Chris Pourteau - Tails of the Apocalypse

“Can’t let them do this,” mumbled Joe to himself.

Surly hopped out from behind the box. “Bad bird,” she scolded. Joe knelt down to pick her up.

“I know,” he said. “I was really bad. This is worse than everything else we’ve done. I can’t let them do it again. But they’ll be at it all night. What can I do?”

Surly tapped the door with her beak. “Nuh-night,” she chirped helpfully.

“If only I could bring the Cure here. I know Gray would do the right thing if he were just certain it was real…”

“Bad bird!” squawked Surly. Nothing that Gray did was right. Even she could see that. Joe opened the back door. The way was clear. A soft night breeze blew fresh air over Surly. She hopped toward the door.

“They’ll know I’m gone,” said Joe to himself. “They’ll know what I’ve done and come after me.”

There was movement in the hall outside the shop. The next procedure was about to start.

“Have to try,” said Joe grimly. He looked down at Surly with a smile. “Stall ’em for me, will you?” He laughed. “Must be crazy, plotting with a bird.”

Surly hopped to the entrance and looked out. The flat parking lot spread out farther than she’d imagined anything could. The air was clean and sweet in contrast to the fetid stench of the shop. She even thought she caught the scent of ripe berries. No cages. No humans poking things at her or grabbing or scolding.

“Well,” he said to her, “in or out. I have to go, and fast!”

Surly looked up at him. With nothing to delay the bad man, he’d catch Joe for sure. He’d hurt Joe. Joe who didn’t yell when she bit him. Who took her away from the roiling smoke. Who saved her. The bells on the shop’s front door jangled. The men were back with another Infected. “Nuh-night, Joe,” she cooed softly, then flapped away, back into the store. Joe slid out the door and gently closed it without a sound.

It was up to her to stop them, to buy Joe some time.

She flew around the back room in a loop. The men had been very careful to clean everything before they started. They’d put the tools in water and scrubbed down the table. Maybe if she soiled it, they’d have to stop and clean it again.

Surly landed on the table, her claws clicking on its hard surface. She let a few droppings splatter behind her onto the table and tried to grab the tools. But they were heavy. She nudged the bowl, trying to tip it before the men came in. She could hear Gray talking to them in the front and knew she didn’t have much time. She flew up and hurtled back down toward the bowl, her momentum nudging it off the small stool and dumping the tools onto the floor with a clattering splash.

She surveyed her work. Not enough. They’d have it cleaned in seconds. A cup of bloody teeth and filthy nail shavings sat on the counter next to the table. Surly found it light enough to pick up with her claws. She dumped it and the teeth skittered across the table, leaving bloody trails behind them.

The men were coming. The table was as dirty as she could make it. She glided over the heads of the men to the top of one of the shelves. Surly heard them swearing as they saw the table. She tucked her head under her wing, confident she’d distracted them enough.

After a few moments of swearing, the men had started the fire again, trying to boil enough water to sterilize the table and tools again. Surly had fallen asleep waiting for Joe, sure she’d delayed the men for long enough. When she woke to the screams of an Infected, she knew they’d returned to their grisly dental work. She tried to come up with another plan to stop them, even though she thought it pointless. Humans didn’t learn. They were so stubborn. But Joe thought it was important, so she fluttered down to the floor and the safety of deep shadows.

A new Infected was strapped down to the table. Gray was back, yanking teeth with a satisfied grin. The man on the table writhed and screamed, choking on the blood that spilled from his gums. Surly didn’t know what good it would do to try to stop Gray. He’d just go get another.

She didn’t even know why she cared. She didn’t like when things suffered, but it was how the world worked. Big ate little. Fast beat slow. Strong took weak’s food and mates and home.

But Joe cared. He wanted to change how it worked. And Surly Shirley was realizing she cared about Joe. So Gray had to stop because Joe wanted him to stop. The world had to change.

She hopped under the metal table, unseen by the men. She stood near Gray’s legs, looking for a vulnerable spot. Then she sank her beak into the meaty part of one leg. There was a clatter above her as he dropped the pliers and bent down, his hand swatting blindly. She waited until she saw his face, then pecked as hard as she could before hopping out of reach.

She’d missed his eye. Surly darted in again, grim and silent. She bit his ear and hung on for a second. Gray roared and Surly let go, intending to flutter away for another pass, but she was too late. One of the other men grabbed her right out of the air. She tried to claw his arm, but he just squeezed. It hurt and she went limp, hoping it would make him relent.

“Give me that fucking chicken,” growled Gray. The man handed her over, and Gray flung her against the wall near the trash can. She hit and tumbled, seeing stars. Surly struggled to get upright but couldn’t stand. She lay on the floor next to the can, stunned and in pain.

Gray turned back to the Infected. Surly knew she was powerless to stop him now. The screams resumed. Surly lay on the cold linoleum and listened to them for hours. She thought hearing that constant shrieking would push all the words she knew right out of her brain. All that’d be left would be the unending sound of human screaming.

At last the door opened and the cool, clean air ruffled through Surly’s feathers. She saw Joe’s boots, and then another pair. Bloody and sweating, Gray turned around from his gruesome work.

“Who the hell is this, Joe?” he asked, brandishing the pliers, a bloody tooth still clasped in them.

“I wanted to show you. I knew if you heard it for yourself, you’d help me get the Cure to the herd.”

Gray motioned for the other men to take the Infected out. “You’re from the City?” he asked the stranger.

The other pair of boots shuffled. “Yes, I’m one of the soldiers defending it. We have plenty of room. We can take you all. We just have to go a few miles and we’ll reach the nearest Cure camp—”

“There’s no such thing,” snapped Gray.

“Oh, but there is. I know it seems impossible, but the Cure works. I’ve seen it myself. It takes a few days, but they wake up perfectly sane.”

“See?” said Joe. “And the City has food and electricity, Gray. We could go back to normal there. All of us. No more fighting, no more starving, no more running from guys with more guns. We can be there tonight.”

Gray seemed to consider it as he moved closer to the two men. He dropped the pliers on the table and wiped his hands on his pants, leaving dark brown bloodstains. Surly wanted to call a warning, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know if she was paralyzed from the fall earlier or from fear. Gray was bad. All bad. Deep-down bad. He didn’t want to quit, he wanted to keep hurting forever. It was like a foul odor that came off Gray in waves. How did Joe not see it? Surly tried again to say anything, make any sound. But she couldn’t.

“Oh, Joe,” said Gray when he was standing a few inches from him, “what did you do?” His hand flashed out and he grabbed the soldier by the throat.

“No! Stop!” cried Joe, trying to pull Gray’s hand away. But he was too late. Gray flipped his knife out with his free hand and plunged it into the soldier’s neck. He released the dying man, and the soldier choked to death on his own blood as he slumped to the floor.