Hole Wall (an excerpt) by Jonah Barnett

Emily owned too much stuff, and it became pretty apparent as we loaded the U-Haul that she wouldn’t part with any of it. It had been a puzzle, fitting it all in, but we had succeeded in real life Tetris and were on our way to Astoria. We drove parallel to the sea, separated only by a jagged line of rocks running between ocean and asphalt. Choppy gray waters crashing against the rocks in impressive displays, while a bright fog permeated the landscape as flocks of seabirds littered the white abyss like flies. Rain shouted against the windshield.

“I really should’ve thought of this sooner,” Emily drove the U-Haul through the weather like it was nothing. “Cuz like, my uncle’s always complained about never having enough help at the hotel, and I get to live on a beach guys!” She laughed at the thought of her new life, two hours south into the wilderness away from everyone she loved, helping her uncle’s business while living in a cottage by the sea.

“The dream, honestly,” Sage said in the back. The truck did not have back seats, but there was a crevice behind just big enough to fit my best friend and some extra piles of clutter. Sage’s legs and arms spread out over the junk, making herself comfortable via manspreading. I could barely make out their voices amongst the clunky vehicle and screaming rain from the passenger seat. I watched the scene outside. Avian swarms populated the air, a contortion of gulls, cormorants, and the looming silhouettes of pelicans. Of all three, the pelicans were the most graceful. The great creatures soared through the air as rightful royalty of the salty skies, almost prehistoric in their presence and always an awe to witness. Hundreds of seabirds writhed through the white mist as we drove past, but the pelicans were the only ones who spiraled down, diving into the sea, with a form of grace that none of the other flocks could muster. One flew with the vehicle for a brief moment, and then descended into the water after spotting something.

“How’re the birds lookin’, Kate?” Emily asked. I turned to her and faked a smile. 

“Majestic, as always,” I said. Emily laughed, and I turned around to meet Sage’s gaze. She knew when I was faking. The U-Haul turned a rocky corner, the weight of the truck almost threatening to swing us into the icy waters.

“There’s the bridge!” And Emily was right, for out of the white appeared the beginnings of a road above sea. The rain began to retreat, and as we turned onto the Astoria-Megler Bridge a looming white confronted us, still only penetrated by the hundred black-feathered denizens. 

“S’foggy as shit,” Emily anxiously chuckled, “Makes me kinda nervous.”

Sage leaned in from behind. “I, for one, have always wanted to be swallowed up by a void. So I welcome this journey,” she said. 

That was probably another call for help, disguised by depression-set humor, but instead of acknowledgement I said: “Shut up, Sage.”

My best friend whined a little and slumped back on her junk pile. We had not passed a single car the entire time, the bridge just a straight line with white enveloping us on all sides, and yet the skies grew darker with birds.

“Where the fuck is everyone?” Emily asked. Neither of us responded, and Emily kept driving into the fog. The U-Haul continued bumping down the road over the sea for some minutes, cutting straight through the misty white. Emily’s things rattled and clanged in the back. 

“Water,” Emily muttered. Her breathing began to grow louder, filling the entire truck, and she swallowed. “Water everywhere.”

“I mean, it’s the mouth of the Columbia, my guy,” Sage said, “Shocker.”

Emily sucked in air and began tapping the steering wheel in a nervous beat. Her forehead shone with sweat. 

“You don’t have claustrophobia, do you?” I asked. She shook her head. The U-Haul swerved as she did so, a few birds screaming as they flew out of the way. 

Emily began breathing in and out very fast. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said, “I just want to get off of this fucking bridge!”

I hovered my hand over the steering wheel. I was not ready to die in the icy waters because of one of Emily’s numerous freak-outs.

“What do you need us to do?” I asked.

“To shut up.”

“Anxiety attack?” Sage said. 

“I said shut up!” Emily slammed a foot on the gas, and the truck ripped through the milky void. Seabirds cried all around us.

“Slow down!” I yelled.

“Do not kill us!” Sage screamed.

“Emily, slow the fuck down!”

And in mere seconds, through the fog it came. An eight-foot blur of white. A collision with the windshield. Screams from all of us. Streaks of red blood and white feathers on the windows. And a screech to a halt. The vehicle skidded sideways on the road, and a thunderous crash rained down from behind—undoubtedly Emily’s things topping over. The sounds of heavy breathing over the distress calls of outside birds, the settling of clutter, and the angry sea.

Calm.

We looked at one another, hearts pounding, and our brains still processing.

“Did you just hit a flipping bird?” Sage said. 

Emily blinked, a few tears in her eyes. She looked down. “Sorry,” she said. Sage and I looked at one another. Whenever shit hit the fan, I usually looked to her for guidance. She nodded, and I opened my door.

The air outside was a ghastly cold. We piled out of the U-Haul and stared down the road. From behind the truck ran a trail of blood on the wet asphalt, and at the end laid a white mass of feathers and beak in the center of a pool of maroon.  Its chest moved up and down, almost spasming. That is how we knew it was still alive. 

We crept forward, slowly. Emily stayed back with the U-Haul, her hands covering her face. I wish I could say I showed bravery that day, but I hid behind Sage for the most part. The other seabirds, as numerous as they had been, disappeared off into the fog, their cries swallowed up by the void. Nothing made a sound on that bridge. We walked closer, careful not to step in the blood, and a rapid wheeze began to grow. Breathing.

“It’s still alive,” I whispered. Sage shot me a look.

“Well no flipping duh.”

“What kind of bird do you think it is?” I said, “An albatross? Do you think it’s an albatross?”

Sage shook her head. “I don’t think those come up this far north, really,” she said. She ventured further toward the body. I wanted her to stop. Turn around and get in the truck with me and Emily and never talk about this again. The white seemed to close around me, the light steeped in a soundless air.

“Let’s go back,” I reached a hand out.

“Is it still alive?” Emily called. Both her and the truck were obscured in the white mist.

“Yeah!” Sage called back.

“Sage please I want to get in the truck,” I said. The white grew brighter and I wanted to say something. I wanted to comment on it but I knew I’d only sound foolish, so instead: “Sage, please!”

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” I could hear a muffled sob from the U-Haul. “I’m sorry I’m so sorry I just don’t do well in confined spaces and this is really hard for me and I need to get off this bridge and-“

“It’s a pelican!” Sage called. She crouched near the creature; I could not clearly see it from where I stood. The brightness of the fog seemed to die down. “Get over here, you wuss,” she said to me, “I think we can help it.”

I kept standing there, stupidly. I did not want to walk any further into the white abyss, toward Sage, but I could hear Emily sobbing behind me and I wasn’t ready to console anyone. I stepped forward, walking around the feathers.

A white pelican lay in its own pool of blood, clearly distressed and still leaking liquids. Part of its upper beak dangled from the rest of its bill, still connected by a few strings of flesh, and its left wing was twisted in an ungodly shape, bone sticking out. It made a gurgling sound as I approached. 

“Oh my god,” I muttered.
Sage sighed. “We banged her up pretty bad, but we just need to get her to a vet, or some animal rescue service. Emily! Can you look up ‘animal rescue’ on your phone?”

“I… why?” Emily’s voice called back, “It’s just going to die, right?”

“Not if we can save her. Get over here!” Sage yelled. 

“Guys can we just go?” Emily called.

“She’s right,” I said, “Maybe somebody else will find it.”

“Not you too!” Sage said. She looked back at the poor creature. It continued to gurgle in agony. I could see its eyes blinking up at her in pity. “These guys are like, super flipping rare in Washington,” Sage said. 

“I’ve seen pelicans before,” I said. 

“No, white pelicans. Climate change is pushing them on up here,” she said.

“Guys!” Emily again. 

“Get the flip over here!” yelled Sage. The pelican snorted, and it shivered with unease. I could hear Emily’s footsteps as they approached. Sage stroked the pelican’s head; it did not move away. “It’s alright,” Sage said. The mangled bird jerked its head toward Emily as she appeared from the fog, hands around her shoulders. 

Emily’s face lost color when she saw her handiwork. “It’s in pain!” she cried.

“Well, yeah. But we can still take her somewhere and get her fixed up,” Sage said.

“Look at its fucking bill!” Emily said. 

“They 3D-print prosthetic bills for rescue birds these days.”

The pelican began to gurgle again, clearly suffering. 

“It’s okay,” Sage said, “Em, I’m gonna use a few of your towels, sorry.” She started for the U-Haul. 

“D-don’t do that! No! It’s just gonna die. I hit it, Sage!” Emily yelled.

Sage ran off. “And find an animal rescue!” she called from the fog. We were left, the two of us with that pile of blood and feathers and guilt. The pelican squawked in misery.

“O Christ!” Emily cried, “Kate, what do you think about this?” I looked down at the poor wheezing animal, in horrible agony with no idea why. My gaze drifted out to the fog. The mist began to grow thick once more, slowly creeping its way toward us, and I crossed my arms in protection. 

“I don’t know,” I said. The sliding door of the U-Haul roared open, and from somewhere out there in the land of mist and snow we could hear Sage rummaging though Emily’s clutter. Emily snorted. 

“This is stupid, this is so fucking stupid. It’s obviously going to die!” she said. 

I sighed and looked out to the water, the fog growing brighter again. “This is just a bump,” I said, “Maybe this’ll be over sooner if we help Sage get the bird to a rescue.” But then a crack came from behind me, and an inhuman scream.

Emily was stepping on the pelican’s back, focusing all her pressure on its spine, tears in her eyes. The bird screamed the most unholiest of cries.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I screamed.

“I’m putting it out of its misery!” Emily cried.

The white pelican began screeching, blood surging from its mouth as bones began cracking inside it under Emily’s foot.

“You’re making it worse!” I yelled. I had never seen an animal cry actual tears, but I could have sworn the godforsaken bird’s eyes had gone wet. It looked up at me in complete screaming agony. I wanted to cry myself.

“Help me!” Emily said. 

“What’s going on? What are you doing?” Sage called from the mist. The white pelican was red at this point, its suffering too intense to watch. I ran to the bird. I kicked it in the head. It screamed louder and blood flew amongst the asphalt as I kicked it again. 

“Do it!” Emily yelled, “Do it!” 

The pelican, head on the ground, gave out one final pained gasp. Ruined, mangled, and terrorized, it looked up at me—just for a second, the most innocent pain in its eyes. I winced, and my foot slammed down upon its head. A splashing of organs extended from beneath my shoe, and the gurgling stepped. 

With my own foot, I killed the pelican. Emily and I looked at each other. An unmistakable mixture of disgust and shame linked us together.

“How’s it going?” Sage called. The pelican lay still, now a gory mess. Emily shook her head. Silence rang through.

“It’s dead,” I shouted.

END