CH. 8
Humans were not to be trusted. The Alphas had been taught that since they were hatchlings. Humans anywhere near the nests should be attacked and chased away.
But they were young, and thought they knew everything… Until the British tourist came along.
A particularly patient, though misguided, British tourist fell in love with the Magpies’ song. The two young birds ignored the warnings of the elders and over her two-month stay in Sydney, allowed the tourist to befriend them by leaving them shiny little gifts and snacks in her backyard. Eventually, a bond of trust was formed, and they would often sit on her railing singing as she took her morning coffee.
Then one morning, darkness came over them as they sipped water from her bird feeder; they awoke to more darkness, stuffed into a tiny cage, their cries unheeded. That tiny cage was smuggled to the UK and deposited in the human’s backyard in Gloucester. They flew off at the first opportunity but their songs and calls went unanswered. There were no birds like them in this new place, so they returned to the human. She named them Maggie and Paisan.
They lived there for a while, it was a miserable existence so far from family and their native lands, but they still sang because they had each other. Then the world started changing. They started changing.
Something was making them sick, but they didn't know what it was. They tried changing the foods they ate; they stopped accepting food from the human who had tricked them; nothing worked. They hurt all the time, they began to process things strangely, they understood the world in a different way and they got bigger… and kept getting bigger. Abandoning the human’s yard, they found an empty burrow and hid away in fear. When the pain became too much their bodies and minds shut down. Months later they awoke and dragged themselves out of the burrow to see each other for the first time. They were heavy and awkward, and some parts of them had grown at a faster rate than others. They were twisted and grotesque, but alive and still able to fly. This time, they did not return to the yard in Gloucester as they blamed the human woman for their plight. They flew off to find woodlands away from humans and after coming to terms with their new lives and the changing world, they started a family. The chicks did not survive; neither did the next clutch or the one after that, but eventually, some did. They were not “right” but they lived and they prospered. Soon enough, Maggie and Paisan had a family again and a flock of descendants. They moved from place to place seeking isolation as the humans migrated away from villages into larger cities. They watched the world change and they saw other birds change, but few as they did.
They taught their offspring the songs, and they taught them to be wary of human females bearing gifts.
Decades passed, Maggie and Paisan had lived to, and a few years past the natural end of their lives. They fiercely protected their current home which they had claimed when all the humans left the nearby villages. Many generations of progeny safely existed within the bounds of the Preserve. Once again there was a chorus of song in the mornings. The younger birds were strangely colored and filled with aggression. They could only keep simple concepts in mind, they were not as big or as smart as the Alphas, but they were theirs.
Maggie and Paisan retired to a small cave in a rock wall on the preserve lands and let the younger birds rule the roost. It was a peaceful existence…
…until the human females were allowed to walk unmolested unto their lands.
The Alphas were awakened by chattering and shrieks of pain. Some of the flock were reporting trouble. Once aware of the situation on the playground, they prepared for battle, demanding that every bird remaining in the flock follow them. The Alphas wanted to ensure that never again would the flock forget the dangers of humans— especially the female ones.
***
The bunkhouse had long been emptied and stripped of furniture and furnishings. The first floor had been used as storage but the upper floor was empty and bare from floor to rafters.
The Mutate Alphas burst into the upper room, shrieking with rage. Their wings slapped against the windows and unlatched them from the small loops of twine Elz had placed to hold them open. The flock streamed in behind them and birds quickly filled the room. The leaders flew around high above the others trying to get their bearings, looking for the humans and the source of the TreatyKeeper scent.
No longer being held open by the press of bodies, the windows slammed shut as the last of the birds entered. The slamming windows released the fishing wire that had been holding up the Feeders’ trap. Jacks and gel balls rained down on birds all across the room. They all exploded, releasing a combination of smoke and liquid amongst the flock; Lingering fear from their previous experience with the gel grenades had left the birds wary, so they were quick to shake off anything, liquid or powder, that landed on them. This worked against them. Some of the jacks shattered, sending burning shrapnel into nearby bodies, and the birds batted and swatted them onto the floor. The temperature in the room increased as random debris in the room caught fire. Trey’s smoke jacks added to the heat and chaos as streams of multi-colored smoke billowed up in various parts of the room. The smoke and irritants spread, dispersed by hundreds of wings flapping in the suddenly too-small space.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The most dangerous grenades in The Alchemist's arsenal were labeled “WP 1500°”, and those were what Elz used as the heavy hitters in this final trap. As the grenades exploded, the liquid inside, a solution of white phosphorus dissolved in a carrier, spread out across the area. The white phosphorus in the grenades wasn’t uniformly dissolved in the carrier liquid, and pieces ranging in size from microns to millimeters were evident in the swirling fluid inside each grenade.
As the solution from the grenades settled onto the birds’ bodies, the heat in the room began evaporating the carrier, exposing the remaining phosphorus to the air and causing it to combust. That’s when the screaming began. Birds were suddenly on fire, and they couldn’t shake it off. The phosphorus was sticky and stuck wherever it landed, burning at an unbelievable temperature. The larger fragments popped like firecrackers, sending smaller pieces flying and spreading the danger around the flock. The fire soon spread to the wood beams that framed the inner walls of the stone building and, stuck in the room with nowhere to go, the birds burned.
Outside, in the well, the Joneses kept their heads down, and Elz pulled headphones over Trey’s head. The noises coming from the building were very not-birdlike. She listened for the sound of glass breaking, in case the birds were able to break out of the windows. She didn't underestimate the power a desperate creature could call to bear. Once exposed to air the phosphorus would burn through almost anything, and keep burning at extremely high temperatures. That kind of pain would inspire impossible feats. Elz was almost sorry for what the birds were experiencing but, a job was a job. She lay in the dirt and listened until the cries began to die out and the clamor dimmed to desperate croaks and the occasional thump.
When the House was mostly quiet, Elz tapped on Trey’s shoulder, pointed to the mask that hung off her belt, and signaled her to get ready to move.
“Mask up.” She pulled her own mask on, peeked over the well walls and then climbed out with her gun at the ready. Trey followed, holding her rifle, having already put away her headphones. The roof of the building was beginning to smoke. In some places smoke escaped through the stones of the walls, evidence that the cementing materials were already melting under the high heat of the phosphorus fire. Elz hoped they could stifle the fire before the roof gave way. Having the fire spread to the surrounding trees was an undesired outcome. They advanced on the house, moving quietly, on the lookout for any stragglers or escapees. At the entrance, Elz signaled again for Trey to stand guard at the front as she walked around the perimeter and up to the cottage to ensure no birds had escaped.
From her vantage point outside the second-story window, Elz looked in on what little she could see of the flock. Tall flames still burned and the smoke was thick but nothing seemed to be moving. Satisfied that the job was done but for the cleanup, she turned away towards the front yard, pulling out her tablet to message the Creaux.
The sound of breaking glass reached her a nanosecond before something large, heavy and very hot slammed into her back. The Feeder pitched forward into the overgrown garden, barely catching herself in time to turn her momentum into a roll. She popped out of the roll and swiveled, bringing her gun up just as the Mutate Alpha swooped at her again. Beak met steel in a loud clang as Elsbeth’s instinctive flinch brought her hands up to protect her head. The Magpie pulled up out of the swoop, its talons hooking into the material of her hood and dragging her a few feet before losing their grip. Elsbeth reoriented herself and scrambled under the nearby picnic bench as the bird banked to return for another pass. Fenced in on all sides by tall grass, Elsbeth couldn’t get a clear view to take a shot, and then the bird was above the bench and out of reach.
The Alpha was in a sorry state, insane with grief and rage. Half of her feathers were gone, some burnt, others plucked out to stop their burning. On feathers too vital to pluck, flames flared spit and sputtered as white phosphorus grains burned uncontrollably. She was airborne by sheer obstinance more than anything else. For a moment, she hovered over the bench wreathed in fire and smoke like a vengeful phoenix, then she darted about looking for a way to get at the woman under it.
Trey crept slowly up and around the Bunkhouse until she had the bird in her sights. Her mother was nowhere to be seen, but the bird was persistently hunting something in the yard near the table. Trey wanted to get closer to be sure but she remembered all her mother’s warnings about the chemicals in the grenades that they had used. Trusting that her mom would be fine, she lifted her “Server” and bracing it against her shoulders, pulled the trigger.
***
Elsbeth’s message was received, reviewed, and rerouted. Moments later, in a recently reclaimed and hidden laboratory less than two miles away, the forwarded message was received with additional instructions.
“Why the hell does she have White Phosphorus?” The lab tech grouched to himself as he oversaw the preparation of some large holding tanks. Turning to his assistant, “We’ll need lots of foam.” The assistant immediately moved to collect some fire extinguishers.
“...and someone message the Creaux that we’ll collect the birds ourselves.”