Chris Pourteau - Tails of the Apocalypse

There’s loyalty for you, thought Surly with a pang of regret for Princess. The pig didn’t last long. The men at the end of the line frowned at their portions. One of them tossed a plate in disgust onto the counter next to Surly’s cage. “I’m sick of these scanty rations, Gray,” he grumbled. “You promised us decent wages.”

“And you’ll have them,” said Gray without bothering to look up from his plate. “We’re almost at the payout. A few more nights’ work and we’ll all be able to retire. If the pork doesn’t satisfy, toss that chicken next to you into the pot.” He jerked his thumb toward Surly’s cage. The man who complained bent down to look at her. She squawked as he reached a hand toward the latch. She wasn’t going to go willingly.

“No, don’t do that!” cried Joe.

“Why not?” asked the man without pausing. The door squeaked opened. Surly beat her wings and opened her beak to bite.

“Because it’s a parrot. They’re really smart. It’d be like—like eating a person.”

“Bullshit, it’s just a bird.” The man’s thick hand hovered at the cage door.

“Look,” said Joe, handing over his own plate, “if you’re hungry take mine. Leave the bird alone.”

The man turned and looked at the small bit of meat on the plate. “Not the only one that’s hungry. Besides, I haven’t had chicken in months. And what do you care? It’s just going to die in its cage anyway.”

“I’ll trade you something,” said Joe, trying to close the cage.

The man laughed. “You don’t have anything left, Joe. You lost the last of your tobacco in the poker game, and you traded Ben those batteries so he’d let that sweet little piece go two towns back. You got nothing.”

Joe hesitated. “You can have the last bottle of tequila.”

The man whistled low and long. Surly hopped on her perch, not certain whether to be relieved or not at the sound.

“Your last bottle, Joe? You could buy a woman with that. Or a doctor. Why do you want this bird so bad?”

Joe shrugged.

“It’s empty isn’t it? You’re trying to trick me out of a meal.” The man plunged his hand back into the cage and clutched Surly roughly. She stabbed him with her beak, and he swore but held on.

“No, no!” said Joe, “It’s brand new, full, I’ll get it, just—just put the bird back.”

Joe pushed his way out of the crowded shop as the man released Surly and pulled his hand back to suck the skin she’d bitten. Joe came back with a silver bottle that gleamed in the firelight. The man smiled and handed Joe the cage. “Don’t know why you care about a stupid seagull, but it’s good doing business with you.” He grabbed Joe’s plate. “Taking this too.” Joe let the plate go, waving him off and lifting the cage to his face. He opened the door and gently smoothed Surly’s rumpled feathers.

“Sorry, Shirley. You okay, pretty bird?”

“Pretty bird. Pretty Joe,” she clucked beneath his soothing strokes. He unwrapped the last of his dried apple slices and held it on his palm. She carefully picked it up. The crowd of men was leaving as Walt threw a box of cloth cat toys onto the fire. Another silver bowl of water boiled in the coals, and Gray threw in some metal tools.

“We going to do it in here?” asked Walt.

“Back room,” said Gray. “On the vet table. We’ll restrain ’em with the leashes. You wash the table off. Make sure you bleach it or sterilizing the tools will be pointless. We got to keep em from getting sick.” Gray laughed. “Sicker, I mean. Joe, go get the Infected.”

Surly glanced at the back door. It might open again if they were doing something back there. Then again, she had a better chance for sympathy with Joe. If only she could make him understand. She decided to stick with him. After the other two went to prepare the table, she flew up to his shoulder. He still had little crusts of blood under his nose, and his cheeks were swollen and dark under the eyes. He shook his head as she cocked hers sideways to look at him.

“No, Shirley, you don’t want to see this. You stay here.” He held out a finger for her to climb on, but she refused. He wiggled his shoulder. She flapped but clung on.

“All right,” he said, “but I don’t have anything for you, that was the last apple.”

He opened the front door and its tiny bells jingled. They turned down the hallway and into the large clothing store. The racks had been shoved to the side, and dozens of humans stood in the empty center, each bound with rope except for their feet. Thick pieces of cloth blocked their mouths, but they still made the continuous moan that had warned Surly earlier. They shuffled to and fro but never moved far or looked at anything for very long. Not even each other.

Something was wrong with them, but Surly didn’t have a lot of experience with human behavior, seeing only customers of the store for a few moments at a time. Joe grabbed the closest one by the lead rope binding her hands. Surly noticed the woman was muddy and scratched, something she was sure humans found uncomfortable. At least, the ones she knew would.

Joe led the woman grimly back to the pet shop, Surly still attached to his shoulder. The bells rang again and the woman jerked and snapped her head around, as if she were looking for the sound. The puppies began to whine immediately. They knew something was wrong with the woman. Surly fluttered down to the floor as Joe led the woman into the back room.

Surly didn’t want Gray to see her and force her back into the cage. She inched around toward the exit door, ready to dart out. Where was she going to go? She wasn’t sure, but it had to be better than the dark pet shop. The men were struggling with the bound woman, lifting her onto the table and tying her down. She snapped her head from side to side and kicked, but the ropes held her tight.

Gray took off the thick mouthpiece and fished a steaming pair of silver pliers from the dog bowl. “Walt, hold her down. Make sure she doesn’t get loose. Joe, you got to keep her mouth open for me.”

Joe looked down at the woman on the table. Surly saw the flash of a tear falling from his face.

“Joe, pay attention! I’m trusting you to keep her mouth open so she doesn’t bite me. You understand?”

Joe nodded and put one hand on the woman’s forehead and the other on her bottom jaw, forcing open her mouth. “Shouldn’t we—isn’t there something for the pain?” he asked.

“Did I have painkillers when that bitch broke my arm? No. There aren’t any more. Besides, look at her mouth. Most of her teeth are rotten. It’ll probably be a relief when they’re gone.”

The woman screamed as Gray pulled on the first tooth. Surly hopped around, nervous. She found a tall box of dog pillows and shuffled behind it, out of sight.

“Damn,” swore Gray, “it broke.” The woman continued her screaming. It went on and on, the puppies barking and growling, the woman shrieking and choking on the blood. Joe winced with every tooth. At last, Gray stuffed the cloth mouthpiece back. “Get her hands,” he said to Walt. Walt uncurled the woman’s bloody fist and forced it flat onto the table, holding it there. Gray began casually cutting the long, jagged nails on the woman’s hands. “That took longer than I expected,” he grumbled, “but with practice I’ll get faster. Next patient, nurse!” He elbowed Joe cheerfully.

“I can’t do this,” said Joe, his face a pale, sweaty moon. “I can’t take two dozen more of those.”

Gray glared at him, but then softened his gaze. “Ah, you’re just tired. Don’t blame you, it’s been a long day. Tell you what, we’ll get some of the other guys to do a few while we sleep. Wake up refreshed and ready to tackle more.” He slapped Joe on the back. Joe didn’t respond. Walt untied the woman and led her out, blood already soaking through her cloth mouthpiece. Gray strode out after him.