Atop Redemption Hill, who remained of the buffalo had formed a tight circle, with fearless eyes in big proud heads looking outward at the homo sapiens surrounding them—riflemen, tanks—inhaling cold air into warm bodies through flaring nostrils. Their hearts pumped. Their nerves held. There was peace in impending martyrdom.
Brothers, not long now.
Flies buzzed over the rotting corpses of their fallen comrades.
In the Atlantic, a pod of dolphins swam away from the coast, knowing their mission was completed. To turn but a single human—the right human…
And they had done it.
Dr. Grey woke up that morning and went to work at the International Institute of Biochemical Engineering as he had done every workday for the past twenty-two years. Using his security pass to enter the restricted area in which he led research into the military applications of virology, he knew today would be the last.
Commuters on the New York City subway read news on phone screens about the same topic they’d been reading about for the past year:
The Animal War, nature’s doomed, pathetic final attempt to wrest control of Earth from human hands.
As always, human victories graced the homepages of all the major networks.
Yet the war dragged on.
At lunchtime, Dr. Grey recited a short prayer before injecting himself with a virus. Then he went to the common room and, watching his colleagues, drank his final cup of coffee.
Grey, Grey, Grey, the leaping dolphins whistled.
By afternoon, the message had reached one of the messenger ravens, who immediately took flight, heading toward Redemption Hill.
Dr. Grey slumped in his armchair. Although it was still light outside, his living room windows had been blacked out by millions of flying insects, banging and banging on the glass. Thus he died as if at night, using his last moment of consciousness to let the insects enter.
In they swarmed and like a shroud enveloped him, feasting—sucking up the crimson drink in which extinction and salvation swam.
The raven soared above tanks, which rumbled, and soldiers, who glanced dumbly up, before settling on the shoulder of a buffalo.
It is accomplished, the raven croaked.
The buffalo snorted.
It is time, brothers. The deed is done. The man lies dead. Death flies.
There followed a drumming of hooves so terrible it shook the very essence of the land. The raven beat its wings, lifting itself into the sky. Below, a few soldiers gripped their rifles.
Today we die, the buffalo bellowed.
Today we die, the others repeated, drumming and growling, snorting and grunting.
So that tomorrow we live for eternity!
So that tomorrow we live for eternity! they repeated—charging downhill, into a spreading fog of homo sapien gunfire, their great and noble bodies getting ripped apart, but their minds undaunted and their glorious will unbroken.
“Jesus,” a soldier said when all was still. Steam rose from the dead. “Fucking suicidal.”
“What’s that?” another asked, looking suddenly toward the horizon—over which a dark doom-cloud had appeared. Buzzing…