A Gathering of Crows

by Brian Keene

  “Get out of here,” she yelled, wrestling with the open umbrella. “Shoo!”

  When she lowered the umbrella, the birds were gone. In their place were five identical men, each dressed all in black. They varied only in height. One of them raised his hand and spoke. His voice was like a rusty, squeaking hinge.

  “Hello.”

  She didn’t even have time to scream.

  ***

  Randy woke up cold, wet and confused. His head throbbed. The pain seemed to be centered in his temples. He opened his eyes and saw the night sky. Pinprick stars stared back at him. He was lying on something hard. Pavement? Asphalt? He shivered in the damp air. What was he doing outside? And what was that smell?

  Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position. His hands, pants and shirt were sticky. Frowning, he glanced down at the wetness and saw that it was blood. Then he looked up at the wreckage.

  The blood wasn’t his. He was shocked by how much there was. It had come from the car, running out onto the road and . . .

  And then it all came back to him.

  Randy gulped cold air, buried his face in his bloodied hands and screamed—mournful, unintelligible shrieks that left his throat raw. He wished he would pass out again, but that didn’t happen, so he continued screaming. He didn’t stop until he heard something flutter overhead. Startled, Randy looked up and saw a small bat swoop overhead. Randy had seen bats in his backyard plenty of times, but he hadn’t realized they could fly so fast. This one zipped right along. Seconds later, it crashed into the invisible barrier. The bat dropped like a stone and landed on the road. It twitched once and then lay still. Even from where he sat, Randy could tell that the collision had killed it. The bat had been going too fast, just like Stephanie and Sam.

  Wiping his nose, he choked down a sob. There was nothing he could do for them now. Not for Stephanie. Not for Sam. Not for his parents. Not for anyone.

  As Randy watched, a tiny smoke like wisp escaped from the bat’s corpse and rose into the air. The shapeless, ethereal form hovered for a moment and was then pulled toward the barrier, as if by a magnet. There was a brief flash of light and then the white stuff—whatever it was—disappeared. He considered this for a moment and then decided that he’d probably been better off passing out. Otherwise, he could have blundered into the same thing that had just killed the bat.

  “What the fuck is going on? What is this shit?”

  Randy stared at the dead bat and realized something. It wasn’t the only dead animal around the base of the barrier. The ground was littered with dead birds—robins, woodpeckers, sparrows, crows, pigeons, finches and even a white duck. Not just birds, either. He saw a red fox, two groundhogs, a skunk and a mother possum with several babies still clinging to her back. All of them were stiff and lifeless. Stranger still were the small piles of ash between the bodies. He wondered what the dust was and where it had come from.

  Obviously, this was not an exit. He had never been one for science fiction. He’d never read many comic books or watched horror movies, preferring NASCAR and football instead. But he’d played enough video games to know that whatever was happening, it wasn’t normal. Something had sealed off the town. If you touched it, or got too close, it sucked out your energy—or whatever those white wisps had been. He had no doubt that the barrier stretched far overhead. He wondered if it extended underground, as well, but he lacked the tools to dig down and find out. He was pretty sure such an effort would be a waste of time. They were trapped here.

  He thought back to when he was younger. He and Marsha would spend their summer nights running around in the backyard, capturing lightning bugs and putting them in one of their mom’s mason jars until it was time to go to bed. Now he knew how those bugs had felt, except that he didn’t think the men in black would let everyone go once it was time to go to sleep.

  He climbed to his feet and picked bits of gravel from his palms. Then he gingerly felt his scalp. He had a knot at the back of his head and another on his forehead, but the skin didn’t feel broken, and as far as he could tell, he wasn’t bleeding. Making a concerted effort not to look in Stephanie and Sam’s direction, Randy limped back to his truck and climbed inside. He took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. The only thing left to do was find his sister. If he couldn’t protect their parents or his friends, the least he could do was make sure Marsha was safe. Once he found her, maybe they could try the old logging road on the back end of town. He’d taken his truck four-wheeling up into the mountains many times, and he knew that the rugged truck could handle the harsh terrain. If they were lucky, maybe the force wouldn’t extend that far. Maybe it was a way to escape. They had to try, at least, because the only alternative Randy could see was to sit down and wait to be killed—and that was no alternative at all.

  Another bird slammed into the shield and was snuffed out. As with the bat, a smoky form drifted up from the corpse and was absorbed by the barrier. Randy rubbed his temples. The throbbing had subsided somewhat, but his head still hurt. He put the truck into gear. As Randy pulled away, his headlights spotlighted the still-steaming wreckage of Sam’s car. Randy swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to look away.

  ***

  They stood over Melanie Candra’s mutilated body, which had been torn limb from limb. Her blood seeped into the carpet and decorated the walls, mantel, furniture and ceiling fan.

  “I have met our adversary,” said the first. “A magus, schooled in the ways of old. His knowledge was impressive, if ineffectual. He tried a number of different schools and workings against me, and failed.”

  “And you killed him?”

  “No. He escaped me, but he won’t remain free for long. I’ll kill him last.”

  “Are you certain of his abilities?”

  “He is strong, but he cannot stand against us. He’ll be no problem. A minor annoyance, nothing more.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because the fool gave me his name. He performed a rather rustic binding spell. Simplistic and crude, but it worked . . . temporarily.”

  The others interrupted with coarse laughter. “And this was how he escaped? He slowed you down?”

  “I tell you it matters not! During the spell, he invoked his name and the name of his father. We have all that we need to defeat him now. Our magic is stronger.”

  The fifth, who had remained quiet until now, spoke. “If what you say is true, and I have no reason to doubt that it is, then there are two magi in this town.”

  The others gasped and hissed.

  “Two?”

  “Indeed. Two, for I encountered one as well.”

  “Perhaps you were confronted by the same magus.”

  “No, this was a young man who does not have knowledge of the gifts he possesses. He escaped me quite by accident. I let him go, content to save him for later.”

  “I have seen this young man, as well,” said the third. “Did he flee from a home when you saw him last?”

  “Yes.” The fifth nodded.

  “Then it was him. I saw three young people run from a home. Are you certain he doesn’t understand his gift?”

  “I am positive. Why?”

  “When I saw him, he was able to start two vehicles and the three of them drove away. I assumed then that he was the magus we had sensed. I was unaware of the second.”

  They fell silent and bowed their heads in thought. After a moment, the first spoke.

  “Two adversaries. We must be very careful, brothers.”

  “It is of no consequence,” said the second. “One does not know how to use his abilities and the other has given us his name. We will save their souls for last, and then be sated and ready to sleep again.”

  “Then that will be soon,” the fourth replied, “for I sense the town is almost emptied. There are only a few left. Most are hiding together in groups, which should expedite things.”

  The first raised his arms. “Perhaps we will have time to enjoy the night and
revel before the dawn comes. Let us finish this task.”

  EIGHT

  “Look over there.” Gus nudged his brother with his elbow and nodded his head toward Axel’s house.

  The three of them were huddled together behind Ray Dillinger’s old chicken coop. Ray had passed away two years earlier from diabetes-related complications and his property had stood vacant ever since, including the coop. It still smelled faintly of chicken shit. They had encountered more dead bodies as they made their way through the streets, but not as many as they had expected. Instead, they’d found small mounds of ashes scattered along the streets and sidewalks and in yards. None of them had an explanation for it, but the sight disturbed them. Even more disturbing was the silence. They hadn’t heard a scream in several minutes.

  “What?” Greg frowned, glancing around in confusion.

  Gus pointed again. “There’s a light on down in Axel Perry’s basement.”

  Greg and Paul glanced at the small house. Sure enough, the ground-level cellar window was lit with a dim, soft glow.

  “But the power is out,” Greg whispered. “How’s he got light?”

  “It’s candlelight,” Paul said. “See how it changes and flickers?”

  “You reckon he’s okay?” Gus asked. “I like old Axel.”

  “I like him, too,” Paul agreed. “He’s a good old boy. They broke the mold when they made him.”

  “We should check on him,” Greg said. “Make sure he’s alright. I mean, he’s an old man and all. He might be scared. Don’t want him having a heart attack or anything.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Gus said. “Maybe we can take him with us. Get him the hell out of here.”

  Paul shook his head. “We’ll check on him, but we can’t take him with us. I hate to say it, but he’d slow us down. I ain’t exactly a spring chicken anymore, and my heart’s beating so fast it’s fit to pop right out of my chest. I can’t imagine what shape Axel is in right now.”

  “It don’t seem right,” Greg said, “leaving an old man behind.”

  “I don’t like it either,” Paul replied, “but think about it. We may have to move fast. Run. We might have to fight or think on our feet. There’s no telling what could happen. At the very least, he’d slow us down, but if he got hurt, we’d be screwed. Better to leave him inside the house than to leave him in a field somewhere.”

  Gus nodded. “That’s a good point.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Greg said.

  “Your vote is duly noted.” Paul stood up. “If it helps, I don’t like leaving my dogs behind, either, but there it is. Now come on. We’re wasting time. Let’s check on Axel, make sure he’s okay and let him know we’re going for help, and then move on.”

  They hurried over to Axel’s house, weapons at the ready, watching the nearby homes and yards for any sign of movement. Gus stepped in one of the mysterious piles of ash. It clung to his boot and pants leg and swirled in the air around him. Gus coughed.

  “Goddamn,” he wheezed when the coughing fit subsided. “Whatever that stuff is, it tastes nasty.”

  “I’ve got an idea what it is,” Paul said.

  “What?”

  “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

  “Now that ain’t fair, Paul. Tell me what you think it is.”

  Paul kept his voice low as they crossed the yard. “Think about it. We’ve been seeing these piles everywhere, right?”

  The Pheasant brothers nodded.

  “But they weren’t around before tonight. And earlier,when me and Gus were sneaking around, we saw a lot of dead bodies. Not so many of them now though, are there? Instead, there’s just those little piles of ash.”

  Gus gagged and began coughing again. He doubled over, clutching his stomach.

  Greg’s eyes grew wide. “You don’t mean . . . that stuff is dead people?”

  Paul shrugged, and then glanced around the neighborhood. He stepped up onto Axel’s front porch and approached the door. Greg put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, but Gus shoved him away and retched again. Greg decided to look in the other direction and stand watch. There was no answer to Paul’s repeated knocking. After a few tries, he came back down into the yard.

  “That’s fucking disgusting.” Gus wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “Why did you have to tell me that shit, Paul?”

  “Hey, you asked. Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that? Now quit dicking around and come on.”

  Paul started around the side of the house, his rifle at the ready. Gus and Greg stared at him in confusion.

  “But nobody answered when you knocked,” Greg whispered. “Where are you going now?”

  “To tap on one of those basement windows. Maybe we can get his attention that way.”

  They hurried along behind him. Gus continued furiously wiping at his mouth and nose, his expression one of horrified disgust.

  “Jesus,” Greg whispered. “Jesus fucking Christ, what a mess this whole thing is.”

  “You reckon it was death rays?” Gus asked.

  “What?”

  “All the bodies. What do you think it was that turned them into ash? I mean, it couldn’t have been fire. I smell smoke, but that’s from somewhere across town. If somebody had burned the bodies, we’d see little fires all over town. We’d smell gasoline and stuff. So what do you think did it? There’s no bones, no jewelry or bits of clothing left behind. What could do that to a person?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  “I’m just saying, it’s mighty odd. Thought maybe you’d have one of your theories.”

  “Will you two be quiet?” Paul handed Gus his rifle. Then he got down on his hands and knees and peeked through the window.

  “What do you see?” Gus asked. “Is Axel down there? Is he okay?”

  “He’s down there, and he’s got company. Can’t see for sure, because of the light, but I think that’s Jean Sullivan and her little boy down there with him.”

  “Well, let them know we’re up here.”

  Paul reached forward and rapped on the glass, eliciting frightened screams from inside the house.

  “It’s us,” he called. “Paul Crowley and the Pheasant Brothers! Open up, Axel.”

  After a moment, Paul stood up and brushed grass clippings from his hands and knees.

  “He coming up?” Greg whispered.

  “Yeah. At least, I think so. He motioned toward the stairs.”

  They crept back around to the front of the house, arriving just as the front door creaked open.

  “You bunch of idiots,” Axel said. “You darn near gave me a heart attack. And I think little Bobby Sullivan might have just peed himself. What were you thinking?”

  “We were thinking about you,” Paul said as Axel let them into the house. “How you holding up, oldtimer?”

  Axel shut the door behind them and locked it. “We’re scared and we don’t know what’s going on. Any news?”

  “Yeah,” Paul replied, “but none of it is any good.”

  “Come down to the basement and tell us about it. It’s safe there, if a little chilly. Damn kerosene heater is on the fritz, just like everything else tonight.”

  Paul hesitated. “We can’t stay, Axel. We saw your light and thought to check on you. Maybe you should blow out the candles, by the way. You can see them from the street. But like I said, we can’t stay. We’re going for help.”

  “I’ve got a bottle of whiskey down there. Don’t usually drink it myself, but I might be so inclined if you boys would do a shot with me.”

  Gus grinned. “I reckon we can stay for a little bit, at least. Right, Paul?”

  Sighing, Paul shrugged and followed the others down into the basement. He thought, not for the first time, of his dogs and hoped that they were okay.

  ***

  Joel Winkler sat cross-legged in his big, plush recliner and looked around his darkened living room. It seemed so different, so strange, without the lights on.
Joel always had at least one light on twenty-four hours a day, even if it was just the small night-light in the bathroom next to the master bedroom. He didn’t like stumbling around in the dark.

  The lights had been just one of the things Richard liked to complain about.

  He missed Richard. Not a day went by that Joel didn’t think about him, but right now, he was thinking about him more than ever.

  They’d met in college. Before his freshman year, Joel had never been out of Brinkley Springs and the surrounding vicinity. Richard was from California and had traveled all around the world. They sat next to each other in psych class, formed a friendship and began spending time together. Within days, that friendship had turned romantic. After graduation, Richard had gone back to California and Joel, unable to find a job, had ended up back in Brinkley Springs. He’d been depressed and despondent until two months later, when Richard showed up at his door. The moving van was parked outside.

  They’d lived together for just over a decade. Joel knew what people said behind their backs, but he didn’t care. Yes, some of the people in town were blatantly homophobic, even in this day and age, but most were just curious. As far as he knew, Brinkley Springs didn’t have any other gay couples. Not that they’d let it officially be known that they were indeed a couple. Joel had balked at revealing that, preferring instead to tell people that Richard was just his roommate. In the end, that was why Richard had left a second time—Joel’s steadfast refusal to come out of the closet and openly embrace and acknowledge their relationship.

  Joel died a little more each day without him.

  Feeling melancholy, Joel began humming Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind.” It had been their song.

  He stared at the picture on the end table. It had been taken four years ago at the beautiful Cass Scenic Railroad State Park, near Bald Knob. In it, he and Richard were smiling, arms around each other. Behind them was a colorful kaleidoscope of fall foliage. Joel had taken the picture himself, using the timer on his camera. They’d been laughing about the mountain’s name—Bald Knob—and it had led to playful innuendos that lasted throughout the day and ended in a slow, passionate bout of lovemaking in a rented cabin atop the mountain later that night.