Winds of Change

by Jason Brannon

  I pressed my nose to the glass, straining to see anything that might prove this was all some elaborate hoax. That was when the first bird flew into the glass, making a smack like a wife’s open palm against the side of her philandering husband’s cheek. Startled, I fell back from the window, gasping for breath. The sky chose that moment to start raining birds.

  I wasn’t sure if most of them were already dead, but they all ended up that way. Some of them broke their necks after flying into the unyielding brick front of the store. Others just dropped out of the sky, landing here and there like strange hailstones. I had heard about the unexplained phenomenon of frogs falling from the sky and supposed that this was along the same line. The fact that something like this had happened elsewhere didn’t reassure me in the least.

  “We’re a modern day Egypt,” Steven said. I was too shocked at that point to question him about what he meant. I was too busy watching glassy-eyed cardinals, crows, robins, finches, hawks, vultures, cranes, and a hundred other types of birds drop from the clouds and crash against the pavement. Strangely enough, the birds didn’t turn to dust like the people had. They just lay there, quiet and unmoving.

  Eventually, the downpour of feathers and beaks slowed to a trickle and then died out altogether. The parking lot was littered with birds of every variety. With the sky finally emptied of anything aviary, my mind quickly returned to the hillocks of salt. What had happened to those birds was terrible. But it wasn’t anything like what had happened to all of those unsuspecting people, what could potentially happen to me.

  "What is going on here?" I asked, feeling numb. “My God, what happened to all of them?”

  “It’s the curse of Lot’s wife,” Steven said, squeezing the gold crucifix that hung around his neck. “Everyone’s turning into piles of salt. You remember the story, don’t you? This is the exact same thing.”

  I nodded and tried to swallow. It felt like all of the spit in my mouth had dried up. “I know the story. But these really aren’t the same sorts of circumstances. For one thing, God hasn’t given us a direct command which we, in turn, have broken.”

  “But it’s the same type of thing,” Steven said. “It may not be that particular curse. But this is a plague of Biblical proportions. Think about what happened to the Egyptians. They got more plagues than they knew what to do with. Locusts, famine, death of the firstborn, water to blood - all that stuff. Who knows? These might be the first of many. We’ve got a blood moon, people turning to salt, a rain of birds. Think about it, Matt.”

  “Plague would imply that this is widespread,” I reminded him. “So far we don’t know that this has affected more than a few people. Maybe these incidents are isolated to this area.”

  “But we don’t know that it hasn’t affected any place else,” Steven said, stroking his red goatee.

  “There’s a logical explanation for all of this,” I maintained, “I’m sure of it.”

  “You’re right,” Steven retorted, “there is. The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes. It’s a verse in the book of Joel.”

  “This is strange, I’ll be the first to admit that. But you act like this is the end of the world.”

  “Maybe it is,” Steven said. “You can’t prove that it isn’t. I’m sure you might be able to find some scientific excuse to explain away the birds and the moon. But I think you’d be hard pressed to find an explanation for all of those people turning into salt. Of course, if you’ve got something on your mind, I’d like to hear it.”

  I shook my head, unwilling to say what I believed. Maybe that was because I wasn’t even really sure I knew what I believed.

  The idea of a biblical curse seemed preposterous. The idea of a chemical agent introduced into the atmosphere by terrorists, however, seemed more and more possible. That could potentially explain what had happened to the birds and what was happening to the people that ventured out. The moon could have just been a naturally occurring phenomenon that coincidentally fell on the same night that the world fell apart. It wasn’t likely, I realized, but I was grasping at straws for sanity’s sake at that point.

  “The phones are out,” Chuck said, running up from the opposite direction. “I can’t get any service on my cell either. We desperately need to call someone for help. People are dying out there. I told you we were under attack. What’s happening outside proves it.”

  “Slow down,” I told him. “Just slow down.”

  “We need to turn on a radio or t.v. fast,” Chuck said. “People are turning to salt. Whatever those terrorists released, it’s eating people alive and turning them to dust.”

  “Terrorists?” Steven said, a little confused. “This has nothing to do with terrorists. This is a Biblical curse that God is sending down to punish us.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Chuck said to Steven. “Something bad happens and you are always ready to get God involved in it.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem,” Steven said, raising his voice. “You aren’t ready to involve God at all.”

  “Stop it,” I said. “Both of you. We don’t have time for this. Whatever is going on will kill us regardless of who’s responsible. What we need to try and do now is to guard ourselves against the threat.”

  “Maybe I should start saying Bible verses,” Chuck said. “I just hope He understands the words through my air mask. We need to arm ourselves immediately and get some protection over our mouths and noses.”

  “Maybe you should pray instead if you know how,” Steven said through clenched teeth. “Of course, if it’s God’s will for us to die, it won’t really matter any way.”

  “Maybe I should just throw both of you out and see what happens,” I yelled. “Maybe you two would get along better if you were both little piles of salt. No mouths to argue with then, no viewpoints to debate. Just nice, tidy quiet heaps of salt. Or dirt. Or whatever that stuff is out there. How about that? Huh? Do you guys think you can shut your mouths for two seconds and let me think? Is that so much to ask?”

  “You made your point,” Chuck grumbled.

  “Steve?” I said.

  “I’m fine,” Steven said. “We need to work together on this. I get that. I guess we’re just all a little uptight is all.”

  “Great. Then we’re all on the same page.”

  What was supposed to be our own private little pep rally was quickly interrupted by the screeching sound of another car wreck. I couldn’t help wondering if there was a pile of salt sitting there in the driver’s seat. It kind of put all of our bickering into perspective. At this point, the explanation of what was killing so many people didn’t matter as much as the fact that people were walking to their deaths like lemmings off of the edge of a cliff.

  It bothered me to think that we had unwittingly pushed dozens of people to their deaths in our haste to empty the store. It bothered me even more to think that we had wasted a lot of time that could have been spent saving lives. But how could we have known? We weren’t even really sure of anything now, least of all that we could save ourselves.

  What was the cause? Who was responsible? What could we do to protect ourselves and those around us? Chuck was right. We needed to find some news and see what was going on. Maybe somebody else had the answers to our questions.

  I guess none of us considered the fact that the store still had no power. Even if there would have been a radio or t.v. handy, there wasn’t any electricity. It was one in a long list of problems.

  A few restaurants and a gas station were within walking distance of our store. They didn’t seem to have any power either. The blackout had claimed the entire west side of town. That still didn’t explain why the generator wasn’t working. But it was comforting in a way to know that there were other people in the same shape we were in. I just wondered how many people had unwittingly gone outside to their deaths before someone realized that remaining inside was the safest alternative. To judge by the amount of debris in the pa
rking lot it looked like a fair number of people had met their maker in the past hour.

  "Look," Chuck said suddenly, pointing to one of the aisles at the back of the store. The skylights let in just enough illumination to see furtive shapes darting back and forth from aisle to aisle. “Terrorists,” he hissed. “I told you, and you didn’t believe me. Or, Steven, maybe those are really prophets back there, seeking to spread the word of God. What do you think?”

  "There are two of them," Steven said. “That’s all I can be sure of. Well, that and the fact that I’m going to hand you your teeth in about two seconds.”

  "Those aren’t terrorists,” I interrupted, “those are the Weaver boys. I knew they were in here someplace. Just haven’t been able to track ‘em down yet.”

  “Well, we know where they are now,” Chuck said. “I think we need to corral them. No need for more unnecessary surprises down the road. Having those two loose in the store is almost like letting the bulls loose in the china shop. Anything could happen.”

  "And they aren't the only ones still inside," Steven said, directing his flashlight down one of the plumbing aisles. A couple of burly plumbers were still gathering supplies by moonlight like nothing was wrong.

  "They don’t even realize what’s happening," I said. “We’ve got to warn everyone of the dangers. We can catch up to the Weaver boys later. We know those two are safe. For now, we need to get the word out that nobody is to go outside. I just wish the intercom worked. We could call everybody to the front of the store and do things the easy way.”

  “We know the Weaver boys are safe,” Chuck reminded me. “But are we safe from them?”

  It was a perfectly valid question. We just didn’t have time to answer it. For all I knew people were muddling through the aisles and making their way to the exits, unaware of the dangers that lurked on the other side of the glass. I couldn’t allow that to happen.

  “Let’s get everyone together,” I said. “Time’s a wasting.”

  "We don’t even know what’s going on," Chuck said, his fear coming through as agitation. "For all we know, one of those little countries in the Middle East might have fired a missile. We might have fired back. The world might be breaking down around us even as we speak. If that’s the case, then it won’t really matter what we do. Will it?"

  Steven and I looked at each other, unable to come up with a rebuttal for that possibility.

  "We need to gather up everyone in the store that's left and explain the situation to them,” I persisted. “We don't want anybody else trying to go out those doors until we know that things are safe. If things are as bad as you think they are, then we’ll at least go out trying. If not, then our efforts may be the thing that saves lives."

  That statement held more truth than I ever could have realized.

  In truth, there were quite a few more people in the store than I had realized. Twelve in all, counting Chuck, Steven, and myself. The Weavers made four along with the two plumbers. There was also a newly married couple who had taken advantage of the darkness. I found them making out in one of the hammocks out in the garden department. Chuck also found an elderly man in the bathroom.

  "What's going on here?" the old man asked. "I just went in to take a leak. When I come out, the world's gone to hell in a hand basket. Are we at war or something?"

  "Honestly, none of us know what's going on," I admitted. "But we do know that there is something outside this building that will kill you the minute you try to go to your car.”

  “Yeah, I know,” the old man said with a wave of his bony hand. “It’s called the atmosphere. That’s what you yuppies get for spraying all of that hair spray and deodorant and toilet bowl cleaner. Walking outside is like walking inside of the lung of a cigarette smoker.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I tried to explain. “Just trust me when I tell you that going outside right now would almost certainly mean death for you.”

  “You’re putting me on,” the elderly man said. “I may be old, but I’m not a fool.”

  I sighed. “You can take my word for it or you can look out the windows and see all the little mounds of dirt and salt. That’s all that’s left of the people who tried to make it to their cars.”

  “Give me a break,” one of the plumbers said to the other. “We’re not as stupid as you might think. You people look down your nose at us until the crapper backs up or the pipes burst. Then, we’re your personal heroes.”

  “This has nothing to do with the way I view you,” I maintained. “I realize that this is all a little hard to swallow, but I’m asking you to believe me.”

  “Why should I believe you?” the plumber grumbled.

  “Do you have kids?”

  The plumber shifted from one foot to another. “Two girls,” he said.

  “Do you want those girls to grow up without a father?” I asked him. “If I’m wrong about everything, the worst that can happen is that you’ll feel like a fool. If I’m right, listening to me might be the very thing that gets you home to your daughters.”

  “Matt’s right,” Steven said, coming to my defense. “None of you have to like it, but this is reality now. People are dying outside, and there’s nothing we can do about it but sit here and wait for help to arrive. Trying to act like Rambo isn’t going to do anything but get you killed.”

  “Maybe this is the end of the world,” Jesse Weaver said. “If that’s the case, then there’s nothing we can do about it. Maybe we should all hold hands and sing Kumbaya. Or maybe we should do whatever we want while there’s still time. This may be our last chance to enjoy life. Anybody in here got a Heineken? Boys, what do you say to that?”

  Both of the no-good sons laughed at their father’s stupid joke. Vera Weaver didn’t join her family in their laughter. In all the years the Weavers had been coming in the store, I had never even seen her smile. I knew she must have regretted some of the choices she had made in life that brought her to this point. Undoubtedly, letting Jesse get her pregnant ranked at the top of that list. Still, she stood by her man. There was something both admirable and sad in that.

  I felt sorry for her. I also felt sorry for the young couple that I had caught making out in the hammock. They were the only ones out of the group who seemed to take what we said seriously. They were also the ones who had the most to lose.

  Even in the dark I could see that the young girl was gripping her husband’s hand. He shrugged off her touch once he saw us looking at him. It was almost as if he was ashamed of his wife or didn’t know quite how to act. She reached for him again, and he backed away from her.

  He seemed nervous, erratic, like he had something to hide. He was trying to keep himself in check, but I could see the strain on his face. He was either very new at trying to disguise his emotions or very bad at it. Either way, I felt like I needed to keep an eye on him. Steven gave me a knowing glance, indicating that he felt the same way.

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?” the girl persisted. “If this is the end of the world, I don’t want to spend it in here. I’ve got family that I want to check on. See if they’re o.k.”

  “We all want to go home,” Chuck said. “But that’s not a good idea right now. In fact, it’s a terrible idea. You won’t take more than a couple of steps before turning into a pile of dust. I don’t know what’s going on outside. The only thing I do know is that you don’t want to be out there. You need to stay in here with the rest of us.”

  “Prove what you’re saying,” the argumentative plumber said.

  I hit him in the face with the beam of my flashlight, tired of the babysitting and the arguing. We didn’t have time for any of this, and it seemed like I was the only one who realized it.

  “He doesn’t have to prove what he’s saying,” I replied with an obvious hint of anger in my voice. “You don’t have to believe any of us. You decide for yourself whether to accept or deny what we say. I can’t speak for the other guys, but it’s nothing to me one way or the other. I don’t know you. I
don’t care if I ever learn your name. You can do exactly as you please and walk to that door feeling like you’re ten feet tall. That’s about as far as you’ll get. Once you walk out that door, all you’ll be is a ten foot tall pile of salt. It’s your choice.”

  “I want a beer,” the plumber mumbled, ignoring everything I just said. “There ain’t any here. Guess I’ll have to get in my truck and go get some. Anybody here want one? I’ll be sure to bring a few if I don’t turn to dust first.”

  “I can’t hold you here against your will,” I warned him for the last time. He took two steps forward, hoping to intimidate me. I didn’t budge. Instead, I let him edge past me and head for the door.

  “Hold on, Jerry,” the other plumber said, running after his friend. But Jerry had a point that he was determined to make.

  “Come on, Pete, you’re not going to let these little pricks pull one over on us, are you?” Jerry said, sliding the glass doors open and stumbling out into the night. Chuck had followed us to the door and quickly jumped in front of Pete, pulling the doors shut. Pete didn’t seem too eager to go any further and made no move to push Chuck out of his way. It was the smartest thing he could have done.

  Jerry took only a couple of steps before he ran back to the doors, beating on the glass with his fists. His eyes were bloodshot and wide with fright. He slammed his fists against the glass again. This time his fist exploded into a million grains of the salt-like dust that composed the myriad mounds in the parking lot. It was like watching a human-shaped sand sculpture being demolished by hurricane-force winds.

  The wind quickly swept Jerry away like a puff of acrid smoke. I’m sure there would have been assassins around the world who would have paid tens of thousands of dollars to learn how to dispose of a body that efficiently. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I obviously wasn’t the only one.

  “Jesus,” Chuck shrieked, backing into Pete. “Did you see what happened to him? One minute, he was there. The next...”

  Pete, the plumber, caught Chuck and kept him from falling. But it was clear from the slack-jawed expression on his face that he wasn’t in much better shape. “Oh my God,” he kept muttering over and over again like a mantra.