Torn (15 page)

“Last satellite
image
showed it breaking up. A few more minutes, Bret,” he said. “It won’t be long. It’ll be over.”

Bret took some comfort in Colin’s words. Nevertheless, even though a few minutes wasn’t really a long length of time, it seemed like an eternity as she watched her child—alone—avert the danger that pounded relentlessly at her.

Blain Davis had just pulled on the Pennsylvania turnpike heading east when the call came through. Mouth full of take
-
out, he used the hands
-
free method to take the call.

“Hey,
M
om.”

“Mom?” The woman on the other end spoke. “I know I’m older than you, but I don’t believe I’m old enough to be your mother.”

Quickly Blain checked out the number on the phone. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Obviously,” she said. “You still have
my camera
man, or did you ditch him on a highway.”

Blain lifted his hea
d to the rear view mirror. He g
azed by his own
young,
handsome reflection to the complete contrast in the back seat. Doug Swanson, Vietnam
vet
with
long hair,
was
highly intelligent, but
he
alway
s acted as if he
were stoned.

“Depends,” Blain replied. “He’s physically here. Sleeping right now.”

“Good,” she said.

“Why?” Blain asked.

“I know you’re headed back to New York.” Shirley McConnell answered. As head Story Editor, she had achieved the nicknam
e, ‘Shit’ McConnell amongst the young
er
reporters at the highly
-
regarded Central News Station. Blain never knew why,
but
he was about to find out.

“Yes, I am,” Blain said.

“Do you like Hitchcock?”

“Um…uh.
…” Blain stuttered. “I guess
, why?
”

“Good. Get off at the next exit, turn around and head back to Pittsburgh,”
she explained. “They just reli
ved one of his old classics.”

Like an ice cream jerk, Chuck scooped Blain Davis. Big time
,
too. Not only was Chuck present at the
s
atellite center, he had close personal contact with a family who had experienced the bird
attack
first
-hand. Not to
mention the cool video Aggie took. That, Chuck sold to the highest bidder.

Blain was not happy about that, but
he
was not giving up. He did a small piece but was informed by Shirley to stay and follow up.

“Not here,” Jesse said, hung up the phone, and held the rag to his head. “Reporter. How’d he get this number
?
”

Chuck shrugged. “It
’s
listed.”

“Where’s the duct tape?” Jesse asked.

“He needs stitches.” Chuck pointed.

“I know,” Bret
said. “But d
uct tape works well
,
too.”

“Back to work,” Chuck tapped a pen on the sheet of paper. “I have to get this and those pictures to the AP. Pronto. What do you think?”

Bret lifted the sheet of paper, and then glanced down to the photos which were taken from
the video and satellite center,
photos of black clouds
which were
large
flocks of birds. Bret read out loud: “The
attack was centered in one area
in the metropolis of Pittsburgh. At one point, a six-block section of town was completely encompassed
by the birds.” Bret nodded.
“This is good,” she said, then read silently, finishing the last line aloud. “It was something straight out of Alfred Hitchcock. And
as with Hitchcock, the bird attack
stopped without notice and flew off, leaving Pittsburgh waiting and wondering would it happen again?” She laid the paper down. “Very good. Can it?”

“Happen again?” Chuck clarified.

“Yeah.”

“Colin said unlikely.”

“Did he say why?” Bret asked.

“Simple. Birds were migrating early from the north to the south. Not for weather changes, but for food.”

“Wait. For food?”

“Yeah. With the ground temperature warming, the attacking insects suddenly became dead insects. Eggs and larva, along with the adult bugs, couldn’t survive the slight temperature increase. Without the bugs, rats, mice, squirrels,
and birds
had a hard time feeding;
so they searched for other sources of food
?

“Us.”

“Well.…” Chuck tilted his head
t
hen went on to explain
what
Colin informed him: The migration would have taken the birds south
with
out incident,
except the
recent solar flares—not uncommon—caused magnetic stress and electromagnetic pulses. Birds work on
the magnetic pull of waves of sound
. Their
sense of
direction was lost. In fact, their entire percepti
on was lost. Starving birds
became co
nfused, scared, and disoriented;
then they
suddenly became violent.

The poolside
attack
was just one of many. Casper was a shivering mess when the birds finally flew away. A few scratches graced her face, nothing major. They commended her on her quick thinkin
g,
a
ttributing her common sense to saving her life. She attributed her fear to that, saying she was just to
o scared to get out of the pool that
she didn’t even think about the birds not being able to swim.

Bret was in a mesmerized state listening to Chuck. So much so, that when Jesse laid his hand on her shoulder she jumped a foot in the air with a shriek.

“What the hell are you
telling her?” Jesse asked Chuck
then showed Bret the phone. “Can you please talk to this guy
?
”

“Am I allowed?” Bret asked Chuck.

Chuck glanced at his watch. “Yeah go on, I’ll send it now.” He
scooted over and opened his lap
top.

After a breath, Bret took the call. “Hello?”

It wasn’t a long conversation.
It
started out
with her asking his credentials
then mak
ing him wait while she watched
CNS for a few minutes to see his report. Then she spoke to him.
She agreed
to meet Blain Davis within an hour
to share
the story. Bret was a star in it all because she was being
called
by the media the ‘Attractor’,
f
ir
st the bugs, then the birds. T
he fact that she was a DJ didn’t hurt.

When the call was finished she informed Jesse
that she was meeting Blain; he
made Bret promise to take Chuck.

Not a problem. But where was Chuck? He had slipped out onto the front porch and Bret found him standing at the railing staring out.

“I agreed to meet Blain. Jesse says you have to come.”

Chuck nodded.

“Something wrong?”

“Listen,” he said. “Just listen.”

Bret folded her arms and stepped closer to Chuck. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean?” Bret asked.

“Quiet. No sounds. An eerie silence has taken over the world—or at least our part of
it,” he said,
nearly dazed.

Bret sighed out heavily. “I didn’t notice.”

“Do we ever? We taken them for granted. You know something is different, but you can’t put your finger on it. This is it.”

“The silence.”

“Yep.”  He nodded once then looked at her. “It’s scary. A world without birds, rodents,
and insects
is not only a silent world, Bret, but it’s fast becoming a dying world as well.”

The four
-
day trip returning from Africa required nothing more than a bed for Darius to sleep
on
. He was tired of hard ground, and though sloppy, unmade, it didn’t matter, he wanted his bed.

He wasn’t a firm believer in sign
s
, although occasionally he’d admit to receiving them.

From the moment he left Africa, he was bombarded with signs. He ignored them, but admitted he should have paid closer attention. If he had he would have been ready for when he arrived home.

The
y
were attacked by rebels en route to the city, then the small plane ran out of gas and they had to crash land.

The crash landing was
followed
by a truck ride full of
soldiers who’d spent forty sweaty days in the jungle
. Finally a plane out of Africa
brought him to the U
nited Kingdom where he went through a t
wenty-four hour quarantine for t
yphoid.

A comfy seat on the way back to America was the on
ly positive thing. They served h
am—a dish Darius hates.

Three times he called Colin, once from the UK, and Colin assured him he would be there at the airport to get him.

After a two hour wait and
with
no answers from Colin’s phone, Darius realized Colin was a no show. So he took a cab.

The
fare
was high,
although
not a problem
;
he had enough cash on hand to cover it. He unloaded from the cab, walked up his path and stopped.

‘This is a joke.’
Darius thought when he saw the white sheets of paper plastered all over his windows and door. Was someone protesting him?

The month old stack of mail was falling out of the screen door when Darius pulled it open. Like a flood through a broken dam the letters rushed out and the return addresses and emblem for University of West Virginia caught his attention.

Believing it was important—it looked official—Darius opened it before even going in the house.

“What?” he said aloud upon reading the letter. “Since I failed to reply to their fi
nal attempt to talk to me…
when?” Darius peered down, ran his foot through the stack of mail and saw several other letters from the university. “Oh, there they are.” Further examination of the envelope in hand, brought the surprise appearance of a hefty check. Darius whistled. “At this point in time, the severance works.” He til
t
ed his head, smiled, and tucked the envelope in his back pocket—check and all.

Perhaps he should have read one of the many white letters posted on his house. Had he done so, the padlock on his front door wouldn’t have been such a shock.

Ripping the notice from the screen door, Darius chuckled. “Condemned. Figures.” With a ‘well’ spoken in stride, Darius stepped back, set down his bag, and looked at his house. “Good thing I don’t have much.” After
examining his car and determining
it was big enough to lug his belongings, Darius went around to the back of the house and broke in.

Class was back in session the next day, and Colin wanted to get to sleep early. The day had been horrendous, the news reports on CNS kept him up way past
when he wanted to slumber. Plus
he had this overwhelming feeling that he was forgetting something.

He discovered what that ‘something’ was when his doorbell rang.

“Shit!” Colin yapped when he opened the door. “I forgot to pick you up.”

Darius smiled. “Yes, you did.”

Colin peeked out. “Did you drive all
the way up here to bitch at me?
”

“No, can I come in?”

“Absolutely.” Colin widened the door for Darius.

As Darius stepped in he saw Colin ready to lock the door. “No, don’t. I have to go back out and get my things.”

“Are you staying the night?”

Darius set down his guitar. “And some. I'm living here now.”

“Excuse me?”

“I lost my job,” Darius said. “Failure to report.”