(CIRKUMFLEKS)Magazine

A Worm is a Bird and Other Bad
The controls feel heavy, but she pulls them down until the ship stops
vibrating. It stabilises, and begins to climb upwards as she steers it.
Genevieve lets out a cry of relief, still firing indiscriminately at anything that
moves outside of the ship. She says to Deckard. “Stay just below the clouds
so I can see anything that crawls from the earth, and blast it into the sky.”
Deckard smiles, for the first time, in a while and jokes. “Are you always this
dramatic?”
Genevieve grins, and says quite coolly. “It’s been a dramatic day!”
Deckard looks outside, along with the others. There are worms all around,
being elevated, broken up and burnt, like before. It’s like a fireworks display,
during daytime. She hasn’t been to one of those since she was Genevieve’s
age. She was a civilian back then, but things change. She concentrates on
steering, despite the worm’s sudden aversion, but turns to Moreau, the man
with the brains. Hopefully. “Professor, any plans?”
He nods, and points towards the horizon, where the land swiftly turns from
earth to sea, revealing how fast this ship travels in a matter of moments. He
mumbles. “Head South, towards Antarctica.”
She waits for an explanation, but Moreau stands up, motions for Christophe to
take his place beside the machine gun, says absently. “Just point and shoot!”
Christophe pulls a face as Genevieve laughs at him. “Pretend it’s a mop!”
Deckard focuses on steering southwards, across the Mediterranean, as
Professor Moreau sits down, perspiration dripping down his forehead. He
wipes it with a handkerchief and lights up a cigar. He’s a man who looks like
he’s had a few heart attacks in his long lifetime. Antarctica is where the first
worms appeared. It’s a no fly zone, in fact no Zeppelins came back from there
with human crews, or so it was rumored. “Antarctica? You are mad!”
Professor Moreau looks quite the opposite, as he watches the worms burning.
“You should know as a Zeppelin Captain, this infestation originated from
there.”
She nods. “Yes.”
The first sign of North African land, skims by, as the ship accelerates past the
Sahara, past South Africa, every worm flying upwards, as this ship drags
them to their death, like a reaper, calling locusts back to heaven by the
millions. She warns. “Antarctica’s supposed to be impregnable!” Her own
ship had been diverted from that region, several months ago, when the
plague first broke out.
Moreau continues, “I didn’t plan to be onboard, when this day came, but if we
can find the factory, maybe we can survive long enough to stop production.”
(CIRKUMFLEKS)Magazine 2.2012