"It's a Rhode Island Red!!" The terrified shout crackled through the earbud. "Heading down Norton. Get ready!"

 

Just great. Why did this have to happen on my watch? thought Johnny. He checked the mag on his AR10. Its .308 rounds packed a much bigger wallop than the 5.56 rounds of its little brother, the AR15.  "Roger that! I'm at the corner of Allen. I should see it when it comes over the hill. Can you get a shot on it?" 

 

"Moving too fast. Oh no! It just went up the Napier's driveway. It's going behind the houses."

 

"Lord, have mercy. I'm moving. Fonzie, you there?"

 

"I'm at the Hatfield's! Coming your way."

 

"I'll try to cut it off behind the Alger's. Meet you there."

 

Johnny raced up the sidewalk toward the rendezvous point. The stars above started to hide behind the veil of dawn.

 

He heard the sound of something massive crashing behind the houses. He knew he wouldn't make it to the house, so he started to look for cover.

 

The Red came out from behind the house. Two stories tall, with almost a foot of red coxcomb on top. The brilliant red wings contrasted sharply with the fountain of obsidian tail feathers. It saw the light creeping over the horizon, so it threw back its head and crowed. Loud as a freight train horn, the sound froze the blood in Johnny's veins. 

 

The rooster scratched the ground in front of the house, ripping out two azaleas and a boxwood. A whine from behind the bushes prompted a swift movement, and the Red snatched up a hiding golden retriever and swallowed it whole.  

 

A couple of years before, chickens had changed. A late-night talk show host had called it “The Peckoning” and the name stuck. CO2 levels had caused a rapid increase in the amount of vegetation worldwide. That had triggered a spike in atmospheric oxygen and moisture and activated long-dormant genes. Chickens suddenly remembered they were Tyrannosaurus Rexes. 

 

Flocks of them now ruled the new Sahara Rain Forest. The hens were somewhat smaller and mostly docile. They spooked pretty easily. Roosters like this one could be downright cantankerous. 

 

In the States, the military had managed to contain the first major outbreak by forcing farmers to slaughter hundreds of millions of birds before they reached full size. But generations of selective breeding had created hens that laid hundreds of eggs each year. Small towns had to look out for themselves, forcing locals to take protection into their own hands. Johnny and his friends were on their neighborhood’s early morning chicken watch. 

 

This was the first time he’d seen one this close. Johnny’s hands shook as he shouldered his rifle and pulled the trigger. BANG! Click. "Stupid discount ammo! Something’s wrong with my gun!!" he shouted. 

 

"Get cover!" Fonzie yelled. "I'm coming." 

 

The rooster's head snapped toward Johnny. The single bullet seemed to have had no effect except to make it mad. The rooster's neck frilled out and it dropped its wing in an aggressive posture. It started to close the distance between them with little hopping steps. 

 

Johnny turned and sprinted for a pickup truck parked behind him. He dropped his rifle and rolled underneath, narrowly avoiding a peck that shook the truck.

 

The rooster flapped its wings and kicked the truck a couple of times, crushing the cab and shattering windows. It dropped its head low to look underneath.

 

When Johnny saw the rooster's big orange eye, he fired his great uncle's nickel-plated 1911 .45 pistol as fast as he could. He wanted to put a bullet right in the chicken's tiny little brain. 

 

The Red jerked away and launched itself backward with a flap of its wings. It landed on one side and convulsively flapped and kicked out. Its head banged against a car, shattering a windshield. Another spasm propelled it onto the back of the pickup, pushing the bed low against the ground. The rooster’s movements subsided into twitching and, after a minute, stopped.

 

After a moment's quiet, a man with a rifle shouldered crept out from beside the house. "Johnny, you alright under there?"

 

"That you, Fonzie?"

 

"Yeah. I think you got him!"

 

"Tell the neighbors we're clear. And get some help to move this monster. It's not what I'd call comfortable under here." 

 

Fonzie laughed, glad that his friend was ok. "Yeah, boy. We're having hot wings tonight!"