Discovery
It was going to be another blistering hot day. Four men encircled the fresh carcass of a steer, each trying to determine how long it had been dead. Buzzards were gathering for the feast as they flew long, lazy circles high in the cloudless blue sky.
"I found the steer, Uncle Roy," Janice Gray shouted. She had been delegated to holding the horses a few yards from the mutilated animal. “I don't see why I can't join the hunt."
Roy was a big man. He stood six feet five inches tall and weighted in just shy of two hundred pounds with his boots on. The sun, wind and rain had weathered his face so it was impossible to tell if he was fifty or seventy years old. His hands were thick and calloused. He always needed a shave and a haircut but never cared about the way he looked. He put on fresh, clean clothes after his shower each morning but by seven o'clock he looked dirty. He was a rancher and did a ranch hands work.
Roy left the three other grim faced wranglers looking at the razor-sharp gouges in the flesh of the steer. He rehearsed his words as he walked to his niece. No matter how hard he tried to reason with Janice it never worked; she was too much like her mother. He decided the only approach was the direct approach.
"You can't go, so just shut up about it, girl. This is a killer bird we got on our hands. I got a funny feeling about this; it's different. Reminds me of the time back in '45 when a band of these rogue free range chickens tore apart through west Texas on a killing rampage the likes of nothing we've seen here a' bouts."
"Are you saying this was done by chickens, Uncle Roy?" Janice was excited.
"Yep, that's my guess." Roy pushed his hat back on his head and mopped the sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve. "Some of them gashes on that steer are short-like and real deep and others are long and shallow. One or two are wider than any of the others. Different patterns all over the animal."
Janice shook her head. "I didn't notice any of that."
"You didn't look." Roy spat into the dust between his boots then pursed his lips. "Yep, Sissy, I'd say we got ourselves a Band of Roving Chickens here who are killing for the pure joy of killing!"
"What happens now?" Her voice was quiet and Janice didn't question her uncle further on her part in the upcoming hunt. She would be a part of the hunt one way or another. Getting around her uncle would come later ... when she has her grandfather on her side.
"I want you to go back down to the house and fetch the cameras. Bring the video camera, too. Get lots of film. I want pictures of every gash on that steer. The boys and me will keep the buzzards away till we get what we want. Take Gus with you just in case the birds are still around. The tracks say they went northwest instead of south. Can't be too careful though. Hurry, Sissy, and be careful."
Janice
The day Janice was born, her mother had died. Nobody knew who her daddy was but it didn't much matter. Her grandfather, Thaddeus Gray, was a rich old coot who raised and spoiled his only grandchild by indulging her every whim. At twenty, Janice could ride, shoot, brand, cuss, drink, gamble, and generally raise hell with the best of the ranch hands. She could also sing in the First Baptist Church of Longview choir, bake a passable pecan pie, and sit like a proper lady when necessary. Her blond hair had been sun bleached till it was almost white and she wore it in one long braid down the middle of her back. She was slim, healthy, and had an athletic body. Janice managed good grades at the university without opening a book, which caused more than one row between she and her Uncle Roy. Roy knew Janice would someday be the soul owner and operator of the Pearly Gray Ranch. It would take brains and savvy to manage the ranch; she wouldn't be able to just get by with a cute smile and a wink or two.
Gus and Janice pushed their horses for all they were worth back to the ranch. While Gus fetched fresh mounts and had the spent horses cared for, Janice ran into the house to tell her grandfather what had happened and grab the cameras. "Gamps! Gamps! Where are you? Gamps, you'll never guess what's happened! Where are you, Gamps?" Janice was yelling for her grandfather at the top of her lungs as she ran into the north wing room where the television set, pool table, bar, and other entertainment paraphernalia was kept. She flung open the hutch containing the camera equipment and yanked out the 35 mm Sony as well as the Sony video camera plus several packs of film for each.
"What's all the fuss about, Sissy?"
"Oh, Riley, good. Do you know where Gamps is? I was riding on Top Ridge and found where a rogue chicken killed one of our steers! That's what Roy thinks anyway. Can you believe it? I thought the last of the free-range chickens were killed-out ages ago! I want to go with the hands to find them but Roy is being Roy!" Janice was flushed with excitement as she told her life-long friend and confidant bits and pieces of the days events. Riley had been the chief cook and bottle washer at the ranch before Janice was but a mere twinkle in her daddy's eye. The day Janice was born he took over the job of nanny and chief diaper changer. The years had been easy on Riley and his round middle reminded Janice of the Pillsbury Dough Boy's middle. All soft and squishy. His hands were also soft and gentle, as were his ways. The only time he referred to Janice, as "Janice" was when he was very angry with her, as he was now.
"Janice, you are not to do anything your Uncle Roy tells you not to do. Do you understand me? I'll take whatever he needs back out to him and you are to stay here until your grandpa gets back from town. You are not to leave this house for any reason. Tell me where Roy is and I'll deliver whatever he wants."
"Oh, no! I'm going and you can't stop me, Riley!"
At that moment Gus walked into the room and heard the last part of the conversation.
"I hate to say it, Miss Janice, but Riley and Roy are right. I'm only a ranch hand here, but if you were my family, I wouldn't want you out there. It's no place for you. I'll take Riley out to Top Ridge with me and you wait here for your grandpa. All you see is the excitement of everything but trust me, if Roy is right, I know I don't want to be there. But I gotta be. It's my job."
Riley seemed to lose the color in his face. "Maybe I should stay here and make sure Janice stays put, too, and you take someone else with you, Gus. I haven't been on a horse in well over a year, you know."
"Yeah, Riley, maybe you're right," Gus said. "You stay here and make sure Miss Janice don't leave this house! Make sure she stays in the house, okay? When her grandpa gets back, she'll listen to him. Maybe."
With that, Gus grabbed the two camera bags and extra bag of film from Janice and ran for the door without looking back. It was the last time Randolph James Gustafson was seen alive.
Rich Men & Poor Loser's
"God-damn-it-to-hell-and-back!" Thaddeus Gray's face reflected the fury he felt in his gut. His fist pounded the table so hard the cards and poker chips flew in all directions. "You no-account bastard; you bluffed me! I'll be damned if I'm gonna play cards with a slick maverick the likes of you. This is the last time you're gonna do this to me, Dwight, and get away with it. Now, deal the damn cards!"
Sitting around the poker table at the Longview Cattlemen's Club with Thaddeus were the men who had lived much the same type of life. Dwight Cummings was the local sheriff who also owned and operated a little spread about a tenth the size of the Gray ranch. Bradford Twillings, the oldest of the group, had sold his ranch to Thaddeus six months prior; he spent most of his time regretting the deal. He missed the day-to-day running of his ranch and he missed “his” people who had worked for him. Jake McPherson, banker and entrepreneur in his early forties, didn't own a ranch but held an interest in many ranches and industries. Rounding out the players was a relative newcomer to Longview by the name of Raymond Spears.
Raymond was unique for several reasons, none the least of which was the fact that he was a transplant from New Jersey who worked hard at being accepted by the locals. He was the only damn Yankee to ever play cards with Thaddeus Gray because to Thaddeus Gray, “damnyankee' was one word. Additionally, Raymond wasn't a cattle rancher. He was a poultry farmer who made a fortune raising chickens for the supermarkets of America. His “ranch” consisted of just under two hundred acres of breeding barns, slaughterhouses, and packing plants. Not one to squander anything, Spears also had a dog food business and used all waste products in the dog food. It was a standing joke that you could tell a Spears dog by the feathers it coughed.
Dwight shuffled the cards. "Straight poker. Nothing wild. Two down, three up. Ten to open.” He passed the deck to Bradford Twillings, who gave the cards one cut. “Anti up, gentleman; let's play some real poker."
Five chips hit the center of the table. One card, face down, went to every player. Each man picked up only a corner of his card. Without comment, five additional chips were added to the original anti and Dwight repeated the deal. In the background the ringing of telephones or muted conversation didn't penetrate the mindset of the game.
"Well now," Dwight said, "let's start finding the balls in the bunch," and he placed a card, face up, on Thaddeus' two cards. "Ten of Hearts to Thaddeus."
He pulled the next card and placed it in on the cards in front of Raymond. "Two of Diamonds to the chicken a la king."
He paused a bit before pulling Jake's card. "For you, Jake, oh my, the Ace of Spades. And, to you my dear old Bradford," he pulled the card slowly from the deck and placed it face up on Branford's cards, "the Ace of Diamonds. And for the dealer," Dwight pulled his own card and laid it face up, “the Nine of Hearts."
There was a moment of silence as each man studied his three cards. There was a hundred dollars on the table but it could have been a million.
"Ace of Spades has the call. Jake, what's it gonna be?" Dwight had waited just the right amount of time to ask the question.
"I'm in for ten," Jake said and threw a single chip into the pile.
"Me, too," said Bradford. His chip clinked onto the table.
"The dealer sees the ten and raises ten." Two more chips joined the pile.
Thaddeus smiled. "I'm in." His two chips hit the center of the table.
"Well,”" Raymond smiled, "why don't we make it interesting?" He threw in the four chips and said, "I raise two."
"Okay, Jake, it's up to you. To stay in the game you gotta anti up three."
"Yeah, I know. I'm out," Jake said and threw in his cards.
"What?" Dwight was totally disgusted with Jake's call. "You're sitting there with a freakin ace up and you're out? Why bother playing at all?"
"I gotta go pee and I'm gettin' a drink," Jake said, ignoring Dwight's dig. "Anyone want anything from the bar?" No one bothered to comment and Jake pushed away from the table and left for the restroom.
"I'm in." Bradford tossed in his chips.
Dwight and Thaddeus tossed in the chips needed to remain in the game and Dwight shook his head. "Bankers! No guts. And real men pissed."
Jake came running back to the table. "Thaddeus! You have to get out to the ranch. Something's happened and they want you out there, too, Dwight. The call just came in at the bar. Janice is at the house with Riley and they say Gus' horse came back to the ranch with blood all over it. But no Gus. There's more but you need to hear it from them!"
"Gus? Gus is missing?" Branford Twillings was first on his feet. Gus had worked for him prior to the sale of his ranch to the Pearly Gray and that made Gus 'family.' A man could sell his land but he never sold out his family. Never. "Get off your butts and let's get out there!"
Dwight Cummings, Raymond Spears and Thaddeus Gray were half a step behind Bradford when Thaddeus took the lead. "No need for you or Spears to be going out there, Bradford. Let Dwight and me go see what's what before we have half the county thinking the Apache are back on the warpath."
"Spears can do what he wants. I'm going."
The four men left as a group as Jake McPherson flopped into the nearest chair having broken out in the cold sweat of fear.
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch
Thaddeus, Bradford, Raymond and Dwight each arrived at the ranch in Jeeps or Ford trucks; Dwight's Jeep had its lights blazing and sirens' whaling. Thaddeus had been on the telephone with both the house and with Roy while Dwight had called the Texas Rangers to have a helicopter take a lab team out to Top Ridge to examine the dead steer. Spears had been on his mobile telephone talking non-stop to his plant foreman in Longview, Jake McPherson, or his R and D lab in Jersey.
Bradford had talked to several of his old ranch hands now working for the Pearly Gray and found out all there was to know about the rider-less horse returning to the barn. There were no signs of Gus. From the sound of the things, the horse wasn't going to make it either and would have to be put down. Deep gashes on its chest and flanks had caused a lot of blood loss in the animal and it was weak, barely able to stand.
Roy and his men arrived at the ranch house five minutes prior to the Thaddeus and the sheriff. The horses were in the barn being rubbed down and given extra grain while the men were in the kitchen guzzling either hot coffee or icy Mountain Dew. Roy had his left arm around Janice and she hugged his body with both of her arms, trembling, afraid to let go of him. Her pretty face was pale and she continually bit at the corner of her lower lip.
The screeching of tires on the circular driveway announced the arrival of Thaddeus, Dwight, Raymond and Bradford. With Janice in the lead, the crew in the kitchen raced to the front of the house. "Gamps!" Janice flew into the open arms of her grandfather. "“Gamps! Gus never came back! His horse is all cut up like the steer was and there's no sign of Gus at all, Gamps! I was supposed to be with him. Oh, God, Gamps! Maybe if I'd been there we could have done something together and he'd still be alive, Gamps! Oh, Gamps, it's all my fault!" Janice burst into tears and buried her head into her grandfathers' chest as he kissed the top of her head.
"No, child, it's not your fault." Thaddeus turned his attention Roy. "“What can you tell us about this, son?"
Without wasting words, Roy gave a quick recap of what Janice had found on Top Ridge. He gave his speculation that a band of rogue free-range chickens were on the loose and had the taste for blood. Raymond Spears choked when the rogue chickens were mentioned.
Full Disclosure
"Let's get our plan together," Thaddeus said as everyone gathered in the huge dining room. "We need to attack in two directions. Right off the bat, the vehicles are useless in the high country. They'd get stuck in the first gully. So, Roy, you take a dozen or so men who can use a rifle and back track from Gus' horse."
"I'll get the helicopter,” Dwight said, “and scout from the air. The lab team can finish up what they have to do and we'll get them later. They have weapons in case the birds head back that way."
Raymond looked around the room. He gulped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't know how to say this." Everyone stopped, looked at him but said nothing. "And I don't think it has anything to do with what's going on. God, I hope not."
The room was deadly quiet except for the audible sound of heavy breathing coming from Raymond Spears. An eternity seemed to pass. "Well, go on, say what you have to say," Dwight said.
Raymond looked around the room and then began to speak slowly, selecting each word carefully. "Jake and I have been experimenting with super-size chickens for chicken parts. Over the past two years we have developed a superior DNA chicken growth drug in our research and development lab in Jersey. You know, larger breasts, bigger drumsticks, meatier birds, and super size roasters. Chickens bigger than turkeys. Hell, the roosters are bigger than ostriches and all meat and muscle, no fat. I talked to Jake and my plant manager while I drove out here. They just told me that six of the hens and three roosters escaped from their pens last week. They were breeding stock. I didn't know they were gone. Honest to God, I didn't. Jake just now told me. Oh, dear God." He stopped talking, dropped into the closest chair and closed his eyes, emotionally drained.
Janice was the first to respond. "Son of a bitch!"
"Last week? That means the bastards are hungry," Thaddeus said,"“and they'll eat anything they can kill. Now they're man-killers. We don't have a lot of time so let's not waste any more of it talking. Roy, get your men together and get moving!"
"I'll go with Uncle Roy," Janice announced. In unison, five male voices boomed "No!" and the subject was closed for further discussion.
The Hunt
Roy had been tracking animals since childhood but that didn't make him unique in this part of the country. The ten men he'd chosen to ride with him were equally as good, or better, at scouting and tracking. Each man had followed bear, mountain lion, or coyote tracks, killers each and every one, as part of his job in protecting grazing herds; none, however, had tracked killer chickens.
They began their hunt with the tracks left by Gus' big mare. Her track was easy to follow as the shoe on her back left hoof was split, leaving a distinct 'v' indentation in the dirt.
"She's left us an easy enough trail to follow," Roy said to his posse. "Let's keep a sharp eye out, boys, in case the chickens are headed back this way. Have your rifles out, cocked and ready." Grunts of agreement and the sound of metal being pulled from leather sheaths was all the conformation Roy received as he slowly headed his horse away from the house in the direction of the open range, following the perfect 'v' imprinted in the ground.
Neither Roy nor any of the men with him spoke as they followed the set path of Gus' horse. There was nothing to say. For thirty minutes they rode in silence.
Suddenly, Roy's horse shivered and whinnied and he pulled back, not wanting to go further. Horses can smell blood and hate the stench. Roy patted the neck of his stallion and tried to soothe him as he urged the animal forward. Finding resistance, he stopped and turned in his saddle. "Any of you having problems with your mounts?" he asked.
"Yeah,” one man said, “all of a sudden she's skittish as hell."
"Mine, too. We're close to something," said another.
Roy nodded. "Let's stop here. I'll go on foot and see what's up there.” He dismounted and handed the reigns to the man closest to him. “If you hear me screaming, you come get me, quick," he said with the half-grin of counterfeit courage. Taking his rifle, Roy crouched and slowly moved toward an overgrowth of scrub and prairie grasses.
Ten paces beyond the overgrowth lay Gus' body. His back and legs had been clawed to the bone; flesh had been ripped from his frame and blood oozed into the soft dirt around him. Roy retched just as the evil shriek of a lone buzzard filled the air. Without thinking, Roy raised his rifle and aimed at the circling bird. The sound of the gunshot exploded in his ear but the buzzard continued its circular flight.
Hearing the shot and fearing the worse, the posse spurred their horses to Roy's position. They came to an abrupt halt when they saw the mangled body lying in the dirt. Hundreds of monster-sized chicken tracks surrounded the remains.
"Cover the body while I call the sheriff and let him know what we found,” Roy said as he pulled his cell phone from his vest pocket. “Two of you stay here and wait for him while the rest of us follow the tracks.
Within minutes Roy had made his telephone call to Dwight Cummings and the remaining nine men were on the trail of the easy-to-follow tracks. Three sets of the prints were the size of prehistoric birds and, judging by the depth of the tracks in the dirt and length of the stride, must have weighed close to a hundred pounds each. If they continued their present course and speed, they would soon be just outside of Longview's city limits!
The Kill
"Roy, look at that dust trail up ahead. That's got to be them," one of the wranglers shouted.
"Yeah, I was thinking that, too. Let's push harder, boys!" Each man urged his horse to a full gallop toward the billowing spiral of dust ahead. No longer concerned with following tracks, speed was their prime concern.
It took almost half and hour to come within sight of the herd of nine colossal chickens. From his vantage point, it seemed to Roy that the largest rooster was leading the pack, followed by the hens. Two roosters, side-by-side, were in the rear position.
Roy held up his right hand as a signal to stop and the posse came to a halt as he once again retrieved his cell phone from his vest. After talking only a short time he closed the phone and replaced it to its pocket.
"The way I figure it, and from what he just said, Dwight and the helicopter should be at our position in about ten minutes. We can take out as many of the birds as possible before they get here. Let's start with the last birds in the pack and work our way up to the leader. The SWAT team in the 'copter can finish up what we don't get. We just take out one at a time from the last one to the first. Remember, these are just chickens. They aren't smart. They're just chickens. They're big, but just dumb, stupid, birds!"
Roy couldn't have been more wrong in his assessment of the super-size chickens with their super-size DNA-altered brains!
"Let's go in two flanks and come up on them on both sides," Roy continued. "If they scatter, each man take one bird and go after it. Don't forget what they did to Gus and the steer so be real careful about getting in too close. Any questions?" Other than a mumble here and there, there were no comments or questions. The nine men automatically broke into two columns and, once again, the chase was on at a galloping speed. Within five minutes Roy was within shooting range of the rooster to the back left of the flock. With his horse at full gallop, he raised his rifle and took careful aim at the birds' head. Just as he squeezed off a round, the bird darted to the right and the shot missed its target. Without warning, the birds were running in a zigzag pattern! The lead rooster had slowed its pace as the hens were gaining speed.
One of the wranglers made a good shot and a hen hit the ground, dead. A second hen was wounded and fell to the ground; she struggled in vein to get back onto her feet. A second blast killed her.
Gunshots were flashing in every direction when the three roosters, as a squad, assaulted a horse and rider. They had chosen one horse and grouped around him, flying into both sides of the animal, their talons in striking position. The rider was able to put a bullet into the heart of one of the roosters before the remaining two birds brought the shrieking horse down upon the wrangler, breaking his leg and collarbone in the process. Bedlam was the one word Dwight would have used to describe the scene he witnessed as his helicopter swooped over the scene below. Prehistoric-looking chickens seemed to be attacking the attackers and it was hard to tell who was winning, man or monster. Dwight watched as Roy took aim and fired at a hen, blowing her head from her neck; she continued to run, blood spewing, for several hundred yards before she fell to the ground.
The SWAT team took their positions in the open door of the helicopter and began to choose their targets. One by one, the birds were dropping to the ground as the automatic rifles triggered by their expert shots did their jobs. Within minutes, the only sound was the swoosh-swoosh-swoosh of the helicopter rotor blades as it hovered before landing.
Dwight exited the helicopter, walked over to Roy and both men just looked at the carnage around them. "Time for a head count,” Dwight said. “I got one man with broken bones and one horse that's not gonna make it,” Roy said. “The rest of us are all okay."
"Did we get all the birds?"
"Don't know yet. I expect we did but let's make sure." Roy couldn't imagine any of the chickens escaping.
Roy and Dwight, both worried, took a second walk around the site counting dead birds as the helicopter took off with the wounded wrangler aboard.
"Let's do it one more time, Roy, just to make sure. Maybe we missed one."
"Damn-it, we are missing one hen! There ain't no two ways about it! One got away! I'm gonna take some of my boys and see if we can find her. There's no telling where she is by now; she got a good head start on us."
"I'll double up with someone and head back to the ranch," Dwight said. Grim faced, Roy nodded as he mounted his stallion. He had to find that lone hen and kill her.
Ten Years Later
Janice Gray was maturing into a respected rancher who ran the Pearly Gray Ranch with a quick wink, a charming smile, and an iron fist. Her grandfather had passed away shortly after the rogue chicken incident; Roy and Riley were living on the ranch but semi-retired.
Janice, with Riley's assistance, had hired a new man, Duke Ramsey, to do the bulk of the cooking for the ranch hands and general cleaning in the house. There were no complaints from the wranglers about the food and the house was always immaculate.
Life on the ranch was running along smooth and easy. That is until one morning, in early June, when Duke, out of breath, came charging into the house. In his arms was something twice the size of a bowling ball.
It was an egg he'd found near the hen house.
MzAnna
All Rights Reserved
Copyright 2000
A Lightfoot Publication