Birds of Prey - Chapter 1
~ Led by a BlueJay - Part 4 ~
Oh how unprepared Johnny and his birds were for the spring.
Weeks and weeks of no attacks made them feel safer. They felt as though the attacks had stopped now that the poachers had killed and been killed. They allowed themselves to drop their guard.
As spring came, the snow began to melt and the warmth began to seep through the clouds again. Harpies began to emerge more from their nests and sun themselves on the dry, warm grasses.
Johnnyâs flock began to truly flourish. They were happy.
The attacks stayed away for almost the entire Spring, but as the summer approached, Johnny started to notice things.
Small flying machines surveying their lands. Lone humans creeping around their castles, setting up machines in the grasses. Encroaching on their space.
Johnny shouldâve done something. But instead, he just watched, along with his sentries. Then, silence. No machines. No humans.
Johnny was once again growing used to calm days with no worries other than occasional squabbles between his flock. Never too serious.
He liked it like this. He dropped his guard.
Dropping his guard quickly became the worst decision he had ever made.
A calm day, filled with sun rays and the occasional cloud drifting ahead. The grasses were dry. Fish, birds, and insects were out in droves. His flock was well fed.
Johnny was lying on a flat area of the castle home base, his wings spread beautifully over the rocks and mosses. The sun warmed him up. Loosened his muscles. Relaxed him.
He didnât expect an attack on this day.
Johnny groaned as he rolled over onto his back. He stretched for a minute before he heard a strange whirring sound above him. His ears pricked, and his eyes opened to see those strange metal birds that seemed to survey his land.
He let out a small warning whistle, then dodged out of the way of something being dropped near him. He edged closer on all fours. The object was green, ridged and very clearly man made. Like a rock. But too perfect.
He wasnât close to it, thank the gods, because if Johnny had gotten closer, he may not have survived.
The rock - a grenade set off by a drone above him - had exploded, sending Johnny flying off the castle walls and thudding to the ground. His vision bled white and patchy, his hearing gone.
All of his Harpies were alerted. They screeched in terror as more of these explosives went off. Johnny lost consciousness, but regained it again only to see the castle he called home crumbling to the ground.
There absolutely wouldâve been casualties under those falling rocks.
Around him was chaos. Harpies running, being gunned down, attempting to fight, losing. The smell of blood made the air thick. The poachers had brought an army. The poachers were winning.
Johnny got up, a new sense of rage filling him. He could smell his own blood, but didnât care where it was coming from. Adrenaline coursed through him, and he let out a battle cry - a summon for his birds to charge.
A summon to their deaths.
Johnny fought. He killed humans with his own hands, retreated, then pushed forward again. He sustained injuries, most of which were flesh wounds. He was painfully aware of the fact that his flock was losing.
His breaking point, however, was when he retreated a third time and saw there, laying beside the rocks, his own right hand man.
Roach was below him. Dead. His jaw shot clean off his face.
He looked around him, seeing the masses of dead.
The best they could do now, was run.
So he called for the retreat.
And was met with a bullet in his head.
Johnny thudded to the ground, hearing the loudest noise, a grating, painful ringing that soon feathered out into complete silence and unconsciousness.
His flock was led by a Blue Jay - into its demise.
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