The First Bird: Omnibus Edition

by Greig Beck

  “Good. I suggest you hole up for the night and make a start first thing.”

  “You, as in ‘us’ – is that what you mean? I thought you would meet us.”

  Carla frowned as she waited for a response. After a moment of silence her head dropped. “So, we have to come to you now?”

  There was the sound of a long exhalation over the line. “They’re closing in, Carla; ringing us. The militias are picking off our teams, kidnapping our people, and then returning them in states that are abhorrent. Just a week ago we lost a full contingent of military technicians. It’s too dangerous right now. We can guide you, but …”

  Carla sniffed and nodded. “Okay, Hew.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s the best we can do.”

  Carla groaned, and Matt felt his shoulders slump. So close, he thought. Megan poured a few drops of alcohol into the repellent bottle, shook it, and then upended the diluted liquid onto the arm of his suit where it had melted through. She wound tape around it as a seal.

  Carla leaned her head back against the wall. “Okay, I guess we can stay here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll try to find some transportation.”

  “Good, Carla, stay strong … nearly home. Okay, same as before, come in via Houston Mill Road. It’s been modified to only accept certain visitors – no uninvited walk-ins anymore, I’m afraid. You’ll come to a checkpoint. You’re expected, so don’t stop, don’t get out; you’ll simply be waved through. When you get to the terminus, you will need to leave the vehicle and proceed to the chemical showers. It’ll be unpleasant, but it’s the only way for us to be sure you’re detoxed and clean.”

  “Fine with me – a shower is a shower.” Megan doused a rag with some water and wiped her faceplate.

  “Tomorrow it is, then,” Carla said softly.

  “Remember, do not stop, and do not get out of the car for any reason … no matter what you see. Stay safe … and good luck.”

  Carla hung up.

  Matt sat forward. “I’ll board up the door … in a minute.” He lay back down, suddenly feeling dizzy, exhaustion eating away at every atom in his body. He closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER 23

  Kurt stayed low amongst the shrubbery a few hundred feet from the side of his house. His modest bungalow was on a large plot just off Haul Road in Wayne, New York. It was a little run down, but sat on a few acres of flat, secluded forest, and was as close to being in the country as he could get on the outskirts of one of America’s most populated cities.

  He had staked it out for an hour. He’d circled twice, and there’d been no movement inside at any time. He kept low and ran to the front door; there was nothing but darkness in the windows. The key was still under the potted plant. In one smooth motion, he unlocked the door, pushed it open, slid inside and closed it behind him as silently as he could manage.

  Breathing hard, he stood against the wall in the darkness for another ten minutes, just listening, feeling for movement or a presence. It was his training as a hunter – wait for your prey to move first; see them before they saw you. After several minutes there was still nothing. He exhaled and dropped his heavy bag with a dull metallic clank. His shoulders immediately felt lighter by half.

  Kurt had been thinking about his priorities for hours before he had even arrived. Shower all this bug shit off. Seal the windows and doors, and then make a giant meal, followed by ten hours’ sack time. Not one part of that sounded like a bad idea.

  His clothing came off first and went into a plastic bag, which he sealed. Naked, he went to his linen cupboard, grabbed some towels, wet them, and rolled them up. He placed them under doorframes and along window ledges. Next, he placed cling wrap over air vents, keyholes, and any other entry or exit, no matter how small, that he could find. After another hour, he stood back and nodded. Nothing could get in, no matter how microscopic, unless he wanted it to.

  He raced to the shower, luxuriating in the water, bathing away the grease, grime, chemicals, and miles of shitty jungle. Scrubbed pink, he ambled out, still naked, and ran his large hands up through his hair. He stretched and smiled – he felt good.

  He opened the fridge; it was just as he had left it. There were a few long-life condiments and some rancid dairy products. Didn’t matter, his pantry was stocked with tins and dry food – he always kept bulk supplies in case he got snowed in.

  If he ate wisely, he reckoned he could last six months. There’d be nothing to do but listen to the radio and wait. Kurt made himself a huge plate of tinned beans, ham, and tomatoes, and grabbed two warm beers. He would have sat at the table and listened to the radio, but there was one last thing to be taken care of.

  He grabbed his satchel and dropped it onto the table. Reaching in carefully, he lifted free a few pieces of the Incan gold. He sat them on the table and brought his smiling face close. Each was polished and gleaming as if it had been cast just yesterday. He smile broke into a grin at the collection.

  “Hello, rich man.”

  He picked up one of the largest pieces – a squat idol that leered madly at him. “Same to you, fatso.” He put it down and wiped his hands, taking a big spoonful of beans and ham.

  He continued removing the pieces, rummaging through the last items in his pack. He pushed aside the empty insecticide bottle. Won’t need you again, he thought with satisfaction.

  His hand closed on a tiny piece of folded plastic. He lifted it carefully out.

  There was something shimmering inside. He frowned. He couldn’t remember taking it with him, or picking it up along the way. Kurt opened the small bag and reached in, pulling the iridescent feather free. He turned it in his fingers, confusion suddenly turning to recognition, and then to horror.

  “Oh, shit, shit, shit.” He dropped the archaeopteryx feather and held his wrist as if his hand had been burnt. He raced for the shower.

  CHAPTER 24

  If the daytime was mostly devoid of the noises of city life, then the night belonged to the nocturnal denizens – long, noisy, and violent. Groups of people ran in the street – either in pursuit, or being pursued.

  Sometimes an individual would creep by, or pause to try their door. That was the worst – it could have been another Maddie, seeking help, or someone looking for an opportunity to loot, maim, or kill. And then there were the infested – those crawling with the parasite, skin drooping or sloughing off in wet blobs, and the others, those who had the mite, but weren’t showing symptoms, perhaps believing they were clean, unknowingly being turned into walking egg factories.

  Matt blinked eyes that were so gritty it hurt to close them. Tiredness hung on them all like lead weights, but no one could sleep well enough to get any relief. Matt held a small plastic flashlight, but refrained from using it – the light would have acted like a beacon to the rabid hordes outside.

  The morning came slowly and breakfast was just like dinner – a few energy bars that they’d found on the counter, and rust-tasting tap water, all gratefully consumed. Matt’s initial search of the drawers in the office had yielded little more than tape measures, invoice slips, a set of keys, and some wrenches – not a great haul. Eating was a challenge with the suits. Carla had her suit done up and over her head once again. Reed was still propped up, but this time, his breathing was more like that of a deep sleeper, as opposed to a man fighting for his life. The wound still dripped and needed attention, but for now, he lived.

  Reed coughed wetly, and then groaned. Matt poured some water into a coffee mug and held it to the soldier’s lips. He groaned again, took a sip, and grimaced.

  “Shit, that hurt.”

  Matt smiled. “Welcome back.”

  “What happened? Where are we?” His eyes stayed shut, and pain started to crease his features.

  “You got shot, the ASV got torched, and we got chased by a mob. Now we’re hiding in a plumbing supply store. But that was yesterday.” He gave Reed another sip of water. “Today, we’re going to head into the CDC … think you can make it?”

  Reed opened his eyes and s
tarted to nod. His eyes focussed, then came a look of panic. He grabbed Matt’s forearm, sitting forward. “Where the fuck is my suit? Am I covered?”

  Matt pushed him down. “Take it easy. You’ve got residual insecticide, so you should be okay for now. Your biggest issue is that you need a blood transfusion – you’ve got a punctured lung, and a drip inserted into your chest.”

  Reed’s hand came up slowly, touching the small tube. He winced, and then frowned. “The girl, the bloomer, did she … where is she?”

  Matt kept his voice low, not wanting Carla to hear. “She’s gone.”

  “Did I shoot her?” His face was pained.

  “No,” Matt responded.

  He nodded. “I was going to.” He opened his eyes. “If she’d bloomed, we’d have all been fucked.”

  Too late, Matt thought.

  Reed coughed, this time without blood appearing on his lips. He winced again. “You know, the mites prefer the subdermal skin layers, but they’re happy to munch on the cells of the mouth, throat, lungs – eat you from the inside out.”

  “Yeah, you said that. Take it easy now – get some rest.” Matt pressed the mug of water into his hands and stood.

  His stomach sank; he remembered hearing Carla cough in the night. He didn’t want her falling to bits in front of them. He looked down at the soldier. “Rest now; we’ll be going soon, trying to find a car or something we can use to get to the CDC.”

  Reed nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’ll make it home, even if I have to crawl.”

  Matt hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  *****

  Carla found a small bathroom at the back of the shop and stood in front of a discolored mirror. She leaned forward, trying to see herself through her glass faceplate. She swore softly and unzipped the suit, pulling it back down off her shoulders, then dragged her hands up and out of the inbuilt gloves.

  She luxuriated in the coolness, her perspiration drying quickly. She snorted – never had bathroom air smelt so sweet. She leaned forward once again and licked her lips. They felt funny – numb and puffy, just like her gums and throat. She grinned, showing her teeth and turning her head from side to side, noticing a slight swelling of her upper lip. She looked like she’d just had a round of collagen injections to give herself a Sunset Boulevard trout-pout.

  She was tired, but felt better knowing they were going to be home soon. A long hot shower, clean sheets, a cooked meal – any one of those things seemed like such a luxury. There was a knock on the door.

  “Carla, you okay in there?”

  “Sure Matt, just finishing up.” She washed her hands with soap, splashed water on her face, and then ran hands through her hair, scraping at her greasy scalp. She finished by slowly pulling the suit back up and zipping it closed. One more day, she thought.

  *****

  Matt opened the back door a crack and peered out. The morning was silent – no more people about, no birdsong, not even a breeze to stir up some sounds. He went out into the laneway and beheld a streetscape that looked like a third-world war zone. Mountains of debris and rubbish piled high, wrecked cars, bikes, dead bodies, and animal carcasses. The smell was atrocious. Matt knew that only bacteria and insects would worry the dead – even the rats would have succumbed to the mite by now.

  There were a few cars parked neatly in the laneway. The owners had probably finished work, gone indoors, and then vanished into some sort of twilight zone, never to return … or perhaps they were watching him now. Matt looked along the windows, but there was no movement, nor any open or broken panes to suggest anything sinister.

  He ventured out farther; there was a single Ford truck, with the same logo on the doors as on the shop they had taken shelter in. Matt tried the door hopefully, then dropped his hand. He turned to Megan and Carla, who were standing in the doorway, holding Reed between them.

  “Wait a minute.” He charged back past them, and in a few seconds returned with the keys he had found earlier. He opened the truck’s door and, on seeing the two-way radio, whispered a soft thank you.

  “Come on, it’s got half a tank.” He leapt out and ran around to help with Reed. Together, they pushed him into the cabin, Matt pointed to the radio.

  “Carla, see if you can get Dr. Hewson again.”

  “You bet.” She smiled and jumped in.

  Matt paled – through the faceplate, he noticed the blood on her teeth. Eat you from the inside out, Reed had said.

  The soldier slumped, moving in and out of consciousness. The drip at his chest was now leaking a discolored fluid. Without any more antibiotics, the man had days, maybe hours, left.

  Megan slammed the door. “Know how to drive this big sucker?”

  Matt blew air through his lips dismissively. “It’s a Ford F750 with a two-ten horsepower engine.”

  She laughed. “Okay, that’s written on the dash. Can you drive it?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Sure, the F750 is an automatic – that’s all I need to know.” He fired it up, and the roar was loud in the dead backstreet. He jumped it forward, plowing through or pushing over small mountains of rubbish, and other things he didn’t want to dwell on. They turned onto the main road and he accelerated, following Carla’s directions to CDC headquarters.

  Matt moved down streets, turning left or right on Carla’s instructions. The morning was as silent as the night had been noisy; the running and screaming denizens of the darkness now home, comatose or dead. But, empty as the streets were, Matt still couldn’t shake the feeling that behind the doors and windows, eyes followed their progress.

  At the next junction, they had to stop at a wall of trucks, topped with cars. In some places the pile of broken steel, glass, and rubber had been lashed together with cargo netting. It was no random pile-up, but a physical barrier created to keep someone in … or out.

  “I don’t like it.” Matt glanced around quickly, looking out the truck’s windows.

  Carla folded her arms. “Hew should have told us about this.”

  “I don’t think he knew. Look.” Matt pointed to one of the cars, which was leaking oil, the dark fluid running down to the ground where a pool glistened, not yet soaked in. “This has just been erected.”

  “Last night?” Megan leaned forward.

  “Probably. The question is … was it built for us?” Matt turned to her, eyebrows raised.

  He wound down the window, and leaned out, raising himself up slightly. From outside the window there was near total silence from a street that used to be crammed with hundreds of cars and pedestrians going about their daily business only weeks before.

  Matt turned back to them. “Like a tomb.”

  Suddenly an explosion of sound hammered the air around them, making them cringe as if from a physical blow. Loudspeakers blared all around them.

  Music, screams, a cacophony of jumbled sounds, then a screech of white noise, made them grind their teeth and squeeze their eyes shut. The sounds flattened and organized, becoming a rapper’s backbeat. Into it came a voice, deep and stentorian, the perfect vowels incongruous among the thumping, scratching musical beat of the street.

  This is the end of days. The end of your life…

  Matt wrenched himself back into the car. “What the hell is that? This is a bad joke.” He had to shout over the music.

  “Move, let’s get out of here. Back up, go, go, go!” Megan had her hands over her ears.

  Matt put the car in reverse and accelerated.

  Say goodbye to your husband ... Say goodbye to your wife ...

  Matt grimaced. Carla kept her head down and her eyes shut.

  You caused all this when you took our skins. Now all off to hell, for your terrible sins ...

  “Shut up.” Carla’s voice was loud in the cabin and, as if by magic, the music shut off, leaving a ringing in their ears. It was immediately replaced by the urbane voice of Dillon.

  “Carla, Carla Nero. It took me a while, but I knew I recognized you. Come to me, Carla. I have a lot to talk
to you about.”

  “What?” Carla’s eyes were wide.

  “Not today, asshole.” Matt spun the car around and jammed his foot down hard on the accelerator, but evading the voice was impossible. Every corner seemed to have a speaker – on a street pole, hammered into walls, even affixed to abandoned cars.

  “Don’t make me hurt them, Carla. And I can hurt them. You’ll see.”

  Carla pointed, her voice high. “Go left at the next street.”

  Matt spun the wheel and bounced down the street. The music started again.

  This is the end of your world-ddd …

  The words became harsher, louder, and finally they stopped making sense at all and just became an animalistic roar that could have emanated from the bowels of hell itself.

  The grotesque song receded as they powered ahead, Matt only just noticing how his heartbeat felt like a hammer behind his ribs.

  “Godammit, he’s watching us.”

  “He must be close, or his followers are.” Megan’s eyes darted as she stared through the windscreen.

  “Turn again here, we’ve got to get back on track. At least this heads us in the right direction.” Carla pointed. “And again here. We should be past the barrier now.”

  Matt turned, and immediately jammed his foot on the brake, skidding the big truck and throwing them all forward. “Shit.”

  There was a row of upside-down crucifixes. Men and women were tied to them – also upside down. They hung limp and were soaking wet.

  Reed moaned and his arm came up slowly, pointing. “Oh God … our people.” His head slumped back, his face a mask of anguish.

  There was a crackle of static and then came the smooth voice again. “Get out of the truck, Carla.”

  Matt put the truck in reverse, but before he could stamp on the accelerator a figure dashed out, holding a flaming torch. He ran past the line of crucified people, touching each gently with the flame. One by one, the figures exploded into pillars of orange fire and greasy black smoke. It was obvious now what they were soaked in – gasoline.