Tails of the Apocalypse (24 page)

“They’re
cattle.
Dumb, useless beasts. Monsters even.”

Joe shook his head. “You’re more a monster than any of them have
ever
been. At least they kill to eat—”

Gray’s fist shot out and slammed into Joe’s face. He grabbed the ax from Joe’s belt and pulled it out. Gray held it up. “You better watch it, Joe,” he hissed as Joe cupped a hand around his nose. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days. You got anything else you want to say? Any other precious pieces of kumbaya shit you want to spread around?”

Joe shook his head, blood leaking from under his hand and splatting to the floor in front of Surly. She hopped nervously.

“Then shut the fucking door before a rival group or the Infected see us. You can open the transom instead, that’ll suck out the smoke without leaving us open to attack.”

Joe reached out to shut the door and Surly’s heart sank. The dangerous man was winning at every turn. She watched Walt climb up to the small window in the back room and crank it open. Even she wouldn’t fit through that, not without falling to the ground outside and injuring herself.

Gray carefully slid the ax back into Joe’s belt. “Joe,” he said quietly, “you know I’m your friend. Let me lead. Let me take care of you. You know you don’t have the brain power to survive this alone. I got your back. But if you ever talk back to me again, I’ll cut your fucking tongue out. You got it?”

Joe just nodded.

“Good,” said Gray, a little louder, “let’s get that bacon sizzling then, I’m starving!”

He turned toward the front of the shop and saw Surly. He scowled. “And get this damned chicken back in its cage. I don’t want birdshit on my dinner.” He aimed a kick at her, but Surly just fluttered out of the way.

Walt carried a big metal dog bowl of bloody meat past her without stopping. Joe sank down into the owner’s office chair and tried to stop his nosebleed with the tissues sitting there. Surly Shirley hopped over to the desk. She flew up to the top of it and landed in front of Joe, watching him. He reached out with his clean hand and stroked her feathers. She didn’t bite him this time. “Pretty bird,” she cooed, ducking her head under his fingers.

“Yes, you’re a pretty bird,” he said softly, his words muffled under his hand.

Surly hopped up onto his shoulder, walking herself sideways to his ear. “Pretty bird, Pretty, pretty. Joe,” she said, trying out the new word. “Pretty Joe.”

Joe laughed. “Not anymore. Gonna have a crook in my face now.” She wasn’t sure what his face had to do with it. She tried to praise him again.

“Pretty Joe,” she repeated and fluttered down to the floor. “Lemon?” she asked, trying again.

“Sorry, fresh out of lemons. I think the only place with lemons is a greenhouse near home.”

Ah well,
she thought,
apples are acceptable.
She tapped her beak on the exit door. “Pretty Joe, Surly Shirley. Nuh-night.”

He wrinkled his brow. “You practicing your words?” he asked.

“Nuh-night, Paws and Claws.” She tapped the door again, trying to make him understand.

“You want to go to sleep?” He reached out a hand for her.

“Pretty Joe, Surly Shirley, Nuh-night Paws and Claws.” She squawked, getting desperate. She flew past the open window and then back. How could she get him to see that they needed to leave?

“Soup’s on, Joe,” yelled Gray. “Come get it before these damn dogs do. And stop talking to that chicken.”

Joe stood up. He grabbed another fistful of tissues from the box and mashed them against his nose. “C’mon, Shirley, time to get back in your cage now. You don’t want me to get into trouble again, do you?”

“Pretty Joe,” Shirley cooed and flew, disappointed, back into her cage.

The smoke from the small fire filled the shop, floating through the broken display window and transom. It made Surly and the other animals sleepy, but the smell of cooking pork soon attracted a small but raucous group of humans. They joked with each other as they stood in line for a share of the cooked pig. Walt chewed on a bone before tossing it to the drooling puppies, who battled for it.

There’s loyalty for you,
thought Surly with a pang of regret for Princess. The pig didn’t last long. The men at the end of the line frowned at their portions. One of them tossed a plate in disgust onto the counter next to Surly’s cage. “I’m sick of these scanty rations, Gray,” he grumbled. “You promised us decent wages.”

“And you’ll have them,” said Gray without bothering to look up from his plate. “We’re almost at the payout. A few more nights’ work and we’ll all be able to retire. If the pork doesn’t satisfy, toss that chicken next to you into the pot.” He jerked his thumb toward Surly’s cage. The man who complained bent down to look at her. She squawked as he reached a hand toward the latch. She wasn’t going to go willingly.

“No, don’t do that!” cried Joe.

“Why not?” asked the man without pausing. The door squeaked opened. Surly beat her wings and opened her beak to bite.

“Because it’s a parrot. They’re really smart. It’d be like—like eating a person.”

“Bullshit, it’s just a bird.” The man’s thick hand hovered at the cage door.

“Look,” said Joe, handing over his own plate, “if you’re hungry take mine. Leave the bird alone.”

The man turned and looked at the small bit of meat on the plate. “Not the only one that’s hungry. Besides, I haven’t had chicken in months. And what do you care? It’s just going to die in its cage anyway.”

“I’ll trade you something,” said Joe, trying to close the cage.

The man laughed. “You don’t have anything left, Joe. You lost the last of your tobacco in the poker game, and you traded Ben those batteries so he’d let that sweet little piece go two towns back. You got nothing.”

Joe hesitated. “You can have the last bottle of tequila.”

The man whistled low and long. Surly hopped on her perch, not certain whether to be relieved or not at the sound.

“Your last bottle, Joe? You could buy a woman with that. Or a doctor. Why do you want this bird so bad?”

Joe shrugged.

“It’s empty isn’t it? You’re trying to trick me out of a meal.” The man plunged his hand back into the cage and clutched Surly roughly. She stabbed him with her beak, and he swore but held on.

“No, no!” said Joe, “It’s brand new, full, I’ll get it, just—just put the bird back.”

Joe pushed his way out of the crowded shop as the man released Surly and pulled his hand back to suck the skin she’d bitten. Joe came back with a silver bottle that gleamed in the firelight. The man smiled and handed Joe the cage. “Don’t know why you care about a stupid seagull, but it’s good doing business with you.” He grabbed Joe’s plate. “Taking this too.” Joe let the plate go, waving him off and lifting the cage to his face. He opened the door and gently smoothed Surly’s rumpled feathers.

“Sorry, Shirley. You okay, pretty bird?”

“Pretty bird. Pretty Joe,” she clucked beneath his soothing strokes. He unwrapped the last of his dried apple slices and held it on his palm. She carefully picked it up. The crowd of men was leaving as Walt threw a box of cloth cat toys onto the fire. Another silver bowl of water boiled in the coals, and Gray threw in some metal tools.

“We going to do it in here?” asked Walt.

“Back room,” said Gray. “On the vet table. We’ll restrain ’em with the leashes. You wash the table off. Make sure you bleach it or sterilizing the tools will be pointless. We got to keep em from getting sick.” Gray laughed. “Sicker, I mean. Joe, go get the Infected.”

Surly glanced at the back door. It might open again if they were doing something back there. Then again, she had a better chance for sympathy with Joe. If only she could make him understand. She decided to stick with him. After the other two went to prepare the table, she flew up to his shoulder. He still had little crusts of blood under his nose, and his cheeks were swollen and dark under the eyes. He shook his head as she cocked hers sideways to look at him.

“No, Shirley, you don’t want to see this. You stay here.” He held out a finger for her to climb on, but she refused. He wiggled his shoulder. She flapped but clung on.

“All right,” he said, “but I don’t have anything for you, that was the last apple.”

He opened the front door and its tiny bells jingled. They turned down the hallway and into the large clothing store. The racks had been shoved to the side, and dozens of humans stood in the empty center, each bound with rope except for their feet. Thick pieces of cloth blocked their mouths, but they still made the continuous moan that had warned Surly earlier. They shuffled to and fro but never moved far or looked at anything for very long. Not even each other.

Something was wrong with them, but Surly didn’t have a lot of experience with human behavior, seeing only customers of the store for a few moments at a time. Joe grabbed the closest one by the lead rope binding her hands. Surly noticed the woman was muddy and scratched, something she was sure humans found uncomfortable. At least, the ones she knew would.

Joe led the woman grimly back to the pet shop, Surly still attached to his shoulder. The bells rang again and the woman jerked and snapped her head around, as if she were looking for the sound. The puppies began to whine immediately. They knew something was wrong with the woman. Surly fluttered down to the floor as Joe led the woman into the back room.

Surly didn’t want Gray to see her and force her back into the cage. She inched around toward the exit door, ready to dart out. Where was she going to go? She wasn’t sure, but it had to be better than the dark pet shop. The men were struggling with the bound woman, lifting her onto the table and tying her down. She snapped her head from side to side and kicked, but the ropes held her tight.

Gray took off the thick mouthpiece and fished a steaming pair of silver pliers from the dog bowl. “Walt, hold her down. Make sure she doesn’t get loose. Joe, you got to keep her mouth open for me.”

Joe looked down at the woman on the table. Surly saw the flash of a tear falling from his face.

“Joe, pay attention! I’m trusting you to keep her mouth open so she doesn’t bite me. You understand?”

Joe nodded and put one hand on the woman’s forehead and the other on her bottom jaw, forcing open her mouth. “Shouldn’t we—isn’t there something for the pain?” he asked.

“Did I have painkillers when that bitch broke my arm? No. There aren’t any more. Besides, look at her mouth. Most of her teeth are rotten. It’ll probably be a relief when they’re gone.”

The woman screamed as Gray pulled on the first tooth. Surly hopped around, nervous. She found a tall box of dog pillows and shuffled behind it, out of sight.

“Damn,” swore Gray, “it broke.” The woman continued her screaming. It went on and on, the puppies barking and growling, the woman shrieking and choking on the blood. Joe winced with every tooth. At last, Gray stuffed the cloth mouthpiece back. “Get her hands,” he said to Walt. Walt uncurled the woman’s bloody fist and forced it flat onto the table, holding it there. Gray began casually cutting the long, jagged nails on the woman’s hands. “That took longer than I expected,” he grumbled, “but with practice I’ll get faster. Next patient, nurse!” He elbowed Joe cheerfully.

“I can’t do this,” said Joe, his face a pale, sweaty moon. “I can’t take two dozen more of those.”

Gray glared at him, but then softened his gaze. “Ah, you’re just tired. Don’t blame you, it’s been a long day. Tell you what, we’ll get some of the other guys to do a few while we sleep. Wake up refreshed and ready to tackle more.” He slapped Joe on the back. Joe didn’t respond. Walt untied the woman and led her out, blood already soaking through her cloth mouthpiece. Gray strode out after him.

“Can’t let them do this,” mumbled Joe to himself.

Surly hopped out from behind the box. “Bad bird,” she scolded. Joe knelt down to pick her up.

“I know,” he said. “I was really bad. This is worse than everything else we’ve done. I can’t let them do it again. But they’ll be at it all night. What can I do?”

Surly tapped the door with her beak. “Nuh-night,” she chirped helpfully.

“If only I could bring the Cure here. I know Gray would do the right thing if he were just certain it was real…”

“Bad bird!” squawked Surly. Nothing that Gray did was right. Even
she
could see that. Joe opened the back door. The way was clear. A soft night breeze blew fresh air over Surly. She hopped toward the door.

“They’ll know I’m gone,” said Joe to himself. “They’ll know what I’ve done and come after me.”

There was movement in the hall outside the shop. The next procedure was about to start.

“Have to try,” said Joe grimly. He looked down at Surly with a smile. “Stall ’em for me, will you?” He laughed. “Must be crazy, plotting with a bird.”

Surly hopped to the entrance and looked out. The flat parking lot spread out farther than she’d imagined anything could. The air was clean and sweet in contrast to the fetid stench of the shop. She even thought she caught the scent of ripe berries. No cages. No humans poking things at her or grabbing or scolding.

“Well,” he said to her, “in or out. I have to go, and fast!”

Surly looked up at him. With nothing to delay the bad man, he’d catch Joe for sure. He’d hurt Joe. Joe who didn’t yell when she bit him. Who took her away from the roiling smoke. Who saved her. The bells on the shop’s front door jangled. The men were back with another Infected. “Nuh-night, Joe,” she cooed softly, then flapped away, back into the store. Joe slid out the door and gently closed it without a sound.

It was up to her to stop them, to buy Joe some time.

She flew around the back room in a loop. The men had been very careful to clean everything before they started. They’d put the tools in water and scrubbed down the table. Maybe if she soiled it, they’d have to stop and clean it again.

Surly landed on the table, her claws clicking on its hard surface. She let a few droppings splatter behind her onto the table and tried to grab the tools. But they were heavy. She nudged the bowl, trying to tip it before the men came in. She could hear Gray talking to them in the front and knew she didn’t have much time. She flew up and hurtled back down toward the bowl, her momentum nudging it off the small stool and dumping the tools onto the floor with a clattering splash.