CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories by J. Posthumus (read after txt) 📕

mutant with a mammoth blood-red and six monstrous, searching eyes. Globs of tissue, feather, flesh dripped off of its comb, its sides, its neck.

The thing was consuming, and it was growing before our eyes.

I balked at the sight, frozen by my fear.

And then, he moved. Bodie. The flashlight fell at his feet, and he turned to run.

“No,” I yelled, reaching out to stop him.

The chicken-glob cocked its head, and with a swoop, latched its beak around Bodie’s neck. The kid squirmed and screamed, and with a quick toss, the monster threw him in the air as a crow toys with a worm. His body went limp as the thing’s mouth opened wide, and down its throat Bodie slid. In the translucent, still-forming sinews, I could see the kid’s shape floating motionless among the bodies of the chickens the beast had already consumed.

My body shook. I couldn’t run. Bodie well-proved that.

And then, it clucked.

The building trembled with the tenor. I had seconds to act, or I, too, would be floating, would be absorbed into the monstrosity. The light fixture above me swayed, and when it did, the mess of wires sparked.

I had a chance. It was a chicken, wasn’t it? Its goals simple, its instincts unadulterated?

The light hung lower than the ceiling, give or take a foot above the creature’s head. And if I could lure it…

“Yippee-kai-yay, motherclucker,” I said, as I tossed the flashlight up, as high as I could throw it. It struck the hanging fixture, causing it to flicker. The tangle of wires sparked to life.

The multitude of eyes that were looking down at me suddenly turned their gaze upward, and with a sudden strike, it pecked.

Sparks of electricity engulfed the creature’s head. Seizing my opportunity, I ran as fast as my numbed legs could carry me. The thing shrieked behind me, and the live current roared as the conduits along the wall exploded, tendrils of tiny lightning discharged out of them. I reached the entrance as the barn was bathed in darkness.

Rolling the door shut behind me, I listened. And waited.

Was it alive? I wasn’t sure. The sickening smell of cooked rotten chicken flooded my nostrils, but I didn’t hear its screams, nor did I hear its scratches. All was quiet.

I found a piece of thin rebar at the corner of the door, nestled part-way in cracked dirt. It came up with a single pull, and with my adrenaline-fueled strength, I bent it through the double handles of the door, praying it would secure that thing if it was still breathing.

I had to get a weapon. A gun. No, the only guns we had on the property were .22 long rifles that Merryl used to scare off predators and rid us of the odd venomous snake. The caliber of that rifle would be as much use as a kick in a shin on that massive thing.

Fire. That’s what I needed—to kill the clucker with fire.

I hobbled to the Gator, feeling the pull of my hamstrings. The two-way radio crackled but no voice could be heard.

Perry. She’d needed my help, and I’d forgotten.

I prayed as I fumbled in my pocket for the keys, prayed as I turned them in the ignition.

I floored the pedal and sped off for the facility’s main hub.

I hesitated at the back door. My hand trembled as it gripped the push-bar, and I peeked through the gridded windows.

The lights flickered inside, and I could see the entrances to both labs, including Lab A where Merryl awaited hopefully-soon-to-arrive professional medical attention, and Perry’s personal quarters. Nothing out of order could be seen, and the few areas out of view were the interiors of those rooms, the break room, the storage rooms, and the entry foyer.

My heart calmed as I opened the door. “Perry?”

Quiet greeted me, and my thoughts raced back to Barn 21. There’s always a stillness, a calm before the storm, and I swallowed down the sense of unease that crept up my throat. I told myself all was well in here. Merryl was resting, the chickens in there with him were probably resting as well.

I gripped the doorframe as I gazed into Perry’s office. “Perry, you in here?”

The security monitors displayed still images from the facility. Perry’s desk, the kind where you would see a place for everything and everything in its place was covered in scattered papers, Sharpie scribbles, and post-it notes.

It looked not like Perry but like panic.

A post-it stuck to the bottom of one of the security monitors read “7:08”. As I pulled it from the screen, Merryl’s lab flashed before me. The room was vacant. The kennels Perry had placed underneath Merryl’s legs were ripped to shreds. The place was covered in splatter and feathers… and eggs.

A hundred of them, at least, lay strewn about, on top of tables, counters, the floor.

I glanced back down to the note in my hands. Perry had taken the time, perhaps in the midst of chaos, to note this. Dread flooded over me as I selected Lab A—Camera beneath the monitor and reached for the DVR knob to rewind.

A blur of motion popped up, soundless and jerky from the 5-second stills that formed the video, and then paused. Merryl lay on the table, and Perry stood watch over him, her crossed arms only unraveling to take a sip of coffee she had sitting next to her on the counter.

Merryl moved his mouth, a cough, perhaps or a plea, maybe, and Perry jolted to his side. His eyes were open, and his head lolled around like a heavyweight boxer who’d come to after an opponent had landed a perfect uppercut.

Perry helped him sit, and I breathed a sigh of relief. His mouth opened again, and Perry went back to her cup, dumping its contents into the nearby sink and turning on the faucet.

Merryl gagged, and Perry raced to him again, proffering her cup of water.

The screen jerked, the motion froze, and then Perry’s cup was on the floor, shattered in pieces. She