The Birds, They're Back

by Wendy Reakes

  Mark had stopped walking. He had turned his head in the direction she’d pointed. Now he too witnessed the threat of the waiting, preying beasts.

  As all hope was lost, and as her knees began to buckle under the weight of such an ominous burden, she heard a whisper coming from the rows of white houses on the right-hand side of the hill.

  She was reluctant to tear her gaze from the crows, knowing that she would be lost if she looked away. But, she heard that whisper again, stronger that time, from someone behind a wall.

  When she slowly turned her head, she saw a boy wearing a black Adidas T-shirt, the logo looking odd in that place of portending death. He gestured for her and Mark to follow him.

  Slowly they walked to the dark place behind the wall, which protected the big white house from trespassers. They crouched down, pinning themselves to the cold stone, as if the wall could stop them from perishing.

  The young boy’s eyes darted from left to right. He didn’t speak, he just kept his fingers pressed to his lips, as his eyes revealed terror and his bravery held strong.

  With their bodies bent, like soldiers on a mission, they followed him, as the wall continued along the width of the garden, to an old potting shed, where a path went down the side, between discarded tools, forks, spades, an upturned wheelbarrow…

  The boy rushed them along the path to a hole in the wall adjacent to the last. Inside was another garden, well-tended, ornamental, organised, and at its end, a grand, elegant house with shutters over every window, where, at the top, in the centre, was a glass observatory dome.

  They went with him down a path leading straight to the house. They couldn't see the birds, but they knew they were there. They were louder now, as if they were communicating their plan of attack, a strategy for killing all that moved on the ground.

  They had little time left.

  Ellen knew that any second the birds would take flight, to seek their prey and to begin another systematic attack. At the house, Ellen saw an open cellar door in front of them, like a large wooden upwards hatch. Mark stayed behind her as they followed the boy down wooden steps inside the opening.

  When they were all in, Mark pulled the flaps closed, just as the birds lifted their wings to soar into the sky.

  The hatch was bolted by an elderly man. He regarded Ellen and Mark as if he was about to appraise their characters. Then with soundless approval, he gestured for them to follow.

  Collectively, the four crossed the cellar floor to another set of stairs, where, at the top, a dark green wooden door had been left ajar. Beyond it, they entered a corridor, dark, except for the morning light filtering through the shutters and the gaps of slatted air vents. Shadows danced over the walls as the birds outside fluttered about, desperately seeking a way through the barricades.

  When the noise got louder, Mark Shark covered his ears, as he attempted to block out the insane squawking and screaming outside. Finally, as he and Ellen lost their footing along the corridor, they collapsed against the side walls in a bid to escape the deadly threat beyond the house.

  The old man and the boy coaxed them out of the corridor, into a hall where they stood on a floor of black and white decorative tiles. Across the room, above the entrance to the house, a crescent-shaped window was covered over with planks of wood, nailed to the sides. But the most bizarre thing of all was above their heads. Through the glass dome, they observed the frantic charge of birds stamping their feet.

  Ellen huddled against a dresser on the side wall as they all looked upwards to penetrating eyes and hungry beaks. “They can’t get in, so don’t worry,” the old man shouted above the hideous noise. “The glass is covered in very strong chicken wire. I promise you, we’re very safe.”

  He hugged the boy. “Where were you, Thomas?” He shook him and then hugged him, one cancelling out the other.

  To introduce himself, he extended his hand towards Ellen.

  She looked from him to the birds above, as their silhouettes cast shadows over the floor, moving, never silent or still. The way he held out his hand seemed out of place somehow, that to introduce himself during the attack was a blight against what was true and real and normal. It made a mockery of decency…somehow.

  “I am Doctor Martin Long,” he said. “And this is my grandson Tom.”

  She didn’t care what his name was. She only cared about the birds.

  “They’ll stop soon, and we can have a cup of tea if you like.”

  The dastardly birds went on for another five minutes, pecking the cage over the dome, demanding to be let in. The expression on their faces were of anger and impatience. They tilted their heads from side to side, and then offered a peck, a hard knock of the beak, as if they were directing them with precision through the wired hexagons. They clutched the wire, their claws curling around it as if they were anchoring themselves to get better leverage.

  Just before they gave up and flew away, the professor said, “Aren’t they magnificent?”

  Chapter 41

  They were back on the road. Weaving the truck through narrow lanes with hedgerows on both sides. Occasionally, they saw a break, a lane leading away from the main drag, or a gated fence enclosing straying cattle. Bill wondered why the birds didn’t go after the cattle. Maybe, they thought they were easy prey, that they could have taken the animals long ago, but now they wanted man, not beast.

  He thought back to the incident at McDonald's. The birds had formed a dark cloud in the sky outside the broken windows where no protection was to be had. Bill and the others had clung to the walls, hiding, out of sight of any birds-eye-view.

  Then Bill heard them pass. He stood up as the sound of their soaring flight faded. He told everyone else to stay hidden until he shouted the all-clear. And then, as if it was nothing abnormal, a large black and white seabird appeared out of nowhere and perched itself on the broken window frame, right next to them. Bill and the bird stared each other out. Not one, man nor bird, letting go of the visual attachment. Until a hand came out of nowhere and grabbed it.

  As the gull stretched out its widespan wings, Harry Fear, with his face contorted, kneeled to the floor and held the bird in a tight grip. He was merciless as it struggled to get free from beneath his knee. With pure hatred in his eyes, he took hold of its long, thick neck and twisted it until it broke, finally lolling to the side across Harry’s arms.

  That was a defining moment when Bill finally realised that birds could no longer be classed as man's feathered friends. It was an unnatural shift of loyalties, an unfair betrayal.

  As he drove, he looked to Harry sitting at his side. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve never touched a bird before, let alone wrung its neck.” He was staring at his hands as Bill kept his eyes on the road. “It was warm. The feel of it sickened me.”

  “Throttled many birds in my time,” Bill said.

  “How? I mean, when?”

  “Chickens.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “What you did back there was very brave.”

  “Was it? I thought it was impulsive. Wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “It could have backfired. Put everyone in danger.”

  “Well, it didn’t,” Bill said. “You were just protecting us.”

  “No.” He shook his head, trying to make Bill understand. “I did it for revenge. I wanted to break every bone in its body for what those birds did to Melanie. It was all about revenge.”

  "Look," Bill said, pointing up ahead, where the road was completely blocked as if they'd just caught the back end of a traffic jam. They were at a junction, where abandoned cars crossed the road in both lanes on both sides of the road leading to Exeter, where the south met the M5 north.

  Dolly placed her hand on his shoulder as Bill slowed down the truck. She spoke quietly in his ear. “I’m wondering if we should go back home?” She held onto his shoulder. “If they’ve flown north, why are we going there when we could just go back?”

  He lifted his hand and patted he
rs. “We can’t go back now, Dolly.” Bill wouldn’t say there was nothing to go back to. Nor that the birds had already conquered Cornwall. Besides, Bill wouldn’t abandon Harry and he was positive Harry would carry on without him if necessary, if only to get Melanie back to Bristol.

  Bill saw a gate on the corner of a field. With determination he turned the truck to the right and instructed Harry to get out and open it. The wheels rattled over cattle grids as he drove into the field.

  The ride was a bumpy one, but it was manageable. Bill knew his way around farmland. There would be places where the farmers crossed streams and hedgerows with their tractors, thus allowing his truck the same access, but it felt strange travelling over someone else’s land without their permission. He wouldn’t have wanted people traipsing over his property, but since the end-of-days had arrived, people should be free to do as they chose, within limits. They could walk into the tower and take the crown jewels if they felt like it…wait…wasn’t the Tower of London protected by ravens? He recalled one of the superstitions he’d heard, ‘If the Tower’s ravens flew away, the Crown would fall and Britain with it. Bill wondered if the ravens had already fled.

  His erratic thoughts were disturbed when they came upon a farmhouse at the edge of a field, with a track leading from a turning area to the main road. Beyond a gate he saw cars queued up and abandoned by their drivers and passengers.

  Bill stopped the truck just outside the house as an old lady walked out with a shotgun pointed right at them. “Don’t come any closer,” she shouted.

  She was a big lady wearing denim jeans, and an oversized lumberjacket, but she still had her slippers on.

  Bill cut the engine and stepped out, holding his hands in the air as if he was playing out a scene in an old American western. “We mean no offence trespassing, missus.”

  She stood on the decking in front of the house where just one step went upwards between wooden columns holding up an overhanging roof. He noticed a rickety looking rocking chair next to the door. It was a western after all, Bill thought with unintentional humour.

  “I’m not putting up the entire population of Cornwall. Be on your way,” the old woman said. “There’s nothing I’ve got that you need.”

  “Just information,” Bill said, slowly moving forward with his arms outstretched as she pointed the gun right at him. “That’s all. Just information.”

  From behind, he heard one of the doors open and close. Then Gladys came around from the other side of the truck. “Put that weapon down, now,” she said pacing towards her. “Who do think you are, Annie Oakley?”

  The woman let the shotgun drop to her side. Her voice shook when she said, “Well, what’d you want to know?”

  Whilst Gladys intimidated her, Bill grabbed his chance. “We’re trying to reach the M5, but the main roads are blocked. You know of any other way?”

  “Yes, but those roads will be blocked too. How do I know, anyhow?”

  “Can we go over land.”

  “Trespass, you mean?”

  Gladys was at the end of her tether. “Do you know what’s going on here, woman?” she yelled. “Now, go in and put the kettle on. I’ve a need of a nice cup of tea.”

  Chapter 42

  As soon as the birds left, Ellen collapsed into a chair. She was exhausted. She hadn’t slept since Friday night and it was telling on her. The boy, Tom, offered her a glass of water. She took it and drank the lot. It made her feel better. Maybe she was dehydrated.

  The old man said, “I’ve got something stronger if you prefer.”

  Mark shook his head “Been dry for over twenty years.”

  Ellen frowned. “But last night, you wanted me to open the cage for a bottle of whiskey.

  He simply shrugged. “Looks like I’ve got something to thank you for.”

  “Perhaps you would introduce yourselves,” the old man said.

  “I’m Ellen Fear.”

  “Mark Shark.”

  “An interesting name.”

  There was no response to that statement. Ellen wondered if the old man was a bit gone in the head. That he didn’t know what was happening in the world outside.

  “I suppose most people would prefer sharks to birds now, huh?” Mark said.

  “As long as they don’t have feathers, they’re all right by me,” Ellen spat.

  The old man nodded, solemnly. “Understandable.”

  “You said they were magnificent. That was the word you used. Magnificent.” She frowned at his choice of words. “What the hell is magnificent about them? They kill people.”

  “Sharks kill people, but they’re considered by some as magnificent beasts.”

  Mark smiled as if it was a compliment directed at him.

  “So, who are you exactly?”

  “Doctor Martin Long. I’m a professor at Bristol University. A professor of Ornithology actually.”

  “Orni’ what?”

  “Ornithology. The study of birds.”

  Seriously! Ellen thought, bitterly.

  Tom interrupted. “Grandad, should we make some food?”

  “Ah, yes, my boy. Let’s rustle something up.”

  They went into the kitchen. It had shutters over the windows like the other rooms. “You’re fortunate to have shutters,” Ellen said.

  “Yes, snug as bugs in a rug, eh, Tom?” he chuckled. “We played a word game last night,” he said. “Trying to come up with phrases, to explain our predicament. Tom had a good one. ‘A bird in the bush…”

  “I’m sorry,” Ellen interrupted, “but, while you’re playing games and laughing the whole thing off, there are people being killed out there. My children are alone without their parents to protect them.”

  “Sometimes, parents are the worst for protecting their children.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. Too close! They put the welfare of the child above all else, and that’s not always the best way to go.” He switched on an electric kettle. “Got our own generator” he added, by way of explanation. “You look like you could do with some coffee. Instant only, I’m afraid. Tom, see if we have any milk left.”

  Ellen moved closer to him. He looked like a professor type. A mad professor. She was tired, so her temper was wearing thin. “I don’t care about coffee or anything else, other than getting out of here to find my kids.” She looked him straight in the face. “I think you’re seriously deluded if you think we’re not in trouble here. You’re acting like this is just a blip.”

  “But that’s exactly what it is, my dear. A blip. All of this won’t last. We just need to ride it out. They’ll be gone by Monday.”

  “You have an explanation for all of this?” She swept her arm in the air.

  “Oh, yes. Indeed, I do.”

  “What is it then? What’s caused the birds to behave this way.”

  "Oh, that's easy. Simple migration habits and climate change. They're confused you see! What with the seasons being all over the place, the water levels rising, the extraordinary weather patterns…All of these factors contribute to the bird's desire to come inland to seek what is normal for them. Things like feeding and mating…hibernation. These are normal habits. When the planet and the tides are off…ocean temperatures, underdeveloped vegetation…then naturally the bird's instincts are confused. And not just the birds, I might add." He cocked his head as he threw a spoon of Nescafe in a mug followed by three sugars. "The animal kingdom is equally at odds. Look at whales and dolphins, beaching themselves for no reason…only last week hundreds of sea turtles in the Pacific were found dead. The mind boggles. The insect world is equally unpredictable. I don't even want to get into the shortage of bees..."

  “Stop!” Ellen shouted.

  “And look at our common birds that eat berries and seeds. Ask yourself what we are doing to their DNA when we use poisonous pesticides and genetically modified crops…I…”

  He was talking too fast. She needed to put the brakes on. “None of that accounts for how the birds are attacking the people
.”

  “Ah, yes, I was coming onto that.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He passed her a mug of coffee and she added a little milk. No sugar. “Well?”

  “Revenge.”

  “Revenge?”

  “Yes. Pure and simple. Revenge on man for destroying the planet earth.”

  “For a scientist, that’s a rather vague and speculative theory. Next you’ll be saying that God sent them to wipe out mankind.”

  He pondered her statement with his palm on his cheek. “Like the great flood, you mean?”

  She sighed. “I was being sarcastic.”

  He leaned against the table top. “Have you seen the pollution filling up our oceans? Have you seen the plastic? Look at landfills. We can’t keep up with the refuse we’re collecting. Honestly, I think it’s too late to worry about plastic straws. We should have done it years ago.”

  “So, you’re saying that because man has fuc… sorry, messed up the planet, the birds have got a big chip on their shoulder and they’re coming after us. ‘Us’ being the guilty parties.”

  “And a few other factors of course.”

  “Which are?”

  “Protection. Protecting their young…their habitats. Because they’re confused, you see? They don’t know where they are. Birds have relatively small brains, so contrary to other people’s beliefs, they couldn’t possibly form systematic attacks.”

  “Listen, Martin. You haven’t seen it. You haven’t been out there. Just now, outside, they were lining up waiting for us. It was as if they were mocking us. Like they knew we were going to be dinner.”

  “No. That can’t be true.” He laughed at the look of bemusement on her face. “They don’t want to eat us. They just want to kill us. Revenge, you see!”

  Chapter 43

  Harry guided Melanie into the old lady's house. Bill told the children to stay outside on the porch with the dog, but to be on alert. They were not to move from the front for any reason other than to come inside. Dolly was unsure about allowing them to remain outside, but when they complained about being cooped up all the time, she reluctantly conceded. By the time Dolly entered the house, Gladys and the old lady had become firm friends.