The World Without Flags

by Ben Lyle Bedard

  But I do have to think.

  I have to leave.

  It comes to me with a kind of peace.

  Eric moves a step forward, dragging his foot through the pine needles. He moans as he does it like he can’t understand why he did it. He sways there for a moment and then opens and shuts his jaw. A long line of black drool reaches almost to his knees.

  “Gross, Eric,” I tell him.

  “Unh,” he answers. The black drool drops to the ground. “Unh,” Eric says again and then drags his other foot forward.

  I might know what I have to do, but looking at Eric, I breathe in very deeply.

  It isn’t going to be easy.

  36

  Think, Birdie.

  All right.

  One scratch, one accidental bite from Eric and I’m a goner. I have to take precautions. Tough gloves for his hands and something like a muzzle for his mouth. A hat to cover his head. Some sunglasses for his eyes, so I don’t have to look at the worms all day. Then a rope. A rope to tie him up at night, so he doesn’t wander away, so I can control where he is. I don’t know if he can still crack or not, but I’ll sleep better knowing I’m not going to wake up to my leg getting chewed off.

  Nutrition. What will I feed him? He must have to eat, but I don’t know how to feed him or what he’ll eat. That will take some experimentation. I look over at Eric. His mouth is open and he’s drooling that black bile again. That will not be fun.

  Where do we go? I have to get him far away. Somewhere he can’t be found. If people know he has the Worm, they’ll kill him. I’m certain of it. It’s best if I move north, where there are fewer people. I’ll find some abandoned house somewhere and keep Eric locked away safe. Then I’ll just scrounge for food as usual. Hunt deer. It’s spring. I’ll find something. Just stay away from people.

  I have to get Eric out of here as soon as I can. I have to leave the Homestead, and I have to do it at night. Not tonight, though. There’s too many things to do, too many plans to make. It will have to be tomorrow night, at the earliest. I need time to gather and pack and think.

  The thought of leaving the Homestead frightens me. For years now, I’ve thought that I wanted to see other places. I’ve wanted to be like Randy the Vandal and travel all over. Meet new people. Have adventures. Be the person that people run out to meet when I return, laden with supplies. Now, when it comes time that I actually have to leave, I don’t like it.

  I think about my room in the loft of our house. I think of Crystal and the kitchen, the people who I thought of as my family, the fields I’ve worked all my life, the animals I’ve helped care for, and I feel lonely already. Homesick. And I haven’t even left yet! I was safe here all my life. The Homestead took care of me and made me safe. Now that’s over and I don’t want it to be. Now I wonder why I ever wanted to leave.

  But I have to leave, there’s no other alternative.

  I look up to watch Eric shuffle toward the Land Rover. He makes a confused groan sound when he hits it. His head arcs up as one arm quivers. “Unh,” he says.

  “I know how you feel,” I tell him. “Life’s a bitch.”

  37

  I leave Eric in the Land Rover. This time I make sure all the doors are shut and the windows are rolled up. When I left him, he was just staring up at the ceiling. It was strange to guide him in. He doesn’t seem to understand anything about his surroundings, but he’s easy to guide. Just give him a little push and he does what you want. It’s strange though. Some muscles are tense and others are relaxed in ways that are very unnatural. It’s Eric’s body, but he’s not in there. I just hope he’s still in there somewhere. But I can’t think of that. I wrapped his coat around him tightly to keep him warm during the night and left him there.

  When I get home, I’m so tired, I just want to sleep for a week. It’s not all bodily tired either. It’s like my heart is heavy and I want to hide from the world and rest. I haven’t had time to think about all the horrible things that have happened to me. I don’t even know if I will ever have the strength to think about it. All that death and horror, it’s just lined up inside me, waiting for the chance to disable me, to make me so sad that I can’t do anything. And I can’t afford that. I have to ignore it all. And that takes effort. I think that’s why I’m so tired.

  When I open the door, I see it’s not going to be that simple. Franky and Norman are there, sitting at my table. Obviously, they were waiting for me. My first reaction is anger. I don’t remember anyone ever coming inside our house without an invitation when Eric was here. Never. But for me? Oh yeah, come on in boys! Make yourself at home. For an instant, I try to hide my anger, but then I remember that I’m supposed to be angry—at Eric. I can use it. I’ve still got some work to do before I can hit the pillow.

  “What do you want?” I ask bitingly, taking off my coat.

  “We were waiting outside,” Norman explains apologetically. “But it got cold. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Where’ve you been?” Franky asks. No apology from him. I shrug and look around the house as I hang up my coat. I do it without moving my head to make sure they don’t think I’m doing what I’m doing, which is trying to figure out what they’ve been doing in my house while I’m gone. It’s not hard to see that they didn’t come in here just for warmth. There’s little things out of place. I’m glad I hid Eric’s backpack before I left. That might have saved his life. They’ve been looking around.

  “We’re worried about you, Kestrel,” Norman says. “It’s not good for you to be spending all day in the woods. Not now. We need to be together.” I look at him. He seems genuine, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see Franky studying me. Franky’s got other motives, but Norman is here because he’s concerned. At least that’s what he’s been convinced of. “You know,” Norman continues. “Everyone is here for you. You don’t have to be alone.”

  “We need to see you,” Franky says. I look toward him. He’s leaning back in his chair with his legs crossed. He’s shaved recently, which is new. Franky was never the kind of person to worry about his shave. His clothes are new too. He’s dressing the part. The leader. I don’t really care if he wants to be the leader, but I see in his eyes that I’m part of his plan and I’m messing it up for him.

  “I’m just pissed off right now,” I say. “No one needs to see that.”

  “We all need each other right now,” Norman offers. I glance his way. I’ve never known Norman to be so sentimental. Actually, I’ve never known him to be sentimental at all, but I guess losing half of the Homestead in just a few days will do that to a person. Norman sighs. “Look,” he says. “We don’t want to bother you, Kestrel. We just want you to know that we’re here for you.” He gets up, and at first I think he’s going to try to hug me or something, but instead he turns toward the door. “We’ll let you be,” he finishes and walks toward the door.

  “I’ll be right there,” Franky says. Norman turns toward him and nods and then smiles sadly at me before putting his hat on and stepping out the door. When he shuts it behind him, it makes a hollow sound. After a moment of silence, Franky clears his throat. “Have a seat,” he says. It sounds like an order. I feel my eyes narrow. I don’t like to be ordered around. Not even Eric ordered me around. But I don’t want to start anything with him. I got plans, and the last thing I need is some stupid confrontation with Franky to complicate it. I can’t let my emotions get the better of me. I have to think. So I sit down.

  Franky takes a deep breath and studies me. I study him back. The atmosphere in the room has changed completely since Norman left. I realize I’m smarter than him and it relaxes me. But what sickens me is how different Franky is now than he was before. He has this know-it-all kind of aura about him. It’s like seeing him shining through all the fog, like he’s revealed himself. And it’s not pleasant.

  “Look,” he says to me after a while. I think it’s supposed to be a parental voice. “I’m going to be honest with you. You’re a smart girl, you can handle the tr
uth.” He uncrosses his legs and then leans toward me. “People here, everyone looked up to Eric. He started this place, he kept it going. He made people feel safe somehow.” He smiled as if the people he were talking about were stupid. “Now he’s gone and people are scared. They feel lost. What they need is continuity. Do you know what that means, Kestrel?”

  Of course I know what it means, asshole.

  But that’s not what I say.

  I just nod.

  “You see, in ancient times, when the old king died, sometimes the new king would marry the queen. Or the princess. Just to make people comfortable. Just to give them a sense of continuity.” He lets this soak in for a second. I don't say anything. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “You want to marry me?” I ask, purposefully stupid.

  Franky laughs. “No, Kestrel, I don’t,” he says. But I detect a sparkle somewhere in his eye. I think of all his attention toward me a lot differently now, and it makes me want to shudder. “But if we’re seen together, people will feel that sense of continuity. They will feel more secure. All you have to do is be here, with me. Not out in the woods, sulking like a little girl. You’re going to have to grow up pretty fast now, okay?”

  Condescending shit. Out in the woods sulking? I’d like to punch him in the face, but like I said, I have to control myself. After all, it’s evidence that they’re believing me, that they think I’m just angry at Eric or shocked with grief. They don’t suspect that Eric is still alive, hidden away in the old Land Rover, and I’m about ready to get him the hell out of here, as far away from Franky as possible. So I’m winning here, even if it feels differently.

  “What do you think, Kestrel? Can you do that for me?” It’s the old Franky now, the one I liked so much. His whole mannerism has changed. It repulses me how quickly he can change, but I hide it.

  I smile and nod. “Sure,” I say. Then I add a “Sorry,” just for some bite.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Franky stands up. He puts a hand on my shoulder, but there’s something noticeably different about it now. Something more gentle, more intimate, and, at the same time, much more menacing. I cringe on the inside, but outwardly I smile a little and look up at him. “See you in the morning,” he says. I feel relieved when he stops touching me and heads toward the door. He opens it, but before he walks out, he turns back to me. “You’ll tell me if you see Eric, right?”

  I can’t see his face with the light coming in from the open door, but I can hear something disturbing and dark. A threat? I don’t know. But it’s not good.

  “Of course,” I say with a huff, like I can’t wait to get Eric in trouble or something stupid like that.

  “Good,” Franky says. Then he steps out the door and shuts it behind him.

  After a minute I get up and shake my arms and head to rid me of all the creepy feelings. After I climb up into the loft and collapse in my bed, I think about Franky and his new creepiness and I try to look at the bright side of things. At least now I’m not so sad to leave the Homestead.

  38

  I dream of a voice. Its far away, but I don’t like it. I’m trying to get away, but the voice is coming from all directions. I start running, but my legs are stuck to the ground.

  Then I’m walking. The world around me is burning. My feet hurt and I’m thirsty. I look behind me and I see that the sky is red with flames. I don’t know if I’m dreaming or if this is something that happened to me. As I trudge down the road, I try to think. Am I dreaming? Did this happen? Memory or dream?

  Suddenly Artemis is next to me and she takes my hand. She says that I was a cute girl. I don’t really hear her say this, but she’s saying it. I feel her hand in mine. It’s warm and smooth and soft, like always. I don’t remember she’s dead until then. I look up and she turns toward me and frowns. She tells me with her eyes that I can’t keep going like this. I can’t keep walking away. Then she’s gone.

  I keep walking. Ashes are falling from the sky. I see shapes in the street and I crawl underneath cars to wait for shuffling feet to pass. I don’t cry. I just hold on to the straps of my backpack and I wait. When there’s no one left, I crawl out from under the car. It’s still night time. A house is on fire. Someone far away is screaming.

  No, it’s not screaming. It’s the voice again.

  I turn to run, but the voice moves faster. It’s a man’s voice, deep and familiar.

  I see a man with bleeding eyes. He’s holding my hands. His hands are so large and strong. He presses a diamond ring into my hand. He does it so firmly, it almost hurts. “You can do it, Birdie,” he tells me. He coughs. “I know you can. Grafton. Write it down, honey.”

  The words don’t mean anything to me, but the voice terrifies me. I try to run away, but I don’t know where I am, in the streets, in a house, in my bed. Confused and terrified, I run in nothing, only darkness. Behind me, the voice calls out to me, following me into the darkness. I stumble and fall, twisting into the abyss.

  39

  I wake up sweating and breathing hard. My t-shirt is stuck to my body because of the sweat. I can’t stop shaking. In the darkness of the loft, I seem lost and falling. I can hear the voice in my mind. After lighting a candle, I scramble out of bed and open up the chest that Eric found for me years ago. All my most precious things are in there.

  There’s an old pink backpack in the chest. It’s my oldest belonging. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. I had it even before that. I open up the zipper and then dump out the junk on the floor. I haven’t opened this in years. I can’t remember the last time I’ve looked at it. I search the material. Some old barrettes. Some stupid magazine cover with the Little Mermaid on it. Then I pick it up. The diamond ring. I try to read the inside, but I can’t, not in this light. I know what it says. All My Love Always. It’s the same ring in my dream. I’m shaking. I continue scrambling through the stuff. I see what I’m looking for. A scrap of paper. I pick it up and bring it to the light, trembling. It’s my handwriting from when I was very young. It says GRAFTON.

  The voice from my dream repeats in my head like thunder. “Write it down, honey.”

  I sit down, stunned.

  I recognize that voice now. Now it’s clear as day.

  It’s my father’s voice.

  40

  There’s not much time to think about the revelation that I haven’t forgotten my own father, that he’s still hidden somewhere in my mind. I don’t have the luxury of time. I can’t just sit around the cabin, thinking, hoping I will remember more of the man I thought I had forgotten. I don’t have time to imagine that there might be more memories inside my head waiting to come out. I don’t have time to ask myself why now? Why are these memories coming back now? I don’t have time for any of that. I have to keep moving.

  I have to get Eric far away from the Homestead, and I have to do it tonight.

  But first I have to spend the day at the Homestead, acting like I’ll be here with them for the rest of my life. Norman and Franky come for me pretty damn early in the morning. It’s hardly dawn when they bang on the door. After a quick breakfast of a dried old apple and a fried egg, I have to follow around Franky like his personal pet, or like, well, like his princess, going from house to house, checking on people, solving problems, holding people’s hands as they cry.

  I’ve been too shocked by the whole resurgence of the Worm and Eric’s horrible transformation to think about anyone else. But as I follow Franky, I see that the damage of the Worm to the Homestead was more than a pile of ashes where our friends used to be. People are barely keeping it together. Some people can’t even get out of bed. Others are walking in some kind of stupor, like zombies. Franky tells them what to do and they do it, more like machines than people. Others throw themselves into work, people like Crystal who basically starts doing the work of like four people in the kitchen. She works without break. Pest too is like that. He works by himself in the field, all day long, as if trying to resurrect his friends by doing wh
at they normally would have done. As if they would live again if he could only do all their work. When we visit him, he looks up, gaunt and filthy, his eyes haunted like a child’s should never be. He doesn’t look at me the whole time. He only takes the water that Franky offers him and drinks until he’s full. Franky claps him manfully on the back. Pest picks up his hoe and goes back to the field. I feel sorry for him, but I can’t think of anything to say. Queen is sitting at the edge of the field, watching Pest protectively as if she can sense the danger around us. I watch Pest attack the earth with his hoe, wishing there was something I could do or say. I never thought I’d feel bad for Pest.

  As we move from place to place, I see that Norman and Franky were right. We need each other. The Homestead is just barely hanging on. If it wasn’t for Crystal, I could easily imagine that everyone would just wander away on their own, in some kind of daze, and the place I grew up in would be no more. I used to think that the Homestead was unbreakable, something as unshakeable as a rock, but now I see it as it probably always was—fragile and precarious. It’s another revelation to me. Like most of the others, it’s discomfiting.

  All day Franky is like the old Franky. He’s kind and gentle and helpful. He walks from house to house and person to person with his tool box in his hand, as if it was like the old days, as if he was coming to ask about some broken hinges and not to make sure you weren’t in the process of hanging yourself or guzzling rat poison. I feel most of my rancor toward him dissipate. Most of it. Sometimes, when we are alone, I can see him looking at me with distrust. And maybe something else, something dark and intense. Although I know the Homestead needs him badly, it’s dangerous for me to stay here. I can feel it. I am more certain than ever that if Franky found Eric, it would be the end of Eric’s life. I have no doubt.