(CIRKUMFLEKS)Magazine

A Worm is a Bird and Other Bad
The two survivors crawl back further, allowing the last to march past. Deckard
whispers. “Now we know why no one’s saved us!”
She moves swiftly, dragging Bailey towards the entrance. “Something’s
changed them. We’ll have to do it ourselves!”
Bailey holds back. “I’m not going in there with those things! You’re mad,
woman!”
Deckard doesn’t smile. “Then run away, knowing a woman saved you.
Remember me if you see worms flying, during your orgy, because I’m not
handing our world over to them!” She drags him backwards, as another troop
of human worms march past them, out onto the streets of Paris. “You’ll be
court marshaled for desertion.”
He spits, “That’s if you’re not turned into a worm, Captain!”
Before she can lecture him about his attitude the ground shakes, more
violently than it had when their ship was taken. They cling to the branches of
their hideaway, unable to move, predicting another metal worm emerging from
the grounds. But something different appears. Steam, followed by the smell of
sulphur, bursts from a fissure, making the human worms open fire. Their
bullets ricochet, slicing holes through the surrounding area, as an enormous
metal bird takes shape and grows into something beautiful. The flying
machine opens fire, turning the sky red for a moment. It bears the colours of
France, the colours of Europe, the seals of Queen Victoria and president Félix
Faure.
The mechanical worms, for miles, begin to turn as the steam and the sounds
of churning cogs, the workings of two great nations, arise, from the earth. As
if they sense it’s not as flimsy as a Zeppelin. “It’s bullet proof, Bailey!” Cries
Deckard. “But is it worm proof?” She laughs, and turns towards him, but his
eyes are wide, dead man’s eyes, staring at the blood, seeping from a tiny
wound in his stomach. He crumbles, “Bailey?” She has no time for him. She’s
lost better people today. She wipes off his blood, takes out her gun and waits,
as the mechanical worms burrow their way towards Her Majesty’s flying
machine. She whispers. “The project. This must be it!”
The sky begins to fill with mechanical worms, lifted out of their burrows, with
no hydrogen to give them flight. Her Majesty’s ship is the source of their
levitation. They become specks, floating upwards, becoming so distant that
Deckard finds it hard to see any trace of them other than the devastation
they’ve caused, tiny spots of light, thousands of small explosions, as the
mechanical worms burn up in the earth’s atmosphere. Instead of trees
mourning, the sky begins to weep, the remains of worms, silicon ashes spat
out by the atmosphere. “It works!” She cries, but too loud, as something
grabs her foot. She twists round, aiming her gun, at what used to be Bailey,
his face contorted into an inhuman mess. His death must have triggered
some horrid transformation. She fires, and falls out of her hideaway,
scrambling into the courtyard towards Her Majesty’s ship and the troop of
human worms in between.
(CIRKUMFLEKS)Magazine 2.2012