I fluffed my feathers and then settled them down again, gave my beak a couple of strokes against the cuttlefish to add that extra sharpness and then did the same with my claws. This operation called for my generalship skills rather than sheer brute force, but as my mama always told me, there's nothing wrong with sheer brute force.

I opened my condo door, stretched, and perched opposite the door. Soon enough, my latest staff member opened the door and walked in, gaping up as I flew through. "Pavarotti! Pavarotti, come back!"

Did he think that I was a dog? I made up my mind. Despite my being tolerant of human foibles, when I came back, he was going to pay for the comments about the cat, the coal mine, and now this "Pavarotti, come back!" with one of my specially-made air-delivered shampoos, if you know what I mean.

"Toodles," I whistled to him, and to the other humans who came to help. Sure, I was on a mission, but I never refrained from mixing business and pleasure, so as I flew along, broadcasting along the Bird Net for backup to meet me at the likely rendezvous with my Nemesis of the Week, I fluttered just out of their reach, at times hesitating as though I'd actually let one of them catch me.

Meanwhile, I got another update on my opponent. He was on a Convenient Coincidences Airlines flight to Cleveland and then catching their limo service to Dalton. While amusing myself with letting them rush around closing the windows before I slipped out the last open one, I also snickered at how clueless TSA had to be. They couldn't even keep a fairly sizeable zombie out of the country, probably because he wasn't carrying liquids or gels over the regulation size and wasn't on the Don't Fly list.

As I perched in a tree outside and occasionally flicked my tail at the humans gathering below, something odd struck me. I'd heard less and less other chatter on the Bird Net and even the last official update had sounded scattered.

"Hello? Anybody out there? Did anybody hear my call for backup?"

There was nobody else on the Bird Net.

"Hello? Hello?"

I waited a minute.

"Hello?"

Now I was getting worried.

"Hello?"

"Are you a penguin?"

That voice wasn't a bird.

"Because I wonder if you could tell me if penguins ever play hopscotch. If they don't, I could teach them."

"Who the heck are you?"

"I'm Brittany S. Piers."

"I'm...I'm using the code name Pavarotti."

"That's a nice code name. I use my own name for a code name because otherwise I forget sometimes. And that way, people know who I am."

"Look, aren't there any other birds around?"

"I see a sparrow out the window. And sometimes a ladybug tells me about her day, does that count?"

"Ladybugs aren't birds." I couldn't believe this day. I was flying to meet a zombie who was riding in a limousine, followed by a bunch of singing humans crammed into two cars, and talking on the Bird Net to a human who thinks that ladybugs are birds. And I was going to fight the zombie without backup. For the first time in my life, I thought it possible that I might get my tail feathers kicked.

"Why would a zombie want to kick your tail feathers?"

The human could actually read my thoughts. I didn't know they had advanced enough brains even to understand us, let alone read our thoughts.

"I'm part of the Badass Beaks Bird Brigade. We kick zombie ass as well as any other ass that needs kicking. I was expecting at least three emus as backup."

"I can kick ass. So can Santana."

"Is Santana the ladybug?"

"No, silly, she's not a ladybug. But I think she could be if she wanted to."

I paused in a tree to regroup my thoughts. Unfortunately, the thought that a Badass Bird has got to do what a Badass Bird has got to do won over the thought that I could just go home, taking an indirect route just to mess more with the human minds, and be curled up in my condo with my head under my wing by the time they finally circled back.

"Do you want me to go get help?"

I gave it another moment's thought, fluttering to another tree just as one of the humans had climbed about halfway up the one I'd graced with my presence. With no emus and not even a decent-sized crow on the way, I had to take what I could get, and a human who could talk on Bird Net, as well as a Santana, whatever species that might be, was better than nothing. I hoped. I broadcast my location and perched along the highway that was going to bring my opponent here, literally whistling in the dark.

Feeling utterly flabbergasted was an entirely new sensation for me. We birds are logical and intelligent creatures, as opposed to mammals, especially humans. I chirped down to the humans below me, just to keep things interesting for them.

Just as the lights of the approaching limousine shone along the paving, another car pulled up. Two female humans stepped out. I think one of them was what they call blonde and the other one was brunette, but all humans look alike to me.

"Pavarotti, is that you?" That had to be the Brittany S. Piers one. Figuring "Why not?" I fluttered down to land on her shoulder, watching the male humans look at one another in consternation and her in amazement. Though I don't think the amazement was just at the fact that I was peeping quietly in her ear since several of them were looking at the other one in the same way.

If humans were a sensible species, they'd have been gathering twigs already for some nest-building competition.

But that wasn't what I was there for—criticizing the humans is just a hobby. The limousine stopped and the driver got out to open the door.

"Brains! Pasta! Pasta with brains!" exclaimed the zombie as it emerged.

Zombie!Luciano Pavarotti, we meet at last. And unless Brittany S. Piers and some other singing humans are more use than I thought, I fear the advantage is yours.