The First Bird: Omnibus Edition

by Greig Beck

  “Dillonbeck … Senator Brock Dillonbeck. He toured the CDC a year ago. He wanted to cut back our funding, and I was one of the specialists tasked with … pushing back.” Carla seemed to search her memory, trying to make a match with the voice she just heard. “I, I just don’t know.”

  Reed grunted. “Might be him, but we can’t ever see him clearly, and the bandages also make a voice match difficult. It’s certainly his style of sermonizing, though.”

  “Nothing like the end of the world to give you a pulpit and an audience,” Matt sighed. “So, how far can we travel?”

  “We took some serious dents, but we’re okay. This is an M1117 Guardian, a highly mobile and lethal Armored Security Vehicle, with armor designed to deal with small-arms fire, mines, IEDs – it can even take an RPG hit. All running on four oversized, high-density, run-flat tires. We can keep going, but it’ll be at a reduced speed.” He shrugged. “Lucky it was me that picked you up in this tin can, or you’d be …”

  “Lucky?” Megan bristled. “Yeah, lucky Joop and lucky Metzger. Just how lucky—”

  Reed swung toward her. “He was my cousin.” He turned back, his jaws working beneath his cheeks, as though chewing on something tough and unpalatable. The words came through gritted teeth. “So yeah, just be thankful it was him and me that picked you up. If we’d been in an open top, we’d all be dead … or worse. There’s talk of cannibalism amongst the militias these days.”

  Matt saw there were tears on Megan’s face. He grasped her shoulder. “Come here, Megs.” She nodded and climbed out of the seat then sat down next to him. Carla came and sat on the other side of her.

  “Sorry.” Her voice was so small, Matt thought he might have imagined the spoken word.

  Reed heard it, and shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.” He turned briefly. “You saved us back there. Thank you.”

  She put her head in her hands, all the bravado of a few minutes ago fleeing her body. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

  Matt bet that not many people had ever killed someone like that. Flamethrowers had been dropped from the US military arsenal after the Korean War – way too brutal a way to die, and the effects on the surviving victims were even worse.

  “You saved our lives, that’s all you need to remember.” Matt hugged her.

  She snorted wetly, looking up into his face. “For what? The world has gone to shit.”

  Carla rubbed Megan’s neck. “Come on, that’s why we’re here, remember? To put it all back together.”

  Megan nodded, but put her face back in her hands.

  They roared on, no thought of stopping again. This time the ride wasn’t as smooth. Matt noticed Sergeant Reed checking the gas gauge often, and guessed that the shredded tires meant the going was rougher, and therefore fuel consumption had gone up. At least, he thought grimly, with Joop and Metzger gone, they now carried less weight.

  “Sorry folks, we need to conserve fuel. I’m only going to turn the air con on for short bursts now.” With that, the background whine disappeared. The vehicle started to heat up immediately.

  After just twenty minutes, Matt wiped his brow; perspiration ran down his face and made his clothing stick to his chest and back. Carla and Megan were saturated and looked just as uncomfortable. He blinked the sting from his eyes as the repellent washed down from his forehead. He leaned forward.

  “This stuff stings like fire.”

  Reed spoke without turning. “Pretty heavy-duty stuff.” He turned to look at them. “We’re going to need to reapply soon; it’s probably all washed off by now.”

  Matt tapped the tank; there was only an inch or so left in the bottom. “Looks like there’s enough left for one more wash down, but maybe not for all of us.”

  “Then get in the suits, we’re nearly home.” Reed turned and grinned. “Gonna be damned hot, but better than ending up a skinner or bloomer, right?”

  *****

  Dillon dragged Metzger’s body to the center of the clearing, ignoring the burning men and women who had been in the flamethrower’s path. He dropped Metzger and placed one large foot on his back.

  Dillon exhaled slowly through his nose, brown fluid leaking down over the bandages covering his lips and chin. He motioned to the still-burning corpses.

  “Oh brothers and sisters, how they treat us.” He looked down and shook his head. “Their friend is dead, and they leave him behind like trash. He is dead because they care about nothing but themselves, and yet they turn the flames of hell upon us for simply asking them to join us, asking them to re-examine their own souls.”

  Slowly, his large, bandaged head came up, his voice growing stronger. Dillon looked around; the field was now filled with bandaged figures, some limping, some bent over or dropping fluid and patches of skin like fleshy leaves from autumn trees. They looked like the damned souls of hell, and he loved them all.

  He smiled and raised an arm, pointing to one, and then another. Some whooped with delight, others fell to their knees as his gaze fell upon them. While he watched, a heavily bandaged figure pushed to the front and offered him a military multi-band walkie-talkie. Dillon lifted it slowly to his ear.

  “Speak.” He listened for several seconds, letting his gaze run across his flock. Behind the bandages his lips slowly began to curl into a smile.

  “No, don’t touch anything. Bring it to Atlanta; I have an immediate use for it.” Dillon tossed the radio device back and nodded to the masses before him.

  “Soon, brothers and sisters. Soon they will beg to join us.” He pointed after the truck. “And we will find them. We know where they are going, we know where they hide, brewing up more monstrosities to unleash upon us.” He opened his arms wide. “We, who are indeed free from pain, know nirvana. But they do not, they are still chained by their fear … and their pathetic skins.”

  Dillon closed his eyes and lifted his head, his voice now a stentorian roar. “Without pain, there would be no suffering, without suffering, we would never learn from our mistakes. To make it right, pain and suffering is the key to all windows, without it, there is no way of life. So sayeth the great goddess Angelina Jolie, may her name be forever blessed.”

  His head dropped again, and his eyes slowly opened. “And we can show them suffering like they have never known.”

  *****

  Matt stood and pulled suits from the rack, then handed one to Megan, and another to Carla. “Ladies’ fitting room to the rear.” He dropped his suit onto the seat, then unzipped the front of the heavy PVC mesh all-in-one suit and studied the instructions plastered on the inside.

  Carla had her legs in the bright orange outfit already, her experience showing. “Air tanks?”

  Reed shook his head. “Nope, but it has micro-filters fine enough to keep a good-sized bacterium out, so it’ll work on the bugs and their eggs.”

  Carla grunted her acknowledgment and sat back down with the hood and Perspex face plate hanging down her back. She turned to see if she could assist Megan, while Matt struggled into his own suit.

  She looked past Matt to Reed. “Want me to take over while you get into yours?”

  “No thanks; I need the extra vision and mobility for driving as we pass into the city proper. I can use some of the spray.” Reed continued to drive without turning. Matt suddenly felt very constricted within the large and bulky suit.

  In another thirty minutes they passed through Mableton and entered the outskirts of western Atlanta. The streets were still eerily quiet, with mountains of rubbish, and a few open car doors. A miserable-looking German shepherd, with sagging, bloody fur, raked around in an open trash bag. Reed slowed to look hard at it.

  “Don’t burn it,” Megan said sharply.

  Matt wondered why she was so suddenly protective of the animal – its days were over anyway. Perhaps she had no stomach for seeing the flamethrower in action again.

  “Better for it, and us, if it was dead.” Reed watched it a few seconds longer, then pulled away.

  “Okay, this is
where it gets tricky. I’m going to break radio silence, and try and raise HQ again, now that we’re close.” Reed pushed a pellet into his ear that looped behind it to hold it in place. He paused, then removed the device and flicked the switch to cabin receive. “Might as well all listen, this concerns us all.”

  He turned a dial on the dashboard, and spoke in a methodical, clipped manner. “This is Sergeant Reed, in Unit One-Zero-Niner, coming in with special guests. Over.”

  Matt, Carla, and Megan were transfixed, listening intently. The clear line suddenly began to hiss and crackle, as if it had somehow been altered to a different frequency. A familiar voice floated into the cabin – but not the one they had expected to hear.

  “You’re not home yet, Sergeant. I’d just like to say that I’m sorry about your friends. It’s terrible losing people, isn’t it? I’ve lost hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands … and you know who did this to us, don’t you?”

  There was more hiss and crackle. “Dillon.” Reed spat the name.

  The crackle cleared momentarily. “Sergeant, if you bring your special guests to me, I can promise you no harm will come to them. In fact, I can also promise you wealth, power, and … a cure. Together we can bring the strongholds down. But first they need to shed their corrupt layers and see the beauty of the skinless …”

  “Fuck off.” Reed fiddled with the frequency.

  “This is Bennings, come back One-Zero-Niner.”

  “This is Reed, good to hear you, Sir.”

  “Where’d you go, Sergeant? You dropped out.”

  “Unwelcome hijack, by you-know-who, sir. We’re coming in now.”

  “Good to hear. We’ve got a chopper up, that’ll keep you under surveillance. You can come in via Houston Mill Road. Do not stop, do not get out – this is heavy skinner and bloomer territory … and be careful, our hijacker has a lot of friends on the perimeter.”

  “Copy that. See you all within the hour – God willing.”

  Reed flicked the switch up, then turned and grinned. “Nearly home, folks.”

  He turned back to the windscreen and the now lumbering vehicle lurched forward, the tires low and squashy on the debris-covered road.

  Matt turned to Megan and shrugged. “Home? I can’t even remember what it looks like anymore.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Beats a jungle, I guess.”

  Carla was leaning back against the wall of the cabin, her face turned to the window so she could watch the passing streetscape. Suddenly she jumped forward, startling Matt, and pressed her nose to the armored glass. “Stop!”

  “Jesus! What? No way, lady.” Reed hunched his shoulders and continued driving.

  “I said, stop … the truck … now!” Carla was yelling, her voice near ear-splitting as she punched out every word. “There’s a little kid out there.”

  Megan and Matt looked, but saw nothing. “Carla, are you sure?”

  Her voice didn’t lower a single decibel. “I said, stop this fucking truck, or so help me, I’ll …”

  Reed jammed on the brakes and swung in his seat. “What part of ‘don’t stop’ did you not understand? Look, you cannot help these people, Dr. Nero. But you can do a hell of a lot more good by being at the—”

  Carla hit the door button, and flipped her hood up, sealing it, as the door lifted. She was out before Sergeant Reed could react.

  “Wait, Carla, wait!” Matt pulled on his hood and leapt after her, with Megan hot on his heels.

  *****

  Now free of the vehicle’s cabin, they could hear the wails of a little girl drifting from around the corner.

  Carla was already running. Matt and Megan did the same, trying not to let her get too far ahead of them. Matt had to hold down the front of his suit to keep the Perspex faceplate centered over his eyes; the hood tended to slip back, obscuring his vision. He breathed in damp air – even though the micro-filters allowed a good flow of air, the transfer was slow, and the heat and humidity of respiration built up in the suits almost immediately. These things weren’t built for running in.

  Rounding the corner, they saw that Carla had stopped about ten feet from a tiny figure. The little girl was holding something that had probably once been white – a rabbit, or an old teddy bear. She was dressed in nothing more than a bedraggled nightdress, her stick-like arms and legs covered in bruises. She had her hands up over her face as she sobbed.

  Matt and Megan pulled up behind Carla. The girl was sandwiched between them and a mob of about a dozen people, many holding stones, broomsticks, and, in one man’s hand, a long shovel. Around the girl’s feet broken debris attested to the mob’s actions.

  Carla advanced, pointing to the group of people. “Stay where you are. Stay back from her, you …”

  The people stared wide-eyed at the bright orange suit gesturing wildly at them. Matt picked up a broken broomstick and brandished it. A few of the people wandered away, losing interest; several stayed, their faces creased in anger. They pointed at the small girl and said something, but their words were muffled by the masks tied over their chins.

  “Piss off.” Matt threw his stick with surprisingly good aim, striking one of the men in the chest. The man swore and reached around behind him. When his hand reappeared it held a hunting knife as long as his arm.

  “Oh, shit,” Matt whispered.

  The little girl pulled her hands away from her face. As soon as she saw Carla, she screamed, the bulky suit too much for her already strained nerves. Carla held up her hands and kneeled, keeping her movements slow and calm. She carefully reached up and unzipped her suit, pushing back the hood and exposing her sweat-streaked face. She smiled at the little girl, who stopped crying.

  “Carla, that’s not a good idea.” Matt looked for another weapon. Megan appeared beside him with a trash can lid.

  The man with the knife screamed, his voice still muffled through his mask but the volume giving his words form.

  “Are you fucking crazy? You wanna die? She’s about to pop, man.”

  He pointed his blade at the girl and took a step toward her just as Reed backed the ASV into the street. The electronic whine coming from the roof-mounted cannon as it swung toward him spoke louder than words.

  The knife-man shook his head. “Your funeral, bitch.” He motioned to his companions and slowly backed up the deserted street. Carla let fly with a bottle for good measure.

  The ASV’s door opened, and Reed motioned with his thumb. Carla ignored him and turned back to the girl, holding out her hand. The girl did the same, their fingers touching.

  Reed banged on the window with his fist. Matt watched as he shouted to her from behind the armored glass, his motions becoming more determined. He was the only one without a suit, so he was loath to leave the sterilized cabin.

  By now Carla had the little girl by the shoulders and was kneeling directly in front of her. Matt and Megan approached, and saw that what they had thought was a teddy bear was in fact a dead cat – or rather, just the remains of its fur, stiffened at one end with something rust-colored.

  “Oh God.” Megan put her hand to where her mouth would be behind the faceplate.

  Carla smiled and brushed hair from the girl’s face. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” She gently wiped at the girl’s grimy brow with her thumb. As the oily dirt came away, they could see the lumps – flesh-colored, and the size of peas under her skin.

  “Dr. Nero, please put your suit back on and get away from her.” It was too much for Sergeant Reed, who had got out of the vehicle. His sidearm was in his hand, and he kept glancing from Carla to the buildings on either side of the road.

  He talked through gritted teeth, perhaps hoping the dental barrier would somehow keep anything nasty from entering his mouth. “I can’t be out here. Please, you must get away from her, she’s a bloomer, or soon will be. You can’t help her.”

  “What?” Carla’s face screwed up into a mix of disbelief and fury. “Well, we’re going to goddamn try.”

&nb
sp; “No … we are not. Come on people, this is exactly what we were told not to do.” Reed spoke while watching the street.

  Carla turned back to the girl, ignoring him. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

  “Maddie; everyone calls me Maddie.” She sniffed.

  Carla looked like she had received an electric jolt. “Maddie … Madeleine?” She blinked a few times, then pushed the hair back off Maddie’s lumpy face. “My name is Carla. Now, do you remember where your mommy and daddy are?”

  Maddie sniffed some more. Her mouth turned down. “Mommy’s skin all fell off, and daddy went out to get some food and didn’t come back. All I’ve got left is Baloo.” She held up the bedraggled piece of skin and fur.

  Carla recoiled slightly – Matt assumed the smell of the dead animal must have been revolting.

  Reed edged closer, walking sideways. “Please, please get back from her, she’s highly contagious. Those bumps … they’re full of the mite eggs.”

  Megan grimaced behind the screen of her faceplate. “We’ve still got enough bug spray on to give an elephant asthma, and we’re in suits. We’ll be safe.”

  “No, we won’t – we’re not safe here, and we’re not safe from her.” Reed angled himself so he could watch the houses and darker areas of the street. “You know that Dillon has his followers watching for us by now.” He glanced at Carla. “And she can’t come with us. Sorry.”

  Reed took a step back toward the ASV, but Carla shook her head.

  “We can’t, we won’t just leave her.” Carla stood, gripping the girl’s forearm. Maddie winced from the gentle pressure.

  Skin sensitive to the touch, Matt noted.

  Reed paused, his face imploring. “I’ll explain when we’re back in the truck. Look, I’ll send someone for her, I promise. Okay?”

  “No deal. She comes, or I stay.” Carla stood firm.

  “There must be other options, Sergeant.” Megan went and stood with Carla.

  Matt motioned to Reed. “Just give us a minute here.” He knelt beside the tiny girl and smiled, hoping she could see his face behind the steamed-up faceplate.