The Revenants

by Castle, Jack

  Bart. You stupid mutt. You weren’t the best dog in the whole world but you deserved better than this. She still didn’t have any idea what had gotten into him that made him go so plum loco in the end.

  Becca shuddered slightly when she felt a second pair of hands on her, a big guy by the sound of his deep voice. “Okay, I’ve got her, Wally. Go ahead cut the seatbelt.”

  “Need any help?” A third voice asked, also emanating from outside the Rover, only this one sounded ridiculous, almost comical. Becca could see the man’s boots standing outside the overturned vehicle.

  Firefighter Wally was removing a pocketknife from his pocket as he answered, “No, Spence, I think we got it, just hang tight.” He snapped open the blade with a flick of his wrist like he’d been doing it for years.

  “What did ya say?” Spence asked. He bent down so he could hear better and his helmet fell off his head and onto the pavement with a loud CLANK. There was some shuffling about before two large doughy hands came into view and scooped the helmet back up.

  Wally rolled his eyes, and speaking a bit louder said, “No, we got it, Spence. The driver said she may have hit someone, possibly a young girl. Why don’t you take another look around and see if you can find her?”

  There was a slight pause and then, “Where? I mean, der’s nuthin’ out here besides highway and frozen snowbanks, and I sure as hell don’t see no girl.”

  Wally shook his head in frustration. “Would you just go check again, Spence? We’re kinda busy here.”

  There was some inaudible muttering outside the overturned Rover as he placed the blade of his knife back on the strap of her seatbelt. “Miss, I’m going to cut your seatbelt now. Don’t worry, when you fall, my big buddy Tower behind you is going to catch you. Do you understand?”

  Becca put her hands on the ceiling to brace herself for the drop that was sure to follow and nodded that she was ready.

  Wally flashed the other firefighter a look as if to say, ‘You ready?’ Tower must’ve signaled that he was because Wally said, “Okay, here we go, ‘T’, cutting seatbelt.”

  There was a slight snapping sound and Becca immediately felt all of her weight transition to her shoulders making her feel like she was doing a handstand on the ceiling. Her atrophied muscles held her up for the briefest of seconds then collapsed her body onto the roof. To give credit where credit was due, the firefighters slowed her descent exponentially and cushioned her head with their gloved hands, so the impact was only mildly painful.

  “Okay, okay, watch the glass,” she heard Wally say as they dragged her butt carefully out through the windshield.

  Then the blood began to drain from her head and return to her limbs. The pain was sheer agony. Even though pain had been a familiar friend during her recovery, she had a hard time coming up with new words to describe the thousands of pinpricks coursing through her veins.

  You know what they say, lass, pain lets you know you’re still alive.

  After a cursory examination on the pavement the firefighters lifted her to her feet and sat her on a stretcher provided by two paramedics, one male and the other a rough-looking female with an 80s perm. The latter immediately went to work, cleaning and dressing the lacerations on her face and hands.

  As Becca’s eyes began to clear a bit more, and adjust to the red strobe lights assaulting her eyes, she was finally able to take in her surroundings. The Rover looked like King Kong had drop-kicked it fourteen times, but other than a few dents and smashed windows, for the most part, it was still in pretty good shape. They built them to last; which was why she had always wanted one in the first place. Well, that wasn’t quite the truth, now, was it? Sure the Land Rover was durable but the real reason she wanted one was much older. She never quite forgot the first time she had seen one on TV, venturing across the plains of Africa in some old jungle movie. It had been love at first sight. It wasn’t until two years ago she had finally been able to locate and afford one at the same time. The right one anyway; an older model, a 1968, Series IIA with a 2.25 Liter cubic engine, to be exact, just like the one her ten-year-old self had first seen exploring the jungles of Africa. In the end the restoration had been the real cost but the labor was one of love, one that she and Mike had shared before the end. Neither of them were what you would call a mechanic, but between the two of them they figured it out and got the old girl running back to her former glory. Even now Becca could see Mike sitting on an oil drum in the garage eating one of his giant sandwiches grinning at her with a big mouthful of food.

  As she wiped a tear using her shoulder Becca noted that the Rover’s one good remaining headlight was beginning to dim, suggesting the battery was nearly depleted. I bet if we flipped her over right now she’d crank right up and get going again.

  Sheesshh… I doubt that, lass

  Ignoring Donnie, behind the overturned Rover, Becca could see a red, cubed-shaped medic rig. And behind that, blocking off the road from the nonexistent traffic was an equally crimson-colored firetruck that had to be at least forty years old. Other than the three vehicles, the highway appeared deserted.

  In addition to the two paramedics, she counted a total of three firemen in full turnout gear. She only knew the lingo because on the smaller, more remote military bases she had served, Security Forces had to double as fire crews. This was also the reason she knew four was the normal standard crew for a firetruck. You had the driver (who usually doubles as the engineer), two firefighters, and the Captain. Judging by the way he was ordering the others about, Becca guessed Wally to be the Captain.

  In fact, firefighter Wally was yelling at one of the other firefighters right now. “Spence, what the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be checking both sides of the highway?”

  Firefighter Spence had a large potato-shaped head and wore black horn-rimmed glasses that were too small for his wide, pockmarked face. Half-grumble and half-whine, he replied, “C’mon, Wally, we already did all that. I’m telling ya, we didn’t find nuthin’.”

  “The Rover must’ve rolled over at least four times; the pedestrian might’ve gotten tossed off the side of the road. Go back and check both sides of the highway.”

  But firefighter Spence didn’t seem to hear him. Instead of following his superior’s orders he was picking up one of the items that had spilled out of the Rover and scattered across the pavement like autumn leaves.

  “Wait a second, are you one of those…” Spence hefted her black ball cap in his meaty hand. He glanced from the K-9 nomenclature on the hat and then back to her; then back to the hat, and then back over to her. It took him a while, but Mr. Potato Head was finally beginning to make the connection.

  Here we go.

  “Hey, you’re one of those K-9 cops, right?” he asked, holding up her cap excitedly. “I seen you guys in action on TV.”

  “Okay, okay that’s enough.” Wally slapped Spence on the back and taking the ball cap from his hands. “You can hit her up for an autograph later. Right now, do me a favor, go double-check both sides of the highway, will you please?”

  Spence nodded and was already shuffling off to tell Tower about who they had just rescued. “Hey Tower, you know that chick we just rescued? Turns out she’s one a dem’ K-9 cops we seen on TV…” His voice faded beneath the sound of the heavy rumbling motor of the old and monstrous firetruck.

  Wally took a cursory glance at the ball cap and then tossed it over to her. “Here. I believe this is yours.”

  “Thanks,” she said, catching it. Reflexively she punched the inside of the cap before slapping it back on her head and pulling the brim down low, all within about a second.

  Becca felt herself shiver. Now that the shock was wearing off she was becoming very aware of the fact it was less than ten degrees outside. This was made even more apparent by the vapor trail left by anyone who exhaled or spoke. Before she could say anything, the other paramedic--a young Hispanic kid--recovered the warm military Arctic jacket from her Rover. He dusted off the broken shards of glass a
nd handed it to her. Becca muttered a word of thanks and slipped into it, and within seconds began to feel the long coat’s warmth. She remembered that she always kept a pair of thick gloves inside one of the pockets, and after finding them, slipped those on, too. It was easy to forget just how cold it was outside when you kept the thermostat on the inside of your Land Rover at a balmy seventy-two degrees.

  As she finished donning her gloves she asked, “How did you know where I was?” The question was directed at Wally.

  “We got your 911 call,” the firefighter answered, gesturing over to her cell phone still lying outside the Rover on the pavement.

  Becca thought this weird because she didn’t remember making any such call. Instead of saying so, she simply nodded in understanding. The more she learned the more she realized things about the crash weren’t adding up. The bile growing in her stomach far outweighed the superficial cuts on her hands, forehead, and neck.

  Then Wally told her, “Cops are on their way. Dispatch will call a wrecker for your Land Rover. Might not be until morning before he gets here though.”

  Becca nodded.

  “You’re definitely going to need stitches.”

  The female paramedic with the 80s perm had the bedside manner of a man-hating prison guard. She had this nasty habit of firmly pressing on each bandage after application to the cut over the corner of her right eye. It hurt like hell, but Becca refused to give her the satisfaction of crying out.

  As 80s perm-paramedic finally snapped the lid to her red toolbox closed she said, “These butterfly bandages will have to do until we get you to the hospital.”

  “Okay, thank you,” she started to say but princess perm-a-lot had already moved off to stow her gear.

  Wally returned with Spence in tow. Behind them, in the distance, she could see the insanely tall fireman, Tower, rolling up hoses and packing them into the firetruck. Wally was the first to speak. “We searched all over the immediate area, including both sides of the road, the ditches; I even checked the front of your rig for blood, or any signs of impact. We didn’t find a girl, or anyone else for that matter.”

  His tone had been strictly informative but Becca felt like she was being called a liar, nonetheless.

  “Maybe you imagined her?”

  Wally rolled his eyes and let out a long vapor trail of breath before saying, “Geez, Spence, give it a rest, will ya?”

  Spence shrugged his shoulders, and sounding defensive added, “All I’m saying is maybe she imagined the whole thing, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “I know what I saw.” Becca heard the frustrated quality in her voice and hated herself for it. “Even if I did imagine it, which I didn’t, then who made the call? My cell phone was outside the Land Rover when I woke up.”

  Neither of the two firemen had a comeback this time.

  That shut their pie-holes but good; you tell them, lass!

  Shut your pie-hole, Donnie.

  SQUAWK!

  “Damn it!” the 80s perm paramedic yelped, jumping slightly. And if Becca were being perfectly honest, it had startled her a bit too.

  Becca turned her head and saw two monster-sized ravens on the edge of the highway. A loud flapping noise announced a third as it came in for a generous landing.

  (This should be fun. Oh, sorry, you forgot I was still here? No, I’m not that idiot Donnie, if that’s what you were thinking. For now, simply think of me more as an observer. Sort of like you, only different. And not as, how do we say… as vulnerable.)

  As much as Becca wanted to say something clever like, “Sorry boys, no takeout tonight,” she just didn’t have the nerve. The birds were that ominous looking, and had to be at least three feet in height.

  The male paramedic, the young Hispanic kid with the shaved head, was the first to speak, “That’s weird. I didn’t think ravens hunted at night.”

  “They don’t,” Wally answered firmly.

  It was unnerving, straight out of Alfred Hitchcock’s classic, The Birds. Becca was forced to wonder what might have happened if the firefighters hadn’t shown up. An image of her still dangling upside down, unconscious in the Rover, with one of those oversized birds pecking out her eye and feasting on it, shook her far more than any South Dakota winter ever could. Sometimes it was a curse having such a ‘vivid imagination’.

  “Go on, get out of here,” the female paramedic shouted, waving her metal clipboard at them.

  The ravens didn’t retreat. In fact, one of them took a seemingly defiant step toward her and two more touched down behind it, making the total count five.

  The female paramedic shuddered. They all did. And Becca, remembering the Hitchcockian flick, wondered if she should retrieve the 1911 stowed in her glove box.

  (I’m afraid that later she will wish she had.)

  Everyone jumped when Tower unexpectedly stepped up to them and said in his big, deep baritone voice, “Hey Wally, I tried to give dispatch an update. Either our radio is on the fritz or dispatch has an antenna down or something.”

  For some reason Becca remembered the power outage at her brother’s home in New Hampshire. The unease was back, tugging at her soul. Before it could bubble up over the brim of panic she heard the young male Hispanic paramedic say, “Huh, same with us; on our radio, nothing but static.”

  Becca was about to ask if that was normal in these parts when something smashed violently into her back knocking her off the stretcher and slamming her face down onto the frosted pavement. She felt a burning sensation in her back as sharpened claws dug right through her coat and into her skin.

  “What the hell?”

  As she tried to rise a second raven snapped at her wrist, the bird’s beak felt like a pair of scissors cutting into her flesh.

  Becca yanked her bloody wrist back and in doing so caused the bird on her back to take flight. This gave her only a moment of reprieve but she acted quickly and rolled under the thick tailgate of the ambulance.

  After that, things escalated rather quickly.

  Loud flapping and squawking noises came from every direction as an Unkindness of Ravens swarmed them (cuz that’s what you call a flock of ravens, An “Unkindness”. If you’re thinking that it’s actually a “Murder” of ravens, that is actually Crows.) Wally began shouting orders, which were quickly drowned out by the female paramedic screaming over and over again, “Somebody help me!”

  Clutching her bleeding wrist to her chest, Becca lifted her head and saw the female paramedic lying on her back with two massive ravens perched on top of her chest, pinning her to the ground. Becca tried to scramble back out from underneath the ambulance to help her but a half-dozen more ravens blocked her path. She was completely surrounded now. The birds lowered their ghoulish, twitching heads, and focused their hungry eyes upon her. Then they squawked at her, loudly, as though daring her, just daring her to come out from beneath the ambulance and intervene.

  Don’t do it, lass.

  The female paramedic screams turned shrill. Through beating wings Becca could only watch as the first raptor pecked at the paramedic’s stomach with its sharp beak and within seconds began to withdraw bluish intestines. The second raven, still perched on her chest, walked up the paramedic’s body toward her face like it was strutting up a red carpet. And before Becca could even think about helping the poor woman, the raven plucked out the paramedic’s eye and snapped it up in its beak in one murderous gulp, just as Becca had imagined it would.

  That’s when Becca knew; the ravens weren’t waiting around for them to die.

  They were eating them alive.

  (How did she know that? I mean… W.T.H.! I am so confused right now. Why are the ravens attacking them? Is this what happened to claw-marked cheerleader? That still doesn’t explain the vanishing Christmas Kewpie Doll or Mr. Midnight Knocker back at the motel)

  (That’s what you’re thinking, right?)

  (What address? Becca’s brother? How do you even know about that dippy-skippy? And his wife is a real piece of work, let
me tell you. No. I’m not giving you their address.)

  (I lost it, okay?)

  (Happy?)

  (I’m lying)

  (I’m a bit of a liar you know?)

  (I’m really not. Of course, I could be lying to you right now.)

  (Would someone please answer that damn phone?)

  Chapter 5

  Too-Tall-Tower

  Firefighter Wallman was covered in ravens.

  His heavy coat, rubber boots, and steel helmet protected him from the worst of the attack but he still flinched in pain every time one of the viscous little bastards’ beaks snapped at his thick turnouts, pinching his skin underneath.

  He instinctively covered his face with his forearms and saw little more than violently flapping wings and angry snapping beaks.

  In the first few seconds of the attack he was fairly certain the K-9 instructor lady was the first to go down. A giant-sized raven had slammed into the woman’s back and knocked her off the stretcher while another latched its beak onto her wrist. The K-9 instructor wasn’t wearing any protective gear so most likely the poor woman was half eaten by now.

  Denise had gotten hit the hardest. Two, maybe three ravens, he wasn’t sure, were literally tearing her apart right before his eyes. At the moment he was doing his best to reach her, but the frenzied birds had other plans, and were relentless in their attack.

  Spence and the Hispanic kid had bolted to Lord-only-knows-where the moment the birds had first attacked. He was pretty sure he saw Tower heading for the big truck. No. If anybody was going to save Denise, it had to be him.

  As Wally stumbled over to her, he nearly tripped over a raven snapping at his crotch. He knew he couldn’t afford to go down; if he did, he might not get back up again. He gave the ugly bird a swift kick and it squawked in protest. Unfortunately two more took its place. At first there had only been five but now their number had grown to at least a dozen.

  He forced himself to take another step, and then another, but one giant raptor landed on his thigh and another on his back, much in the same way they had pounced on the K-9 instructor, almost as though they were coordinated in their attacks. Wally’s knees trembled beneath the onslaught. The birds forced him down to the asphalt. Although his coat protected him from most of their razor sharp claws and snapping beaks the pain was excruciating. He tried elbowing the birds off his back and a second one off his thigh but a third raven latched onto his arm. The entire time wings flapped-flapped-flapped, in front of his face shield, allowing him only glimpses of Denise being devoured piece by piece.