Extinct Doesn't Mean Forever (33 page)

“But,” I stammer, “of course I wouldn’t know as I’m married myself.” I give her an unconvincing chuckle.

“Yes, I noticed,” she says with a playful pout that melts my knees into wobbly, gelatinous nothings.

I drop her hands and fumble for words. “Well, yes, um.” I smile at her, unable to hide my titillation. “Actually, I, er, have to get to the check-in and look up some pictures on the Internet, you see, so really I must be going.” I can’t stand to leave, but I know if I stay here I’ll do something truly foolish any moment.

“Pictures on the Internet?
My goodness.
I didn’t take you for that kind of man.” She’s found the chink in my armor. Or rather, she’s found that I have no armor. She’s toying with me like a housecat toys with a baby chick it’s caught. And I am powerless under her velvety, scrumptious paws.

“No, it’s not like that. You see—” I can’t tell her about the bird. It has to be secret until I’m sure of my identification. “I just need … some information. I’m doing research while on holiday. I’m an ornithologist. I study birds.”

She nods with a knowing smile, as though she does not believe me.

“No, really.
In fact, I have a bird in my hut. We’re the last hut, right on the end there. It’s hurt, and I think I can help it.”

“Really.
You haven’t even asked my name, and you’re already trying to lure me into your bungalow with a story of a hurt baby bird?”

“It’s not a baby. It’s fully grown. And anyway, I’m not luring you anywhere. My wife is there.”

“Karen,” she says.

“What? Oh!
Lovely.
I’ve always thought Karen a beautiful name. I’m George.”

She gives me a flirty wink and says, “King George.
With the sexy accent.”

No amount of sunscreen would keep the redness out of my face right now. This lovely called me sexy.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, old man. She called your accent sexy. And you’ve only got that because of thousands of years of history. Not because of anything you’ve done
.

“Tell you what,” I say with a sudden epiphany. “I really do have to go. But I meant it when I said I don’t think you should be alone right now. So why don’t you come to our bungalow for dinner tonight. Just pop down to the hut and tell Mabel — that’s my wife — that I’ve invited you. I’ll pick up some wine. We already were going to cook pasta anyway, and we’ve got plenty. Not that you eat much, judging from your figure.”

“It’s true. My friends say I eat like a bird.”

“Interesting fact, actually,” I say, only partially aware that I’ve slipped into my professor voice. “Most birds eat half their body weight every single day. So I’m quite sure you don’t eat like a bird. Although your body weight is, I must say, remarkably low.”

That was a terrible recovery.
In fact, not much of a recovery at all.
Could I be more transparent? I feel my face flush red again, and I quickly excuse myself and rush away toward the shore.

It’s an hour before the Internet terminals come available, and the connection is slow. But by seven o’clock I’ve got what I need. There’s no doubt it’s the Tahitian Sandpiper. How it happened to float to my bungalow, I don’t know. Why no one else has seen one in two centuries — who cares? The fact is
,
they haven’t. And I am on my way to a top-floor office with a window. Screw Stinson.

Whistling a made-up tune off key, I saunter back down the dock between the huts. I pass Karen’s bungalow and note that the lights are off. My heart gives a little leap complete with clicking heels, and my pace quickens.

I arrive and fling open the door, a bag filled with wine and bread in one hand and a folder full of printouts in the other. “Mabel, I’m back. Sorry it took so long. The line for the Internet was bloody long.”
The scent of something roasting wafts on the warm, ocean breeze.

“Out here, dear. Dinner is ready.” Her voice floats in from the deck.

“All right, half a mo, just want to check on the golden bird.”

I slip into the bedroom. The bird is gone, but the nest I made from the hand towel remains. “Mabel?” My blood has gone cold, and my head begins throbbing. “Mabel, where’s the bird?”

“Do you mean—? Oh,” she laughs, “you mean the real bird. Is it not there?”

“No. It’s not.” I look all over, in the closets and in the tub, under the bed. It is gone.
Truly gone.

Scratching my head, I emerge onto the deck. Perhaps she’s just playing with me, and she’s got the bird out here. The sun is down and twilight glistens on the horizon. But there’s no bird in sight.

And no Karen.

“Um, sweetheart,” I venture cautiously. “Did a young woman from down the way stop by earlier?”

“Oh, yes, I nearly forgot to mention,” Mabel replies. “Oh! How thoughtful of you to get some wine. I’m parched. I’ll just go open this, shall I?”

“I hope you don’t mind, I invited her for spaghetti.”

“Hmm?
Oh, change of plans. We’re not having spaghetti.”

“Oh?” It’s all we brought with us, but I suppose Mabel must have gone to the resort’s shop and picked up something else while I researched.

“And your friend realized … well, she was tied up.”

Mabel pops back around the corner, two glasses filled with cabernet. She holds one out and takes a long sip from the other. “Ah. Isn’t this just the most beautiful place on the planet? Isn’t it just romantic? It makes me think of love and how beautiful it is.”

I sip the tart wine, a cheap product in a very, very expensive bottle. Perhaps Karen’s erstwhile husband had seen the error of his ways and returned to her. Perhaps they’re rolling together in the surf right now.
Lucky bastard.

“And how fragile,” Mabel says.

“Mm?
What’s that?”

“Love.
Fragile.
How it can drown in an ocean of little distractions. How the distractions have to be eliminated to keep love strong.” She gulps her wine once more.
“To keep it alive.”

With a sad sigh, I go to the rail of the deck and gaze at the horizon.
Eliminate distractions.
She released the bird back into the wild, I am certain of it. She probably just tossed it off the deck and that was that. But I can find it again. Now that I know it exists, I can find it again.

I look down into the water, the lingering twilight illuminating fish swimming in the crystal clear ocean. My heart stops when I see glassy eyes staring back up at me, wide as if frozen in terror, from six feet below the water’s surface. Golden hair floats in a deathly waltz around Karen’s face. Her arms are wrapped behind her, and her legs curl up under her. They must be tied with something.

“By the way, dear, I’m going to need to purchase some new control tops. I seem to have, um, dropped mine in the water.”

My legs wobble as if the bones were suddenly removed. It’s not the extinct bird that Mabel threw off the deck. It’s the perfect specimen from down the way.
Oh my God
.

Mabel raises her glass to me after another big swig. “Come, Georgie! Even in this tropical heat, dinner can get cold.” She beckons me to a seat,
then
disappears into the kitchen.

She emerges with a large plate bearing a freshly cooked chicken.
Quail?
My heart sinks as I realize what it is. What it was.

“Distractions, George. We’re on holiday. I won’t let work interfere.”

She slices off a thin sliver of meat and slips it onto my plate.

“Sometimes, George, extinct really does mean extinct.”

~~~

PETER DUDLEY writes fiction and poetry for people with a twisted sense of humor. Between his first story at nine years old and his 43rd birthday, he majored in engineering; co-founded two companies; worked on the B-2 bomber, the first PDA and the first smart phone; married; raised two boys to middle school (so far); wrote four novels; published a handful of short stories and a few poems; coached soccer; raised over $100 million for charity; and became a scout leader. Today, he lives in California with his wife, two sons and two cats (Alice and Vuvuzela).

His YA dystopian novel,
Semper
, is available on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Semper-ebook/dp/B0070F2WP4

Website:
http://www.peterdudley.com
Blog:
http://cornerkick.blogspot.com

ABOUT THE EDITOR

Over the years, several of Phoenix Sullivan’s short stories have been published under her real name in various pro anthologies and magazines. Marion Zimmer Bradley was her first editor. In the corporate world, Phoenix was a professional writer and editor for 23 years. Before that, she was a registered veterinary technician, working with small animal clinics and wildlife rehab centers.

Phoenix maintains a writing- and publishing-related blog at:
http://phoenixsullivan.blogspot.com

Her
Confessions of an Animal Junkie
blog features heartwarming stories about running her small farm in North Texas, being an ex-vet tech and learning to engage with the animals around us. She invites you to come share YOUR stories and pictures too.
http://animaljunkie.blogspot.com

Works authored by Phoenix include:

SECTOR C

10,000 years ago a pandemic wiped out much of the world. It's back. "Contagion" meets the science of "Jurassic Park" in this near-future medical thriller for fans of Michael Crichton and Robin Cook.

SECTOR C was the #2 Medical
Thriller
on Amazon in the US in January 2012.

Spoil of War: An Arthurian Saga

Elsbeth of Olmsbury desires nothing beyond helping her father run his dukedom — until his forces are overwhelmed, his castle torched and Elsbeth seized for the invading king’s personal spoil. Leodegrance is determined to make Elsbeth his consort in Cameliard even as he marches to unite the wild isle of Britain under Roman rule. Together, they are destined to create history.
Historical fiction with strong romantic elements and controversial subject matter
.
For mature readers only
.

Spoil of War
was the #1 Historical
Fantasy
in Apple’s iTunes stores in December 2011 and January 2012.

Vet Tech Tales: The Early Years

For anyone who's ever had a pet or a dream. A charming coming-of-age story, to be followed by
Volume 2: On the Job
in
Spring
2012.

Vet Tech Tales was the #1 selling
book
in Veterinary Medicine on Amazon in December 2011 and January 2012.

To find out more about Phoenix’s books and to purchase direct from Amazon, see the Steel Magnolia Press website at
www.steelmagnoliapress.com
.