You Happy?

“Sir?” the young private addressed his team leader. His head craned out the back of the truck, watching the gray clouds blossom red.

“I see it, Jackson,” The team leader sounded annoyed, but Gomez was always irritable with grunts. Stretching his sore neck from side to side, the team leader focused on his black, HUB shades. White letters frosted across the dark glass. “We’ll stop when the captain says so.”

Jackson nodded his head and returned to staring up at the wounded sky. He had a yearning in him, a craving that pulsed to the back of his throat. And the back of his mind, a repeating backtrack that told him he needed a snack, anything that would satisfy his hurting.

“It’s spitting,” Whitaker said, looking up at the dark spots that began to polka-dot the green canopy draped above.

Private Jackson didn’t know if the other men felt the energy buzzing in the back of the truck, but he couldn't take it. The anxiety was boiling, threatening to spill over. He stuck out his hand, feeling the chilly wind. A drop of blood kissed his palm, he studied it as it trickled down his arm, staining his white skin.

“Just sit tight. We’ll have time,” Gomez spat out as he pulled on his armored collar, flexing his jaw.

Jackson noticed he was chewing gum. The words jumped out of his mouth, “May I have a piece of gum, sir?” He braced himself for a smack.

The team leader said nothing for a while as he chewed with indulgence. “Don’t have anymore, private.” He sat up straight as the blood raining down barrage the canopy. “Get ready, Cap’s gonna wait till last second. Meyer and Pocke, collapse the canopy.”

They both stood and began unlocking the canopy from the hitch. As they rolled it back, Jackson felt the blood tap on his helmet as the sky opened. He timidly glanced up, squinting at the rose-colored clouds and saw a small shadow falling through. “They’re dropping,” Jackson said.

“Yeah,” Gomez took out his gum and stuck it under the bench.

Feeling a sickly cold sweat swamping the back of his neck, Jackson leaned forward and held on to the hitch lock, ready and waiting. The truck grew tight with dread.

“Go, go, go,” the team leader shouted.

He felt exhaustingly slow as he opened the hitch, letting it swing down. The sky grew dark as heavy thumps pounded around them. A wet slap sprayed his face with cold blood. The team leader grabbed his shoulder and shoved him down. Jackson fell on his knees and rolled under the truck. The men followed, rolling across the slick puddles, pushing him further under. A darkness shrouded him. All he heard were the men cursing as the bodies slammed against the ground, flooding the dead landscape with discarded corpses.

***

He was whistling on his way home in his new, well-worn boots. The leaves reflected the sun, shimmering a golden light on his fatigues. With a straight back, he proudly puffed out his chest, showing his strength against the breeze. He had left his mother a boy and now he was returning a man.

Walking into his childhood yard, his boots crunched over the gravel drive-in. He saw his mother sitting on the porch in her pink housecoat, greased black from years of chain smoking. When their eyes met, he stopped and lifted his arms. “I’m home.”

Her jaw was tight as a cigarette burned in her yellow fingers. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I got a week leave before they ship me out,” he smiled broadly.

She nodded and took a drag.

He began to feel silly for smiling, but he was still buzzing high from getting through the hard and grueling training. Giving an awkward pose, he asked, “You like my new dreads?”

Her eyes were searing red. “You happy?”

Kicking the gravel around, his gaze dropped as his chest deflated. “You don’t think I’m doing the right thing?” He meant it as a rhetorical retort, but it came out genuine.

Sighing, she stood and said, “I got potato scallops baking.” A black line of mascara fell down her cheek as she snubbed out a freshly lit cigarette, bending the long stem into a full ashtray. The screen door slapped shut as she disappeared inside the dark house.

***

His throat spasmed in pain and disgust, it was a struggle to swallow. Goosebumps charged his skin with a cool electricity. The corpses were jumbled meat wrapped in winter clothing. Puffy coats, wool knitted hats, and slush pants, all stained a murky red and brown.

You would think that if somebody fell from the sky, they would splat apart like a water balloon, some do, but most had their limbs pop off like dropped action figures, their layers of clothes keeping their broken bones and splayed skin mostly intact.

“Alright, Meyer, Pocke, and Jackson, you’re on clearing. Let’s go,” Gomez ordered.

Jackson’s joints ached at the thought of the day ahead of him. Clearing the bodies and making a pathway for their trucks was grueling and tedious. The heavy plows were hard to come by. He heard C-Company had two. They talked about stealing one, but only in the way the starving talk about food, just flightless fantasies.

“Patch up that canopy,” the captain hollered out. Two bodies had landed through before they could fully close it. Jackson didn’t know why the captain wanted to stop until the last minute. How were they supposed to have time to dissemble the canopy? “We don’t want to be caught with our pants down when the birds come.”

The men obeyed with quiet resentment.

Jackson dragged his feet as his teammates charged forward to clear the road. “Remember, we only need one lane free,” the captain barked at them as they passed. Nodding obediently, Jackson kept his eyes down at the littered highway that stretched out for miles. He was dizzy with misery. His legs were going to be dead tomorrow.

Never in his life would he think he would be relieved to see small, dead children. As much as a hopeless black hole the sight was, after hours of dragging heavy, bloated adults, it became a shameful relief. Plus, they usually had snacks on them. He couldn’t help but check their pockets.

“Jackson, what are you doing? You’re holding up the line,” Gomez screamed at him as he followed the rolling truck on foot. The tires dripped with black blood, trailing off the rubber like slime. 

“Just checking for provisions, sir.”

“What kind of provisions do you think you’ll find there?”

Jackson kept his mouth shut and carried on. His guilt prevented him from checking the kids, but not the fat adults. But again, his team leader caught him. “Jackson, there’s nothing we need more than getting out of this field. What are you looking for?”

 “Snacks, sir,” Jackson confessed through his heavy breaths. “Feeling drained.”

Gomez had stopped and pointed at Jackson. However, before he could say anything, Pocke yelled, “We got a mist, from the west.” All heads turned and saw the pink mist looming towards them.

“Shit,” Gomez didn’t hesitate, “Everyone in now,” He ran to the rear of the truck, waving the men in.

Jackson dropped the pant leg he was pulling and waddled to the truck. The thick blood was slippery as ice. His leg muscles shuddered as they struggled to keep him balanced. He didn’t want to look back at the mist, but he couldn’t help himself. It was already on the road. The roaring hum tickled his eardrum. Fear pushed his body forward, the world slowed as his ears became cotton.

Once he reached the back, he knew as soon as he lifted the first leg to climb in, he couldn’t pull himself up. His arms felt like spaghetti. Gomez shoved his ass up and pushed him in. The men inside had to pull him in the rest of the way. The blood was too slick on the wooden floor.

“Close the canopy,” Gomez shouted as he jumped in and rolled to Jackson’s feet.

Jackson helped pull the left side down and let Meyer tie the top knots while he struggled with the bottom one that looped around the hitch. It was closed. They did what they could.

The silence was suffocating.

The humming grew; first, it was buzzing, then it became thunderous when the dark shadows fluttered over the wet canopy. All eyes were on the patched-up hole, the silver duct tape holding the green fabric as it waved in the stormy wind.

Jackson could tell who had been bitten before, their shoulders hunched high as they flinched at every pecking noise. The flesh-eating hummingbirds swirled around the truck with a fervent fury.

Pocke began to sob, his cries thick with mucus. Everyone ignored him, pretended they didn’t see him crack. They were all still, tense with stiff muscles and their eyes darting around as the birds nibbled on the canopy.

Jackson heard a crinkling sound. Looking around he saw his team leader opening a pack of gum.

Gomez looked up and saw Jackson eyeing him. Sighing, he lifted his pack and offered it to Jackson.

Mumbling his thanks, Jackson held out his palm and let Gomez drop a white pellet. Throwing it in his mouth, he crunched down and sucked in the sweet flavor to the back of his throat. He didn’t realize his eyes were closed until he opened them and saw Gomez staring at him from behind the tinted glass of his HUB. Shadows of the flesh-eating birds fluttered behind him. “You happy?”