The Boy Who Understood
by Biff Spork
Chapter 10
Airmail Messages and a Domestic Terrorist
Deputy McAdam looked around the yard in front of Charlie Baxter's house. Nobody had touched anything since Charlie had been taken to the hospital. His condition had not improved overnight. The crows had pecked out his eyes, but they lacked surgical precision. There seemed to be collateral damage to his brain. Pete had been unable to make any sense out of his gabbling when he tried to interview him earlier in the day.
A plastic deck chair lay on its side on the lawn. A nearby drinks cooler held a couple of empties and two unopened cans of beer. Pete felt them. It was a well-insulated cooler; the cans were still cold. There were dark splotches of blood on the chair and the lawn, but no eyes. Pete imagined the medics had picked them up in case it was possible to re-attach them.
A couple of feet away from the chair lay a double-barreled, twelve-gauge shotgun, cracked for loading. One shell was half-inserted in a chamber. Another unused shell lay in the grass nearby. The neighbor had reported that he'd heard two shots. Pete found two empty shell casings in the grass.
It seemed clear what had happened. Charlie had been sitting in the deck chair drinking beer. After two cans, he had decided to shoot something. Pete looked at the way the chair had fallen. He deduced that Charlie would have been looking toward the tall cottonwoods on one side of his house. Pete walked over to the cottonwoods. Under the tree nearest where Charlie had been sitting, Pete counted six dead crows.
After the two shots, the neighbor had heard a lot of yelling and screaming. It appeared that once he'd fired both barrels, Charlie had begun to load another round. While he was doing that, crows who had survived his first two shots attacked him.
Pete righted the chair and picked up the cooler and the shotgun. He carried them into the house. The TV was on. Charlie must have been planning to watch something after he shot the crows. Pete turned it off and closed and locked all the doors and windows. Charlie would not be home for awhile.
On his way back to town, Pete began to think that the animals around Jana Mountain seemed to be acting strangely. He considered Aaron Jameson's story about the starlings dive-bombing him. Then Dick Wilkins' horses trampled him before they ran off. Mrs. Wilkins' chickens had mysteriously disappeared later on the same day. Finally, yesterday evening, crows had attacked Charlie Baxter. None of the incidents were normal. There were animals in every instance, birds in three of the events, and attacks on a human in three of the cases. Pete wasn't able come up with a conclusion, but the idea grew that there was a common theme.
Pete next debated whether to inform the local Wildlife Department about the Charlie Baxter incident. It was illegal to shoot crows, even on your own property. Pete decided to let it go. According to Baxter's doctor, even once Charlie healed, he'd never see again. He wouldn't be shooting any more crows. Pete thought that Charlie had been punished enough.
"I asked my old man about us having a sleepover on the weekend, and he said it's okay," said River. He and Jude were eating their lunches in the school cafeteria.
"Great," said Jude.
"I'll bring my stuff to school on Friday. Then I can ride the bus with you to your place after school."
"Perfect-o!" said Jude. He began planning things they could do Friday night. He often had the house to himself on weekends. His sisters went out on dates or haunted one of the shopping malls, and his parents went pub-crawling with friends.
"He said I can stay over on Saturday night, too, if it's okay with your parents," said River. "All I have to do is phone him. Then he'll pick me up on Sunday."
"That's fantastic, man," said Jude. "And listen, I've got a good idea for something we can do on Saturday." The boys hunched over the cafeteria table while Jude laid out a scheme that River found both scary and exciting.
David looked five or six tables over to where River and Jude sat. He had noticed them glancing at him as if they were talking about him, but lunch hour finished without any stupid bully pranks. Later, he rode the school-bus home in peace. When he walked into his bedroom to change out of his school clothes, his eyes widened.
Lilili, the starling, was perched on his desk-lamp. He wasn't alone. Kek, the crow, was there too, roosting on the back of David's desk chair. Though he was surprised to see them, David didn't hesitate, but walked to where they waited and petted each of them. Lilili warbled a short phrase, and the crow croaked a quiet caw. Kek hopped over to David's night table. There, he tapped with his beak at a folded piece of paper to draw David's attention to it.
David sat down on his bed, unfolded the paper, and read:
When he finished reading, David felt a familiar presence on the edge of his mind. It was faint, but it was unmistakably Zhiv. He moved over to his desk. The crow flew to his shoulder and perched there. David closed his eyes and emptied his mind, except for his remembered image of Zhiv.
A thread of sound was drawn from Kek's throat. "Aaaaaah,"
Lilili gave a low whistle.
Again, David preened both birds. Then he cut a square of paper from a larger piece. He was so focused on what he was doing, he didn't hear the front door opening downstairs. He picked up his pen and wrote small on the square of paper he had prepared:
Doreen had come home from work. David usually came bounding down the stairs to greet her. It was one of her favorite parts of the day. When he didn't appear, she started to worry that he wasn't yet home from school. She went upstairs to check if he was in his room. As she topped the stairs, she could see into his bedroom through the open door. She froze.
David was sitting at his desk doing something. That was not unusual. What stopped her was that there was a crow on his shoulder, and a starling perched on his desk-lamp. Both birds watched David while he folded a piece of paper small.
Doreen stood on the stairway without moving or speaking.
When David finished folding the paper into a tiny packet, he held it out toward the crow and said, "Here, Kek. Please take this to him." Then he and the crow looked at each other in silence for a few moments.
The crow cawed once and took the folded paper in his beak. Then he flew out the bedroom window with the starling close behind.
Doreen backed down the stairs and sat on one of the lower steps. Her mind was whirling. She felt tremendous relief. Whatever else was happening, her beloved David was not imagining birds behaving strangely. She heard David come down the stairs behind her. He sat beside her, and she put an arm around him.
"You saw," said David.
"Oh, yes. I saw."
"And?"
Doreen pulled him close and hugged him. "I don't know what that was, honey, but it sure beats bird-watching."
"He asked those birds to bring me a note. That's why they were in my room."
"That boy up the mountain asked the crow and the starling to bring you a note?"
"Yeah, They're his special friends. The crow is called Kek. He brought me a note once before, but this time he waited so I could give him an answer to carry back up the mountain."
"Air mail," said Doreen.
David chuckled and kissed her cheek. "And I don't even need a stamp." He pulled her up and led her toward the kitchen. "Have we got anything to eat? Do you want a cup of coffee? How was work today? I'll start to make supper if you tell me what to do. Okay?"
On Wednesday morning Deputy McAdam parked in front of the Wilkins house. As he got out of his patrol car, a young woman came through the front door. He recognized her as Celia Duffy, from Social Services. Their paths had crossed a few times in the past, usually over domestic disturbances.
"Morning, Ms. Duffy. It's nice to see you again. I hope there's no problem?"
"Good morning, Deputy McAdam. No, I'm just helping Mrs. Wilkins with some of the paperwork resulting from the death of her husband."
"I dropped by to see if she's seen her runaway horses or missing chickens."
"I don't think so," said Celia. "She's got some baby chicks." She paused. "Pete, I'm glad to have met you here. I've been wondering about that missing boy, Sol Mundy. It's been over a year now, and nothing. How can an eleven-year-old boy just disappear like that?"
"So far as I know, he hasn't turned up yet," said Pete. "You know that runaways usually surface in a few days. When they don't, it's probably because they managed to get themselves to a big city where nobody will notice them."
"He was kind of a special kid to me," she said. "A real good kid, but not a tough kid. I can't imagine him surviving on his own. I hate to think something bad might have happened to him."
"When I get back to the office this afternoon, I'll pull the file and see if there's been any action. If not, I'll run some queries and put out another bulletin asking people to keep an eye out for him. If we get anything, I'll let you know."
"Thanks, Pete." Celia got into her car, and Pete used the steer's head knocker.
Mrs. Wilkins invited Pete inside to show him the brooder she had set up in her kitchen. It was a large cardboard box with a light bulb hanging over it to warm a dozen fluffy, yellow chicks.
"I doubt I'll see those chickens again. If they were close, they'd be back by now, and that rooster would be in the stew-pot," she said. "As for the horses, I can't imagine they have any good memories of this place. I expect they're glad to get away from it, but I'd like to get them back. They're worth a bit of money, so I hope you'll keep looking and let me know if they turn up."
During the week, Kek carried messages between Zhiv and David. There was a lot of repetition — 'I miss you,' being part of every note on both sides. David could hardly bear to wait until the weekend. His eagerness grew when he read Zhiv's note on Wednesday.
Every time David saw Kek, he noticed his mental images of Zhiv and other animals were becoming clearer. His concentration on them, the ability to hold them in his mind, was growing stronger. Every night after he closed his eyes, the last image he saw was Zhiv.
On Thursday night, David dreamed he was swimming in the lake atop Jana Mountain. As he moved through the water, a shimmering school of trout swam with him. They flashed around him in perfect coordination, as if they were attached to him. In the dream, he could breathe underwater; he didn't need to rise to the surface for oxygen. He swam effortlessly, deeper, and faster. Suddenly Zhiv was swimming alongside him.
Zhiv pointed to the surface, and together they rocketed upward and out of the water. An enormous murmuration of starlings soared and swooped around them. They ascended higher and higher until the lake and the mountain were far below. The boys hung in space and clasped each other, tightly pressed together. Each gazing into the other's eyes, the borders between them melted. As Zhiv merged with him, David felt an unbearable sweetness bubble up and fill him. It was so powerful a sensation that he jerked awake and sat up, rubbing his eyes as the sensation faded. He called up Zhiv's image and held it in his mind. A chorus of voices joined his own, whispering, "Zhiv, oh Zhiv." Faint voices sang in counterpoint, "Vizh, oh Vizh." David lay down again and slept.
On Friday night, Jude sprawled on his back on his usual side of the double bed in his room. River lay on the other side. The lights were out.
"Well," said Jude, "here we are."
"Yeah," said River. "It's great, ain't it?"
"So, are we gonna talk all night like a couple of dink-wads, or what?" Jude turned on his side to face River.
"I'd prefer, 'or what?'" laughed River, also rolling onto his side, so he faced Jude.
"You hard?" asked Jude.
"Like I'm gonna burst."
"Yeah, me too."
Jude said, "I gotta choke the chicken.".
River laughed. "Spank the monkey?"
"Yeah, polish the family jewels. I always do it when I go to bed. I can't go to sleep if I don't." He handed River a couple of tissues. "Here, for the mess."
A quarter mile distant from where Jude and River lay in bed, chickens in the Bedford Poultry barn were restless. A stealthy intruder moved among them in the darkness.
Melissa Blackstone was more afraid than she'd ever been in her sixteen years of life. She knew what she was doing was illegal. By her presence in that barn with a camera and a headlamp, she had become a terrorist, an enemy of the state.
At the same time, the misery she was witnessing filled her with despair and sorrow. Tens of thousands of chickens were crammed together, scratching or lying in their own feces. They grew at an accelerated rate and lived only until they were large enough to have their throats cut. They never knew sunshine or fresh air. There was no joy of any kind in their lives. Their anguish and hopelessness were clearly visible in their eyes. Melissa wept as she moved among them and documented the horror of their existence.
When she'd shot an hour of video, she left the barn with a chicken held against her chest. The hen was the single rescue Melissa had decided to make, though she would have preferred to free all the birds. In the morning, she would take the hen to a sanctuary where she would receive the care she needed and deserved. Melissa planned to send the video to animal rights advocates. It would expose the merciless reality of cage-free chicken production at the Bedford Poultry facility.
Melissa was still young enough to believe that people didn't know how cruel these farms were; they didn't understand how the meat on their plates was produced. She thought they would stop buying chicken if they saw the systemic brutality of poultry production. She'd been vegan for two years. She felt if she could do it, anybody could. It wasn't hard.
Melissa made the rescued hen comfortable in a cardboard box beside her bed, then lay down to rest. It had been a long bike ride out to the chicken farm and back. Taking the hen to the sanctuary in the morning meant another long ride, but she didn't mind. She felt relieved that she had done something. Perhaps her video might help to stop the cruelty. Finally, she had stood up in protest, even if no one had seen her. She corrected herself. She had been seen. The chickens had seen her.
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