The Flying Eyes. J. Hunter Holly
I ever said I wanted friends?”
“Thanks.” Wes turned his gaze away.
“You know what I mean. Friends tie you down with responsibilities. You try to give and take, and pretty soon you find that the taking has ceased and you’re only giving. You give until you give your guts out, and when you’re worn down to nothing, the so-called friends leave you in the hole. I’ve seen it happen. My mother—poor as a slum widow can be—starving herself for us kids, and for the neighbors’ kids when she could, giving them meat and us meat, and what did she get in return? Anemia, an early grave and sweet smiles of thanks.
“I’m alone—free unto myself—and that’s the way I want it. You go ahead and love humanity, Wes. You were raised and educated for it. I love Linc Hosier—I work for Linc Hosier—and I do a great job of it. That’s enough for me.”
“Except Kelly. You’d like to take from Kelly—to tie yourself down there.”
“So that’s different. A man and a woman—that’s different.”
Wes said soberly, “You make me feel as though I should pull out, break the triangle, say, ‘Take Kelly and God bless.’ But I can’t, Linc, because there isn’t any triangle to break. I don’t love Kelly and she doesn’t love me. She doesn’t love you either. So I’m sticking around as long as Kelly seems inclined to have me.”
Linc’s answer was drowned in the roar of the crowd as it came to its feet to watch the second half kick-off. Kelly returned to settle in her place, so there was nothing to do but drop the argument.
The visiting team was forced to punt on State’s forty-five, and State buckled down to a series of first downs, heading for the goal line. Between plays, Linc glanced about the stadium, enjoying the color and spectacle of the people; the reds, yellows and oranges of fall clothes, the plaid car robes, the swish and flutter of mums.
Overhead, there was another show going on. Birds zoomed across the pure blue of the sky, shrieking and calling with shrill voices that could be heard clearly when the cheering section was quiet. It was an odd sight. From a few birds, the number grew to an uncountable horde. They flew fast, beating on by the stadium as though something were following close behind and they wanted to get away. Around Linc other people were noticing, too, but only fleetingly. State had reached the eight, with goal to go, and there was no time to watch birds.
When Linc looked skyward again after the touchdown, the air was clear. No bird sailed in it, and no cloud. Kelly was smiling beside him, and all the strangeness of the sight was gone.
A few moments later, Wes reached across and touched Linc’s arm, pointing to a small formation, high, high up, coming in over the stadium. “What kind of birds do you suppose those are?” Wes asked. “They’ve got a queer look to them.”
It was difficult to be sure at the distance, but the flight of the birds was almost still—there was’ no visible wing beat. He lifted his binoculars and swung them to bear on the formation. As he set the focus, his fingers tightened around the glasses and his body stiffened. It was too incredible and he knew he was mistaken.
“Here, Wes.” He handed the binoculars over. “You look.”
Wes repeated the procedure. When he turned back, his face was blank; not even a question wrinkled it.
“They’re not birds,” Wes’ answer was shaky. “They look like—”
“Give me the binoculars.” Linc raised the glasses again and looked closely at the approaching flight. It was coming fast, and angling down toward the stadium. He thrust his incredulity aside and faced the facts as he saw them. The members of the flight were not birds. They were eyes! Visible, bodiless eyes!
As they zoomed closer, he made out lashes on them, and the colors of them—blue, and brown, and pale, pale green. Revulsion and disbelief rocked through him and he got to his feet, swallowing back sudden nausea.
“Let’s get out of here!” he hissed at Wes.
He grabbed Kelly’s hand and jerked her up. There was no doubt now. The Eyes were dropping down in a headlong dive, and they were clear even without the glasses. He watched them with an awe that was so close to terror that he couldn’t turn away. They sailed in, the sunlight reflecting bright from their centers, their lashes closing quickly in monstrous blinks.
One prolonged shout passed through the stadium as other people saw the things and pointed upward. And then silence. The great bowl, with its tiers of carefully ordered people, was drenched in a dead silence. The football was punted on the field with a dull thud. It flew—and fell unnoticed as the teams craned their necks to look above their heads.
There were eight of the things—eight Eyes—and they came down level with the top row of seats, and circled over the field. They sank lower. Eight of them—each a foot long.
Kelly’s clenched hand bit into Linc’s, but she didn’t move either. He couldn’t find the strength to stir his feet. He could only wait, and stare, and scarcely breathe in the mute silence.
Something was happening to the Eyes. They hovered there, and suddenly they were larger. They were expanding—slowly spreading outward and upward, their pale-colored irises bloating into dull, expressionless balls, blankly gazing, moving almost imperceptibly from side to side as they surveyed the crowd.
Linc’s field of vision narrowed as something compelled him to watch the one nearest him. It grew from one foot to three; it blinked and bloomed to five feet, then to six. Six feet long and three feet high, it hovered over the fifty-yard line and stared back at him. He met that stare helplessly, too frightened to resist it.
Across the stadium, a movement jerked his attention from the Eye. A whole section of people stood, all at once, as though pulled up simultaneously by invisible strings. They stood, they turned, and the top row of them filed out to the ramp, and then the second, and the third, until all of them were in motion. Behind them, on the seats, lay the bright flecks of blankets and coats, abandoned.
“They walk like mummies.” Kelly’s low voice sounded loud in the quiet. “Like zombies.”
In the end zone, a section of students rose up and started to walk. Linc looked back to the Eye hovering on the fifty-yard Linc and its watery blueness penetrated through him to his bones.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” he whispered.
Around him, other people had reached the same frantic decision to flee, and they jumped up and started for the ramps. Their gait was a quick walk—stiff-legged, hurrying, but afraid to hurry too much. The pace steadily increased as the horror over the field penetrated the senses. Bodiless Eyes—nothing behind them—only huge eyeballs and great sweeping lashes. Linc led Kelly and Wes into the fast-moving line of people.
Then, beside him, a woman shoved. Her face peered up into his and her eyes were glassy with a sheer, deep terror. Her mouth was stiff as she tried to form words. She pushed at him, and when he refused to relinquish his place, she opened her mouth and screeched, “They’re coming after us! Let me out!” Her cries rose to hysteria. “Let me by! They’re coming after us!”
He let her through, but he knew it was too late. A great shock like an electric charge swept through the gathered people and they broke their controlled gait to mill for a moment, and then to run. Shouts broke out, and clawing hands grasped at Linc to push him out of the way. He hurried Kelly forward, having to run to keep his balance in the crush of terror. The thunder of a thousand running feet poured into his ears, and the ordered tiers of the stadium broke into a squirming mass of mingled colors.
“Hang on to me!” he ordered Kelly, and started down the ramp.
People stumbled on the incline and fell forward, caught short by the pillowing mass of people in front of them. The faces he saw were purest ice—panic in wide, terrified eyes and brutal, mean strength in frantic muscles. Elbows crashed into his ribs and the screams were piercing after the dead silence.
At the foot of the ramp,