Attack of the Giant Chickens by Ryan Matthew Harker (black authors fiction TXT) 📕

came from or how they were able to impact the Earth from all directions, if they had rained down on us accidently or as a product of intelligent design, or anything else that could be even remotely construed as pertinent to the situation. What everyone does know- that is, what was able to be figured out by humanity’s greatest minds before the power went out- is these extraterrestrial invaders came down in what could only be described as seed pods. Out of the seed pods were dispersed microbes. Speculatively they mutated immediately upon exposure to Earth’s atmosphere to become symbiotic microorganisms with an affinity for avian species of, you guessed it, the Gallus Gallus Domesticus persuasion. It seems these alien symbiotic microorganisms were at least part of the reason for our currently deep fried situation.
The other contributing factor in Operation Broken Omelet brings us back to another major event from over five years ago, an earthquake, an underwater earthquake that cracked open the ocean floor off the coast of Japan. It was because of this earthquake that the whole chicken disaster was able to spiral so suddenly and utterly out of control.
This 9.0 seismic catastrophe triggered a ten meter high tsunami that devastated Japanese cities and countryside and ultimately lead to the biggest nuclear failure since Chernobyl when the tsunami damaged Fushimi Dicha nuclear facility finally melted down. It was the aftermath from this naturally induced manmade disaster that no one could have predicted.
When the reactor ‘Bit the Big One’ radiation spewed into the atmosphere making the levels released while it melted down look like a trip to a Day Spa. So you know all this already, huh? Well do you know where all the radiation went from there? It condensed into clouds and went raining down all over the planet; that’s where it went! And where has it been raining the most for the last seven years? That’s right, the Pacific Northwest. Our Pacific Northwest, this Pacific Northwest! And how many seed pods fell here? Yep, three.
Things wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if it weren’t for that earthquake. (I’ve heard the chickens in Africa are only the size of Labradors. Man wouldn’t that be nice!) The best I can figure the un-irradiated, symbiotic microorganism infected fowls didn’t change much once shackled with their little hitchhikers but the radiated birds, well the radiation spawned an immediate mutation. There was a sudden and exponential increase in size and aggressiveness, like some genetic switch had been thrown reconnecting our tasty little friends with their larger saurian ancestors. This change seemed to manifest almost overnight. The region was overwhelmed, as was much of the country, and the world to a lesser extent.
I woke up three days after I’d seen the smoke streams and it was another cloudy, grey, wet, cold, miserable day. I need to move to Mexico, I thought to myself as I stood by the kitchen sink and stared out at the soggy morning, burning my tongue with my black coffee. If it weren’t for the fact the drug cartels had won the drug war and established a military dictatorship three years earlier the idea of flying south to Mexico definitely held appeal. And why shouldn’t it?! It’s not raining down there right now! I turned away from the kitchen window to go watch the news. I’d only been up for about fifteen minutes and I’d already decided the day wasn’t going to get any more exciting when….
“….the devastation is terrible here in the Portland Metro Area as the reports of giant chicken attacks continue to flood in. Let’s go to our woman in the streets where she’s reporting from the Sunday Market, Stephie.”
The picture on my 47” LED changed from the stuffy news anchor and the relative comfort and safety he enjoyed in the network studio to a scene of absolute carnage and anarchy as a lovely but terrified reporter attempted to put a brave face on the madness sweeping along the waterfront.
“Thank you, Paul. As you can see around me the situation is one of chaos and brutality. Downtown Portland is in ruins today as an epidemic of ravenous, giant chickens rage through our fair city. If you look behind me you can see the mutilated remains of those unlucky enough to fall victim to these dreadful attacks.”
The camera panned away from the reporter and displayed the blood and gore that was all that was left of commuters who had kissed their wife goodbye for the last time, eaten their last Toaster Treat, or wished for the last time that they could afford to drive to work instead of getting soaked on that damned bicycle. It was pretty gross to witness but short lived as the camera panned back to Stephie.
“Have the police had any luck in containing the situation, Stephie?”
“No Paul, they haven’t. Police Chief Mark Ross was not available for…”
The pitch and yaw of the camera became jostled and the woman’s news report was cut off midsentence as a large, feathered animal crashed into her and knocked her off screen. There was a short but piercing scream and the cameraman re-jostled the camera until it centered on a giant chicken about the size of a mid-sized SUV. The chicken had poor Stephie pinned down with one large claw and was furiously pecking at her already dead body. There was blood everywhere and the network wasted no time in cutting the feed.
I have to admit for most of the broadcast I was wondering why our valuable news hours were being wasted on this piece of science fiction but after seeing the look in the reporter’s eye right before the blood crazed bird swallowed her severed head I knew it was anything but fiction.
My coffee sat ignored by a stack of outdated girly and four wheel drive magazines on the coffee table beneath my feet. My head was reeling and my stomach felt a little sick. I always knew the world was gonna end I just didn’t know it was gonna end with a chicken entrée. I retrieved my java and enjoyed its warmth; it wasn’t hot enough to burn me anymore. I was going to need some weapons, this much activity my addled brain was able to produce as the ingested caffeine forced it into action. I had a double barreled twelve gauge and a .45 cal combat issue pistol in my bedroom but ammo was scarce and expensive since Ohbummr firearms activists started campaigning against our constitutional gun rights the last year of his Presidency. I had a box of shells for each but if Portland was any indication I’d need more.
I’d been driving for forty-one minutes and I still wasn’t to the local ammo shop. The closest distributer of quality ammunition for thirty miles may have been Cougar but Cougar is even further into the mountains. I opted to go in the opposite direction to Chelatchie which is only a ten minute drive from my house, normally.
My mind wondered if normal would ever be normal again as I surveyed the road in front of me for more gruesome obstacles to detour around. I’d already come across a three car, two chicken pile up as soon as I’d hit Lewis River Road. One of the chickens was under one of the cars still alive and squawking feebly. It sounded pretty pitiful and for a moment there I toyed with the idea of putting it out of its misery but these aren’t really humanitarian times now, are they? I decided I couldn’t afford to expend the round.
It took me ten minutes to clear that mess and get back on route again and I was just about to shift into fourth when a young girl, she couldn’t have been no more than fourteen, ran right out in front of me and I had to slam on the brakes again. I stared at her as she stared at me as she ran by. The moment seemed to stretch on forever while we locked eyes. Her face is burned in my brain forever. And so is what happened right after that. Two chickens, one black and white and the other tan, burst across the road after her. The girl squealed in terror and stumbled as she left the asphalt for loose rock and sticks. Wings flapping and beaks snapping the angry beasts clucked happily as they brought their prey down.
There wasn’t any time for me to act; at least it was mercifully swift. The birds were too busy enjoying their fresh meat to notice when I snuck over quietly from the truck and put a bullet in both their bird brains on pure principle.
So this is the world we find ourselves in now, a chicken eat human world.
Chelatchie proved to be a gutted out, smoking shell of a structure and Amboy was literally wrecked with a log truck jutting out its side. On to Fargher Lake proved much of the same and all along the way I was slowed by and forced into combat with these ferocious feathered fiends. Even if I had wanted to I couldn’t’ve turned back. My ammo reserve was gone like an acid junkie at a Greater Dread concert and my rig’s gas gage was quickly dropping into the red. I had no choice but to keep steering towards Battle Ground. Big mistake there.
Three and a half hours after my morning coffee and I was slowly rolling through the intersection of 503 and 502. Considering the mayhem that plagued me throughout the countryside Battle Ground seemed unnaturally serene, empty but serene and I kept my eyes peeled for any hostiles while I pulled up next to the fuel pump. I went into the gas station and turned on the gas pump, grabbing a pack of smokes on my way out. It had been five years since I’d had a cigarette but taking that first drag it was like I had never quit. What do you mean? I thought I was gonna die! In the face of that, what’s a cigarette? Whatever, anyway I was feeling pretty good as I turned west on 502, aiming my nose towards R&R Guns. I didn’t want to head any further south and R&R’s was the next closest ammo dump.
The chickens surrounded me on all sides. It happened so fast I felt like a certain red suited lightning bolt. They had me boxed in and with a loud POP! I felt the left-rear tire go flat so I punched it and yanked the wheel hard to the left. Go to Hell CHICKENS! The squawk-boxes flapped away amidst much annoyed clucking but by then I was already jumping the curb and skewing out of control towards Richy’s Pizza. I hit my head hard on the steering wheel as my vehicle imbedded itself into Richy’s front porch and the lights went out for a moment.
I pretty much told you what happened after I woke up. Yeah, thing’s didn’t really work out with us. Actually she was eaten by a giant chicken right after she tried to run me over, not-too-pretty. Surprisingly no, she was sober. So what do ya think? Rebuilding