Being Butch Green || ✓

Chapter 32 - Bin Chickens

I glared at the Galgort agent. He'd done the courtesy of snapping me back into reality and I was going to honour that opportunity. I gritted my teeth, my fists curling into tight, sweaty balls. My nostrils flared, giving me the impression of a weird-ass human version of a dragon. I took a step towards him, Henry still clinging to my ankle like an overgrown child.

I tugged against the weight, awkwardly sidling closer to the man who'd slapped me with such unexpected ferocity. I raised my fist, still shuffling like I was on ice as I dragged Henry's chuckling self along.

I relaxed my teeth, anticipating the next blow to come flying for my face, when a loud crack turned everyone's attention to the roof. I stared at the pale brown plaster as a large fracture formed, echoing around the building. Dozens of eyes peered curiously at the roof as one final bang rang out and the plaster fell.

The roof showered us in a waterfall of plaster and thousands of white feathers. They fell like fluttering paper as hundreds of birds took off. I released my clenched fist, scoffing in surprise. A little miracle just for me. They fluttered around our heads like startled pigeons, only much more alive and scarier. Their piecing black eyes scanned the ground looking at the meagre humans below, drowning in plaster. Their long beaks honked a hideous unified sound that could only be described as an, 'I'm hungry for your flesh, human' call.

I ducked as a bin chicken raced for my head and missed, still honking like a demented car horn. I wrestled my leg free from Henry as he stood and began trying to catch them as though they were rogue chickens.

"Hey! Slcome back!" he yelled, running in a tipsy sway after a startled ibis.

The attack was starting to look like world war three in the small building. Swooping bin chickens is not a fun experience, especially when you don't have a ham sandwich handy to trade with the bird from hell. I cocked my head and grinned in amusement, leaping into action and scooting past Henry. Maybe he'd catch one and it'd become the new Jerry?

I dashed onto the stage, pushing Constance aside as I frantically bolted for the back room.

"Get them outta here!" I yelled, pointing at Henry who was still chasing the same bin chicken around the room.

I left her to the chaos, bolting through the velvet curtains. They swished behind me as I slid between them and fled for the room I'd woken up in only hours earlier. I was on a mission to get that file and get out whilst the agents were still being attacked by hundreds of awkward birds.

I raced back down the hall, my feet making implants in the aging carpet. Rushing into the room, I spotted the file on the table where Hailey had left. In a hurry, I'd swiped it and was on my way out of the room, accidently knocking my arm into the door frame.

I hopped in pain, clenching it. "MMMMM! Son of a–"

"Bitch," a voice cackled.

I glanced up, an agent appearing squarely at the end of the hall, his gun raised at me. A stern look crossed his face as those cold eyes laughed. "You didn't seriously think you could escape us?"

I hesitated.

"Watcha got there, kiddo?" he said with malice, taking a step forward. He was blocking my only way out and I doubted there'd be anymore surprise bin chickens to come save me. Desperate times called for stupidity. So long life.

"Do you want your fucking file?" I yelled down the hall at him, waving the papers.

He chuckled. "We have orders to kill you and to make it as painful as possible."

Whelp, that's comforting. I bit my tongue, feeling a trickle of blood ooze from it as I stood in quiet terror, watching him inch closer and praying for something to happen. I wasn't the religious type, but right now, I was praying for a heavenly miracle to save my geeky ass. I mean, it couldn't get any worse. It's not like I was riding along the highway in a broken-down kombi van. Nope. I just had a gun pointed at my chest and an angry man trying to kill me.