Elizabeth Culmer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
edenfalling) wrote2015-12-12 09:49 pm
edenfalling) wrote2015-12-12 09:49 pm
Entry tags:
[Fic] "Zombie Pigeons; or, A Step Too Far" -- Daredevil
Summary: Karen knew it was going to be a long day when the second zombie pigeon lumbered around the corner. (325 words)
Note: This ficlet was written for![[tumblr.com profile]](https://www.tumblr.com/favicon.ico)
shinyrock6498, in response to a meme where prompters left the first sentence of a fic in my Tumblr askbox and I wrote the next five. (Or the next seventeen, as the case may be. *sigh*) It's also tangentially related to A Moral Decision in One Eighth of a Second and its tiny companion ficlet, wherein we learn that Karen has a habit of photographing dead pigeons. [Tumblr crosspost]
[ETA: The slightly revised final version is now up on AO3!]
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Zombie Pigeons; or, A Step Too Far
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Karen knew it was going to be a long day when the second zombie pigeon lumbered around the corner.
One slightly decaying pigeon that had apparently forgotten how to fly might have been-- been food poisoning, or brain cancer, or infection after a nasty cat attack, or at least something vaguely in the vicinity of semi-rational. But two? No. That officially moved the encounter into the realm of Weird Shit, which seemed to be New York's stock in trade these days.
And now the pair of pigeons were bobbing toward Karen with disturbingly intent gleams in their half-rotten eyes. She considered simply making a run for it -- she had her sneakers and jogging clothes on, after all -- but no, that wouldn't be fair to the next person who stepped out of her building. Pigeon beaks and claws were awfully pointy for non-predatory birds, and she didn't like the thought of them pecking some hapless human's legs. Most bird viruses couldn't jump to humans, but who knew if that rule applied to zombies?
She pulled out her little keychain mace container and aimed it toward the pigeons. Then she swore and tucked it away again. Zombies might not breathe, after all, and she needed to take them out fast, not piss them off and give them a second chance to attack. Instead, Karen grabbed the lid off a nearby trashcan (fucking trucks were late again; she bet Foggy was writing a scathing letter to the Bulletin this very moment) and smashed the unnatural little vermin into foul-smelling paste, bones, feathers, and all.
Breathing heavily, she pulled out her phone and texted Matt and Foggy to meet her at the office. Yes, it was sunrise on a Saturday. No, she didn't care. Whatever the hell was going on, they had a better chance of surviving if they all three stuck together.
(If she paused to snap a picture of the zombie pigeon remains, that was nobody's business but her own.)
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End of Story
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If I end up known in this fandom as the dead pigeon writer... well, there are weirder legacies, I'm sure. *wry*
Note: This ficlet was written for
[ETA: The slightly revised final version is now up on AO3!]
---------------------------------------------
Zombie Pigeons; or, A Step Too Far
---------------------------------------------
Karen knew it was going to be a long day when the second zombie pigeon lumbered around the corner.
One slightly decaying pigeon that had apparently forgotten how to fly might have been-- been food poisoning, or brain cancer, or infection after a nasty cat attack, or at least something vaguely in the vicinity of semi-rational. But two? No. That officially moved the encounter into the realm of Weird Shit, which seemed to be New York's stock in trade these days.
And now the pair of pigeons were bobbing toward Karen with disturbingly intent gleams in their half-rotten eyes. She considered simply making a run for it -- she had her sneakers and jogging clothes on, after all -- but no, that wouldn't be fair to the next person who stepped out of her building. Pigeon beaks and claws were awfully pointy for non-predatory birds, and she didn't like the thought of them pecking some hapless human's legs. Most bird viruses couldn't jump to humans, but who knew if that rule applied to zombies?
She pulled out her little keychain mace container and aimed it toward the pigeons. Then she swore and tucked it away again. Zombies might not breathe, after all, and she needed to take them out fast, not piss them off and give them a second chance to attack. Instead, Karen grabbed the lid off a nearby trashcan (fucking trucks were late again; she bet Foggy was writing a scathing letter to the Bulletin this very moment) and smashed the unnatural little vermin into foul-smelling paste, bones, feathers, and all.
Breathing heavily, she pulled out her phone and texted Matt and Foggy to meet her at the office. Yes, it was sunrise on a Saturday. No, she didn't care. Whatever the hell was going on, they had a better chance of surviving if they all three stuck together.
(If she paused to snap a picture of the zombie pigeon remains, that was nobody's business but her own.)
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End of Story
---------------------------------------------
If I end up known in this fandom as the dead pigeon writer... well, there are weirder legacies, I'm sure. *wry*