Surly Shirley stared at Joe from her perch. His head drooped as he stroked the puppy’s fur. At last he nodded. “Yeah, Gray,” he said, “you’re right.”
Gray pulled the puppy from Joe’s arms and placed it gently on the floor. “So that’s how we’re going to look at them all. They’re livestock, Joe, for as long as we’re here. We’ll keep them fed and watered, we’ll give them a good, solid existence, and in return, they’ll keep us alive. No naming them. No playing with them. They’re just like cows and chickens. You wouldn’t snuggle a cow or sleep curled up with a chicken, would you?”
Joe shook his head. Gray smiled, satisfied. “Good, I’m glad we don’t have to fight about that. You know I don’t like fighting with you. These animals will probably go right back to their cages if we lure ’em with a little food. You got those fancy candles from that artsy-fartsy card shop down the way?”
Joe nodded and pulled his pack from his shoulder.
“Good. Set ’em up around, this place smells like death. I’ll get the tools. I want to get started. We got dozens to get through.”
Surly watched Joe set down the candles and struggle to ignite them with his dying lighter. He was harmless. She whipped her head to the side to look at Walt. Maybe he was a little more interested in eating than the other, but he was also careless and clumsy. Surly could easily dodge him if it came to that. He’d wear out before he caught her.
It was the other one that made her claws curl into her wooden perch. He was bad news. She watched Gray toss a single dog treat to the half-dozen starving puppies. He laughed as they began snarling and biting each other, desperate to reach the small bite of food. He’d never let them go, Surly knew. The best she could hope for was that he grew bored with the pet shop and abandoned them for richer pickings.
The men pushed the shelving units against the walls, making an empty square of the small store. Much of the broken window was blocked by the shelving units, but Surly thought she could still fit. She just had to wait for the right time. Her cage hung above them, but the cockatoo cage had been wedged in next to the fish tanks. Joe found more stock in the back room and emptied a large bag of dog food into the center. There was enough food that the puppies were all eating, their tails wagging furiously. Joe also put down a large bowl of water and was feeding the kittens when Walt started scolding him.
“Why you wasting food on them? We’re going to need that. We can use it for the herd.” He snatched the bag of food from Joe’s hands. The kittens transferred their meows from Joe to Walt.
“Can’t let them starve—” started Joe.
“But it’s okay if we do? Every bite of food you give them is one less for us and for the Infected. Hasn’t exactly been a bounty out there lately.”
Gray had been staring out the front window. He turned toward the other two. “Let him feed them. Feeding ’em fattens ’em up for us, right? We’ll just eat ’em, when it comes to it. Besides, we only have to make do for a couple of days. The labor market’s due to open next week.”
“Are there more—uh, more vendors?” asked Walt, handing Joe the bag of cat food.
“Nah,” said Gray, turning back to the window. “Not for Infected anyway. Everyone else is too chicken to round ’em up like we do.”
Joe dumped a little pile of food at his feet. The kittens rubbed against his legs and purred before attacking the dusty pellets. “Maybe that just means they treat the Infected like humans. Labor market, Gray? Why not just call it a slave auction and be honest about it?”
Gray turned around. “How many times do I have to explain this, Joe? If we leave ’em on the street, they die. We don’t have the means to keep feeding ’em for doing nothing. They got to pull their own weight. Have a purpose. Just like these dogs. You think they’re better off dead?” He paused for a moment and pulled out a knife. “If that’s what you think, go ahead. Go take care of the herd. Be done with it.”
“No, Gray, I just…” Joe stopped, quailing under Gray’s stare. “You’re right.”
“Cheer up, Joe. They’re going to be useful. They’ll pull plows and carts, they’ll intimidate enemies, they’ll provide a way to work off tension without anyone getting hurt. They’re going to be valuable and they’ll be comfortable as long as they stay useful. It’s not a bad life. Now, planning all this? That’s hard work. Making me hungry,” he grinned, never taking his gaze away from Joe. “Walt, help me wrangle that pig.”
Walt looked around the dim room. “Sooey!” he laughed. Joe looked uneasy.
“Help us catch it, Joe,” said Gray, staring harder at him. “If you help us catch it, I won’t make you kill it yourself.”
Surly fluttered and rocked on her perch as Joe sighed and looked around him. She and Princess had never been friends, but she didn’t want to see a slaughter either. “Pretty Princess!” she screeched, trying to warn the pig. “Pretty Princess, pretty pig! Nuh-night! Nuh-night!” She rocked on the perch, swinging the entire cage, trying to think of other warning words the shop owner had used on occasion.
“Joe!” shouted Gray over Surly Shirley’s raucous shrieks. “Shut that bird up, it’s driving me crazy.” He picked up a dog toy and flung it at the cage. It went wide.
“Nuh-night, Princess!” Surly cried.
Joe abandoned his search for the pig and climbed onto a step stool, catching the swinging cage and holding it still between his hands. Surly beat her wings toward him, but he didn’t let go. “It’s okay, Princess,” said Joe, thinking the parrot was shrieking its own name.
Surly stopped and stared at him. How could he mistake her for the pig?
“That’s a pretty Princess,” said Joe, foolishly sticking a thick finger into the cage to stroke her feathers. Surly bit it. Hard. Joe hissed as she held on tight, but he didn’t yell. “It’s okay, Princess, I know you’re scared. We’ll get out of here soon.”
Surly hadn’t expected that. She let go of the salty finger. “Surly Shirley,” she cooed. “Surly Shirley.”
“I don’t know who Shirley is, but I don’t think she’s coming back,” said Joe, sucking his finger briefly, then fumbling in his pocket for a moment. He pulled out a wrinkled plastic bag.
“Surly Shirley wants a cracker. Princess is a pretty pig,” she responded, curious to see if he’d get it.
“Oh, you’re Shirley—”
“Joe,” yelled Gray, “stop talking to that chicken and help us. This pig is heavy.”
“Here you go, Shirley,” he said softly and pulled out a dried apple slice from the bag. He poked it through the cage bars and then looked around. The pig wriggled between Gray and Walt, who were standing in front of the back door. Joe stepped down from the ladder to let them into the back of the store.
“Nuh-night, Princess,” chirped Surly quietly. The large flashlight the men had brought with them bounced its beam off the silent aquariums, flashing green beams over the shop. Princess began squealing her fear, and the dogs barked, excited, though they didn’t know why.
Surly puffed her feathers up and turned around on the perch. She didn’t want to see Princess get murdered through the aquarium glass. She worked at the cage latch as the pig’s distress reached a crescendo. Princess had bought her a chance to escape. Surly wasn’t going to lose it.
She looked around the shop, distracting herself with memories. It was the only home she’d ever known. What was out there, beyond the long, tiled hallway? More birds like her? More men like Gray? When the store owner hadn’t returned, she’d thought the humans were all gone. Were they just waiting to catch her out there instead? Where could she go? Maybe there was another pet shop somewhere. She’d never know if she didn’t find a way out. She glided from the cage over the top of a shelf, just barely clearing the broken window.