Storks

by Alan Spencer

  S T O R K S

  Alan Spencer

  Dedication

  I owe a special thank you to the wonderful horror writer/filmmaker Kristopher Rufty for making the cover for this novella. He swooped down like a stork and gave this project a serious facelift. Horror will thrive as long as people like Kristopher exist.

  GONER

  The victim's neck stump burbled green goo. And what happened to the head? Well, that had exploded. The textured color schemes spattered against the windshield told Roger Lexington that much of the story. The driver's stomach had ruptured internally from taking in the chemical fumes through his lungs. Once the fumes entered the lungs, they melted your insides ten seconds flat. Compressed air built up in the body, what had ultimately made the poor son-of-a-bitch's head detonate. Once the chemicals took effect, your body became a pot of liquefied beef stew. The chemicals were bad stuff called GDN-5000. What the creators lovingly dubbed "GET DEAD NOW-5000."

  GDN-5000 was an equivalent to super napalm. The military loved to create new ways of killing people. They had thousands of chemical agents on hand to melt their enemies. North Korea could test weapons all they wanted; America had them on-hand in spades. Roger was the local damage control representative for the military. He was on the scene of the spill before the police. He was there before the public could report it to the police. Roger was there before anybody found out the mess ever existed.

  The government covered their asses, and Roger made sure no skin showed.

  The location of the truck spill would work to his advantage. They were on the outskirts of Florida's Everglades on a back road. Nobody had witnessed the incident on this Saturday morning when the barrels rolled out of the transport truck. His clean up crew was already gathering the black barrels strewn about the road and spraying everything down with disinfectant.

  After making a few calls to headquarters and reassuring Head of Public Safety everything was safe, his work here was done.

  Between the time the barrels in Chucky Early's transport broke free from the back cab and the chemical fumes were swept up in the air by the wind, a great flock of Wood Storks had flown above the wreck on their way to the local marshes. Before the air-time dissipation rule could take complete effect, and the chemical was rendered harmless, the storks took in the potent mix of chemicals and didn't die. The change in them was instantaneous. Their eyes went from a dark beady black to a fiery crimson red. By the time Roger Lexington had driven onto the scene in his Land Rover to perform damage control, the Wood Storks were long gone.

  ARRIVAL

  Carter King was two hours late to the barbeque. He was leery coming back to Florida, and it wasn't just because of his family. Eight years had passed, and he didn't feel any better about what he'd done in this town when he was seventeen. What he feared most would be running into somebody who knew what he'd done and how the event had cost somebody their life.

  Ellie, his sister, called his cell phone. "Where are you? You're not backing out on us, are you? You promised you were coming. It's your birthday we're celebrating. I told you, you have no reason to be scared anymore. You're safe here."

  "Sure I have reason to be scared," Carter said, holding back his anger. He did have something to be scared of. He was practically chased out of town like a criminal. "Everybody in town hates me. Are you kidding? People will recognize me. The only reason I'm here is because my therapist said it was a good idea to come down and face my fears. That's the real reason why I'm coming. And to see you, of course. I love you. I miss everybody. Look, I'll be there as soon as I can. I'm just running late. I'll be there. Plus, I can finally meet your husband and give him hell. I'll be there soon. Stop worrying."

  Carter hung up and kept driving.

  ARE THEY DOING WHAT I THINK THEY'RE DOING?

  Mitch Hailey sailed in his rowboat down the freshwater marsh. A person could get lost in the Florida Everglades, or even worse, be eaten by an alligator or an insane sized python snake. He once read an article about a gator that choked to death on a poacher. Mitch wasn't a hunter of any kind, so he wasn't armed to protect himself. He never had to in his fifty some odd years of living here. Bird watching was his hobby. Accuse him of drinking more beer than actually watching the wildlife, sure. Accuse him of wanting to get away from his wife to enjoy some peace and quiet. And sure, he liked to look at his nudie magazines from time to time when alone. He was at peace here. Nothing he did mattered. True tranquility.

  Ker-plunk!

  He was about to pop the tab on another can of beer when he heard something hit the water.

  Ker-plunk! Ker-plunk! Ker-plunk!

  Mitch retrieved his binoculars. He looked about the trees. Wood Storks were high up in the trees making a crazy ruckus with their wild chirping. He never heard them made such high pitched noises. They were flapping their wings. Throwing their long black beaked heads back and unleashing cry after cry. The would spread out their black wings in shows of dominance. Their white chests would puff out. Then their webbed feet would kick out the eggs from the nests. They rained down and sunk into the water.

  "Are they doing what I think they're doing? Oh my God..."

  Mitch watched in astonishment as hundreds of eggs bobbed on the surface of the water, until slowly, one by one, they sank to the bottom.

  Why were the birds emptying their nests?

  BARBEQUE FIGHT

  Carter King arrived at his sister's house. The house in Greenwich, Florida, was near the edge of a swamp. A wooden deck stood high enough to avoid flood waters. Ellie told him how she could see gators, snakes, and lots of cool birds from the vantage point on her porch. She asked him to visit her house many times before this day, but his parents would be there. He couldn't face them. He had a hard time facing anybody after the incident that cost Kimberly Munyard her life.

  His sister kept after him. She refused to let him drift out of the family's life. Eight years later, she finally won that battle. Ellie invited him to meet her husband and some of her close friends. She had been married for five years. She had a little girl who was only eight months old named Olive. A lot had happened in her life, and Carter had missed out on it.

  Carter approached the house, moving slow. A tall black guy met him at the door and introduced himself as Drew. Ellie's husband. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Carter. I know you were leery of coming back to town, but I just wanted you to know I welcome you here anytime. Know that. I also know about everything that happened too. I'm a deputy. I want you to know nothing bad will happen to you, okay? Your sister wanted me to say that. Sorry if it's too forward. I know we just met."

  The words caught Carter off guard. He played it off. "Thanks, Drew. I appreciate you saying all that. It does make me feel better."

  That was a lie.

  Ellie was inside. He could see her through the screen door working in the kitchen. She was bringing out potato salad to the tables set up in the backyard.

  He noticed the banner taped up on the living room wall.

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY CARTER.

  Drew noticed him read the banner. "You look like you didn't know it was your own birthday."

  "Two weeks late, but still...I'm surprised."

  Carter stood there unsure of what to say to his sister's husband.

  His parents were in the house too. They finally noticed him.

  "Carter, you're finally back!" His father, a retired wrestling coach at the local high school, gave him a great big bear hug. "It's been way too long, son. Way too long."

  His mother kissed both his cheeks and was crying, she was so happy to have him back. "I missed you, my sweet boy. Why didn't you want to see us sooner?"

  Carter could've said I was ashamed. He could've said he was an alcoholic. He could've said he had nightmares and anxiety bred by memories of
the night Kimberly Munyard died. That it wasn't until recently he could touch a woman, never mind date them and pursue a committed, healthy relationship. That he had a job working at the YMCA as an assistant director of programs for troubled youth. Because that was him. A trouble youth. A troubled adult.

  He didn't say any of that.

  Ellie was next, giving him a long hug. "You stubborn idiot, it's so good to see you again. We love you. I know things have been hard for you, Carter. For everybody. But we love you. Never ever forget that."

  Carter wasn't expecting to be overwhelmed by his emotions. He wasn't bitter anymore. So they didn't call him for years. Sure, Ellie called all the time, but his parents didn't. He hadn't called them either. It was about time he came home and fixed the situation.

  They invited him into the backyard for hamburgers and ribs. He was starving, and when he smelled the cooking meat, his mouth watered. When was the last time he had barbeque, never mind a descent meal? He lived on takeout food and frozen meals. This would be a banquet.

  Ellie showed off her eight month old baby wrapped up in a pink blanket. She asked him to hold Olive, and then when he did, she grilled him about when he was going to settle down and have kids of his own. He said he met a woman named Rachel Parks. She was a social worker for kids in juvenile hall. They were introduced when he started working at the YMCA. She understood what Carter had been through, and why he did drugs back in the day, drank every night, and went astray from his family. But he was happy again. Healthy. Today was a better day.

  It didn't do a damn thing for Kimberly Munyard. The dark cloud loomed over his thoughts at some point each day. That dark cloud arrived in force right now, cutting through the front yard and around to the back in the form of the Munyard family. Father, Dean Munyard, and his three sons, Billy, Bob, and Bruce. They were just as angry today at him as the day their sister was killed.

  Murder was in their eyes. They wanted Carter dead. Time healed some things, while time embellished others. The Munyard clan had shotguns in their hands. The barrels pointed right at him. Any wrong move or wrong word, and death would be spit out those cobalt blue barrels.

  The moment was so awkward. Everything seemed to stop. Nobody said anything. Both sides of the equation added each other up.

  Dean Munyard spoke to Carter's father. "You remember what I told you, Harold, when the cops hauled away Kimberly's body? I tried to do the right thing. I didn't press charges. But I said if that boy ever came back to town, that if I ever saw him, I'd blow his head off. No explanation. I tried to take the high road on that. After all, my daughter is dead and buried at Greenwich Cemetery, and here is Carter alive and well."

  Before his father, or anyone else could stick up for him, Carter stepped closer to the Munyards. "These people here have nothing to do with what happened. So get to it. What do you want with me?"

  "Boy, you speak to me with respect. Some people take disrespect. I do not."

  Carter, "I don't want anybody getting hurt. Whatever you have to say, I'm listening."

  "You're damn right you're going to listen!" Dean growled, showing teeth. "You have no right coming back here. You have no right being alive when my precious daughter is dead. Your life should've ended when hers did."

  "You're right. I deserve to die."

  The admission confused Dean and his boys. Their anger hit a brick wall. The lynch mob paused. But not for long. Billy, Bob, and Bruce had tears in their eyes.

  "You want to shoot me? Kill me?"

  Dean smiled. "Of course we want to kill you. It'll be a little game. You see, shooting you outright wouldn't be any fun. You need to experience fear. I want to give you time to really think about what's going to happen to you."

  "If I go with you," Carter played negotiator, "will you leave these people alone?"

  He'd do anything to get the shotguns pointed away from his family. Another part of himself wanted to atone for what he'd done to Kimberly Munyard. He was facing so many emotions today, he wasn't thinking straight. He shouldn't have agreed to any terms the Munyards presented.

  Hindsight dictated everything.

  In this moment, hindsight dictated shit.

  "You go with us right now," Dean said. "Make no fuss, and we leave and take this elsewhere."

  "Son, you can't be serious," Carter's father said. "You can't go anywhere with them."

  "You've lost your minds, all of you," shouted Ellie, sobbing.

  His mother was crying. She couldn't speak.

  Drew, the deputy, had a lost puppy dog look in his eyes. The deputy wanted to help, but couldn't. Not with the shotguns present.

  "I'll do anything you want," Carter repeated. "Just as long as it's away from here and these people."

  Deputy Drew gained his nerve. "You're upset, Dean. I understand that. You know you can't be doing this. This is not the way you should be handling your anger."

  "I've handled my anger your way for eight years, Deputy." Dean urged both his sons to grab Carter by the arms. They were directing him away from the house and towards the van parked out front. "The law has done nothing to mend my broken heart. Now it's my turn to do things my way. Carter was the one who came back after I told him never to show his face around here again. Do what you're going to do, call the police, but you'll be too late before you can stop anything."

  Carter was shoved into the back of the van. The boys kept their guns trained on him. Dean drove away from the neighborhood, tearing ass to their next destination.

  The marsh.

  MY SWEET BABIES

  Lola Brewster lived alone in the mansion secluded deep in the marshland. People considered her a recluse ever since her husband, William Brewster, tragically died ten years ago when he was eaten by an alligator. She never held down a job. She didn't have kids. Her husband didn't want children. When her husband returned from Vietnam, he couldn't be intimate with her. She tried to be understanding. She thought it was post-traumatic stress disorder. Anybody would have a hard time getting it up in the face of witnessing the horrors of war. It wasn't shell shock or post-traumatic stress disorder. William believed he was gay. She thought it was brotherhood romanticized through the theatre of warfare. After years passed on, William wasn't any less gay than before. This was real. Something he'd experienced since childhood. He was gay.

  William wanted to be gay without persecution. His father was killed in the 60's for being gay. Beaten to death in a bar's bathroom for hitting on the wrong man. Being gay didn't matter to her, Lola decided. They were best friends. She cared about his welfare. She was in love with the man, gay or not. William was a kind and gentle soul. She would be his wife, so he could be gay, and she would be taken care of for the rest of her life. William was heir to an oil fortune made in the 50's from an uncle he never met. William went on to be Governor of Florida. He loved politics. He had higher political aspirations. State Senator. Maybe one day president of the United States. The president idea was a fantasy William fancied. But he feared if people knew of his sexual orientation, they'd kick him out of office. He would have no chance to climb the political ladder. So Lola played the happy wife.

  Their understanding wasn't perfect, and William paid the ultimate price for it. If you asked Lola, she might tell you about that price, depending on her sanity level the day you talked her.

  Today wasn't a particularly sane day for Lola Brewster.

  Lola's mansion couldn't be see from the water because of the thick crop of cypress, mangrove, and hardwood trees. The trees served as a privacy fence. Just the way she liked it. Ever since her husband died, she let nature overrun the house. She lived alone and kept her fancies to herself.

  Another thing Lola wasn't allowed to enjoy besides a husband who lusted after her, William never allowed her to own any pets. Not even a dog or a cat. He was allergic. She loved animals. That's why when the roof collapsed this morning over her bedroom due to wood rot and the Wood Storks arrived en masse to build their nests and create their rookery, she accepted them with ope
n arms.

  She no longer lived alone.

  The storks actively built their nests in the upstairs rooms. Scraps of wood, broken branches, the padding from her couches and every stick of furniture was utilized.

  Lola didn't care.

  They were her sweet little babies.

  ROBBERY

  A line of hot blood split Kelly Sherman's facial features. The cookies in the oven were burning. Smoke filled the house. The fire alarm was going off. She stayed slumped on the floor unresponsive. Kelly was stunned by the blow to the head, but even more so by what she had witnessed.

  Five black beaks bashed out the bedroom window of her newborn child's room. Glass flew in all directions. Four birds swooped in, tucked the blanket around little Christopher's infant body, secured him, and then they each took flight out the window.

  The fifth bird had pecked her right in the center of the forehead to keep her from fighting them off, then the stork followed the rest of them out the window.

  The blow deadened her ability to react, to scream out for her child, to appeal her situation.

  In shock, she couldn't do anything but keep bleeding.

  ANGRY MUNYARDS

  Dean's sons were quiet during the ride, but Dean himself was blasting Carter with insults. The man had practiced many speeches for when this day would come. Dean, eight years ago, was a calm, understanding man. Now his face was burning red. The red of alcohol in his veins. The red of hatred building without release. The red of regret. The regret of letting Carter King escape jail time. Carter let the man mouth off. He didn't really listen until Dean stopped preaching anger and started listing out details.