Birds of Prey

The Mountains

The cragged peaks went on forever. She couldn't see anything past the serrated horizon. Sweat dripped down her face, from desert heat or fear alone she couldn't tell. They could be anywhere in there. Dozens of cave systems faced her, each of them the potential home of skeletal creatures, that evolved to mimic carrion from all over the planet. Skin grown without nerves as a trap for vultures just looking for a meal. These things were remnants of a species so powerful the whole of the universe avoided them. And they were humanity's only hope of surviving this cycle. She took a deep breath. Adjusted her bag and sunk into the sand with every step, muscles tensed, ready to run in the other direction.

She couldn't breathe. She had sunk too far. Was it Quicksand? A sinkhole? Would she really die like this? Not eaten like her family. Not fighting like her friends. Suffocation. In sand. Because she didn't look where she stepped. Something's wrapped around her leg. It's sharp, it hurts, and it's dragging her further down. She fights it, digging up through the sand, her fingers bleeding as she starts clawing against bits of sandstone mixed in with the sand and then- air. Her body is racked with harsh, sand-filled coughing. Her throat ripped apart as thousands of granules of sand ran it raw. She looks up, staring at a delicately balanced wall of sand, where she must have come in from. Something moves in the corner of her eye. Her body screams at her for moving so fast but her mind is too terrified to notice. It's horrid. Off-white spikes cover its body in every way, some hanging off its body, some with bright red flaps hanging off them, its jaw crooked and its eyes pale. The thing looks deader than dead. The very thing that she'd been hunting, had hunted her. And a very human voice is the straw that breaks the camel's back as it says one word, "Help." before her world goes black.

It could save them. It could help them. He'd make them see it. They could save it. They could help it. It struggled and squirmed the whole way down. He wished it could see he meant no harm. Why did these walking things hate sand so much? Sand was safe. Sand was kind. They break into the cave, and he can hear his brethren's bones clicking around the corner. It drops on the floor with a loud thud. They know the thing is here. He must convince it to help before they find it. He stares at it as it makes a terrible hacking noise. Why does it make so much noise? His brethren's bones grow closer. Why can't it be quiet? It turns to face him. Good. It's paying attention. Quick. Before his brethren come around the corner. He smiles a crooked smile and whispers as low as he can, "Help." The thing drops dead. No. No no no no. It can't be dead. He still needs it. His brethren draw closer. Sorry, walking thing. He shoves it back into the sand. His brethren round the corner, "We heard a thing. A walking thing." His elder brother says in a low growl. Not the walking thing's language like the singular word he just uttered. Their native tongue. The one that combines their alien tongue and the sound of sand.

"I was working on my impression, Mentor." He says with his head bowed.

Elder Brother scoffs, "Then it was a fairly good impression."

"I thank you, Mentor."

His head recoils as jaws snap dangerously close to his bait marks, "Do not, allow Elder Father to know of it. Do you understand?"

To allow Elder Father to know of a real walking thing impression would be to upstage Elder Brother... It would mean death. "I would never, Mentor."

"Younger Brother, why must you strive to be better than Elder Brother?" Middle Brother asks.

"I am worried about the war, Friend." He says with a weak voice.

"Do not worry of the war, Little One," Elder Brother's tone softens, "We will take care of it."

"Yes, Mentor. I just wish- I wish Ancient Brethren could see we are Brethren." His voice wavers and genuine concern hangs in the air.

"We all do, Younger Brother," Middle Brother comforts him, "I'll extend your concerns to Brood Mother."

"Thank you, Friend."

Middle Brother rests the crown of his head on Younger Brother's chest, "May the Sand guide you, Younger Brother."

Younger Brother clacks his bait bones in response.

The two brethren walk off, and Younger Brother is finally alone...

More sand. Why is it always sand? How is she not dead? Has she been eaten? Are those creatures- Her racing thoughts are cut off by more sharp stabs in her leg. Her face scrunches up as she tries not to scream in pain and swallow a whole thing of sand. She's back in the cave from before. Staring at the horrid creature. Beyond the bits of bait that cover it, it looks exactly as the legends describe: large scales and small horns creating intricate patterns over the top of its head. If the Birds had not already arrived at Earth, she would have called it a dragon with its four legs and massive limbs made to look like blankets of decaying meat. "Help." It repeats. Help? Help??

"I..." Her heart is pounding in her head, "I don't know if you can um understand what I am saying, but I came here to ask you that." Its lizard eyes blink very slowly, shit. Does it only know one word?

"You."

She jumps, it knows two words at least-

"You. Ask. Help?" It struggles with every word and has such a rasp on them it takes her mind a moment to process.

"Yes. I ask for your help."

"I. Ask. Help."

"With what?"

"Old. Brothers." Its eyes narrow in clear frustration at its limited vocabulary, "Hot."

Hot? What old brothers? "What are old brothers?"

"Kill. You." It says.

Kill me? She takes a step back, sand falling from the wall as she places a hand on it.

"Me. No. Kill. You. Old. Brothers. Kill. You."

Old brothers... kill... "Do you mean the Birds of Prey?"

"Birds..." It tilts its head, mimicking the woman from earlier. This thing learns quickly.

"They look like you, but... not you." She stumbles upon a simple explanation.

"Yes. Old. Brothers. Birds. Hot." It repeats, "Kill. I."

Realization hits her harder than a shotgun shell. It seems they have a common enemy.