Ben Bedard - The World Without Flags

“Think we better stay for a day or so,” Sidney says. His voice is low and smooth. It might be comforting if he wasn’t a stranger who stole my gun. He looks up from the fire. “You two are too tired to keep going. How long you been going like this?”

I shrug. “I lost track,” I say. Then, after a second, I take a deep breath. “So who’s got my gun?” I ask. If I don’t make this a subject real soon, they’ll be suspicious. Anyone who pretends not to be concerned about their missing gun is hiding something.

They both look at me. The fire light flickers on their faces. I wish I could read minds.

“I do,” Boston says. He makes that twitch of a smile again. “I forgot all about it. It fell out while you were sleeping.” He reaches into his jacket and comes out with the gun. My hand clenches, I want it so bad. Boston hands it toward me and I snatch it quick as I can. I snap open the cylinder. “You can relax,” Boston says. “It’s still loaded.”

He’s right. The gun is loaded. I swing the cylinder shut with a twist of my wrist and holster it in the small of my back. “Thanks,” I say to them.

There’s a long silence then.

I’m thinking to myself what it means that they let me have a loaded gun.

The fire crackles and snaps.

Above us, the clouds are red and yellow and orange as the sun sets.

I try to give Sidney a smile, but I know that behind him, to the south and west, is the Homestead, where they’re taking me. I can’t run because they have horses and Eric, well, Eric doesn’t run. If I try to leave, they’ll begin to suspect something, and if they study Eric a little too closely, if they start disbelieving my whole story, they’ll find out he has the Worm and they’ll shoot him dead right here. I’m sure of it. Something bad has to happen. I have to do it. I haven’t had to do anything really bad since I was a little kid and I shot that man by the lake. I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to shoot anyone.

“Unh,” says Eric behind us. “Unh.”

I get up and go to him. His mouth is hanging open. He doesn’t even turn his head as I approach.

“Unh,” he says again.

I crouch down next to him and pick up the shirt that I’m using to wipe his mouth. I guess it’s a rag now. I’m never wearing it again, I guarantee that. I wipe his mouth, but I have no idea what he wants.

“Unh,” he repeats. One of his leg kicks out and then bends strangely. “Unh.”

“Looks like he’s got a cramp,” Boston says. I look up to see the redhead standing right over us.

“I know that,” I say, but I didn’t know that. Boston crouches down next to me and moves toward Eric, but I shove him away. “I can do it,” I say. “I know what I’m doing.” The thought of someone else touching Eric makes me panic.

Boston doesn’t seem to be hurt by the push, although now I regret it. It wasn’t smart, but I didn’t think at all. I just reacted. That’s not good either. But I can’t let him get too close to Eric, he’ll find out. I watch Boston for signs of irritation or anger or something even darker, but he just nods at me and moves back to the fire.

I do my best to massage the tight muscle in Eric’s leg while ignoring the horrible, and I mean horrible, stench of him. He stinks like a dead horse that’s drowned in a cesspool on a hot day. I really should clean him up, but that is way down on my list of worries right now. Right now I just need to keep him alive. I work on his leg until the muscle stops being so stiff. I don’t know if that was it, but Eric doesn’t make any more sounds.

Working on his leg makes me thirsty so I go to the campfire and ask for water.

“Right there,” Sydney says. He points to a tin bucket filled with water from a nearby stream. That’s when I realize I have another dilemma. I don’t dare to drink water that hasn’t been boiled to kill the Worm. These guys don’t know the Worm has returned. If I insist on boiling water before I drink it, that will be weird. Once you start lying, it’s real difficult to keep at it. I have to lie about everything, it seems. It’s almost as exhausting as walking for a day and half non-stop. Almost.

I go back to Eric and open the backpack that’s strapped to him. I reach in and fish out the aluminum kettle and then search around until I find what I’m looking for.

I fill the kettle with water and set it on the fire.

“Want some?” I ask Sidney, holding up a bag of herbs.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Mint,” I say.

“Sure,” Sidney responds with a shrug of his shoulders. “Why not?”

When the kettle boils, I pour out four mugs of piping hot tea and then drop some of the dried mint into each one. “Just enough to give it some zing,” I say as I do it. There, I think to myself, another disaster averted. I just like mint tea, that’s all. Nothing odd about that.

I feel pretty smart as I sit down next to Boston.

“So who is Eric really?” Sidney asks.

I look up from my tea in surprise.

“Come on,” Boston says. “Out with it. We’ve watched you worry over him all day long. Nobody is that protective of a stranger they just found on the road.”

My heart pounds. My paper house of lies is trembling, threatening to crumble. What I need is some truth. “He’s my Dad,” I say. I say it without thinking too much. It feels good to say.

“Your father?” Boston looks over my shoulder at Eric and then back at me. “But you’re black,” he says.

“I am?” I laugh a little. I take a sip from my tea. The two are watching me. “He took me in when I was a kid.”

“What happened to him?” Sidney asks.

“I didn’t tell you the exact truth this morning,” I admit.

“We noticed,” Sidney says drily.

“Eric wasn’t the one who wandered off when the bandits came,” I explain. “I was.” I look down at my tea like I was emotionally disturbed by the memory, but really I’m thinking and inventing like crazy. “He always told me never to wander off, but I did anyway, maybe just because he told me not to. When I got back to camp, the bandits had done this to him.” I jerk my head toward Eric. “They beat him so bad, I thought he would die.” I choke on some emotion. It’s not entirely untrue. I feel bad about how Eric is right now. I can use that. I let a few tears slip. “He didn’t die,” I continue. “But he’s never been right in the head afterward.”

Boston makes a sound like ohhhh, looking over at Eric.

“Why didn’t you tell us that before?” Sydney asks. It’s a good question.

“I didn’t know you guys at all,” I say. “Some people don’t like the thought of blacks and whites mixing like that.”

“She’s right about that,” Boston says with a huffing sound. Sidney nods. “You’re right,” Boston continues. “I’ve known some men, let me tell you.”

“I’m sorry about lying to you two, but you know how it goes out here.”

They both nod at that and sip at their tea. I feel my heartbeat slow a little. I think it’s going better. I think they buy everything. It doesn’t get us free of them, but it does save us from being taken as prisoners outright. Or worse.

Boston and Sidney turn their attention to the buck then. They take out long hunting knives and begin carving away the flesh in long strips. They hang the strips on a branch to dry.

I take the chance to go to Eric. I bring the cup of mint tea. It’s just barely warm now and safe for him to drink. I get my rag ready and crouch down in front of Eric. When I lift the cup, he immediately sticks out his tongue. I tip the mint tea into his mouth. Eric’s tongue laps at it like a dog.

“Unh, unh, unh,” he says as he laps.

“Careful you don’t get any in your mouth,” I tell him. “You might actually drink some.”