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Army-crawling backward, I feel the threshold under my toes. Good. Only a few more steps and I can close the door on this nightmare—
Where the hell is the door?
I glance up and scream as six crows swoop me at once. I need to close this room now. Another crow dive-bombs my face, cawing loudly in my ear. They’re angry. There are a dozen angry crows attacking my head and I need to close this damn door.
Is this why the collective noun for crows is a murder? Because homicidal crows enjoy killing hapless TV-baking-show contestants? I knew this stupid show was a mistake. I knew it would be a capital-D Debacle.
I didn’t think it would end with me getting my eyes pecked out.
Wings flap all around me as I try to protect my head, crawling around the floor to grab at the door. A bird lands on my back and something hard whacks down on my spine. I grunt, falling flat on my face.
“Sorry!” Gus shouts. Then he screams like banshee. “Away! Get away! Ahhyiiiiiii!” Something whooshes above me as he swings—yep, he’s swinging a broom—in the doorway as the crows flap angrily just out of reach.
My hand finally finds the doorknob and I start shuffling back, still on my knees as I use my other hand to protect my face.
“Hurry!” Gus swings the broom again. “I’m dropping back. Close the door. Jen, what the hell are you doing, close the door!”
“I’m trying, damn it!” I shout into the arm shielding my face, moving back one knee-length at a time as I try to get this stupid door closed on these stupid territorial crows.
The biggest crow—the one by the door that first warned me when I entered—uses Gus’s retreat to make one last desperate attempt to kill me. It swoops at my head, its beak pecking at my skull as I screech, diving backward and pulling the door closed with me. My back slams onto the hard timber floor as I fall down and smack the back of my head, groaning as the world whirls around me.
I blink, staring at the ceiling. My heart is a drum beating inside my chest, my breaths short and sharp.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
I lift my head and see Gus leaning against the wall, panting, the broom clutched in his hands like a lifeline. He lets out a hard breath and shakes his head. “I hate birds.” He closes his eyes and rests the back of his head against the wall.
The noise of cawing and flapping wings is only slightly muffled by the door. I wonder if I should lock it, then shake my head to dispel the thought. Crows are smart, but they can’t open doors.
…Can they?
Huffing, I lift myself up to my elbows and survey the damage. My hands are full of red scratch marks, with blood beading along two particularly deep gouges. Twin black feathers cling to my pants, and when I reach up to touch the matted mess of hair on my head, I groan.
Blood smears on my fingertips tell me the final attack on my scalp did some damage.
Pounding footsteps on the stairs make me turn my head to see two paramedics—one man and one woman—rushing up with all their gear. They kneel next to me and start asking me questions and inspecting my injuries.
“I’m fine.” I groan as I sit up. “But you’d better call the local Audubon society to take care of those crows.”
“The what society?” Gus pulls a nearby chair over and sinks into it.
“Bird people,” I answer with a sigh as the female paramedic starts cleaning the wound on my head.
Gus just shudders.
“Crows get a bad rap, but they’re supposedly really intelligent,” I say.
Gus stares at me. “Why are you defending them? They just tried to kill you.” Gus gives me the oddest look, like he might be regretting his choice to bet on me.
I close my eyes as the paramedic cleans the cut on my hand. “True.”
Once I’m tidied up and the paramedics are sure I’m not going to keel over and die, I push myself to my feet and stare at the door, then swing my eyes to Gus. “What now?”
He taps the headset and jerks his thumb to the stairs. “Just got confirmation to move you to a guesthouse. It’s on the other side of the barn. Apologies, Jen, but you’ll have to share. The team is organizing a cot.” He looks at his watch. “We’re supposed to start the pre-competition interviews with all the contestants in ten minutes, but I think we can delay that to allow you time to shower and get yourself settled on account of the crows.” He pauses and shakes his head. “I’ve worked in television for eight years, but that is not a sentence I ever thought I’d say.”
I nod, already exhausted. The competition hasn’t even started yet, but I’m already feeling like this was a bad, bad idea.
Gus is still holding the broom as we walk across the lush green lawn, wielding it like a sword in case of swooping crows. His eyes dart to every roof eave, every treetop, body tensing at every unfamiliar noise.
