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

bridge of her nose, smudging the frame with grease and grime. “Blood isn’t alive, L.C. It doesn’t… run away… from a heat source.”

I leaned against the table. “What are we going to do?”

By the vacant, distant look in her eye, a thought had crossed her mind. “More importantly, what are we going to tell people when they get here? How can we explain this? How can we keep a sample of this alive for study?”

She paused for a second, and then began rummaging through her cabinets. She took out bottles, shook one and then another, and then turned around, her actions hidden from me by her back.

I nodded toward the door. “What about Merryl… or the thing that was him?”

She turned to face me, clutching a bottle in one hand. Her brow was furrowed. Worry streaked across it. “I don’t think he’ll be viable. If he gets loose, I’ll have to destroy him. I think he’s too far gone. I need your help. Please.”

“Sure,” I said, leaning closer to her, hoping she wasn’t asking me to go back into Barn 21. “What do you want me to do?”

She sighed as she stepped into me. I’d never been this close to her, but I’d always wanted to be. She looked up to me, her lips parted. I leaned down, questioning if I should move in for a kiss, or if it would be ill timed. “When this is over, I’m going to ask a favor of you.” She placed one hand on my cheek, warm, comforting, and I leaned against it. “I need you… to forgive me.”

Her free hand clapped a cloth against my nose and mouth, and before I could jerk away, my vision swirled, my limbs went limp, and before me was only darkness.

I awoke, but my vision was blurry. I could make out the metal table in the center, which told me I was in Lab A. Merryl’s room. The egg room.

Panic gripped me, and I stumbled toward the door.

Perry’s face greeted me on the other side of the window. “I’m so sorry. It might hurt, but I have full confidence you’ll come out of this okay. We have less than an hour and a half until EMS arrives.”

I banged a weak fist against the window. “What are you doing to me? You’re going to kill me!”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I’m positive the best scientists in the world will save you. This is extraordinary, L.C. Do you see or understand the magnitude of this? Extraterrestrial life—and in a semi-recognizable form? It’s possible we can even name this… species.”

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Rattle.

“Oh no,” she said. “It’s Merryl. He must’ve gobbled up the bags of mealworms I tossed in there.” She paused for a moment. “I have to try to keep him alive.”

I shook my head. “No, you don’t. He’s gone. The carcass of these chicken-things should be more than enough to study. Let me out, Perry.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry,” she said, as she turned and sprinted off down the hall, carrying a needle she’d probably filled with the same sedative she used on me.

“Come back,” I yelled. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

I banged against the door, shook the knob, and nothing budged. She’d locked me in here. I slid to the ground, my back against the door I couldn’t open. I had looked up to her, admired her, even thought that maybe, in a different life our dry-rub humor would’ve blended us into a decent couple. I was wrong.

She was more a rotten egg than any of those that surrounded me.

I scowled.

Eggs. The ones at my feet were still, but the ones toward the back of the room… moved.

I pulled myself up, my hands balled into fists.

“Never,” I said. “You’ll never peck me alive.”

Weak-legged, I stomped on the ground, crunching shell after shell near me, scrambling yolk and white until the floor was slick. The ones on the counters and chairs, I threw to the ground, stomping my way to the back as though I was a drum major in a parade band.

The eggs at the back, though, they were past stomping. Tiny flakes of shell fell around them as the thing inside each one strained to get out. Merryl’s face flashed in my brain, his wide-eyed, throat-clawing expression as the chick climbed further into his mouth. He had one nearly suffocating him. I had a room-full about to try to latch onto me.

I retracted my steps, slipping and sliding like bacon on a greasy skillet until I reached the door. I had to get out and get to the K.F.C. Perry, hopefully, left in the lab room next door, and fry those eggs until they smelled like a Christmas morning breakfast.

A high-pitched scream tore through the hall. Perry.

Adrenaline surged, and I searched the room, pulled open the cabinets, threw the drawers on the ground looking for anything to help me break out and help her before she turned into chicken feed.

I found a small reflex hammer in all the mess. The head of the hammer was a useless rubber, but the handle was a hard metal. I prayed as I slammed the butt of it against the window. The glass cracked, but so did the eggs behind me. I pummeled it again, and shards tumbled to the floor.

Chirp. Chirp. They sounded off. A cute, soft sound, one that pleaded for me to turn around and hold them. I knew better.

I reached my hand through the opening, shredding my skin on the glass remnants. I grazed a hard, ridged, metallic edge with my fingers as I felt my way toward the knob. Perry’s keys.

I seized them and turned. The lock clicked, and the door swung open. I slipped into the hallway, and slammed the door behind me. The soles of my shoes, coated in egg like French toast, kept me unbalanced and sliding. I kicked them off, my socks too, and made my way into the Lab room next door.

The K.F.C. rested