Page 5

5

Matt

MATT PULLED THE GIRL deeper into the diner as at least a dozen more crows rained down and slammed against the door and windows facing Main.

They were coming down from the mountains in thick lines, fast and angry. Shrills escaped their beaks moments before they slammed against the glass. The air grew dark as a dozen grew to hundreds and hundreds became a swarm blotting out the sun. A voice in the back of Matt’s mind whispered the word murder —that’s what a large group of crows was called—and as that word echoed, several hit the picture window together. A spiderweb of cracks appeared near the middle. More birds hit that spot dead center, like they were—

“EVERYONE GET BACK FROM THE GLASS!”

Half the diners sat frozen in their seats; the other half dove under their tables, pulling children down with them.

The birds couldn’t possibly be aiming, but that’s what it looked like. Like small missiles darting from the sky. Black rain. Just beyond the windows, they bounced off the sidewalks. Main Street. The grass in the commons. The roof of the bandstand, the small structure barely visible less than two hundred feet away. Several car alarms went off. Holes appeared in the convertible top of an Audi A5, then it was shredded, then gone.

Gabby crawled up beside Matt and grabbed his arm, shouting over the sound of it all. “Where did all the people go?!”

A few had jumped inside the cars, Matt had seen that much. Others crawled under. More had run toward the shops lining Main Street, but had they made it? Nobody had come through the diner door, nobody since the girl.

He pulled her close, pressed his lips near her ear, went to answer, when the picture window nearest the Tangways’ table crashed down in a rain of glass. Beneath the table, Bob Tangway shifted his considerable bulk around his wife and two kids, enfolded them beneath his navy suit jacket. Streaks of black poured through the opening, circled the interior of the diner, and cracked against the walls, the floor, the tables. Their shrieks and flapping wings mixed with the screams and shouts of terrified patrons. Matt caught a glimpse of Addie scrambling behind the counter, her face streaked with tears.

A few feet to his left, the girl had her head buried in Matt’s borrowed coat, her face lost in her hair. One of the crows cracked against the tile floor between them, its neck snapping on impact. Two more directly after. Another landed on the girl’s back, pecked at the coat, tore open the fabric, and furiously yanked out white stuffing. The girl didn’t move. Matt swatted the bird away. Watched in awe as it climbed right back up. He hit it again, closed fist. It sailed across the floor, thudded against a chair leg, and this time didn’t move.

A heavy weight landed on Matt’s head, feet tangled in his hair, and pulled. A sharp beak tore at his scalp, and Matt’s screams joined all the others as he blindly got his hands around it, tore it free, and slammed the bird against the floor until it stopped squirming. He killed five more before it was over.