Chapter Eleven: Spring Cleaning
They found the Bear cubs right where the paper in the egg said they would. At first Silas thought it was a hoax meant to taunt him further; it was a drawing of old, rusting human machines grouped, ancient refrigerators by stacks of old car bodies, tires by haphazard piles of rebar. The drawing was incredibly detailed — perfect, where had it been colored, it would have looked like a photograph. Silas felt a thrill as he and Mitch studied the drawing from the back lawn, some yards away from the doghouse and Ralph’s body. He remembered Barnes’ drawing of Peter Mole’s murder, how well done it was; but then Silas relaxed. Even Barnes’ drawings looked amateur next to this.
“Ah, hell…” Patrolbird Cooper had drawled, landing by Ralph. He had been about to chew into Silas, who headed him off, telling the hawk to do his job and get the eggs safely out of the doghouse. At this, Hawk peered into the doghouse, letting out a harsh caw of shock, swearing.
Other animals had started arriving, and once started, came in droves. Barnes was fetched; he’d been coordinating the last of the attack on the Fox Den, managing the Forest Council fighters in herding the remnants of Fox’s forces to holding cells at the Food Stores. Brandon Weasel was captured, as was Screech McPherson, the bat that had tied Silas the night he snuck into the Fox Den; the flying squirrel Joshua Glider’s body was found floating in the stream, the body a day old, dead long before the battle started. From what Silas found out later, Croak del Toro was not among those rounded up. Nor, as he had predicted, had anyone seen Tony Crow.
Barnes had Cooper set up a perimeter around the doghouse and Ralph, trying to keep the scene from being contaminated by the spectators. But, despite the officials’ efforts, a sea of animals milled around the lawn, making looking for tracks pointless. Barnes studied the doghouse with great interest; he seemed more intrigued than horrified by the set-up. He sent for Rex Washer to come use his nimble fingers to disarm the bricks and extract Silas’ eggs safely from the trap. Silas had watched on with frayed nerves, supervising the reintroduction of his eggs into the nest. His worry was for nothing, however, as all four eggs were soon back under a convalescing Crystal, all of them — Crystal included — intact and looking unharmed.
Afterward Silas had spent the minimum dutiful length of time with his family in the nest. He felt superfluous; Crystal was doing fine, incubating the eggs. They had little to talk about, his wife still woozy from being knocked out; Silas hoped her vapid attempts at conversation were just side effects of being knocked out. He didn’t want to share all the details just yet of what happened to Ralph, how the eggs had been endangered by a psychopath still at large. To Silas’ relief, Crystal finally began to doze.
So Silas had busied himself with doing odd jobs around the nest, rethreading loose twigs, repapering the floor. Only a few sections of the old newspaper from Grace were left. Silas went around patching where the soft cushion of newspaper layering the bottom of the nest was torn. He muttered curses for Sadie the squirrel, blaming her twitchy claws for tearing up his flooring. Silas had been hammering a section of newspaper flat with his foot when he paused, pulling his foot away so he could read. Cartoon drawings were framed in black squares. It was the puzzle page, the one Grace had shown Silas the last time he’d seen her alive. He stared.
Silas flew back down to the lawn. Top Perch Barnes was there, using the inside of the doghouse as as a type of field headquarters. He was pouring over the drawing from the egg with Washer, Cooper, and Mitch, who had insisted he had the right to be there, as he’d discovered Ralph and the eggs with Silas. Harvey was there, too, conjecturing in a too-loud voice to a group of animals, leaving no question as to the state of his sobriety. Even Mack Starling and Flash Goldplume, both of whom liked to tell raucous stories, were trying to shush Harvey, who was in the middle of proclaiming he knew something looked odd about the dog and the doghouse, and how it had been the next place he was going to check.
Silas listened passively to Barnes talking about the drawing. He was certain it depicted Riley’s Junk, an old scrapyard not a mile from the Fox Den, how there were rumours Fox had had an interest in the place; Barnes decreed he and a group of animals would go there immediately to investigate. Silas volunteered to go, but he had a few things to take care of first.
Silas looked to the deck next door. Maybee peeked between the rails, twitching her tail seeing so many animals so close. Corey too was there, elbows resting on the railing, watching the scene with an expressionless face. Silas was sure Corey was still captive to his grief over Grace, feeling the void where his friend and long-time patient had been. Now he looked empty, idle, with nothing but time. Silas wanted to go to him, to commiserate.
But Silas needed to talk with his brother first. He pulled Harvey away from Ralph’s body, which he had been usings as a soapbox. Where the other animals were looking shocked by Harvey’s irreverence, Silas had felt nothing, chalking up standing on the corpse to another “That’s Harvey!” moment. He tried talking with Harvey, who had been jibbering in a manic, Berry-fueled oppressive speech. Silas hit Harvey hard across the face with a wing, shutting him up. Then Silas explained to Harvey what he needed.
When he was done with Harvey, he made it over to Mitch in the doghouse, making a time to talk later that evening. Silas flew onto Corey’s deck. Corey saw him, nodding hello listlessly. “What’s going on over there?” Corey asked. “Did something happen to Ralph?”
Silas continued to be surprised by the cluelessness of humans. “He’s dead, Corey. By the same one who got Grace.” This put some life back in Corey. Silas went on. “Can I talk to you in a minute? But first, I need a word with Maybee.”
Corey and Maybee both looked shocked at this. Silas, too, had never believed he’d hear himself utter those words. He flew down from the railing, onto the decking by Maybee. She made an instinctual run for him, but Corey stuck out a foot.
“You’re a trusting fool, bird,” Maybee said silkily. “You’ve finally realized your life is a worthy trade for my passing amusement….”
Silas’ heart had hammered being so close to the cat, but he did his best to act casual and unafraid. “Not today, furball. I’ve got something better for you: a deal. And I promise, you’ll get to use your murderous talents.”
Maybe’s ears were still pinned back, tail swishing. But she uncoiled a little, flexing her claws. “I’m listening …”
Silas told her his plan. After Maybee slinked out of sight, probably to see if a bird down at the crime scene strayed too far from the group. With a silent sigh of relief, Silas up to the feeder. He clinked its side with a claw, drawing Corey’s eyes to the feeder.
“It’s time for new seed, Corey.”
Corey scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I forgot … But … Listen, Silas, I’ve been busy, and with Grace passing …”
“She was my friend, too, Corey.” But Silas felt no less sorry for Corey because of it. But grief was a luxury neither of them could give into. Silas needed Corey to be strong.
“I wasn’t asking you, Chapman,” Silas said, a bite to his words. “You’re going to go get new seed, right this minute. I’m going down to the old junkyard to recover the missing Bear cubs. Then I’m coming back here. You are going to be back here by that time with the seed. The good stuff we talked about before. And now I’m going to tell you why.”
And Silas flew close to Corey so they could talk. Corey listened passively, then, at hearing what Silas had to say, smiled savagely. Corey’s smile looked to Silas like a wolf’s, like something that belonged out in the wild. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, there was hope for this human yet.
Silas had flown to catch up with the cadre investigating Riley’s Junk, the scrapyard Barnes thought the drawing depicted. And there they were, in a spot in the back of the lot, the photo true down to the spots of rust. Barnes pointed at the scrap, and Poppa Bear, who had joined the group, lumbered up to an old sky blue refrigerator. It was not, Silas thought, too many shades off from the color of his eggs.
Poppa Bear reached out a paw, hooking under the handle. The door opened. Inside, rather than shelves and a back wall, they saw a tunnel, an artificial cave made in the scrap behind the refrigerator. Inside were the two cubs, Spike “The Griz”, and Joe Bear, sleeping.
From a bucket found inside the secret metal bear cave, Barnes deduced the cubs had been steadily sedated with a mixture derived from Crazy Berries. Silas felt a brand of elevation — of vindication — as he watched the cubs parade groggily from the scrapyard, back into the forest, towards Momma Bear’s cave.
As they passed under Silas, perched on a stack of cars, Poppa Bear looked up at the robin. The large black bear said nothing. He didn’t need to. Everything — the senseless murders, the violence of the Fox Den, the discord among the animals — was at an end. The sun was bright as it fell in the sky, the evening unseasonably warm. Spring had finally returned. It was the season of life being born, of things beginning anew.
Silas met Poppa Bear’s eye. He nodded.
* * *
Half the forest turned up for breakfast. At only six in the morning, and the crowd around the feeder was too much to get through. It wasn’t food, for once, that had drawn the animals. They filled every inch of the deck and much of the lawn surrounding; they talked in loud, excited voices, drowning out the shrieks of annoyance from Jenny, Corey’s girlfriend, coming from the window above. No one cared that she was trying to sleep, even after word got out last night from a neighborhood German shepherd, who had it on good authority that the human she was having an affair with had died when his black and chrome pickup truck exploded off a dirt road.
All the happenings of the last few days made for a surfeit of news. The forest animals were excited with more talking points, more gossip than many of them could handle. So a crowd much larger than just the regulars had showed up to the feeder, there to talk and jabber and squawk. There was much they wanted to discuss: They talked about the battle of the Fox Den, the murder of Ralph, the eggnapping of Silas’ brood, and just about everything else. The death of Fox was of particular interest. So, too, was the upcoming Forest Council Meeting, which Barnes had rescheduled for later that day.
Birds, squirrels, and animals of every species worked through the crowd to Silas by the feeder. They shouted to be heard over the crowd, asking Silas questions, most wishing him luck at the Forest Council Meeting, assuming he was running for Perch. Silas tried saying he wasn’t, but no one heard; he could have said he was planning on hatching humans from eggs and teaching them to fly, and they would have nodded and wished him luck. They just wanted Silas around them — to assure them with his presence. He was a symbol of stability; a tangible, visible anchor holding against all the chaos of the past week.
Silas just enjoyed being back around the feeder with his closest friends. Mitch and Mack and Flash and Colin Squirrel were there. So was Harvey, who looked like he hadn’t slept the night before. Neither, come to that, had Silas, who worried whether insomnia was becoming a permanent fixture in his life. John Deer was there with his family, as was Alf A. Wolf and the pack, who roved the deer with their eyes enough to make them nervous; the Turkeys were there, Janine looking displeased as animals bumped into her, while Bud was cautiously having a good time, furtive glances back to his wife reminded him that he was on borrowed time. Patrolbird Cooper was there trying to maintain order; he soon gave it up for a bad job, falling into chatting nervously with another bird of prey, a fierce-eyed red-tail hawk Silas recognized as the bird Cooper battled at the Fox Den.
Corey opened the slider, coming out in a shaggy bathrobe, his hair sticking up on one side. He shooed the animals off the deck, having to resort to a broom. Slowly the crowd began to clear. Soon it was empty of everyone but the few birds. Cooper flew off with the red tail, and the animals cleared the lawn, herded out by the wolves. Only Silas was left with his brother, Mitch, Flash, and Mack. Mitch had been hounding them about going to the warbler’s singing lesson this morning. Harvey was going, saying he was “getting his song on.” Mack Starling, who had been laying into the seed as frantically as Flash that morning, was actually wobbling from being so full, saying he was going to sing out his other end pretty soon. But Harvey and Mitch pressured Mack, convincing him to go to the lesson. Despite Mitch’s efforts, Silas and Flash refused, staying around the feeder. Corey had gone inside, presumably back to sleep.
The deck was empty, Flash and Silas the only ones left from the busy crowd of only minutes before. The large sack of seed Corey had bought yesterday crackled in the wind, as a chilly morning gust blew.
Flash indicated the bag of bird seed resting on the decking below the feeder. “Did Corey finally change the seed out?” He reached into the feeder slot, the one closest to the railing, from where the big birds had to feed. Otherwise, they couldn’t reach the food holes.
Silas nodded. “Yeah. Took him long enough, didn’t it? Now he put in the good stuff. You like it?”
“I said I could eat anything,” Flash said. “And I can. My time living in that cage taught me that. But you know what? This is really, really good seed. Tastes different. In a good way. I think I actually prefer it.”
Silas watched on in silence as Flash continued eating with abandon.
“Say, Flash … How long have you been in this forest?”
Flash dug into the feeder hole, his voice muffled by a mouthful of seed. “About two years. Why?”
Silas nodded slowly. “You moved in not long after me. Is that right?”
Flash thought for a second. “I guess that’s right.”
They were silent for a moment. Flash went back to eating. Silas looked around. He studied the fifty pound bird seed bag, mostly empty, shifting slightly in the breeze; he studied the treeline, empty for this time of day. Flash saw him looking.
“Forest around here looks abandoned. Must still think the seed is the old stuff. Or they’re all off celebrating the end of Fox.” Flash bobbed his head admiringly at Silas. “Good job, by the way. Standing up to him like that. I hear you told the Council where the cubs are hidden … That that’s how Barnes found them.”
“Yep.”
Flash kept bobbing his head. He seemed to be looking for something to keep the conversation going. “Heard Crystal’s recovering … your eggs are back in the nest. I’m glad. Really glad.”
The silence grew between them. Flash took another helping of seed from the feeder. He pulled his head out, wobbled on the railing, almost losing his footing. “Woah! Guess I’ve been eating too much. Getting lightheaded.” Flash shook his head, clearing it. “Well, Silas, I’m going to get going. I’ll see you around …”
Silas spoke up.
“Flash, why did you kill all those animals?”
Flash, who was about to launch himself off the deck, paused. He turned back to face Silas. “What’s that?” He looked puzzled.
“I asked you why you killed those animals,” Silas said cooly. “Mole, Quail, Ralph. Grace Winsworth. And your sick little game with my eggs. Before I take you in, I want to know why.”
Flash dropped his casual airs. He let out a low kettle whistle, then chuckled. “When did the great detective Silas Oaktree find out?”
“I knew something was off when you killed Ralph, you sick son of a grub. ‘Prisoner.’ Reminded me of you being locked in a cage.”
“You didn’t think it was Fox?” Flash said.
“I wanted to believe it. But he has his own brand of sociopathy. His challenges — they’re different, consistent. He sets the wager upfront … none of your coward beat around the bush crap. Your messages — they’re more personal. I thought they were words about me, trying to say something about me. But those words were about you, weren’t they?”
Flash clicked his tongue against his beak. “Don’t … Don’t call me a coward. But yes. You proved those words weren’t you, Silas. You passed that test with flying colors.”
“Gee, thanks. That means a lot coming from a serial killer.”
Flash walked along the railing, a few steps closer to Silas.
“Silas, you still didn’t say how you found out it was me? It could have been anyone.”
Silas shook his head. “No. It couldn’t. Grace gave me her newspaper to feather my nest. I saw the puzzles she talked about, playing with letters and words. One was called the Jumble — it was exactly like the words left at each murder, letters scrambled up. When you unscrambled it, certain letters are circled. Those circled letters — those are what you take to answer the riddle at the end Your riddle: It spelled ‘Cracks it’. I cracked your twisted game in time to save my eggs. But then later I played around with some more words, and guess what?”
Silas took out a small piece of paper from under his wing. On it was written the names of the victims:
PETER MOLE
DONALD QUAIL
GRACE WINSWORTH
RALPH FULLER
A few letters were circled in each name. Below them Silas unscrambled the circled letters into two words:
FLASH GOLDPLUME
Flash nodded in satisfaction. “You found out each one of them makes up a part of me.”
“You said how obsessed you were with the newspaper —” Silas went on, “how it was the only thing keeping you going when you lived in that cage. And the comics you said you loved so much? The riddles were on the same page.”
Flash nodded again. “The paper was all I had to keep me sane.”
“Lousy job it did. To think I felt bad for you, too … Wish the old lady kept you locked up until you were dust.”
“I felt like I was turning to dust in that cage,” Flash said. “All those things I wrote: sightless, cowardly, sickly, prisoner … I was all of those things. I hated myself. The Council Members, the old human, the dog … my feathers itched just seeing them. Here they were, out in the world, living like I had when I was forced to be in that cage. I helped them, Silas. I released them from their pain.”
“You’re going back to that cage, Goldplume.”
Flash laughed. “And who’s going to put me there? I’m five times your size, Silas. I wish you hadn’t figured out it was me — Though, part of me did, in a way. We are so connected. You are … You are all the best parts of me.”
Silas shook his head. “You moved here because of me, you sick plucking psycho. You followed me. The article about me and the arsonist, in the paper near Williamsburg.”
Flash let out a whooping whistle. “You got it! I knew I picked the right mentor to study! … To become. That night I escaped the cage, the old lady had changed out the paper. She had put in the wrong section. The obituaries, her favorite part. She had mistakenly lined my cage with them instead of the parts she didn’t care for, like the comics. But on the other side, the side facing up — was you. In the news,” Flash sketched a headline in the air with a wing, “ ‘Robin Stops Arson, Saves Forest.’ When I saw that…. Wow. A bird, just like me, who was everything I was not. Here was this bird, smaller than me, less clever than me —”
“Thanks.”
“— who was a hero; did everything I didn’t do. Because I was a coward in a cage! Right then, I determined I would find you … study you. Become you! You would —” Flash mad smacking sounds with his beak. “— You would complete me.
“When that foul old woman heard me reading the article about you out loud, sounding it out, she knew I had her section of the paper. She came over to attack me — This was the moment when I changed — changed who I was as a bird. I would before my uncaged — my purest — self. That’s when I escaped.”
“You kill the old lady, didn’t you?” Silas was afraid he knew the answer.
Flash bobbed an affirmative, emitting a kettle whistle of pleasure. “That evening. She knew I couldn’t get out the house, so she stopped looking for me. She taunted me from her chair, telling me how I was hers, how I would never get out, knitting, and watching those sermons. She had the house sealed up like a tomb, which it was — not a window cracked. So I hid out. After a few hours, I started doing my voices.”
“Voices?” Silas asked.
“I’m good at voices, Silas. That’s how I lured most those animals I freed from their cages of flesh. It’s how I got the old woman, too. I projected my voice, made it sound like the neighborhood boys coming to ask about the lawn. She yelled at them to go away. But I kept calling. I made it sound like the boys were on the other side of the door.
“The old hag got out of her chair, to shoo them away with her walking stick. She opened the door. She went out on the stoop, thinking the boys were hiding, playing a prank on her. That’s when I attacked. I tore my beak through her neck. I liberated that miserable woman — liberated her from her own vileness, trapped in that withering flesh. I kept her upper row of fake teeth as a souvenir. And this —” Flash held up a foot with the metal ID bracelet. “As a reminder of my old self — the cowardly, trapped me I was leaving to die with the old woman.
“Then I went in search of you. You had moved away from the Daniel Boone forest. But following your trail of celebrity was not hard.”
Flash blinked his eyes slowly, like he was testing his focus. He shook his head.
Silas asked, “Why me? Why did you give directions to the cubs in that egg if all you want to do is kill?”
Flash laughed.
“Killing is not all I want, Silas! I told you! I free them from their pain. I understand them in a way no one else can. Like how I understand you, Silas. All the pain, all the pressure you’re under: your clutch of eggs, your wife, your brother … everyone thinking you’re going for Council. How everyone turns to you to solve their problems.…
“So when Momma Bear came into that Forest Council meeting, saying her cubs went missing, I knew right away what happened. Pain — that’s what makes us do what we do, it shapes who we are.… Like Fox. Now, there’s an animal in pain. He suffered from his need to control, to manipulate. I knew it had to be him, and I was going to make sure. So I flew from the meeting straight for the Fox Den. I saw his cronies bringing in the cubs, taking them underground.”
It didn’t make sense to Silas. “But Pete Mole never made it to the Forest Council meeting. You got him before the meeting.”
“You’re right, Silas. Very good. I knew that you weren’t planning on running for Council, despite all the jibbering around the woods, but I thought you could be persuaded when you saw the Council desperately in need of members. After all, isn’t that what you do? Fly forward when no one else will?
“It was me who suggested to Cougar Tanner-Smith a good place to hunt the night she got Ten-Point Tom, the first Council Member to go down. And it was me who lured him to Cougar by impersonating the voice of a sexy doe.”
Flash chuckled. “Mole — he was trickier. I had to listen for months, studying where he dug through the ground. The morning before the Council meeting, I impersonated the sounds of Barnes and a busy gathering of animals. That’s when Mole came aboveground, thinking he’d arrived at the meeting, when really he’d surfaced in the elm grove. I was there to free him.”
It disturbed Silas, hearing the casualness with which Flash talked about killing. “But the message about me and the cubs? If that was after —”
“I rushed back from the Fox Den to write it. I taught myself how to write over the years in my cage, in my own — well, I had no good ink to write with. In my cage I would make my own puzzles, too. The Jumble… you are right, it was my favorite. Even meaningless letters could be rearranged to have a purpose. Like I had done — rearranged myself from an imprisoned, visionless wretch, to one whose purpose is to liberate others from their own suffering … the pitiful sacks of bones, scratching in the filth to prolong their wretched existence —”
“Touching,” Silas said. “Now answer the question: Why the Bears? Why me?”
“Fox was using the Bears as a bargaining chip,” Flash said. “You know how his challenges work. The cubs were the stakes, killing all the Forest Council was the challenge, and Momma Bear: she was Fox’s unwilling contestant.”
“But something surprised me about Fox’s behavior. After Momma Bear failed to kill Wesley Barnes at the barn, when you showed us your spectacular capabilities — bringing the whole barn down on that bumbling oaf — I was certain Fox was going to kill the cubs. Disgusting, taking an animal’s freedom for your own selfish reasons …”
Silas wasn’t sure if Flash was talking about the cubs, or himself being sold into life with the old woman. Silas was buying the time he needed. But he needed these answers just as much. Flash went on.
“I wanted those Bears rescued, liberated from Fox. Whatever cesspool lives they live from here, at least they will have a chance to make something of it. Like you have with yourself, Silas. My friend.”
“I’m not your friend.”
“You are my friend! My only true friend. My mentor… Hero. See, I knew if someone was going to save the Bears, it would be you, Silas. But Fox was serious about this challenge, and he hid them well. Too well, after he moved them from the Fox Den. The Council didn’t find them. And you didn’t, when you went searching the Fox Den yourself. I wanted to help.”
“You said you were there. At the Den.”
Flash nodded. “Yes. See, I had been visiting almost every night. The riddle I left you during Pete Mole’s liberation promised you’d be the one, so I had to make sure you had a chance of finding them, if you proved yourself.
“I saw them take the Bears down underground, so I had to find exactly where the cubs were. I disguised myself as Tony Crow — sooted my feathers black. The beak and plumage is off, but it’s Tony’s distinctive voice that’s the key to the disguise. No one doubts you’re Tony, not when you can do the voice. Going there at night, I convinced some of the less intelligent Fox Den employees I was Crow, and had them show me the Bears. And that’s when I learned he was moving them to the junkyard.
“As far as why I singled you out, Silas Oaktree — Well, that’s easy. You were — are — my hero. I moved here to be around you. With all the pressures of mundane, high-stress living, I thought you might have cracked. When I finally met you in person, you seemed less than top-of-the-world — more normal — than I had imagined from that newspaper article. Even just a few days ago, when you were at Grace Winsworth’s house, trying to work out the clues, I was listening. I was disguised as Tony Crow in case someone saw me. I’ll admit, even I had doubts about you then, floundering through your investigation. I had to make sure all my suffering, all my work modeling myself after you was for something. You needed a test. I needed to see that you were the bird I thought you were. And you didn’t disappoint.”
“If I’m your hero,” Silas said. “Why would you attack my wife, turn Ralph’s doghouse into a torture chamber, and destroy my eggs if I didn’t figure out your stupid trap?” Silas had about enough talk. “Don’t give me that trial by fire crap, either. When it comes down to it, all your nuthouse killing and puzzles are for one reason: because you enjoy it. You like it.”
Flash shrugged his wings lazily. “That’s a crude way to look at it. But yes… In a way you’re right. I do enjoy my calling. See, you understand me in a way no one else ever —”
“We’re done talking, Goldplume. You have two choices: One, hand yourself in peacefully. I’ll admit, I would prefer you didn’t do that one. Your other option is to fight, to try and go through me and make a run for it. Your choice.”
Flash put on a show of considering Silas’ words. “Options, options.… Thank you for the choices, Silas. It pains me, but I’ll take the second. I really did not want to hurt you. You have made more out of your entrapment in your small weak body than I ever thought possible. But you see, I have my calling. I cannot let anyone stop me from freeing more souls from their torment, even —”
Flash wobbled, his eyes shifted out of focus, then back. Silas chirped mockingly.
“What’s wrong, Flash? Too much seed? Or is it the concentrated dose of Crazy Berries it’s laced with? Guess it’s not all bad having a junkie dealer brother.”
Flash launched himself at Silas. Silas rolled sideways on his back, carrying Flash’s weight over him with his feet. Flash crashed on the other side of the railing, flapping to keep balance.
Silas was on top to him. Flash tried goring and biting with his powerful hooked beak, but his speed was dulled, where Silas was fast. Flash got a bite in to Silas’ tail, breaking a feather. Silas screeched pain, flapping around to Flash’s back, stabbing with his beak, tearing with his talons.
They rolled around the railing. Silas called, “Maybee, now!”
The bag of birdseed crackled. A white flash of fur erupted from the end. Maybee launched herself up the railing. Her paw struck at the birds, hitting Silas.
“Wrong one!” he s