CICADA!, page 11
Forty-eight hours later, he received General Dempsey’s call. Dempsey had told him of the successful defensive strategy and the surprising retreat of the cicada army to the ground below. The General had said the Professor could stand down his plan and recall his bird drones. Dempsey thanked him for all the effort that had gone into it. Professor Byrdbrane hung up the phone and thought for a few minutes. He believed the General might be a bit over-optimistic on the outcome of the battle.
What harm would there be if he continued ahead with his plan?
If the cicadas stayed underground, they could just use his bird drones to direct the various bird species to their usual flyways. Suppose the cicadas were just biding time for another attack. In that case, his bird strategy could be the final act in the cicada war. His fingers danced across the keyboard as he sent commands to accelerate the engines of the thousands of drones. Upon launch, the drones had slowly risen in groups of a hundred, hovered briefly to tip their wings to the sun, and then sped off. Each group was sent to a specific location in a recently identified bird migration route. The entire launch exercise had taken almost a day. The Professor took an occasional break to analyze a substantial electronic map displayed on the plasma wall.
The map depicted the critical migration routes with moving red dots appearing as radar picked up the drones. The Professor had chosen the waves to attract the deadliest birds first and move them East for the attack. Leading the attack would be Golden Eagles, which were formidable aerial predators with a two-foot wingspan. He would move the females to the front as they were more aggressive than the males. Within the cohort would be other eagle species, including the bird famously on the dollar bill.
Red-tailed hawks would be pulled East from farmlands with their four to five-foot wingspans and their raking talons. Snowy owls would join them with their razor-sharp feet. Barret owls would come up from the swamp forests in the South. From the temperate rainforest, Great Northern loons would fly and become deadly missiles with their pointed spear-like bills. Mute swans with their muscular wings.
Ever so slowly, huge formations of birds began appearing on the satellite feeds into the control room. Text messages and emails were pouring in from the national bird watch network reporting on the rising of birds from wildlife refuges, grasslands, and national forests.
The bird drones were doing their job.
Masses of birds, including murders of crows, were gathering, and thrusting forward in a dramatic dagger fashion.
Chapter 26
High noon.
The cicada counterattack was succeeding along the entire Interstate 81 front. The surprised and disorganized troops and volunteers continued to pull back. The overwhelming numbers of insect warriors shattered more and more of the defensive line. Dempsey ordered a full retreat hoping to save what military forces and material he could organize for a last-ditch stand. His patrolling drones continued to send battlefront footage to his headquarters.
Yet, the screen was getting harder to read.
Why was the sky getting so dark in the western sector?
Dempsey checked with his in-house weatherman, who reported that no new storm was on its way.
Could an eclipse be occurring? The sun was rapidly being covered.
The savage cicada attack suddenly paused.
The creatures looked to the sky, shifting uneasily.
They sensed something while the troops battling them regrouped and took better positions for the next round of fighting. The darkness was rapidly spreading to the East. Then it was as though the darkness itself was descending upon them.
Professor Byrdbrane’s birds directed by his mechanical bird drones had arrived.
Tens of millions of them.
Unknowingly tarred with the Prey chemical, the cicadas stood silently as the massive bird numbers attacked them with a vengeance. Millions of cicadas were literally pecked to death as wave after wave of birds ravaged their vulnerable heads. Finally understanding their new enemy, surviving cicadas moved to flee, but more and more flocks of birds blocked their retreat. Cheers went up from the human brigades, and they turned as one to join the offensive. Leading the way, those armed with flamethrowers burned the cicadas trying to get away as soldiers fired volleys into the wounded cicadas.
And still, the birds came.
Millions upon millions of birds of all species, sizes, and colors.
Veronica Starr gazed upward from the amusement park, as did hundreds of thousands of other grateful Americans.
And the birds gave their lives unselfishly so that humankind would survive.
Chapter 27
The enormous cremation pits raged in small towns and major cities steadily for over a year. Excavators overseen by the Army Corps of Engineers removed soil to accommodate the need for the mass funeral pyres and filled surrounding craters before being covered by concrete and new asphalt.
Thirty-one million men, women, and children had died.
Over three hundred million cicadas had been killed along with countless millions of birds of every species.
The cleanup of death and destruction took nearly three years and into the final months of Rush’s Presidency. The surviving members of the Congress had met in its bunker outside of Salt Lake City, Utah. There it had passed emergency legislation to declare military rule and martial law in Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, and Massachusetts.
Five trillion dollars was quickly appropriated for the systematic reclamation of the hundreds of miles devastated by the cicadas and the burial of human, bird, and insect remains. Fortunately, most of the building damage had been confined to windows and entry points. The Reapers had been thorough in their cleaning and collection of human remains. It was impossible to visually identify the human remains, so DNA samples were taken before the coated remains were placed into the prepared pits.
These medical records were stored in the hopes they could be used and studied to bring closure for anxious family survivors. The chemicals inside the cicadas and the gelatin coating of the human remains allowed the fires to burn continuously. The ashes were covered with new soil and sod and turned into memorial parks throughout the states. Soldiers oversaw the careful return of surviving residents and family relatives.
Looters were shot on sight to brutally enforce the martial law. The vacuum created by the loss of over thirty million Americans became a boon for the new and returning settlers. The economic stimulus from Congress brought a steady but slow return of business as usual.
Of course, Congressional investigations soon discovered the source of the chemical waste that triggered the cicada mutation and subsequent massive invasion. The weak pollution regulations were rescinded and replaced by a strict environmental protection policy. New finance reform legislation was passed to prevent the obscene political contributions that had spawned the terrible chemical waste dumping practices.
President Rush had no choice but to sign off on what Congress demanded. His father’s legacy was destroyed, and his party leaders told him that he was a one-term President. Fearing the risk of impeachment and conviction, the President offered to resign within a few weeks.
It again was a beautiful April morning. The United States Marine Band began playing the Presidential anthem of Hail to the Chief. With its ruffles and flourishes, the music brought excitement and anticipation to the crowd and television audience. Though few knew the words to the song since it was rarely sung.
Hail to the Chief, we have chosen for the nation.
Hail to the Chief! We salute him, one and all.
Hail to the Chief, as we pledge cooperation.
In proud fulfillment of a great noble call.
Today voters regretted having chosen him. Many would salute him with a middle finger. And offer no apologies.
The President once again stood in the White House Rose Garden at a new lectern adorned with a refreshed Presidential seal. It had taken nearly a year of intensive work to bring the nation’s capital back into full operation. And today was a celebration of its culmination and the President’s imminent departure from office.
“My fellow Americans, we pause today to first remember the millions of men, women, and children who suffered and died from the insect attack. We honor those men and women who gave their lives fighting back so that we can live today. I have ordered a complete review of all of America’s pollution laws to ensure we eliminate the possibility of creating another deadly threat that plagued our East Coast for so many weeks.
I want to especially thank Professor Byrdbrane from Finger Lakes University, whose brilliant plan and strategy saved the day for America. Millions of birds died in his attack, and we should each offer a bit of kindness to the remaining birds in our backyards, farms, parks, and refuges. To honor our feathered friends, with the support of Congress, I am declaring today National Bird Day. From this day forward, this national holiday will commemorate the sacrifice made by this species to save humanity. I am sorry the Professor couldn’t be here today, so I could shake his hand and extend our deep appreciation on behalf of the nation.”
But the Professor was indeed there…. behind the White House, on the fringe of the ellipse sitting on a park bench. He was busily typing on an iPad. On either side of him sat Veronica Starr and her husband.
“Are you really going to do it?'' asked Veronica.
“But of course,” said the Professor. “He deserves every bit of it. I know this new artist from New York City who trained birds to present a marvelous evening light show. The artist was kind enough to spend a few months with me to prepare today’s feathered attraction.”
A flock of pigeons gathered over the ellipse, brought to the area by a pigeon drone. These were the Professor’s trained pigeons that had been taught to look for the Presidential seal. They had been well fed with a safe laxative and exercised that morning. Right on cue, the pigeons started descending over those very important people on the White House ground, letting loose a rain of pigeon droppings.
The President received the brunt of the poop on his carefully tailored black suit while the helpless guards tried to shoo the birds away. The President soon bolted for the safety of the Oval Office as millions of Americans who had tuned in to the broadcast enjoyed much-deserved laughter and saw the poetic justice of it all.
Epilogue
Miles and miles away, just inside the Shenandoah National Park, a figure slowly dragged his body forward. Commander Zero had been injured but miraculously not killed in the unforeseen bird attacks. He had been able to beat off the birds, but his wings were severely damaged.
Zero escaped down a nearby tunnel into the labyrinth of caverns below the park. While he still had the strength, he mated with three females, who each would lay at least a hundred eggs.
His heirs.
His future leaders.
His field marshals.
Zero waited and helped to guard the eggs until the nymphs hatched. As they grew, he sent telepathic messages to them about their charge in life. They were to travel West to join up with the broods in West Virginia and Ohio. The Commander had held back their rise to the surface until the East had been secured.
He realized his mistake in not releasing the billions of cicadas below ground that could have survived the extraordinary numbers in the bird attacks. He assumed the humans would move to seal his army’s exits in the East and kill as many cicadas as possible below ground. They would try to cut off their food supply as well. So, he sent orders to survivors to burrow thousands of feet further underground for protection.
Canals would be dug to capture as much food from the chemical river above as it siphoned down through the rock layers. Fortunately, there was still plenty of untouched chemical waste dumps in West Virginia and Ohio. And fracking fluids continued to drain into food tunnels. The females would mate underground and raise their young.
Time to regain strength.
Time to plan anew.
We will be back, he promised.
We will rise again.
Charles Orasin, CICADA!
