didn’t need to consult a map.

“Ohmigod. You don’t mean…?” Artie completed the thought for her.

“Univille.”

“UNIVILLE

” It wasn’t even noon yet, but the UnFounders Day celebration was already under way. The town had lucked out, weatherwise, with a clear blue sky and temperatures climbing toward the eighties. Not a single cloud threatened to dampen the annual festivities. A bustling street fair extended the length of Main Street, which had been closed off for the duration. Temporary booths hawked lemonade, cotton candy, and roasted corn on the cob. Local businesses offered special UnFounders Day bargains. A high school band performed in the town square, their bombastic renditions of the latest Top 40 hits benefitting more from enthusiasm than execution. Clubs and charities raised funds by selling homemade birdhouses, ceramics, bonsai plants, and other crafts. Bake sales competed with the snack stands. An inflatable moon bounce had been set up for the kids. A papier-mache replica of Mount Rushmore gazed from atop the bandstand.

The street and sidewalks were packed with locals. Getting into the spirit of things, various townsfolk had dressed up in frontier garb.

Sitting Bull and Buffalo Bill mingled with Laura Ingalls Wilder. Leena counted at least three Crazy Horses. Most everybody looked like they were having a good time. Shining auras commingled, creating a dazzling prismatic effect. At least, for those with eyes to see. Leena wished she could enjoy it more. As a local business owner and card-carrying member of the Univille Chamber of Commerce, she’d felt obliged to make an appearance, but her heart wasn’t in it. How could it be, with Pete dying of typhoid fever thousands of miles away? Her throat tightened as she remembered the first time she had met Pete, the day he and Myka had moved into the B amp;B. They had both been very frazzled and disoriented, but she had done her best to make them feel at home. To be honest, she’d found Pete attractive at the start and had flirted with him shamelessly that first afternoon. There had been a definite vibe between them, although she had known better than to let it go any further than that; getting involved with a Warehouse agent would have been much too complicated. Besides, she no longer thought of Pete that way. He was family now. Which made his terminal condition all the more frightening. “Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Lozenko eyed Leena with concern. Her bulldog tugged at its leash. The old woman’s aura was looking much healthier today. She must have remembered her vitamins.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Leena discreetly dabbed a tear away. “I just got something in my eye.” She petted the dog, who was sniffing at her ankles. “Is Lola enjoying the festivities?” “Too much so. I have to make sure she doesn’t eat too much junk food off the ground.” She dragged the dog away from Leena. “Come along, baby.” She waved at Leena. “You have a nice day, dear.” “I’ll try.” She watched them depart, then let her friendly smile fade. She’d hoped that the street fair might take her mind off Pete’s impending demise, but it wasn’t working. Trying to put on a happy front for her neighbors while Pete lay dying was just too hard. I’ve been here long enough. Turning around, she decided to retreat back to the B amp;B. Not that she expected to feel any better there. When a Warehouse agent died or disappeared in the line of duty, his or her personal quarters and effects were carted up and transported to the Warehouse, where they were stored indefinitely. Tucked out of sight, and accessible only via an elaborate conveyor belt mechanism, were the private rooms of every lost agent, preserved exactly as they had left them, right down to the last detail. Leena had helped Artie pack up such lodgings before. She was in no hurry to do the same for Pete’s room. Or Myka’s, for that matter. She offered up a silent prayer that Artie and Claudia had a line on Clara Barton’s gloves by now. Forget stewing at the B amp;B. Maybe the others could use a hand back at the Warehouse? Her car was parked at home, just a few blocks away. If she hurried, she could be in Artie’s office by lunchtime. She could throw together a salad and some healthy snacks too. Artie and Claudia could probably use a decent meal at this point. Her cell phone buzzed. She plucked it from her purse.

Caller ID informed her that the caller was not listed anywhere. The Warehouse, in other words. Maybe there was good news about Pete? She answered the call. “Hello?” Artie didn’t waste exchanging greetings.

“Where are you?” “Downtown. At the festival.” His urgent tone frightened her. “What is it? What’s wrong?” “The festival?” She could practically hear him process that data. It was odd not to see his face on a screen, but a Farnsworth might have attracted unwanted attention.

Better to stick to an ordinary cell phone for now. “UnFounders Day, right. Is that today?” The occasion had clearly slipped his mind. No surprise, given all that was going on. “Yes,” she informed him.

“Everybody is here.” “Of course they would be,” he said mordantly.

“This would have to happen on UnFounders Day…” “ What would happen?” she pressed him. “The Nisqually Totem Pole. It got loose.” A horrified gasp escaped her. She was well acquainted with the totem’s savage history. “How?” “No time to explain.” He sounded stressed and impatient, even by Artie standards. “The thunderbird is heading your way.” She instantly grasped the danger. “But… the festival. The streets are packed.” “Easy pickings for the thunderbird.” His dour expression was easy to imagine. “You need to get everybody off the street. There’s no time to lose.” She glanced around at the bustling commotion. Pretty much the entire population of the town had turned out for the event. Hundreds of unsuspecting people enjoyed themselves, completely unaware of the danger they were in. An entire Boy Scout troop swept past her on the sidewalk, jostling her as she spoke. Mrs.

Lozenko and her dog hadn’t gotten far. The high school band was still going strong. Applause greeted their off-key interpretation of Lady Gaga. “Easier said than done, Artie. The festival is in full swing.”

She was tempted to take out her Farnsworth so he could see for himself, but he seemed to get the idea. “Which just makes it all the more important that you get everyone indoors, pronto,” he stated, “or we’re going to have a full-scale massacre on our hands.” Leena remembered what had happened in 1848. She had personally scanned the original newspaper bulletins and U.S. Cavalry reports into the new computers. The totem’s attack had been a feeding frenzy. The thought of the same thing happening here, in her home, filled her with dread-and resolve. “All right, Artie. I know what to do.” She marched briskly toward the park. “But what about the thunderbird?” “Leave that to Claudia and me. We’re on our way.” Leena peered up at the sky, looking anxiously for a pair of ominous red and black wings. There was no sign of them yet, but that was small comfort. Univille was only about seven miles away from the Warehouse, maybe less as the crow flew. The voracious bird could be here any minute. “Hurry, Artie!”