I.
Rayne noticed a crow in one of the larger trees, no more than thirty feet away, watching him. It looked like a mating sentinel without its mate. He could tell by the size, even though, unlike Maura, he wasn’t much of a hunter. He couldn’t tell the direction of town from the positioning of the sun or track a flock of crows based on the height of trees. All he had was the GPS on his cellphone to guide him, which wasn’t much use lately, considering the crows had figured out how to block the cell towers. He reached for a small rock beside his feet and hurled it at the bird. It was a stupid move, trying to scare a sentinel with only a rock, but he was in a stupid mood.
Thankfully the crow flew away, deeper into the forest, instead of attacking him. He thought about Maura and her plan, wondering if this agitated bird might ruin things for the final battle on Mount Moore, which Maura had invited the townsfolk to watch. He should’ve just left the bird alone. He should’ve peed beside the car, like Maura had said, instead of walking into the woods.
A chainsaw buzzed somewhere deeper in the forest. They called them phantom loggers now. The park rangers no longer patrolled this part of the forest, too afraid of disturbing the crows.
Moore County was technically an incorporated municipality, Moore County Township, which outsiders found confusing, which wasn’t a problem considering nobody ever visited. Carved into the mountains and surrounded by millions of acres of forest, Moore County had started as a logging town and still belonged to the same lineage. Rayne and Maura both lived here their entire lives, never once left. The crows had changed everything, though.
Grills went unused, covered in bird shit. Playgrounds rusted, covered in bird shit. It was like the crows knew how to identify man-made items and shat there exclusively—rooftops, sidewalks, roads, cars. And nobody knew leisure anymore. It was impossible to sit on a screened-in porch without worrying about a swarm of sharp beaks tearing open the screens, coming to pick you to death. Rayne didn’t understand why people still lived here. Maura kept promising they would move to the coast after she finished the job the people had elected her to do. But each time she said it, Rayne believed her less.
Emerging from the woods, Rayne found Maura standing on the roof of the car, holding her cellphone up to the sky in search of reception. Rayne worried about that sentinel flying into the forest unharmed. He decided not to tell her about that. She had enough to worry about.
“They’re smothering the cell towers,” Maura said. “You see that?”
She adjusted her binoculars, looking over the edge of the mountain in the distance, and Rayne noticed what had captured her attention: a moving black mass, congregated on a cell tower; quite possibly the main flock.
“They’ve gotten cocky out here,” Maura said. “Cocky and stupid. It’s perfect.”
She had that look in her eyes that Rayne worried about. Thirteen months ago, the town had elected her during a special election after the previous lead huntress died during a hunt, picked to death by hundreds of crows. Maura’s initial term was only six months, but the townsfolk extended her term indefinitely because they believed she could do what she claimed: push the crows from Moore County. Hers was more like a contract position now, the lead huntress until the town no longer needed one.
“Maybe today’s not the right day,” Rayne said.
“Today’s the perfect day. What are you talking about? We’ve got the whole town coming. We’ve got the planes scheduled. You’re not the only one tired of chasing these stupid birds.”
Rayne sat on the guardrail, watching as hundreds of crows flocked each minute, coming from deep within the forest, from nowhere.
Maura had always been the risk-taker. Years ago, on the playground at Moore County Elementary, she’d been the one who kissed him as a dare, starting what turned into a romantic relationship years later. But their lives in Moore County had changed with the crows, and so had the nature of Maura’s risk-taking. Now they had two hundred dead crows in an ice chest back home, taking the gamble that the price would increase from ten bucks to twelve. The local government set the price, depending on the number of active hunters, number of kills, when to increase supply or demand, etc. Rayne didn’t know the details. Even Maura wasn’t involved with regulating the price of crow. But Moore County, once a peaceful town, wanted the birds gone, and the government paid hunters to kill them. Rayne knew that much. All the experts estimated a rise to twelve dollars per crow within another month.
“You see this?” Maura asked. “It’s unbelievable. I’ve never seen them like this.”
A breeze ruffled the edges of her shirt as she stood on the roof of the car. Rayne wanted to tell her to be careful up there. Maura liked to gamble with more than just the price of crow, and he’d gotten tired of it. Tired of chasing the birds around, of the strain on their marriage, of this place, of finding himself stranded out in the middle of nowhere day after day after making empty threats to leave.
II.
Maura parked deep in the forest on the side of the road, near an overlook where she’d told the other hunters and townsfolk to meet. They were the first ones here at the rendezvous point. They covered the car with camouflage. A month ago, a small flock descended like an air strike while they were on the road, sixteen birds ramming into the windshield, beak first. They broke the glass. Maura and Rayne had collected the dead birds and cashed them in, though their reward money wasn’t enough to cover the damage.
“Reconsider,” Rayne said. “That’s all I’m asking.”
“Just stop it.”
“You know there are more birds here than expected.”
“Which is exactly why I’m not going to reconsider,” Maura said.
In the past twenty minutes alone, the flock had almost doubled in size on the cell tower. Rayne monitored with binoculars. They moved like a hive of bees, one cohesive mass. Briefly he thought he saw a face in there—eyes, a mouth, moving like a monster—but then the flock reorganized itself. None of the cell tower was visible anymore, and still more came, building outward, covering the steel. He handed the binoculars over to Maura, not sure what else to do.
“The wind’s changing a bit,” she said. “You feel that?”
She lowered the binoculars slowly after looking at the flock. She said she needed to talk to him about something important. Rayne expected something bad, but instead she told him the real reason she’d planned this concentrated hunt.
“It’s the only way out,” she said. “This drags on for another year if we don’t kill them at the root.”
“That’s why you wanted the town to come?”
“They elected me to rid Moore County of the crows, Rayne, and that’s a promise I’m going to keep.”
Rayne had already dreamed about moving to the coast—the saltwater marshes with colorful birds, seagulls and heron still living in harmony, not multiplying out of control. Where the crows hadn’t taken over, and everything remained at peace. Or so he’d heard. He’d never actually left Moore County before to see for himself. Nobody had.
That stupid chainsaw still buzzed somewhere in the distance, cutting through the sound of amassing birds. More hunters arrived. Every hunting pair in Moore County with more than a hundred kills to their name had made their way through the forest over the past hour for the final showdown atop Mount Moore against what seemed like a million birds. Rayne recognized two guys who worked for the garbage company—a pair of young hunters, all excitement and unharnessed adrenaline. But maybe Maura’s plan would work. The crows, no matter how much they’d evolved over the past few years—even recognizing human faces—didn’t have airplanes.
The overlook became a makeshift carnival on the mountain, like a stadium from which spectators could watch. From here, they could see the cell tower where the flock gathered. A dozen camouflaged tents were now set up, cars parked all around. Townspeople had come to cheer on their beloved hunters. They brought homemade coleslaw and signs and gave hugs. Somebody played music from their car. The townsfolk passed around beers.
It’s not a party, Rayne wanted to say. You’re making too much noise.
Maura sat in her chair like a queen, the others gathered around, while Rayne stood to the side. He had no cool hunting stories to contribute to the storytelling that took place under the tent. He was a sidekick, a trophy husband, tagged along for the ride. He watched as the young pair approached. They wanted action. They didn’t need to wait for the crop dusters. They wanted to put on a show for the townsfolk.
Maura told them to calm down.
“It’s fear that keeps you alive in this industry,” she said. “Not blind courage.”
She winked at Rayne when she said that, which made him feel good, like she still knew what she was doing, still in control. Semi-drunk, those young hunters danced out of the tent and into another one to sample the townsfolk’s food. “A million bucks worth of crow,” they kept saying. “Maybe more.” The townspeople were starting to look greedy too. There was more money on that cell tower than most of them had ever dreamed of seeing.
After Maura’s speech, during which she reiterated her plan with the airplanes, Rayne walked away from the tents, down the mountain a little, the music playing behind him. He kept walking until he could hear the chainsaw again. If the phantom logger scared up the flock, everybody here was potentially dead. If the crows attacked first, those who stayed were going to get picked to death. If that sentinel he’d seen earlier warned the others of an attack…the list went on.
It sounded like the chainsaw was growing louder until Rayne realized the noise was coming from overhead this time. The first crop duster had arrived. Rayne looked with binoculars. It flew over the cell tower, the birds shuffling and reorganizing, and then dropped the poison on them. The townsfolk erupted with cheer.
“Take that, you little shits!”
“They’re falling! You see that? They’re starting to fall!”
The only thing missing from the moment was fireworks and champagne popping.
Rayne returned to the camp, a knot growing in his throat. The crows started dropping, sure, crumbling from the top first, a wave of black feathers shuffling, but something wasn’t right. Only a small chunk of them chased after the plane. It was like the flock had prepared for this, hunkered down on the cell tower as if they knew what was coming.
He found Maura under her tent, still seated.
“Shouldn’t you be out there?” he asked.
“Not yet, not until the second wave’s dropped.”
“It’s like they’re expecting to sacrifice half the flock to hold their spot.”
A scream summoned Rayne and Maura to the edge of the tent. The young hunting pair charged into the forest, trying to play hero for the townsfolk. Maura shouted from under the tent for them to stop.
“It’s poison, don’t you remember? Hey!”
She raised her rifle and fired a shot above the trees to get their attention. But the other hunters must’ve mistaken this as a call to arms. Even some brazen townsfolk scrambled for trash bags in their cars to collect the dead crows from the forest floor. Cold hard cash falling. Ten dollars a bird. Maybe twelve.
“Stay under the tents!” Maura shouted. “That’s the plan for now—under the tents!”
Rayne watched the hunters and townsfolk with his binoculars as they charged into the valley. It was chaos. The crows on the ground flapped around, body spasms from the fall. Hunters and townsfolk scooped them up, one woman with a shovel, others grabbing handfuls as if stuffing dead leaves into a trash bag. And then the first hunter went down, onto a knee at first, then gasping for breath, then falling, foaming. Then another. And another. These people Rayne had known his entire life. These people who idolized Maura. She screamed out to them. It was poison, remember? Didn’t they fucking remember? But they didn’t retreat, still scrambling to grab the carcasses of the birds they could cash in to the local government for ten dollars a pop.
The interior group of birds emerged from the cell tower, untouched from the poison, descending in packs of fifty like pelicans splashing into the water, rising from the forest floor with blood-tipped beaks.
Maura positioned herself to protect their camp. Rayne posted up beside her. She told him to get the townsfolk into the tent. Another plane flew overhead, dropping more poison. Maura couldn’t call them off now. She still didn’t have cell reception, too many of the crows remaining on the tower.
“You’re not staying out here by yourself,” Rayne said.
Some of the townsfolk still cheered, too drunk to know what was happening. The main group on the cell tower wasn’t done. They were using the exterior birds as shields against the poison, moving, expanding again.
But then another plane came through, dropping poison on top of the flock, on top of the hunters. And then another. And another. Six planes total. The remaining flock was reduced to holding onto the base of the cell tower, losing ground. Cell service returned—one bar, two bars—with the cell tower exposed, but by now it was too late to call them off, the last plane having already flown by.
Hunters and townsfolk lay on the forest floor with the crow, their trash bags and weapons beside them, as the forest smoldered with poison. A few crows flew overhead, but only in pairs now, squawking loudly. They looked lost, confused, flying off in scattered directions. Two birds landed on top of one of the tents, pacing back and forth. A townsperson screamed. Rayne turned around, aiming his gun, but Maura told him to hold. The softness of her voice startled him.
“There’s too few for a counter-attack,” she said. “Let’s see what they do.”
And sure enough, for the first time in years, the crows looked at each other and then flew away without attacking. The remaining townsfolk watched in disbelief and then shouted in celebration even louder than before. For fun, people shot pairs of birds fleeing overhead, the crows flying faster amid gunfire. They were nothing without their flock as a home base. It was different now. It seemed cruel, killing animals that no longer intended to kill you back. But the remaining townsfolk and hunters cheered as the birds fell. They stomped on their beaks, saying never again would they fear going outside and being picked to death by hundreds of these evolutionarily mutated creatures.
A knot grew in Rayne’s throat again. They didn’t need to drive the species into extinction. In manageable numbers they were fine. It was when their breeding got out of control that they became a problem.
“They’re just birds now,” he said quietly.
III.
The next day, Maura and Rayne packed their car, leaving furniture and most everything else behind. They were going to start over, completely, at the coast. They sold most of their guns for half of what they were worth, just to get rid of them, before leaving their little bungalow in Moore County forever. The townsfolk had organized a parade, what they were calling the annual Moore County Memorial Parade. Rayne and Maura went as a final goodbye.
While driving into town, they passed the county park, where children waited excitedly near the swings while their parents used a hose and sponges to scrape away years of accumulated crow feces from the seats. Street vendors were selling fried crows on sticks, whole birds dipped in oil. Rayne wondered if these were the same birds that’d been poisoned yesterday. The price of crow had tanked after the battle, down from ten bucks to fifty cents and still dropping from the surplus, though this didn’t seem to dampen the spirits of the parade.
Despite sitting next to each other, Rayne made a show of calling Maura on his cellphone. She picked it up on the first ring, and they both laughed, the easiness of modern living returned. Around them, townsfolk took advantage of their cellphones too, calling each other from ten feet away, celebrating the reception. Everything had almost returned to normal—almost—though the filled streets and waving flags seemed to hide a deeper emptiness.
“It’s been a long thirteen months,” Maura said.
“The longest of our lives,” Rayne said. “I’m proud of you, though.”
She looked ten years older. Breaking the flock must’ve allowed her body to catch up from the stress of being the lead huntress. Rayne feared the crows would hold a grudge against her and amass an attack, years from now, after gathering forces again in the depths of the forest. Maybe seek them out on the coast. The crows could recognize faces now, after all. But Maura had known the risk when she’d originally run for lead huntress. She wasn’t afraid then, and she didn’t look afraid now, either. Just older, and more tired.
The mayor of twenty years, a round-bellied man who wore a top hat, waved them to a stop for a reason that soon became apparent: “Just in case the crows regroup,” he said. “Another six months, maybe—that’s all I’m asking.” Holding a fried crow on a stick, he wiped grease from his chin with a napkin.
“Weren’t those birds poisoned?” Rayne asked.
“What does that matter?”
“You’re eating them.”
“We’ve earned that much, don’t you think?” The mayor took another bite from his fried crow, the brittle skin crunching under his teeth. “It’s not their town anymore—and by God, I’m going to eat them.”
Rayne didn’t argue. It occurred to him there was never a political campaign for mayor. The same man was elected every year. And there was something wrong with the people of Moore County, as obvious to him now as the oil stains on the mayor’s napkin. Rayne didn’t know what, exactly, but ever since the crows had originally descended upon them, he could feel the change.
“It’s time for another special election,” Maura told the mayor. “I’m not the lead huntress anymore.”
“We’re leaving Moore County,” Rayne added. “We’re not coming back.”
The mayor lifted his hat, briefly, as Rayne and Maura started to drive. It felt like a threat, somehow, and Rayne drove faster, routinely checking his rearview until they’d passed through the parade. An old, rusted school bus sat on the side of the road, polka-dotted with crow feces, its windows broken from the hammering of sharp beaks.
“I think that’s the same bus I rode in middle school,” Maura said.
Rayne kept driving. He slowed near the sign that marked the town limit for Moore County. A dozen crows waited for them there, standing on the sign.
He stopped.
Maybe this wasn’t the first time they’d tried to leave. He was getting déjà vu about being here, like they were all pieces of a board game, and he and Maura were at the edge of the board. But leaving was easy, as simple as pressing his foot on the accelerator, the easiest thing in the world. The crows turned their heads all the way around, all twelve of them, silent guardians that watched as Rayne and Maura passed.
“I’m getting a bad feeling,” Rayne said.
“You want to turn around?”
“No, I mean about back there.”
In the rearview, both the crows and the welcome sign had vanished. There was nothing but a road that led into a forest. Nothing but the indecipherable past.
