Page 8

8

Matt

IT ENDED AS QUICKLY as it began. The fluttering of wings and screaming birds vanished, replaced by muffled sobs and broken shouts as one by one the diners crawled out from under tables and chairs.

Matt had pulled Gabby so close their bodies might have been one. Every inch of her trembled. Her warm breath brushed his neck in short gasps. He nestled his face deeper into her hair and whispered, “You okay?”

She didn’t answer. There was only a rushed nod. Her fingers tightened around his and squeezed.

He managed a sitting position, lifting Gabby with him, holding her against him. He didn’t want to let go.

The strange girl was about five feet to their left, also sitting, hugging her knees against her chest. She watched him from behind her long dark hair, ruffled and partially covering her face. A curiosity behind her eyes, this strange tunnel vision, as if they were the only two people in the room and unspoken words passed between them. She looked from him to Gabby, then her gaze jumped across the diner to where Addie huddled under a table near the old Wurlitzer jukebox in the far corner, then back to Matt, and when their eyes met that second time, there was something else there.

Matt’s heart thumped.

She knows.

When the corner of her mouth twitched up, he was certain of it.

Matt forced himself to break away and cleared his throat. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Got some scrapes and cuts from the glass over here!”

That came from Henry Lockwood. He was under the table at his booth, his meaty arms wrapped around his two youngest children. Both were crying. A few tables over, Helen Hardwick had a napkin pressed to her husband’s temple.

“I’ll get the first-aid kit from the back.” Still shaking, Gabby pulled free of Matt’s arm and hustled off toward the counter, carefully stepping around the broken glass and dead birds covering the tile floor.

The birds were everywhere.

Matt stooped to get a better look at one of them.

He’d never seen crows this large. Maybe twenty inches from beak to tail feather. Probably weighed two or three pounds. Its talons looked more like those found on a hawk or raven, and its dark beak twisted at the end in a sharp hook.

This deep into fall, it wasn’t uncommon for strange birds to appear in Hollows Bend. With flocks migrating south, Matt had seen his share of oddities, but never anything like this.

He took out his cell phone, snapped several pictures from different angles, and texted them to the sheriff.

About half the diner’s large picture windows had shattered, Henry Wilburt was standing near one of the few remaining. He straightened the wire frame of his glasses, cleaned the lenses on his shirt, then put them back on. He had to squeeze the supports around the bridge of his nose to get them to stay in place. When he turned to look out the window, Matt noticed a thin cut on the back of his pudgy bald head. It wasn’t bad, but the blood had made it to the collar of his usually pristine white pharmacist’s jacket. “Oh, my lord.”

Avoiding eye contact with the strange girl still sitting on the floor, Matt crossed over to him and looked out.

The open field of the commons across Main Street was blanketed in dead birds. The pavement and parked cars had fared no better. The Audi Matt had spotted earlier looked totaled—the top was gone, shredded away. Birds stuck out from the leather upholstery at odd angles, beaks and heads embedded in the seats as if they had made no effort to slow or stop as they approached the ground, but instead had sped up like the kamikaze pilots of World War II, hell-bent on destroying some target at the cost of their own lives. Other cars had sizable dents. Most of the windows were gone.

People began to emerge from the businesses along Main, walking slowly and staring up at the sky in some kind of stunned silence. They stepped around the carcasses. A few turned in slow circles.

Addie Gallagher walked by him and placed her hands on the door.

“You shouldn’t go out—”

She ignored him. Addie pushed the door open and stepped outside, shattered glass crunching under her shoes.

Gabby returned with the first-aid kit. She placed it on the Lockwoods’ table and went to work on the children. As far as Matt knew, she had no formal medical training, but she moved with the skill of a professional, carefully plucking out small shards of glass with tweezers before applying some kind of ointment and bandages. The work seemed to help calm her nerves. She was no longer shaking. She whispered to the children as she went, the familiar warm smile returning to her face.

Outside, Addie stepped off the curb and crossed the street to the commons. A crowd was forming near the bandstand. All locals, from what Matt could tell. Most, if not all, of the tourists had gotten out before it happened. Whatever it was.

Matt gave those in the diner another look, then stepped through the door to the sidewalk.

“What do you think?” Henry Wilburt asked as he joined Matt on the sidewalk. “Some kind of freak electrical storm?”

Matt only shook his head.

A heavy scent of ozone filled the air, as if a storm had passed through. There had been no rain, though, and certainly no lightning. The sky was clear blue, save for a small white cloud wrapped around the peak of Mount Washington in the distance.

“I remember reading that birds use some kind of radar, almost like a radio, to communicate with each other,” Henry said. “They latch on to the seven or eight surrounding them and are able to move as a single unit. That’s how they fly in formation.”

“Isn’t that bats?”

“Pretty sure birds, too,” Henry replied. “I’m thinking something disrupted those signals, confused the leaders, and the others followed.” He rolled his hand through the air, then dive-bombed toward the ground. “Like flying lemmings. One hell of a thing. Miracle nobody got killed out here.”

He was right about that. Looking around, Matt saw his share of cuts and scrapes, but nothing serious. Whatever this was, it seemed to be focused on Main Street, a radius of maybe three hundred feet. He could see where it ended on the opposite side of the commons and down both legs of the road.

“Do me a favor, Henry. Open up the pharmacy for a few hours. I know it’s Sunday and all, but people might be in need of supplies.”

“Sure thing.” Henry nodded back toward the diner. “You might want to do something about her. Now’s not the time to be running ’round all barefoot.”

Matt turned to find the girl standing in the open doorway, oblivious to all the glass around her feet. He opened his mouth to say something when his cell phone rang—Sheriff Ellie Pritchet.