Bernie McKay realized who he was, and what his Purpose was: Revenge.
Angie, he thought. And Gibson, but mainly Angie. Swaying, he turned from the dark pool from which he'd been born,
and looked across the world. From here to Oswego was not over thirty minutes in a car.
It was going to take him a couple of days, Bernie realized. For one thing, he wasn't moving very well. For another,
he mustn't be seen; if he was, his revenge would go glimmering. ...
It was slow going. Patience, he told himself. I've got lots of time. Dear Angie will wait for me, won't you, dear?
I know you will. . . .
At long intervals he circled three houses, dreading dogs more than people, and was hopeful of soon coming into
forested regions. Then came the birds.
The blue jays found him first, shrieking and yelling and swooping about. Some called him "Thief!" and others
disagreed, calling him "Jay!" Their quarrel brought the crows.
At first Bernie's fear was that the swarming yelling confusion would attract attention to him. ...
Then a crow landed on the shoulder of his blue suit and aimed a peck at his eye with its big blunt beak.
He jerked away and it missed, striking him over the cheekbone. He felt no pain, merely a jolt. Horrified,
he watched it gulp the pale shred of flesh it had torn free.
He brushed it off, crying "Get away!"
His voice came out with a great hoarse sawing sound, not unlike thevoices of the crows. Other crows swooped at his
face. He felt blows to the back of his neck. Desperately he stumbled into a staggering run, the birds swooping
and screaming and cawing about him, the crows going for his eyes, or any area of exposed skin. Stark fear of
blindness went through him. ...
Head down, hands above it, he stumbled across the field while the birds attacked. Alfred Hitchcock would've
loved this, he thought wildly.
