“They’re cattle. Dumb, useless beasts. Monsters even.”
Joe shook his head. “You’re more a monster than any of them have ever been. At least they kill to eat—”
Gray’s fist shot out and slammed into Joe’s face. He grabbed the ax from Joe’s belt and pulled it out. Gray held it up. “You better watch it, Joe,” he hissed as Joe cupped a hand around his nose. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days. You got anything else you want to say? Any other precious pieces of kumbaya shit you want to spread around?”
Joe shook his head, blood leaking from under his hand and splatting to the floor in front of Surly. She hopped nervously.
“Then shut the fucking door before a rival group or the Infected see us. You can open the transom instead, that’ll suck out the smoke without leaving us open to attack.”
Joe reached out to shut the door and Surly’s heart sank. The dangerous man was winning at every turn. She watched Walt climb up to the small window in the back room and crank it open. Even she wouldn’t fit through that, not without falling to the ground outside and injuring herself.
Gray carefully slid the ax back into Joe’s belt. “Joe,” he said quietly, “you know I’m your friend. Let me lead. Let me take care of you. You know you don’t have the brain power to survive this alone. I got your back. But if you ever talk back to me again, I’ll cut your fucking tongue out. You got it?”
Joe just nodded.
“Good,” said Gray, a little louder, “let’s get that bacon sizzling then, I’m starving!”
He turned toward the front of the shop and saw Surly. He scowled. “And get this damned chicken back in its cage. I don’t want birdshit on my dinner.” He aimed a kick at her, but Surly just fluttered out of the way.
Walt carried a big metal dog bowl of bloody meat past her without stopping. Joe sank down into the owner’s office chair and tried to stop his nosebleed with the tissues sitting there. Surly Shirley hopped over to the desk. She flew up to the top of it and landed in front of Joe, watching him. He reached out with his clean hand and stroked her feathers. She didn’t bite him this time. “Pretty bird,” she cooed, ducking her head under his fingers.
“Yes, you’re a pretty bird,” he said softly, his words muffled under his hand.
Surly hopped up onto his shoulder, walking herself sideways to his ear. “Pretty bird, Pretty, pretty. Joe,” she said, trying out the new word. “Pretty Joe.”
Joe laughed. “Not anymore. Gonna have a crook in my face now.” She wasn’t sure what his face had to do with it. She tried to praise him again.
“Pretty Joe,” she repeated and fluttered down to the floor. “Lemon?” she asked, trying again.
“Sorry, fresh out of lemons. I think the only place with lemons is a greenhouse near home.”
Ah well, she thought, apples are acceptable. She tapped her beak on the exit door. “Pretty Joe, Surly Shirley. Nuh-night.”
He wrinkled his brow. “You practicing your words?” he asked.
“Nuh-night, Paws and Claws.” She tapped the door again, trying to make him understand.
“You want to go to sleep?” He reached out a hand for her.
“Pretty Joe, Surly Shirley, Nuh-night Paws and Claws.” She squawked, getting desperate. She flew past the open window and then back. How could she get him to see that they needed to leave?
“Soup’s on, Joe,” yelled Gray. “Come get it before these damn dogs do. And stop talking to that chicken.”
Joe stood up. He grabbed another fistful of tissues from the box and mashed them against his nose. “C’mon, Shirley, time to get back in your cage now. You don’t want me to get into trouble again, do you?”
“Pretty Joe,” Shirley cooed and flew, disappointed, back into her cage.
The smoke from the small fire filled the shop, floating through the broken display window and transom. It made Surly and the other animals sleepy, but the smell of cooking pork soon attracted a small but raucous group of humans. They joked with each other as they stood in line for a share of the cooked pig. Walt chewed on a bone before tossing it to the drooling puppies, who battled for it.
There’s loyalty for you, thought Surly with a pang of regret for Princess. The pig didn’t last long. The men at the end of the line frowned at their portions. One of them tossed a plate in disgust onto the counter next to Surly’s cage. “I’m sick of these scanty rations, Gray,” he grumbled. “You promised us decent wages.”
“And you’ll have them,” said Gray without bothering to look up from his plate. “We’re almost at the payout. A few more nights’ work and we’ll all be able to retire. If the pork doesn’t satisfy, toss that chicken next to you into the pot.” He jerked his thumb toward Surly’s cage. The man who complained bent down to look at her. She squawked as he reached a hand toward the latch. She wasn’t going to go willingly.
“No, don’t do that!” cried Joe.
“Why not?” asked the man without pausing. The door squeaked opened. Surly beat her wings and opened her beak to bite.
“Because it’s a parrot. They’re really smart. It’d be like—like eating a person.”
“Bullshit, it’s just a bird.” The man’s thick hand hovered at the cage door.
“Look,” said Joe, handing over his own plate, “if you’re hungry take mine. Leave the bird alone.”
The man turned and looked at the small bit of meat on the plate. “Not the only one that’s hungry. Besides, I haven’t had chicken in months. And what do you care? It’s just going to die in its cage anyway.”
“I’ll trade you something,” said Joe, trying to close the cage.
The man laughed. “You don’t have anything left, Joe. You lost the last of your tobacco in the poker game, and you traded Ben those batteries so he’d let that sweet little piece go two towns back. You got nothing.”
Joe hesitated. “You can have the last bottle of tequila.”
The man whistled low and long. Surly hopped on her perch, not certain whether to be relieved or not at the sound.
“Your last bottle, Joe? You could buy a woman with that. Or a doctor. Why do you want this bird so bad?”
Joe shrugged.
“It’s empty isn’t it? You’re trying to trick me out of a meal.” The man plunged his hand back into the cage and clutched Surly roughly. She stabbed him with her beak, and he swore but held on.
“No, no!” said Joe, “It’s brand new, full, I’ll get it, just—just put the bird back.”
Joe pushed his way out of the crowded shop as the man released Surly and pulled his hand back to suck the skin she’d bitten. Joe came back with a silver bottle that gleamed in the firelight. The man smiled and handed Joe the cage. “Don’t know why you care about a stupid seagull, but it’s good doing business with you.” He grabbed Joe’s plate. “Taking this too.” Joe let the plate go, waving him off and lifting the cage to his face. He opened the door and gently smoothed Surly’s rumpled feathers.
“Sorry, Shirley. You okay, pretty bird?”
“Pretty bird. Pretty Joe,” she clucked beneath his soothing strokes. He unwrapped the last of his dried apple slices and held it on his palm. She carefully picked it up. The crowd of men was leaving as Walt threw a box of cloth cat toys onto the fire. Another silver bowl of water boiled in the coals, and Gray threw in some metal tools.
“We going to do it in here?” asked Walt.
“Back room,” said Gray. “On the vet table. We’ll restrain ’em with the leashes. You wash the table off. Make sure you bleach it or sterilizing the tools will be pointless. We got to keep em from getting sick.” Gray laughed. “Sicker, I mean. Joe, go get the Infected.”