pulled. He held the trigger
until the clip was emptied, and then snapped a quick look around. A whole slew of them were plummeting down and a few were
also dropping behind to eat them. But in general it hadn’t done a hell of a lot of good. In fact, unless Stone’s -eyes were
deceiving him, more seemed to be joining in the chase as the entire circle of vultures which had been flying far above like
a beacon to other carrion eaters throughout the state also started dropping fast. Oh, he’d definitely caught their attention.
Like an oasis in the middle of a desert Stone saw a thicket of low trees ahead and a sort of pathway leading into them. It
looked passable, for him anyway. He leaned forward on the bike and tore into it, slowing the Harley as soon as he hit the
path to make sure he could effect passage. He could. Stone heard a fluttering right above the tree canopy. Some of the foolhardy
creatures were landing on the interwoven branches above. They were obviously intent on getting to him, no ifs, ands or buts
about it, though just what it was that made him so fucking attractive to them was a question Stone was burning to know. Maybe
it was the dog lying on the back. He looked dead. Maybe it was as if he were toying with them, dangling a mouse in front of
a cat and then running with it. Well, these suckers had gone for the bait.
Stone debated staying inside the thicket but after a few seconds of listening to their frantic attempts to break down and
through the branches he decided against it. He started ahead switching on the lights to navigate through the shadows of the
mini-jungle of trees and bush. The pathway that appeared man-made extended right through the thicket. Stone found a comfortable
speed and moved along at about twenty, his boots digging down in the black soil. He no longer heard the flutterings and the
smashings of beaks and talons against wood, and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d lost them. That was the one saving grace about
vultures—they were stupid.
After about five minutes Stone saw light ahead and suddenly broke through a few vines dangling down over his face, slicing
along his chin. He was out into the dimness of the end of day. Only as he emerged he saw that something was blotting out the
sinking sun ahead. And as he adjusted to the light Stone saw that the sky ahead was filled with an army of them, a single
immense circle which turned with thousands upon thousands of birds. As thick and as awe-inspiring as the very rings of Saturn,
only this ring was of leathery hide and dark feathers. And it was after him.
The circle that hovered about five hundred feet above the terrain began dropping the moment he emerged from the grove. Stone
knew it was too late to even try to turn around and get back. They’d be on him before he was halfway there. He could only
move ahead. He slammed his finger on the firing button of the 50-cal mounted on the front of the bike, swiveling it so it
was arched up at a forty-five degree angle pointing straight into the descending flock. Then he pushed hard and held the button
down as the barrel burped out a fusillade of thick finger-sized slugs. The whole bottom part of the descending horde seemed
to disintegrate before his eyes, as hundreds of the crank-necked buzzards flopped to the ground wings broken, heads hanging
limply to one side.
They retreated momentarily, swooping up and then turned far around, taking almost a mile to do so. But then they started back
again, this time gaining speed from far off. It was as if they were going to come down on him with the sheer kinetic motion
of their bodies, let him try to shoot them down or not as he wished. Stone gulped hard. The 50-cal wasn’t going to do it.
They were ready to die—or didn’t know the meaning of it.
Suddenly he remembered the Luchaire. He had attached this one as opposed to the first launcher he had had, which had been
lost along with his Harley
until the clip was emptied, and then snapped a quick look around. A whole slew of them were plummeting down and a few were
also dropping behind to eat them. But in general it hadn’t done a hell of a lot of good. In fact, unless Stone’s -eyes were
deceiving him, more seemed to be joining in the chase as the entire circle of vultures which had been flying far above like
a beacon to other carrion eaters throughout the state also started dropping fast. Oh, he’d definitely caught their attention.
Like an oasis in the middle of a desert Stone saw a thicket of low trees ahead and a sort of pathway leading into them. It
looked passable, for him anyway. He leaned forward on the bike and tore into it, slowing the Harley as soon as he hit the
path to make sure he could effect passage. He could. Stone heard a fluttering right above the tree canopy. Some of the foolhardy
creatures were landing on the interwoven branches above. They were obviously intent on getting to him, no ifs, ands or buts
about it, though just what it was that made him so fucking attractive to them was a question Stone was burning to know. Maybe
it was the dog lying on the back. He looked dead. Maybe it was as if he were toying with them, dangling a mouse in front of
a cat and then running with it. Well, these suckers had gone for the bait.
Stone debated staying inside the thicket but after a few seconds of listening to their frantic attempts to break down and
through the branches he decided against it. He started ahead switching on the lights to navigate through the shadows of the
mini-jungle of trees and bush. The pathway that appeared man-made extended right through the thicket. Stone found a comfortable
speed and moved along at about twenty, his boots digging down in the black soil. He no longer heard the flutterings and the
smashings of beaks and talons against wood, and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d lost them. That was the one saving grace about
vultures—they were stupid.
After about five minutes Stone saw light ahead and suddenly broke through a few vines dangling down over his face, slicing
along his chin. He was out into the dimness of the end of day. Only as he emerged he saw that something was blotting out the
sinking sun ahead. And as he adjusted to the light Stone saw that the sky ahead was filled with an army of them, a single
immense circle which turned with thousands upon thousands of birds. As thick and as awe-inspiring as the very rings of Saturn,
only this ring was of leathery hide and dark feathers. And it was after him.
The circle that hovered about five hundred feet above the terrain began dropping the moment he emerged from the grove. Stone
knew it was too late to even try to turn around and get back. They’d be on him before he was halfway there. He could only
move ahead. He slammed his finger on the firing button of the 50-cal mounted on the front of the bike, swiveling it so it
was arched up at a forty-five degree angle pointing straight into the descending flock. Then he pushed hard and held the button
down as the barrel burped out a fusillade of thick finger-sized slugs. The whole bottom part of the descending horde seemed
to disintegrate before his eyes, as hundreds of the crank-necked buzzards flopped to the ground wings broken, heads hanging
limply to one side.
They retreated momentarily, swooping up and then turned far around, taking almost a mile to do so. But then they started back
again, this time gaining speed from far off. It was as if they were going to come down on him with the sheer kinetic motion
of their bodies, let him try to shoot them down or not as he wished. Stone gulped hard. The 50-cal wasn’t going to do it.
They were ready to die—or didn’t know the meaning of it.
Suddenly he remembered the Luchaire. He had attached this one as opposed to the first launcher he had had, which had been
lost along with his Harley
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