The Blade

Chapter 11

Kowolski opened his eyes and, just for a moment,  wondered if he was dead.  But after a few blinks, and some brief reflection, he decided that the red-cheeked, slightly sweaty face of Detective Barry Ronson would most likely not be a feature of the afterlife, so all things considered, he was probably still alive.

Ronson gave him a sheepish smile.  "Hey, you're awake.  How you feeling?"

As Kowolski considered this question, he realised that he was lying down.  What's that about?  He tried to sit up, but gasped and fell back, as searing pain erupted across his chest.

"Whoa there, tiger," said Ronson.  "That body armour of yours might have been bullet-proof, but it turns out it was only sword-resistant.  According to the doc, you got a nasty slash—thirty-seven stitches, I think he said.  He reckons you'll be right as rain, but you best take it easy for a while."

Groggily, Kowolski took in the sterile white of his surroundings, and the regular beeping sound emanating from somewhere nearby.  His brain formed the word hospital.  Slowly, he tried to organise the series of words that Ronson had said into meaningful sentences.  As the last one fell into place, his mind's eye was suddenly filled with the terrifying image of a gleaming sword swinging towards him, and abruptly his memory of the events prior to that dreadful moment fell back into place.

Heedless of the protests from his injured chest, he lurched forward and grabbed Ronson by the lapels.  "Bird," he gasped.  "Bloody big bird.  People.  Running.  Running people.  Woman!  Take woman!  Have to help!"

Gently, Ronson disengaged Kowolski's hands, and the panting agent collapsed back onto the bed.  "Um, yeah," said the detective.  "There is a woman missing from the house where you got the chop...er, where you got assaulted .  Not to mention her son.  And guess what?  Turns out they're the daughter-in-law and grandson of the old coot who got murdered at the nursing home."

Heart racing, Kowolski nodded.  When a killing spree and and giant bird attack both occur in the same sleepy town, on the same night, the odds of the two events being connected were bound to be pretty solid.

"Only, the thing is," went on Ronson, "it turns out that the old coot who got killed wasn't the old coot we thought he was.  He was actually the old coot from the room next door.  The coot we thought was dead is actually missing too.  Weird, huh?"

Kowolski raised an eyebrow at him.  Weird hardly began to cover the events of the past few hours.  "Please tell me we got at least some of the perps?  Somebody who might actually be able to shed some light on this whole crazy mess?"

"Oh, yeah.  We got three of 'em, at the scene."

"Three?  Fantastic.  What have they said?"

Ronson adjusted his collar.  "Er, not a whole lot.  They were dead."

Kowolski absorbed this in silence.  He sighed.  "How about the bird, then?  Any sign of that?"

"The bird.  Um, yeah.  No.  No sign.  Actually, your people—you know, the ones from the Agency—they've been all over the site, and they were actually kind of dubious about there really being a bird.  Reckoned it might be some sort of a mass hallucination, maybe brought on by stress.  Or by something in the water.  Or by, you know—something.  That's what they're telling the press, anyway.  The media's been going apeshit."

"A hallucination!" exclaimed Kowolski, wincing as his stitches pulled.  "I saw the bloody thing eat a zookeeper.  How the hell does a hallucination do that?"

"Yeah well, they've actually kind of changed their tune, now.  In light of other evidence."

"Other evidence?  What other evidence?"