Moira’s words on the dirty window had an electric effect in the lobby. Little Old Lady Lesbian and Big Old Lady Lesbian didn’t waste any time leaping on BJ. They fought like the cats they loved, scratching and biting and tearing. BJ disappeared in a whirlwind of gray hair and flailing muumuus.
As much as we were enjoying the sight of BJ finally getting a little of what he deserved, we were still stuck out on the street, and it was basically daylight. Somebody needed to let us in, and soon. Mike rapped on the window with the butt of his gun, but I don’t think any of the people in the lobby even heard him. The old ladies had BJ down on the carpet, by this point, and everybody else was enjoying the event. They were gathered around the fight like schoolchildren, cheering and throwing punches at the air.
Mike turned and looked at us, his eyebrows a study in gnarled frustration. He pointed the barrel of the gun straight up in the air and let go with a burst of fire. Unfortunately, machine guns really aren’t that loud and, on top of everything else, the people whose attention we wanted couldn’t hear that well in the first place.
I was on the verge of ripping a helmet off of Kat or Kate and throwing it through the glass when the fight wound down. The crowd parted a little, and we could see the three combatants laid out on the floor like they’d all been beaten. But, only one of them had taken any real damage, and that was BJ. The old girls were just tired. Little Old Lady Lesbian rolled up on one elbow, then she made it to her hands and knees, then she was on her unsteady old pins, wobbling for the door.
We started cheering for her, then. We were cheering and making “Come To Us, Baby,” motions at her. We needed her to make it to that door, and we needed it badly.
A loud bird shriek suddenly drowned out our cheers. We plastered our backs to the glass and tried to see where the shriek had come from. Kate and Kat made haste to roll the bikes up to the building. They killed the motors. We stood there. Glass lovers, all.
We didn’t have long to wait for the source of the shriek. There was loud flapping and one of the giants landing in the street right in front of us. It cocked its head and gave us a look, then it started toward us, jiving its head forward and backward, raising its wings to make it look even bigger than it was (like it wasn’t already big enough) and opening its mouth to hiss at us. I didn’t know bird talk, but I figured the hisses meant, “I’m going to eat all of your asses. I’m going to take pieces of you for my babies to eat.”
I risked a turn of my head to see if our Little Old Lady was any closer to the door. She wasn’t. She was frozen in terror, still a few feet away from the glass entryway. I tried to convey to her with the half of my face that I had turned toward her that it would be good if she opened the door and let us in. She just stared.
Mike had the gun up and ready, and I was in favor of him using it, for once. It was the first time we’ve faced a bird with a real weapon at our disposal. I still didn’t feel that confident, however. A million things could go wrong.
Of course, right as Mike started to fire a million things did go wrong. Well, two things went wrong. Two more of those giants flopped awkwardly down in the middle of the street, right behind the first one. Then, they were all hissing and headed our way.
I don’t know if Mike meant to shoot or if his finger just tightened on the trigger in fear. But Mike did shoot. He shot and shot and shot and shot at the first bird, the bird that was closest to us. Maybe he did mean to shoot because he actually hit the bird in the chest and neck. He adjusted the gun a little and shot higher, so the bullets were hitting the bird’s head.
The bird flinched as the bullets hit it, but it kept coming toward us. I don’t know if it was that stupid or if its primal drive to kill and eat was just that strong. Didn’t matter to us, either way. If it didn’t lay down and die, we were done.