VII. 1/23/08

It was their last rampage before the sun went down. They kept coming; it was the biggest flock she'd seen in years. Behind her, Crispy's ATV hummed as they circled through the center of the melee. The golden rays of light receeded from the cornfield, and Grimironie knew that if they didn't make a dent in the midst soon, they'd be in for another marathon in the morning. She reacted instinctively as the hen she was stalking turned, and she fired. She hit her in the sweet spot, cocked the wheel to the right and quickly straightened. They were about to stampede. If she didn't get the alpha Death Chicken now, they'd all have to turn and run, and hope that the Death Chickens bed down before they could inflict any more damage.

"Starboard!" Crispy yelled. Grimironie turned Ole' Plucky so fast that she nearly lost balance. A wiry Death Chicken was charging her. She grabbed her back-up baster and let off a deafening round. When she hit her mark, the flock panicked and dispersed at the sound of the blast. By the ringing in her ears, she knew her mistake before she noted the weapon in her hands. She hadn't grabbed the back-up baster; she had fired the ultra-harpoon. A cloud stole the sun's last rays, and the Death Chickens began to bed down. "Stow that thing fast, Grim." Crispy muttered. She did before the other DCDA'a were in sight. It was best to play dumb if anyone questioned her, and retrieve the harpoon before the Poultry Collectors arrived.

There had to be forty Death Chickens left in the flock. Damn egg industry! She could have them all dead within an hour, but she knew the rules: no killing after dark. The egg farmers were soon to arrive with their night-vision goggles and enormous recycled cardboard egg cartons.

A shower and change later, she grabbed her favorite bar stool and ordered a double darjeeling. Crispy stared at the tv behind the bar and said quietly, "You ever think about takin' time off? Yanno, to clear your head."

"You think I need it?" Grimironie accused.

"Not that. Maybe I'm sayin' you should hunt 'im down. Get it outta yer system."

"And would you go with me?"

"I'm gettin old, Grim." Crispy said, his voice much softer than usual.

"That's a load of pellets," Grimironie said in disbelief. "You're one of the best."

"In this arena. When you start talkin' a sixty foot capon, I don't think I got it in me."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing, but she kept her mouth shut for once. He really meant it.

* * * *

Grimironie closed the blinds in her condo, put a large mug of chamomile tea on the end table and turned her tv on to Real-a-View. She prayed that no one would stop by to find her watching Death Chicken Watch.

The opening song rang out as stills of each DCDA popped onto the screen. Maestro Perks grinned seductively; Kate Thornton, bedecked in ammo, glimmered; Ben Bradley looked limber in his after-work disco togs, and Robie Ae and William Haskins glared menacingly. Then she winced. Grimironie Von Farmer looked like she just got audited; Tyson Crispy gave a weathered yet perky wink; Chief Kalel, arms folded, exuded confidence, and ... Billy Ray MacHaggis III dazzled all with his pearly whites. Yep. He was the star.

In a flash to the host, Maryn Stew, a pouty young brunette, strolled by a red silo which nicely accentuated her highlights. "This is week two of our stay with Dundee Precinct, Dundee, Kansas, and we've had no shortage of action. As Death Chickens rip through the heartland, only the most skilled Death Chicken Distribution Assistants dare to stop them. But before we share the bravery and terror," she smiled, "lets meet a few of our heroes, after our commercial break."

The interviews were corny. She watched Crispy's attentively. "Well, yanno, after leavin' the Bayou, my family settled inland on Holly Farms. Then I got my degree at Purdue University. Them days were different. We weren't famous an' bastin' techniques wern't so well developed." They cut off the rest of his interview because it was too informative. Her own face came on the screen next. She looked hesitant and wary, but her new conditioner turned out to be the best buy in months! Her hair no longer looked lifeless and dull.

"Is there anything you'd like to share with our viewers?" asked Maryn Stew.

"No."

Billy Ray MacHaggis III, she still couldn't bring herself to call him three, spewed truisms and gratitude like a professional ball player, smiling all the while. He managed to make it through the interview without one substantive comment. The footage from the Death Chicken melee was over-edited and sensational. Compared to a normal day at work, the show was actually boring. She started to channel surf before the show ended.

At 6:30 AM, a tremor jolted Grimironie from her couch. She paused, uncertain if it had been imagined, but a second shock wave left her without doubt. Her teacups began to rattle, and she ran to the aid of her curio cabinet. She could see the end of the street from her dining room window. Feathers swirled through the air like a ticker-tape parade. The Death Chickens were becoming more agressive; they had never chanced a gated community before. At that moment, she knew with perfect certainty that her life was about to change. The buffalo wings of destiny had arrived to carry her to uncharted lands, perhaps even Nebraska. In her heart, she knew she was ready.