The First Bird: Omnibus Edition

by Greig Beck

  She snorted behind her handkerchief. “Could be better. Then again, I suppose I could have stayed back home, meaning I’d either be locked indoors or skinned, so, all things considered … yeah, I’m okay.”

  He nodded; she was right. In a matter of weeks the country had been transformed by something almost too small to be seen by the naked eye. By that, and by fear.

  Matt grasped her knee and squeezed. She placed her hand over his and squeezed back. He looked into her eyes, still bright, and smiled. She was strong. He knew they’d make it … they had to.

  He turned and leaned toward the two young military men, peering out from behind the toughened glass of the armored vehicle as it roared along the vacant highway, swerving every now and then to avoid a stopped car.

  “Do you guys see many survivors? Is that what you’re doing out here?”

  Reed looked at his companion and snorted soundlessly. He turned back to the road and shook his head. “No … no, Professor Kearns.”

  Matt waited, but nothing else came. Metzger broke the silence.

  “Red, on your one o’clock.”

  Matt looked out through the heavy glass. There was a mound beside the road up ahead. The ASV slowed a few hundred feet out.

  “Bloomer, I bet,” Metzger said, keeping his eyes on what looked like a pile of clothing.

  Reed grunted. “Got it.” He made a quick notation on his chart. “Bring it up on my three o’clock.” Reed flipped a panel on the dashboard and an eighteen-inch control board lifted and was angled toward him. There were several buttons, and a small joystick, which he grasped, looking at a small inbuilt monitor. He focussed in on the mound, his fingers moving over the keys. From behind him, Matt could just make out the small screen changing from a standard picture feed of the mound to thermal imaging, then to something flaring blues and black – possibly showing different materials or internal densities. “Warm, solid, organic mass. Confirmation on visual?”

  Metzger drove even slower, keeping his eyes on the pile. With one hand he lifted a small pair of field glasses. Although it was only fifty feet away, he squinted, his mouth drawing up. “Okay, I can confirm a bloomer.”

  “Roger that … ready to burn in …”

  Matt leaned forward. “What is it?” Everyone behind him tried to crowd forward to see what was happening.

  The soldiers ignored them, and Reed continued to speak in an automatic monotone that betrayed zero emotion but plenty of training. Matt craned his neck and saw that the small screen in front of Reed now had a red bomb site target displayed directly over the mound. Reed counted down.

  “… 5, 4, 3, 2 … burn.” Reed pressed a button and a liquid whooshing came from behind and over them. Matt’s focus was drawn to a streak of red-orange that shot toward the pile on the road.

  The flames touched the clothing … and stuck there. Matt was sure an arm rose briefly from within the giant red flower of heat, dripping material or skin from the sleeve. There was no doubt what the men were doing.

  “Holy fuck, that was a person in there … and I think they were alive.” Matt gripped the sergeant’s shoulder.

  Reed ignored Matt’s grip. He took his finger off the button as the inferno blazed. Black smoke rose in a greasy column beside the truck. He turned to Metzger. “Burn complete; move out.”

  He twisted in his seat, his face stony. “Sit back, sir.” He waited until Matt had complied, then his expression eased, now more fatigued than severe. He looked from Matt to the others, who were watching intently, and then back at Matt.

  “You asked about survivors, Professor. Well, we sure are out looking for them, but that … that wasn’t one of them. They’re not survivors, they are already dead, they just haven’t stopped breathing. In fact, I think of them as more like dirty bombs. They’re walking weapons, biological time bombs who have entered, or are about to enter, a dangerous and infectious stage, which we call blooming.”

  He turned toward Carla. “Bloomers, skinners – they haven’t briefed you on any of this yet?”

  Carla spoke softly, her voice only just audible over the revving engine. “About the egg dispersal going airborne?”

  Reed nodded. “That’s right; some of the living bodies produce vesicles that disperse millions of the eggs. They’re small and light enough to be carried on a breeze for miles. Our brief is to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

  “But … you burn them alive!” Megan tried to push past Matt, but he held onto her.

  “Alive? Not really – and not for long … seconds, maybe, and it’s painless, as the bugs have already short-circuited the body’s nervous system. That way they can either eat you from the inside out or turn you into a walking hatchery. Even though your brain has been turned to mush, your body still functions, but it has been programmed to do one thing, and one thing only …”

  Carla finished for him. “Produce eggs … to infect more people. And then the cycle starts again.”

  “Infecting perhaps hundreds more, geometrically growing faster than we can control it.”

  Megan slowly sat back down. Matt felt sickened, but now understood the logic behind the attacks being carried out by the young soldiers.

  There was silence for a few seconds. Reed looked along their faces, his own grim. “This isn’t a pleasant job, but these days there are a lot of unpleasant things we have to do … if we are going to survive this.”

  Carla’s voice was soft. “Sterilization.”

  Reed nodded.

  She looked up at the tanks over her head. “What are you using; thermite?”

  Reed raised his eyebrows. “Sort of; thirty-three percent jellied gasoline, twenty-one percent benzene, and forty-six percent polystyrene … with a thermite initiator.”

  Carla closed her eyes. “Napalm B.”

  “Yes ma’am; super napalm – burns at two thousand degrees, and the jelly causes it to stick to its target. There’ll be nothing left but ash in a few minutes.”

  Kurt was sitting in the rear, but his voice carried easily. “I thought that stuff was banned.”

  Reed never blinked. “It is in warfare, but this isn’t war … it’s survival.”

  Kurt thought about it for a few seconds, and then nodded. “Remind me to keep up my chemical baths, will you?” He sat back.

  After an hour of driving in silence, and several more bloomer burns, they reached a fork in the road. Kurt leaned forward from the rear. “We’re going through Chattanooga? I could jump out at the East Ridge turnpike. You guys will head south, I assume – down the 75 – and I can keep going on up to New York.”

  Matt shook his head. “Are you mad?”

  Kurt ignored him.

  Metzger looked at Reed, and Matt could have sworn he rolled his eyes. He spoke casually over his shoulder. “We’ll be staying off the main roads and traveling via the smaller tier-two roads. Less … ah, debris.”

  Kurt tilted his head. “Debris? What does that mean? I don’t want to go to Atlanta. I can grab a small plane in Maryville, Johnson City, or a dozen other places and be home in few hours.”

  The driver glanced briefly at Kurt and, seeing his determined look, simply shrugged. “You’re not under arrest, and we can’t force you to stay with us. I can, however, urge you to reconsider. There are armed militias out there, not to mention the infestation.”

  “I’ll be crossing the country, staying low. I’m trained for that.” He snorted. “I’ll even take some of your home brew with me and bathe in it, okay?” Kurt looked at Joop. “You with me?”

  Joop stared, wide-eyed, for a few seconds, then shook his head, perhaps convinced by the bloomers that being outside was not a great idea right now.

  Kurt shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Reed didn’t look unhappy with Kurt’s decision. He spoke quietly, checking his maps again. “That’s fine, sir. It’s your funer— ah, your decision.”

  Kurt sat back, satisfied. He clutched his backpack, its weight lying heavily across his knees.

  “Sure you know w
hat you’re doing, Kurt? I mean, is it worth it?” Matt nodded to the bag.

  Kurt ignored him. “You guys will have things sorted in a few days – a week at most. I’ll be home by then.” He snorted. “I promise to keep my doors locked and windows closed. After all, I’ll have the magic potion to keep the little fuckers away. And I’ll have this …” he pulled up his shirt, displaying the handguns, “… to keep the larger variety of pest at bay.”

  Carla’s voice was flat. “You’ll be safer with us.”

  Kurt looked indifferent. “Maybe. Then again, maybe a smaller group will attract less attention.” His face softened. “Seriously, thank you for your concern, but I’ll be more worried about you guys. I’ll be home and safe long before you will.”

  Carla shook her head and leaned toward the soldiers. “You should make him stay.”

  Reed shook his head. “Sorry, we’re not going to do that. He is free to make his own choices – good or bad.” He turned to Kurt. “If you find food, grab it. There’s nothing left on the shelves now, and you may find you’re trying to survive on whatever food you had left behind – if there’s anything left of the food you had. There’s no public transport, few working utilities, no police force, no nurses …” He shook his head again. “Sir, it’s your decision, but if you’ll allow me to offer one piece of advice, it’d be to stay away from people – living or dead.”

  “Got it,” Kurt responded, a little too quickly.

  Megan looked shocked. “No police force? That’s great. I know how well we humans respond when law and order and the constraints of civilization are removed. So, who’s giving the orders?”

  “For now, the government is still functioning. Congress has gone underground and the president and vice president have been moved to separate and secret locations. Critical infrastructure is controlled under martial law and is still ongoing. We’ll be fine as long as things don’t stay bad for too much longer.”

  Matt had to ask. “And how much longer is too much longer?”

  Reed seemed to think for a few moments. “A month, maybe less.”

  Carla sat back. “Better get us to Atlanta then.”

  *****

  The turnpike at Chattanooga looked like it had been barricaded, knocked down, set fire to, and then built back up … several times. Metzger bumped up over the guttering to cross into a field, then slowed under some trees. The ASV braked and he turned. “Close as I can get you, Mr. Douglas.”

  Kurt grunted and started to rise heavily from his seat, the bag weighing him down. Matt grabbed his arm.

  “Please Kurt, one last time … I think you should stay with us; just for a few days.”

  Kurt smiled and patted Matt’s hand. “You’ll be fine.” He looked at Reed. “I’ll take some of that magic potion now.”

  Reed held out a bottle the size of a soda bottle with a milky liquid inside. “Keep reapplying it every twenty-four hours; more if you’re sweating.” Kurt went to take it, but Reed hung on. “There’s enough for about four days. You’d better be locked indoors by then, sir.” He released the bottle.

  Carla spoke, an anxious look on her face. “He’s right, Kurt. When you get home, seal yourself in, and keep listening to the radio.” She seemed to think for a few seconds. “And don’t go patting any stray dogs or cats – everything, warm or cold blooded, could be infested.”

  Kurt looked at the small bottle in his hands, his face carrying a hint of doubt. He looked back at the sergeant.

  “Seeing as I’ll be the one on the outside, I’ll need this more than you guys. I could do with a little more.”

  “Being on the outside is your choice, sir. There is no more.” Reed’s eyes never wavered.

  Kurt’s expression hardened, and his hand dropped to his lap. For a split second, Matt thought the big man was contemplating asking again – this time with a gun in his hand.

  Reed’s eye’s narrowed slightly. He knew what Kurt was thinking. The hint of a confident smile touched his lips, and after a second, Reed gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Don’t try it, the action said. The smile never left his lips.

  Metzger operated the side door, and it swung open. Sunlight streamed in, along with a gust of fresh air.

  “Good luck … sir.”

  Kurt saluted and stepped out. He turned and ducked down, looking back into the armored vehicle’s red interior. “I wish you all luck, and …”

  Metzger closed the door.

  CHAPTER 22

  Kurt jogged through the alleyways, staying low and trying to hold his breath. Rubbish was piled high, forming black plastic mountains and valleys on every sidewalk. Lumpy puddles of flesh, all different hues and sizes, dotted the streets. There was a small one with long hair piled on top, and the brightly colored clothing of a child; a larger one with new leather shoes and a wristwatch, and still another with a stained baseball cap. They were everywhere. No one came to clean up anymore, and the dying had simply stopped moving and allowed the bugs free reign.

  Other than the odd newspaper page blowing down the street or door swinging on a hinge somewhere, there was no sound. Still, Kurt had the feeling there were plenty of eyes watching him from behind darkened windows and pulled blinds.

  He had passed several barricades across streets, and had no luck locating any off-road vehicles to jump gutters or cross fields. His feet hurt, but he was damned if he was going to rest just yet. He paused outside a bike store, considering, for only a second.

  Inside, he pulled a new Bear Mountain bike from a rack and rode it out the door, swerving, but gathering speed swiftly. He knew the area, but it seemed almost alien to him. He bumped over some debris, and his back was temporarily racked with pain from the massive weight he carried. It’d be worth it when he got it all home, he thought. He always remembered his father telling him that when people fail, currencies fail, and countries fail, they turn to gold as the basis for trade. He’d be ready.

  He stopped at the edge of the airport, sighting a row of small single-prop Cessnas still tied down with their wheels chocked. At least a few of them would be partially gassed up – he only needed enough for an hour’s flying time. He looked along the runway; other than some debris, there were no “go home” banners, or any sign of a band of maniacs like the one they’d encountered at Tullahoma. He reached back to feel the gun at his waist. One thing was for sure – this time, he’d shoot first.

  He rode slowly between the outer buildings, then stepped off his bike and hid in the shadows, watching, for a good five minutes – there was nothing. The fence around the runways was down. Kurt checked his gun again, and then sprinted for the nearest plane.

  *****

  Matt peered through the slotted, armored windows as the vehicle roared down the roads on the west side of Johns Mountain reserve. They avoided the main highways, bouncing over dirt fields when the road was blocked. Once in a while Matt noticed a dazed-looking person wandering the dead zones between houses or the stretches of forest. Some were still in clothes, others were stripped bare and running with blood. Some would wave, and some would stand, staring at nothing, as though their soul had already left their body behind.

  Reed called out the names for each as though they were on a bird-spotting field trip – bloomers, skinners, comas, rabids. It seemed the mite infestation affected people in different ways. For the most part, it caused the destruction of the dermal layer that had been inflicted upon Jorghanson. Then there were the bloomers, the living egg factories, their bodies covered in hundreds of thousands of budding sacs that would swell and then burst, infecting miles of countryside. The strange thing was, these poor creatures lived the longest, and until they actually ruptured, were the least infectious. It was as if the mites refused to let them die, preferring that they survived and continued to produce new generations of the parasite.

  Reed pointed again to a figure standing at a corner and he had Metzger slow the vehicle. It was a man, his skin hanging like red gauze from his frame. He didn’t turn to the vehi
cle and didn’t move. He just stood there, mouth open and eyes vacant.

  “Coma. He’ll most likely stay there until he just falls to pieces.”

  Reed motioned ahead and Metzger sped away. “Most humane thing to do would be to put him out of his misery.” He snorted softly. “Not enough ammunition.”

  “That’s horrible.” Matt grimaced.

  “That it is, sir. But I’ll tell you what’s more horrible. Seeing what happens when a pack of rabids attack sad sacks like that. The rabids stopped being human long ago. There’s just a single base instinct left in them – to feed.”

  “They eat them?” Matt rubbed his face, then regretted it. “Ah shit.” The insecticide stung his eyes, which were already watering from the vapors inside the cabin.

  Reed continued to talk softly, describing more denizens of their new world. There were other types of infested, too. Some were using powerful medication to slow the spread of the mite. Usually they ended up brain dead and stripped of their skin long before their bodies succumbed. But many managed to get organized, anger and resentment burning hotly through their veins. These were the militias, the mobs that saw the government as being responsible for their plight. These were the ones that Reed and Metzger feared the most.

  Matt squinted through the thick glass as they slowed at a road junction. There was a boarded-up building that could have been a store once; he saw a shape in the doorway. Matt frowned, trying to concentrate on the figure. He caught a glimpse of disheveled and stained clothing, and a head swathed in bandages, Egyptian mummy-like. He blinked and they had passed it.

  He turned to the group in the back of the ASV, but no one was paying attention. Most looked lost in their own thoughts, or were dozing in the vehicle’s chemical warmth. Carla leaned forward to Reed.

  “How much farther?”

  “As the crow flies – around eighty miles, but the way we’re going, add another fifty to that. Sorry, best we can do, but it gives us a better chance to avoid built-up areas. Things are a little crazy in there right now,” Reed said.