Tails of the Apocalypse

Pet Shop (an After the Cure short story) ^{by Deirdre Gould}

She didn’t know how long it had been since the little man who owned the store had shut off the lights and gone home. That was the last time they’d been properly fed. A few days ago? A week? Surly Shirley the parrot wasn’t certain.

They were in the deepest corner of the large mall with no window to the outside world. Surly’s experience of time had depended on shopping hours for over a decade. But the bird seed was almost gone. When she licked frantically at the small metal ball in her water bottle, not a drop rewarded her. She could hear the kittens crying in their box and the puppies scrabbling against the sides of theirs. The other birds had been silent for a long while. The animals around her were starving.

Even Princess, the pot-bellied pig, looked skinny. Humans had always coddled Princess. The pig, like Surly, had been at the shop for years because she was the owner’s favorite, and he couldn’t bear to sell her.

That was not why Surly had stayed in the shop so long. Princess was polite, well groomed, a pleasing, blushing pink. Surly Shirley was bedraggled at the best of times, her gray feathers always uneven, her yellow eyes cold and beady. Nobody talked to her. Nobody liked her. No one played with her or challenged her. Surly Shirley was bored. And boredom made her mean.

Even the owner had forgotten her original name, and Surly upheld her moniker with all the nastiness she could muster. She didn’t miss the humans at all, at first. But the dwindling bird seed and empty water bottle made her rock on her perch, nervous.

She’d figured out the latch on her cage years ago, much to the shop owner’s dismay. Surly let herself out and tried to check on the others. She landed on the cockatoo cage, carefully pecking open a bag of seed that lay on top, and letting it rain down on the sleeping birds. They squawked but began moving. There wasn’t much Surly could do about the water. They’d have to find a way out.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to save the others alone. As much as she loathed the pig, Surly knew she needed Princess’s help. So she flew down to the shop floor.

“Princess is a pretty piggy,” she squawked and clicked her claws on the cat carrier. Princess grunted. She knew when she was being made fun of.

“Pretty pig,” insisted Surly, “pretty Princess.”

The pig stared at her in the dim light. Surly tapped her beak on the box. The kittens began to meow softly.

The pig groaned as she got up from her pillow. She trotted over to the thin plastic cat carrier and sniffed it.

“Pretty pig,” squawked Surly again. Princess squealed at the box and then flopped against it, squishing it toward the wall. The kittens yowled, but the box’s flimsy top popped off as the container slowly flattened and they jumped out. Surly worked at tearing open a paper bag of cat food with her beak while Princess repeated the process with the larger puppy box.

“Princess is a pretty pig,” squawked Surly and flew back to her cage, closing herself in again, to think. She’d done what she could. Now she had to plan. The owner wasn’t coming back, that was clear. They had to go. Had to find fresh water. Light. Fruit.

Surly remembered fruit. It was rare that she’d ever gotten any. She’d usually had to steal it. The owner used to drink tea with a wedge of lemon in the morning. Surly had dreams about lemons, and the owner had caught her once making one of them come true.

“That’s why you’re such a sourpuss,” he’d scowled, but he sometimes gave her the wedges after that anyway.

She missed lemons. Maybe if they left the shop, she’d find some more. Surly Shirley ruffled up her feathers and shut her eyes to think as Princess turned over the large plastic container of dog treats and the puppies barked for joy.

It didn’t take long for the food to run out, except for some cans that the puppies chewed on but never got into, and a few sacks of birdseed that Surly pecked halfheartedly at. The kittens alone seemed satiated, eating the rodents that multiplied constantly. Surly Shirley had her own battles with the mice and rats over the bags of birdseed in the shop. And the lack of water remained. What little the animals could scrounge—from bottles left by the shop owner and the toilet the puppies dug their way into—was almost gone. Surly knew they couldn’t stay much longer. The problem was finding an open exit.

Surly was sitting on the shop’s cash register, staring out the window at the thick dark doors that led to the parking lot when the humans returned. The shrieks of someone enraged bounced down the hallway and echoed around her. Then she heard the boots.

“Welcome to Paws and Claws,” she said and whistled as she flew back to her cage. Princess looked up at her. The shrieks mixed with the deep shouts of several men, and the puppies ran to the door and began wagging their bony tails. A large group of people filled the hallway and tromped past. Surly squinted and pulled the cage door closed. The kittens stalked around their empty food bowls, meowing loudly.

“Hello, Paws and Claws,” she warned them again, and then immediately puffed her feathers and narrowed her eyes to small slits, pretending to sleep. A few of the men peeled off from the group and pushed on the pet shop door. It was locked. Two of the men picked up a heavy bench from the hallway and heaved it through the plate glass display window with a crash that scattered the loose animals. An arm reached gingerly around the jagged shards left in the frame to unlock the front door.

The bells bounced against the door as it opened. “Gah!” came a voice. The sharp yips of the dogs overwhelmed it. Surly opened one eye all the way, suspicious. The human was reeling back, its arm shielding the bottom of its face. “Something’s died in here,” he called back to his fellows. “Forget it.”

Surly appreciated the sentiment so much that she lifted herself up and added another dropping for emphasis. That’d convince them to leave, she thought. Her dislike made her temporarily forget the dire situation she was in.

“We need those tools, Walt. We have to at least look.”

The first human took a reluctant step into the store, kicking aside the tattered remains of a treat box. “This place is a wreck. It’s just a pet shop. What are we going to find here besides dead goldfish and dog crap?”

“Dental pliers,” replied the second man, pushing him forward. “And those claw trimmer things.”

A larger man drifted in behind them, holding up a bulky flashlight. He leaned down to pet one of the puppies. “Always hated this plan,” he grumbled. “They’re people. Can’t do this to people.”

“Really, Joe?” asked the second man, snorting and then spitting on the floor. “Next apocalypse you can decide what to do. Wasn’t my fault that bitch flaked out on the bounty. We had to do something with all those Infected, couldn’t let them run rampant the way they were.”

“I guess,” said Joe, “but what about that cure the trader told us about? Maybe we should check it out. Then we won’t have to—to declaw them and rip their teeth out.”

“That cure is a myth, Joe. Think about all those people hanging onto Infected they know. Like moms who can’t accept their kid is a zombie. The people who thought up this cure story are just trying to get people to willingly turn over their Infected. Pretend they’re going to get better and they can get some dangerous zombies off the street without a fight. But it’s a waste, killing all those Infected. They could make good workers. You don’t want to have to kill all those people do you, Joe?”

“No, Gray, course not. But it seems cruel to pull their teeth out—”

“I know, I know it does. But we got to keep our clients safe. If the Infected can’t bite or scratch, then if they get loose, they won’t hurt anybody, right? We’re just taking precautions.”

“Maybe we should just go ask about the Cure. I could do it. I could find out without anyone knowing about the herd—”

“Look, Joe, we don’t know anything about those people. Maybe they’re mad men. Maybe they rob and kill anyone that gets close. Maybe they have some kind of zombie army. I’ve kept us going this long. We both know I’m the leader and you’re the labor. Let’s just stick with what’s working. We just have to deliver the herd and we’re going to be set for life. Trust me. Now let’s find those tools and let the others know we’re ready to start the processing.”

Joe nodded hesitantly and placed the flashlight on the counter. The men began looking around and pushing empty shelving units to the sides of the store. Surly Shirley wasn’t going to stand for her home being invaded. She decided that was her chance. She slammed against the unlatched cage door, launching herself into the air.

“Paws, Claws, Paws, Claws,” she screeched to the others, exultant in her flight. She was a gray, sleek bullet aimed above Joe’s shoulder, a parrot superhero, leading the charge.

Except the others didn’t follow. The puppies barked frantically and Princess just grunted, sniffing at Walt’s pockets hoping for a treat.

Joe squinted and held up his arms, not certain what was going on. Surly crashed into his chest, then pushed up with her claws and flapped away. She flew around the store, trying to get another angle. She swooped low over his head, raking his hair as she passed, then landed back in her cage, which swung with the impact of her anger. She watched the men from her rocking perch, expecting them to leave in the wake of her furious territorial claim.

“What was that?” asked Walt, pushing Princess away.

“Bird,” said Gray. “Maybe we can have a chicken dinner tonight.”

“Or bacon,” said Walt brightly.

Joe shook his head. “Thought we were just looking for tools.”

“C’mon, Joe,” said Walt, “we haven’t had a decent meal in days. It’s been slim pickings since we started meeting other people. You going to turn up your nose at the nice fat piece of pork right here?”

“But it’s—that’s someone’s pet,” he protested.

“Not anymore,” said Gray, “it’s just a pig. Probably wasn’t anyone’s pet anyway. Wouldn’t be here in the pet shop otherwise. These were probably all the rejects.” He nudged one of the dogs away with his foot. “They were destined for the pound Before, and we all know what would have happened to them there. At least this way, they’ll serve some purpose.”

Joe picked up one of the smaller puppies as it tried again to appeal to the other men. “You can’t mean the dogs too—”

“Why not? They’re no different from the pig. Bit gamier maybe.”

“But it’s—it’s a dog.”

Gray shook his head in disgust at Joe. “It’s better than starving. We need meat. Unless—you want to do what the Infected are doing?”

“I’d rather be Infected,” scowled Joe. “At least I know some people that’d deserve to be dinner.”

Walt shrugged. “So don’t eat ’em. Plenty of cans of cat food left over for you.”

Gray picked up the flashlight and swept its beam over the store. “Go on, Walt, check in the back. There’s probably some cleaning stuff back there. If we’re doing the dental work here, we gotta clean it up so our stock don’t get an infection.” He turned to Joe who was snuggling the puppy in the crook of his arm. “Never known you to turn down a pork chop,” he said, poking him in the stomach. “C’mon, Joe, it’s just a pig. Just like every other pig. It’s going to die in here anyway or get eaten by the Infected on the street. Right?”

Surly Shirley stared at Joe from her perch. His head drooped as he stroked the puppy’s fur. At last he nodded. “Yeah, Gray,” he said, “you’re right.”

Gray pulled the puppy from Joe’s arms and placed it gently on the floor. “So that’s how we’re going to look at them all. They’re livestock, Joe, for as long as we’re here. We’ll keep them fed and watered, we’ll give them a good, solid existence, and in return, they’ll keep us alive. No naming them. No playing with them. They’re just like cows and chickens. You wouldn’t snuggle a cow or sleep curled up with a chicken, would you?”

Joe shook his head. Gray smiled, satisfied. “Good, I’m glad we don’t have to fight about that. You know I don’t like fighting with you. These animals will probably go right back to their cages if we lure ’em with a little food. You got those fancy candles from that artsy-fartsy card shop down the way?”

Joe nodded and pulled his pack from his shoulder.

“Good. Set ’em up around, this place smells like death. I’ll get the tools. I want to get started. We got dozens to get through.”

Surly watched Joe set down the candles and struggle to ignite them with his dying lighter. He was harmless. She whipped her head to the side to look at Walt. Maybe he was a little more interested in eating than the other, but he was also careless and clumsy. Surly could easily dodge him if it came to that. He’d wear out before he caught her.

It was the other one that made her claws curl into her wooden perch. He was bad news. She watched Gray toss a single dog treat to the half-dozen starving puppies. He laughed as they began snarling and biting each other, desperate to reach the small bite of food. He’d never let them go, Surly knew. The best she could hope for was that he grew bored with the pet shop and abandoned them for richer pickings.

The men pushed the shelving units against the walls, making an empty square of the small store. Much of the broken window was blocked by the shelving units, but Surly thought she could still fit. She just had to wait for the right time. Her cage hung above them, but the cockatoo cage had been wedged in next to the fish tanks. Joe found more stock in the back room and emptied a large bag of dog food into the center. There was enough food that the puppies were all eating, their tails wagging furiously. Joe also put down a large bowl of water and was feeding the kittens when Walt started scolding him.

“Why you wasting food on them? We’re going to need that. We can use it for the herd.” He snatched the bag of food from Joe’s hands. The kittens transferred their meows from Joe to Walt.

“Can’t let them starve—” started Joe.

“But it’s okay if we do? Every bite of food you give them is one less for us and for the Infected. Hasn’t exactly been a bounty out there lately.”

Gray had been staring out the front window. He turned toward the other two. “Let him feed them. Feeding ’em fattens ’em up for us, right? We’ll just eat ’em, when it comes to it. Besides, we only have to make do for a couple of days. The labor market’s due to open next week.”

“Are there more—uh, more vendors?” asked Walt, handing Joe the bag of cat food.

“Nah,” said Gray, turning back to the window. “Not for Infected anyway. Everyone else is too chicken to round ’em up like we do.”

Joe dumped a little pile of food at his feet. The kittens rubbed against his legs and purred before attacking the dusty pellets. “Maybe that just means they treat the Infected like humans. Labor market, Gray? Why not just call it a slave auction and be honest about it?”

Gray turned around. “How many times do I have to explain this, Joe? If we leave ’em on the street, they die. We don’t have the means to keep feeding ’em for doing nothing. They got to pull their own weight. Have a purpose. Just like these dogs. You think they’re better off dead?” He paused for a moment and pulled out a knife. “If that’s what you think, go ahead. Go take care of the herd. Be done with it.”

“No, Gray, I just…” Joe stopped, quailing under Gray’s stare. “You’re right.”

“Cheer up, Joe. They’re going to be useful. They’ll pull plows and carts, they’ll intimidate enemies, they’ll provide a way to work off tension without anyone getting hurt. They’re going to be valuable and they’ll be comfortable as long as they stay useful. It’s not a bad life. Now, planning all this? That’s hard work. Making me hungry,” he grinned, never taking his gaze away from Joe. “Walt, help me wrangle that pig.”

Walt looked around the dim room. “Sooey!” he laughed. Joe looked uneasy.

“Help us catch it, Joe,” said Gray, staring harder at him. “If you help us catch it, I won’t make you kill it yourself.”

Surly fluttered and rocked on her perch as Joe sighed and looked around him. She and Princess had never been friends, but she didn’t want to see a slaughter either. “Pretty Princess!” she screeched, trying to warn the pig. “Pretty Princess, pretty pig! Nuh-night! Nuh-night!” She rocked on the perch, swinging the entire cage, trying to think of other warning words the shop owner had used on occasion.

“Joe!” shouted Gray over Surly Shirley’s raucous shrieks. “Shut that bird up, it’s driving me crazy.” He picked up a dog toy and flung it at the cage. It went wide.

“Nuh-night, Princess!” Surly cried.

Joe abandoned his search for the pig and climbed onto a step stool, catching the swinging cage and holding it still between his hands. Surly beat her wings toward him, but he didn’t let go. “It’s okay, Princess,” said Joe, thinking the parrot was shrieking its own name.

Surly stopped and stared at him. How could he mistake her for the pig?

“That’s a pretty Princess,” said Joe, foolishly sticking a thick finger into the cage to stroke her feathers. Surly bit it. Hard. Joe hissed as she held on tight, but he didn’t yell. “It’s okay, Princess, I know you’re scared. We’ll get out of here soon.”

Surly hadn’t expected that. She let go of the salty finger. “Surly Shirley,” she cooed. “Surly Shirley.”

“I don’t know who Shirley is, but I don’t think she’s coming back,” said Joe, sucking his finger briefly, then fumbling in his pocket for a moment. He pulled out a wrinkled plastic bag.

“Surly Shirley wants a cracker. Princess is a pretty pig,” she responded, curious to see if he’d get it.

“Oh, you’re Shirley—”

“Joe,” yelled Gray, “stop talking to that chicken and help us. This pig is heavy.”

“Here you go, Shirley,” he said softly and pulled out a dried apple slice from the bag. He poked it through the cage bars and then looked around. The pig wriggled between Gray and Walt, who were standing in front of the back door. Joe stepped down from the ladder to let them into the back of the store.

“Nuh-night, Princess,” chirped Surly quietly. The large flashlight the men had brought with them bounced its beam off the silent aquariums, flashing green beams over the shop. Princess began squealing her fear, and the dogs barked, excited, though they didn’t know why.

Surly puffed her feathers up and turned around on the perch. She didn’t want to see Princess get murdered through the aquarium glass. She worked at the cage latch as the pig’s distress reached a crescendo. Princess had bought her a chance to escape. Surly wasn’t going to lose it.

She looked around the shop, distracting herself with memories. It was the only home she’d ever known. What was out there, beyond the long, tiled hallway? More birds like her? More men like Gray? When the store owner hadn’t returned, she’d thought the humans were all gone. Were they just waiting to catch her out there instead? Where could she go? Maybe there was another pet shop somewhere. She’d never know if she didn’t find a way out. She glided from the cage over the top of a shelf, just barely clearing the broken window.

The mall was dark and silent except for the large clothing store that capped the end. It glowed with lanterns, and a rippling moan seemed to travel forever through it. That’s where the other humans were. Surly didn’t want to go there, so she flapped toward the other end, her wings stiff but warming to the unaccustomed exercise. Sterile glass and stone were all that she found. A long barren tunnel of window and floor. No water, no trees, no fruit.

She was still inside the mall. But there had to be a way out. The humans had to have come from somewhere. Then she rounded a corner and saw it. Sunlight and trees waving in a breeze. She could almost feel the wind.

Surly swooped low and fast before anything could stop her, before anyone could catch her and force her back into her cage. She smacked into the glass door with a dull thud and toppled onto the floor. Dazed, she simply sat for a while and stared at the green leaves of the tree just outside. When her head cleared, Surly hopped around looking for a break or a breath of fresh air.

Nothing.

At last she turned and flew back to the pet shop. Where else was there to go? It was the only home she’d ever had.

But Surly knew the men wouldn’t be satisfied with Princess for very long. She might well be on the menu tomorrow. She couldn’t give up. She had to find her way out of the mall. Whatever was waiting for her outside, at least she’d meet it head on, instead of waiting around to be eaten like the pig.

The squealing had stopped by the time she slipped back into her cage. The puppies had settled down, though they occasionally scratched at the back door of the shop and whined. She knew what it meant. Surly wouldn’t be competing with Princess for fruit anymore. She poked with her beak at the sliver of apple that Joe had given her. She picked it up, holding it carefully in one claw, and pushed open the cage door with her head. Princess’s pink plastic food bowl glimmered in the half-light, cleaned to a shine days before. Surly swooped over it, dropping the soft, sweet apple slice into it. The sound of one of the men retching startled her and she fluttered back to her perch.

“Useless…” came Gray’s voice from behind the fish tanks. “Go build a fire to cook it.”

“A fire? Out of what?”

“Find something! I swear Joe Mackey, I should’ve left you in that pool hall for the Infected to kill.”

“Sorry, Gray, I’ll find something.”

Joe emerged from the back and shut the door. He knelt down for just a moment to stroke the puppies jumping at his legs, then stood up. He found the pet care books and began tossing them into a pile in the center of the linoleum floor. Surly watched him smash one of the wooden shelving units into small pieces with an ax.

The parakeets and cockatoos fluttered and chirped and whistled in protest at the noise, but Surly was silent. She was resolved not to miss any opportunity, and she sat grim and unmoving as she watched Joe and the shop door. He lit the large pile of wood and paper, and the flames startled Surly. A billowy plume of smoke rose to envelop her cage and she couldn’t see. She wheezed in the thick cloud. “Bad bird!” she protested, because it had been what the owner yelled at her whenever he wanted her to stop what she was doing. “Bad bird!”

A few seconds later, Joe emerged from the cloud of smoke, pressing his face to the bars. “Sorry Shirley,” he said, unhooking her cage. He swung it down onto the shop’s counter. “Wasn’t thinking about the smoke.” She was only a few feet from the door now, but it was still blocked and closed. Joe bent down to look at her.

“Bad bird!” she spat once more, glaring at him.

“Sorry,” he said, reaching a finger in to stroke her feathers. She bit him again, but only lightly and let go so she could accept his petting her. “I won’t do it again.” He pulled out the plastic bag again and offered her another apple slice.

“Lemon?” she asked.

“Apple,” he said, holding it out. She pretended not to notice. He looked around at the crackling fire as the linoleum bubbled and blackened at the edge. The puppies were cowering against his legs, and the kittens had jumped onto shelving units to get as far away from the flames as possible. “How are we going to keep you safe from the smoke? We can’t breathe it either.”

“Hello, Paws and Claws,” said Surly, trying to suggest a door. She snatched the apple slice as payment. But Joe didn’t get it. Instead, he returned her to her cage and stood up to open the door to the back room. The puppies hurtled past him as much attracted by the smell of Princess as driven by fear of the fire.

“Joe, get these dogs out of here, they’re trying to grab the pork,” yelled Walt.

“Got to let the smoke out somewhere,” said Joe.

“Relax, Walt,” said Gray, “give ’em a hoof or an ear or something.”

A bright square of light stretched across the floor, and a blast of chilled air hit Surly. The back exit was open! She smashed herself into her cage’s door, forgetting that Joe had closed the latch. Shaking her head to clear it, she began lifting the catch carefully with her beak, just as Gray yelled at Joe to close the door.

“You’re going to attract someone’s attention!”

“There’s no one out there, Gray,” Joe protested. “Look for yourself. It’s all clear. You’re way too jumpy. We should just drop the herd off at that City and go. We’ll go south, live where it’s warm and the fishing is good. I heard it’s practically empty in Florida, got evacuated early. Lots of stuff just waiting for us. We don’t need the Infected. What do you say?”

Surly managed to undo the latch and pushed at the door with the top of her head. There was a shuffle as Gray moved to the open exit door. “We aren’t leaving until we trade the herd.”

“But why?” asked Joe. “We don’t need the traders’ stuff. We can all be comfortable—”

“Because I listened to one of your rumors before. Remember how that turned out? Sure didn’t have a problem chopping up the Infected then, did you, Joe? And all I had to show for that was a string of shriveled ears and a broken arm. Maybe Florida is paradise, like you heard. I’m willing to bet that story is as made up as the cure, but who knows? I just want some insurance first. Unless, of course, you want me to start thinking you set me up back home. That maybe you thought that dumb broad in the police station was going to take care of me and let you go your merry way with all my earnings. Is that what you want me to start thinking, Joe?”

Surly fluttered out of the cage to the floor. She didn’t want to risk being seen, and she didn’t want to be up near the ceiling in the thick smoke. She scuttled toward the back door, keeping one eye on the kittens, who were licking their chops. Their tails rippled and twitched.

“No, of course not,” started Joe.

“Then stop being a coward—”

Surly had made it to the entrance of the back room. Across from her stood Joe and Gray in the frame of the open exit door. Walt was hacking off bits of pork from Princess’s body, the puppies who hadn’t gotten Gray’s bribe watching him anxiously. Surly tried not to look.

Joe’s face turned red. “I’m not being a coward. I didn’t know the bounty thing was a bad rumor. I wouldn’t put you in that spot, Gray. But this is—this isn’t right. What if these people wake up? What if they get better and find out they got no teeth, that they’re slaves? It’s not like the people we sell them to are all going to treat them kindly. Some of them might get hurt. Some of them might get killed. Or—or used. They’re people.”

“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.”

Surly glanced at the back door. It might open again if they were doing something back there. Then again, she had a better chance for sympathy with Joe. If only she could make him understand. She decided to stick with him. After the other two went to prepare the table, she flew up to his shoulder. He still had little crusts of blood under his nose, and his cheeks were swollen and dark under the eyes. He shook his head as she cocked hers sideways to look at him.

“No, Shirley, you don’t want to see this. You stay here.” He held out a finger for her to climb on, but she refused. He wiggled his shoulder. She flapped but clung on.

“All right,” he said, “but I don’t have anything for you, that was the last apple.”

He opened the front door and its tiny bells jingled. They turned down the hallway and into the large clothing store. The racks had been shoved to the side, and dozens of humans stood in the empty center, each bound with rope except for their feet. Thick pieces of cloth blocked their mouths, but they still made the continuous moan that had warned Surly earlier. They shuffled to and fro but never moved far or looked at anything for very long. Not even each other.

Something was wrong with them, but Surly didn’t have a lot of experience with human behavior, seeing only customers of the store for a few moments at a time. Joe grabbed the closest one by the lead rope binding her hands. Surly noticed the woman was muddy and scratched, something she was sure humans found uncomfortable. At least, the ones she knew would.

Joe led the woman grimly back to the pet shop, Surly still attached to his shoulder. The bells rang again and the woman jerked and snapped her head around, as if she were looking for the sound. The puppies began to whine immediately. They knew something was wrong with the woman. Surly fluttered down to the floor as Joe led the woman into the back room.

Surly didn’t want Gray to see her and force her back into the cage. She inched around toward the exit door, ready to dart out. Where was she going to go? She wasn’t sure, but it had to be better than the dark pet shop. The men were struggling with the bound woman, lifting her onto the table and tying her down. She snapped her head from side to side and kicked, but the ropes held her tight.

Gray took off the thick mouthpiece and fished a steaming pair of silver pliers from the dog bowl. “Walt, hold her down. Make sure she doesn’t get loose. Joe, you got to keep her mouth open for me.”

Joe looked down at the woman on the table. Surly saw the flash of a tear falling from his face.

“Joe, pay attention! I’m trusting you to keep her mouth open so she doesn’t bite me. You understand?”

Joe nodded and put one hand on the woman’s forehead and the other on her bottom jaw, forcing open her mouth. “Shouldn’t we—isn’t there something for the pain?” he asked.

“Did I have painkillers when that bitch broke my arm? No. There aren’t any more. Besides, look at her mouth. Most of her teeth are rotten. It’ll probably be a relief when they’re gone.”

The woman screamed as Gray pulled on the first tooth. Surly hopped around, nervous. She found a tall box of dog pillows and shuffled behind it, out of sight.

“Damn,” swore Gray, “it broke.” The woman continued her screaming. It went on and on, the puppies barking and growling, the woman shrieking and choking on the blood. Joe winced with every tooth. At last, Gray stuffed the cloth mouthpiece back. “Get her hands,” he said to Walt. Walt uncurled the woman’s bloody fist and forced it flat onto the table, holding it there. Gray began casually cutting the long, jagged nails on the woman’s hands. “That took longer than I expected,” he grumbled, “but with practice I’ll get faster. Next patient, nurse!” He elbowed Joe cheerfully.

“I can’t do this,” said Joe, his face a pale, sweaty moon. “I can’t take two dozen more of those.”

Gray glared at him, but then softened his gaze. “Ah, you’re just tired. Don’t blame you, it’s been a long day. Tell you what, we’ll get some of the other guys to do a few while we sleep. Wake up refreshed and ready to tackle more.” He slapped Joe on the back. Joe didn’t respond. Walt untied the woman and led her out, blood already soaking through her cloth mouthpiece. Gray strode out after him.

“Can’t let them do this,” mumbled Joe to himself.

Surly hopped out from behind the box. “Bad bird,” she scolded. Joe knelt down to pick her up.

“I know,” he said. “I was really bad. This is worse than everything else we’ve done. I can’t let them do it again. But they’ll be at it all night. What can I do?”

Surly tapped the door with her beak. “Nuh-night,” she chirped helpfully.

“If only I could bring the Cure here. I know Gray would do the right thing if he were just certain it was real…”

“Bad bird!” squawked Surly. Nothing that Gray did was right. Even she could see that. Joe opened the back door. The way was clear. A soft night breeze blew fresh air over Surly. She hopped toward the door.

“They’ll know I’m gone,” said Joe to himself. “They’ll know what I’ve done and come after me.”

There was movement in the hall outside the shop. The next procedure was about to start.

“Have to try,” said Joe grimly. He looked down at Surly with a smile. “Stall ’em for me, will you?” He laughed. “Must be crazy, plotting with a bird.”

Surly hopped to the entrance and looked out. The flat parking lot spread out farther than she’d imagined anything could. The air was clean and sweet in contrast to the fetid stench of the shop. She even thought she caught the scent of ripe berries. No cages. No humans poking things at her or grabbing or scolding.

“Well,” he said to her, “in or out. I have to go, and fast!”

Surly looked up at him. With nothing to delay the bad man, he’d catch Joe for sure. He’d hurt Joe. Joe who didn’t yell when she bit him. Who took her away from the roiling smoke. Who saved her. The bells on the shop’s front door jangled. The men were back with another Infected. “Nuh-night, Joe,” she cooed softly, then flapped away, back into the store. Joe slid out the door and gently closed it without a sound.

It was up to her to stop them, to buy Joe some time.

She flew around the back room in a loop. The men had been very careful to clean everything before they started. They’d put the tools in water and scrubbed down the table. Maybe if she soiled it, they’d have to stop and clean it again.

Surly landed on the table, her claws clicking on its hard surface. She let a few droppings splatter behind her onto the table and tried to grab the tools. But they were heavy. She nudged the bowl, trying to tip it before the men came in. She could hear Gray talking to them in the front and knew she didn’t have much time. She flew up and hurtled back down toward the bowl, her momentum nudging it off the small stool and dumping the tools onto the floor with a clattering splash.

She surveyed her work. Not enough. They’d have it cleaned in seconds. A cup of bloody teeth and filthy nail shavings sat on the counter next to the table. Surly found it light enough to pick up with her claws. She dumped it and the teeth skittered across the table, leaving bloody trails behind them.

The men were coming. The table was as dirty as she could make it. She glided over the heads of the men to the top of one of the shelves. Surly heard them swearing as they saw the table. She tucked her head under her wing, confident she’d distracted them enough.

After a few moments of swearing, the men had started the fire again, trying to boil enough water to sterilize the table and tools again. Surly had fallen asleep waiting for Joe, sure she’d delayed the men for long enough. When she woke to the screams of an Infected, she knew they’d returned to their grisly dental work. She tried to come up with another plan to stop them, even though she thought it pointless. Humans didn’t learn. They were so stubborn. But Joe thought it was important, so she fluttered down to the floor and the safety of deep shadows.

A new Infected was strapped down to the table. Gray was back, yanking teeth with a satisfied grin. The man on the table writhed and screamed, choking on the blood that spilled from his gums. Surly didn’t know what good it would do to try to stop Gray. He’d just go get another.

She didn’t even know why she cared. She didn’t like when things suffered, but it was how the world worked. Big ate little. Fast beat slow. Strong took weak’s food and mates and home.

But Joe cared. He wanted to change how it worked. And Surly Shirley was realizing she cared about Joe. So Gray had to stop because Joe wanted him to stop. The world had to change.

She hopped under the metal table, unseen by the men. She stood near Gray’s legs, looking for a vulnerable spot. Then she sank her beak into the meaty part of one leg. There was a clatter above her as he dropped the pliers and bent down, his hand swatting blindly. She waited until she saw his face, then pecked as hard as she could before hopping out of reach.

She’d missed his eye. Surly darted in again, grim and silent. She bit his ear and hung on for a second. Gray roared and Surly let go, intending to flutter away for another pass, but she was too late. One of the other men grabbed her right out of the air. She tried to claw his arm, but he just squeezed. It hurt and she went limp, hoping it would make him relent.

“Give me that fucking chicken,” growled Gray. The man handed her over, and Gray flung her against the wall near the trash can. She hit and tumbled, seeing stars. Surly struggled to get upright but couldn’t stand. She lay on the floor next to the can, stunned and in pain.

Gray turned back to the Infected. Surly knew she was powerless to stop him now. The screams resumed. Surly lay on the cold linoleum and listened to them for hours. She thought hearing that constant shrieking would push all the words she knew right out of her brain. All that’d be left would be the unending sound of human screaming.

At last the door opened and the cool, clean air ruffled through Surly’s feathers. She saw Joe’s boots, and then another pair. Bloody and sweating, Gray turned around from his gruesome work.

“Who the hell is this, Joe?” he asked, brandishing the pliers, a bloody tooth still clasped in them.

“I wanted to show you. I knew if you heard it for yourself, you’d help me get the Cure to the herd.”

Gray motioned for the other men to take the Infected out. “You’re from the City?” he asked the stranger.

The other pair of boots shuffled. “Yes, I’m one of the soldiers defending it. We have plenty of room. We can take you all. We just have to go a few miles and we’ll reach the nearest Cure camp—”

“There’s no such thing,” snapped Gray.

“Oh, but there is. I know it seems impossible, but the Cure works. I’ve seen it myself. It takes a few days, but they wake up perfectly sane.”

“See?” said Joe. “And the City has food and electricity, Gray. We could go back to normal there. All of us. No more fighting, no more starving, no more running from guys with more guns. We can be there tonight.”

Gray seemed to consider it as he moved closer to the two men. He dropped the pliers on the table and wiped his hands on his pants, leaving dark brown bloodstains. Surly wanted to call a warning, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know if she was paralyzed from the fall earlier or from fear. Gray was bad. All bad. Deep-down bad. He didn’t want to quit, he wanted to keep hurting forever. It was like a foul odor that came off Gray in waves. How did Joe not see it? Surly tried again to say anything, make any sound. But she couldn’t.

“Oh, Joe,” said Gray when he was standing a few inches from him, “what did you do?” His hand flashed out and he grabbed the soldier by the throat.

“No! Stop!” cried Joe, trying to pull Gray’s hand away. But he was too late. Gray flipped his knife out with his free hand and plunged it into the soldier’s neck. He released the dying man, and the soldier choked to death on his own blood as he slumped to the floor.

“I told you never to question me again, Joe. I told you what I’d do. Now you made me kill an innocent guy, ’cause you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. All you had to do was keep it zipped for two more days. Two days, Joe.”

“But he had the Cure. We can save them all—”

Gray grabbed Joe’s shirt and shook him. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull? I don’t want to save them. Nobody wants to save them. They just don’t want to have to fight ’em anymore. I’m making them useful. Obedient. Safe. Fuckable. Profitable, Joe. I’m turning lemons into lemonade. But you had to interfere. Now this guy’s friends are going to come looking for him. I’m going to have to push up the timeline. We’re going to have to move faster and get out of here tonight. Roll up your sleeves and find a pair of pliers and let’s go.”

“No,” said Joe. “I’m not helping you do this.”

Gray twisted the knife and let it shimmer in the pale light of the camp lantern.

“You want to hurt me for not helping, Gray, you go ahead and try. I think it best we part ways instead. I never joined you for this.”

Gray sneered. “You didn’t join me, Joe. I saved you. You were blind drunk in that bar because you were so scared. Just waiting to die. Just waiting to be eaten alive. I found you. I saved you. You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you this. I’m not going with you, Gray. I’ve gone along with too much. You said we were going to protect people. You said we were going to keep families safe from the Infected. And I believed you. I thought we were going to be like superheroes, fighting the zombies together and making the neighborhood normal again. I never wanted to be a slave trader or a murderer. Or a—or a pervert. I’m done. I’m going to the City. If you want to come with me, then I’ll take you. If you just want to hurt people, then I’m done.”

He took a step toward the fallen soldier, and Gray sprang after him, whistling loudly for his men. Joe turned and his arm slammed like a piston into the center of Gray’s chest. Even as he fell backward with a gasp, Gray slashed wildly at Joe, but he was too far away.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Gray,” Joe growled. But the sadist wasn’t listening. His blood was up. Gray recovered his feet and lunged again, making contact this time. The two men fell to the hard floor, and the entire shop seemed to shake. Surly tried to twitch her wings, her claws, anything to move. To help Joe.

Gray was quick and straddled Joe as they both struggled for the knife. His men were finally responding to the whistle and joined the fight, helping their boss to pin Joe down.

“I told you what would happen if you talked back, Joe. I warned you.” Gray punched Joe’s broken nose and the injured man groaned, unable to shield his face.

Surly finally managed to move one wing. She tried harder, flexing her claws.

“Joe’s betrayed us. He’d rather save those monsters than help his friends,” said Gray, getting up. As Joe moaned on the floor, clutching his face, Gray aimed a savage kick at Joe’s stomach. The other men joined in.

Surly managed to roll onto her stomach and pushed up with her feet. She was upright but dizzy. Her heart raced, and she was panting again. She had to rest for just a second.

“After everything we’ve done, Joe. We shared our food with you. Kept you from being devoured by the Infected. Gave you purpose. Let you tag along even though you were slower than the others. And you betray us?”

There were too many men now to fit around Joe, and they had to take turns beating him. Surly wondered who was watching the Infected. She gently flapped her wings, testing them. No way. She wouldn’t be able to do it in time.

“That’s enough, boys. I want to make sure he remembers this lesson. Get him onto the table.” Gray picked up the pliers. He leaned over Joe. “You know what’s coming,” he growled. Joe twisted and whipped for a few seconds, until the others restrained him, smashing him hard onto the table. “Open your mouth,” ordered Gray.

Surly flapped again. Her wings were finally starting to work. She hopped a little. Everything ached and she had a whistle deep in her chest, but there was no more time to recover. Not if she wanted to help Joe.

“I need more light,” shouted Gray and one of the men ran to the door beside Surly and opened it so the morning sun streamed in, spotlighting Joe as he writhed on the table. The man propped open the door so he could return to aid Gray, who told another man to hold Joe’s nose closed. That forced Joe to open his mouth.

Surly saw her chance. No one was watching. She could go. She could fly away and never see this place again. She could find the warm sun and ripening berries and clean air. She didn’t need to help Joe. She didn’t even need to think about him or Gray or the screaming Infected ever again.

What had humans ever done for her? She didn’t like them, she reminded herself, and they’d always hated her. Ten years in the pet shop and never adopted. Why did she need a human now? No one had ever been kind to her. Not the owner, not the attendants or customers, not even the other animals.

But that wasn’t quite true, was it? Joe had been kind to her. He’d stroked her feathers and cared for her. He’d kept the other man from eating her, like they’d eaten Princess.

Joe screamed behind her, and Gray laughed wickedly. He had Joe’s tongue pulled too far past his lips with the pliers. Surly at last gathered her strength and burst upward with an echoing shriek, one she’d heard over and over from the Infected the night before.

Gray’s men whirled around, panicking and releasing their hold on Joe. Gray barked orders and they scattered to find the Infected that were on the loose. But Gray wouldn’t be moved from his task. His knife slithered through the thick sponge of Joe’s tongue, slicing half of it off.

Joe’s gagging screams filled the shop as Gray turned to face the bird. Surly dove like a hawk, attacking the arm holding the knife, tearing the skin of his hand with her claws, still screaming like the Infected, echoing Gray’s deeds back at him. She took off again and landed on the back of his neck, slamming her wings into his head.

Joe turned to his side on the table, coughing on a mouthful of blood. Surly stabbed at Gray’s ears and cheeks with her beak, trying to work her way around to his eyes while avoiding the man’s hands clutching for her as she attacked the back of his neck. He was shouting for his men to return, to help him. Surly didn’t let up, screaming the Infected’s shriek and battering Gray as he backed further into the pet shop.

Attracted by the shouts and no longer herded back into the large clothing store, the Infected had sprinted to the pet shop. Gray’s men struggled to control them. For weeks the Infected had been bound and walked to the point of exhaustion, fed only enough to keep them on their feet. Gray’s men had become lazy and neglectful, lulled by the seeming ease of controlling them. But the Infected were well rested by their pause at the mall and the screams from the pet shop had excited them. Some had torn their hands free of the ropes that bound them and clawed at their captors or pulled the mouthpieces from their own faces. One had gnashed through his mouthpiece while his hands were still bound. He roared, tattered streamers of cloth drooping and fluttering around his neck like an old shroud as he closed his ragged teeth on a captor’s shoulder.

Gray’s men were surrounded, and they brandished knives and axes as if it would deter or delay anything. The bitten man howled and bashed at his attacker. Another Infected growled deep in her throat and leaped onto the bitten man’s back, clawing at his throat. Disoriented by the parrot’s frenzied attack, Gray stumbled right into the middle, pushing past a few of the Infected without even realizing it. The cluster of Infected closed in, roaring and grabbing at Gray and his men.

Surly swooped away, wary of the snapping jaws as the Infected began to feed. She heard Joe tumble from the table behind her and turned in a tight loop. For the slightest second, she could see him lying on the floor near the open back door. The sun highlighted his bruised, swollen face. A pool of blood spread under his cheek as it dripped steadily from his mouth.

Then someone’s hand shot out of the tangle of teeth and claws and skin. It grabbed her, hard. She was spun around now, feathers bending between Gray’s clumsy fingers. The fury on his face scared her more than his iron grip did.

“Fucking chicken…” he hissed, wrapping his other hand around her and squeezing harder. Surly Shirley shrieked. A parrot scream, her true voice, crying out in pain as she felt her left wing bones snap.

One of the Infected bit down on Gray’s leg and with a roar he let Surly go. She hurtled through the air, slamming hard to the floor and sliding into the back room. She lay there for a few long moments, the chaotic fight behind her fading beneath the pain electrifying her body. Short reports of gunfire followed by shouts brought her back to reality. She realized Gray’s men were shooting their Infected, trying to save themselves.

The melee died down as Gray regained control and the men left to restrain and herd the remaining Infected and fix their own wounds. Surly struggled to stand up, wobbling and dragging her broken wing. The whistle in her chest was louder now. She tottered up to Joe’s face. His eyes were closed.

“Pretty Joe,” she chirped, hopping sideways in front of him. “Pretty Joe, Surly Shirley. Nuh-night. Nuh-night Paws and Claws. Come again.”

Joe didn’t move.

“Pretty Joe. Nuh-night.” She tried to beat her wings, tried to make a light breeze over his face. Pain arced through her again as her left wing only thudded weakly. So Surly bit his finger gently and pulled at it. He opened one eye a crack. It was too swollen to open further. Joe reached out and stroked her feathers for a moment. “Ahh-ee—” he started and then groaned as he realized he could no longer speak. He coughed on more blood oozing from his severed tongue.

“Pretty Joe, Surly Shirley, nuh-night,” she said. He picked up his head an inch or two and saw that she was hurt. He reached out with one hand and gently scooped her toward him. She squawked but let him pull her into his chest. He tucked her gently into his shirt, careful not to touch her limp wing. He got up on all fours and began crawling. Walt appeared behind him.

Surly saw him over Joe’s shoulder. “Bad bird!” she screeched. “Bad bird!” Joe turned over to see who was there.

“Shut up, you damn chicken,” muttered Walt. Joe put a big hand around her protectively and Walt shook his head, then bent over Joe. “Why’d you do that? So stupid, Joe. Why couldn’t you just keep your head down and follow orders for another two days? Why bring the soldier into it? What does the herd matter anyway? They’re just Infected. Nobody wants them. You think anyone’s going to want them even if they’re cured? Nobody wants a monster in their neighborhood. You were always thick, though. C’mon, I’ll help you get to the wagon.”

Joe shook his head.

“I have to, you’ll die if I leave you here. Just be quiet and we’ll be back home by tomorrow night. Gray’s crazy. I’m not being paid enough to get eaten by some zombie. I’m going home. I’ll drop you at that doctor lady’s place. Just don’t let Gray hear you.”

He pulled Joe up onto his feet, and they stumbled out the back door to an old pickup truck, Joe’s hand cushioning Surly as they walked. The cab had been sawn off and there was a scrawny horse yoked to it. Walt dropped the tailgate and dumped Joe onto it. “Just stay quiet. I’ll be back after the trade in a few hours.”

Joe lay down in the truck bed. Surly Shirley stayed still, letting the deep strobe of his heartbeat soothe her. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and shook it out, then stuffed it into his mouth with a sob. Something had crinkled when he retrieved the handkerchief, and Joe managed a weak smile. Reaching back into his pocket, he pulled out a small package of oyster crackers and opened them. Joe placed a tiny cracker next to Surly’s beak before he realized she was already sleeping, her body in shock. So he put the crackers away. The pain in Joe’s own body kept him awake for a long time through the rocky ride in the wagon. After several hours, the wagon finally stopped sometime in the night.

“Get out, Joe,” said Walt over his shoulder. When Joe didn’t comply, Walt turned to find that he’d finally fallen unconscious, the parrot a trembling gray bundle of warmth on his chest. Walt sighed and got down. He lifted Joe off the wagon and put him onto the grass in front of a huge glass dome, then got back on the wagon, twitching the reins so the horse cantered on.

Joe awoke with a groan as a light rain began to fall, chilling him. A woman with a light came out of the glass building. She pointed it at Joe, carefully circling him. When she was sure he wasn’t going to attack her, she leaned over him and patted his face.

“Are you Infected?” she asked as he opened his eyes.

He shook his head.

“What’s your name? Where did you come from? Who did this to you?” she asked in quick succession.

“Oo oo,” was all he said and put a hand to his mouth.

“It’s okay,” said the woman. “We’ll help you, there’s a doctor inside.” She lifted him up slowly and helped him walk into the building. He kept a hand cupped around Surly’s still form. She hadn’t woken up.

“Ruth!” called the woman. “Ruth, I need help!”

She helped Joe sit down on a warm cement bench. He looked around him. The greenhouse was shaggy, unkempt. Half the plants were brown and shriveled. But something was blooming. He could see startling bursts of color amid the dull, dead vines and leaves. The woman brought another with her. Ruth, he presumed. She was carrying a small basket of lemons, which she set beside him. He thought Surly would like them. Would like this place.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

His eyes filled and he shook his head. He never wanted to talk about it. Never again wanted to be the man who’d run with the likes of Gray and the others.

She patted his hand gently. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.” She glanced over him. “I’m just not sure where to start. What hurts the worst?”

Joe cupped both hands around Surly. He held her out for Ruth to see. Ruth glanced at the other woman and then back at Joe. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m not a vet. I don’t know what to do for a bird.”

Joe nodded and then burst into tears.

“Let’s get you back to the clinic so I can help you,” said Ruth, carefully taking Surly from him. She set the bird gently down by the basket. “Juliana, will you help me?” The other woman helped her lift Joe from the bench and they walked him carefully outside.

Surly woke to the sweet, thick scent of lemons warming in a bright pool of summer sun.