Ben Bedard - The World Without Flags

Do I want some breakfast? Talk about an understatement.

I try not to think about how close I came to shooting him last night as I go to the fire. There’s a pan in there with two large deer steaks. Soon I’m sitting down and gorging myself. I eat both of the steaks without so much as a pause. Then I sit back, wiping my greasy face with my sleeve, and take a deep breath. I could almost take another nap.

But I remember Eric then, so I boil some more tea. The sleep has done me some good. I’m thinking much more clearly. I’ve got an idea.

Boston and Sidney work silently on the deer, but I notice Sidney watches me as I get up.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” I tell him.

“No problem,” Boston says. Sidney just nods, his big onion nose dipping down and then back up. When he turns away, I see his cauliflower ear and I wonder for a second what happened to him before I stop myself. Best not to think about that. I don’t know what’s going to happen. There’s a good chance that all of this is not going to end well. It doesn’t seem smart to wonder about the past of a man you might have to kill. So I just turn and walk away.

Eric has moved during the night. He’s lying on his stomach in the pine needles with the heavy backpack on top of him. From the sound of his breathing, it sounds like the weight of the backpack is not easy for him.

“Come on, Eric,” I say. I push him over. His face is covered with black bile.

I stand up and walk away, trying to hold down my breakfast. “Oh, man,” I say, covering my mouth with my wrist. “That’s nasty.”

But there’s nothing to do but clean him up as best I can, so I hold my breath and get the rag. Then I go through the bag until I find the bag of maple sugar I brought from the Homestead. I mix some in with the mint tea. This way Eric will get some kind of nourishment. Better than nothing, I figure.

I have to turn my head away as Eric drinks it though, with his lapping tongue that has turned black. It’s too gross to watch. The smell alone is brutal. But I think I got some food in him, so that feels good.

After the tea is gone, I clean him up again, and help him stand up.

“Unh,” he says when I’ve finally hefted him to his feet.

I walk him around a little, just to exercise him, get the blood to his muscles. Then I stand next to him and look back through the trees, down at the camp where Boston and Sidney are working on drying the strips of deer meat. Eric’s mouth hangs open. His breathing is rough and makes a gurgling noise, like he’s trying to draw air through liquid. I turn away from him.

I try not to look at Eric too much. He doesn’t look like the man I remember. He looks like a skull with a beard now. The wrappings I made for his eyes are stained deeply black. I don’t even want to imagine what’s underneath that. And his clothes are just too disgusting to mention. With his jaw hanging open and a little to the side, he looks like a stranger. It’s hard to imagine this is the same person who used to teach me mathematics during long winter nights, who used to read books to me, who taught ne everything I know. It breaks my heart to see what he has become. I want to hug him or something, but I can’t because he might bite me. I feel my chest kind of freeze up.

Eric suddenly tenses up and then makes a horrible, wet hacking sound. A fist-sized blob of black bile, writhing with pale worms, rolls out of his mouth and then down the front of his shirt. It leaves a stinking, wriggling trail on his clothes as it drops to the forest floor.

That does it. I stagger to the nearest tree and wretch out a good portion of my breakfast into the bushes.

“Damn it, Eric,” I say, spitting on the ground when I finish.

When my stomach settles, I take a few deep breaths. I have to clean him up now.

It takes a few tries before I can do it without gagging. Finally, I’m done. I stand back with the rag and look at Eric. He’s leaning forward with his arms dangling down, his jaw hung open. At least he’s breathing better now.

“Unh,” Eric says.

“Well, I’m glad you feel better,” I tell him, “because I don’t think I’m ever going to eat again in my life.”

When I get back to the fire, Boston and Sidney are sitting down, enjoying another meal. They have a frying pan full of potatoes on the fire as well as a boiling kettle. They are smiling and talking to each other. They quiet down when I approach. By the time I sit at the fire, they are quiet, watching me.

“How’s he doing?” Boston asks. Sidney just studies me. I’m not sure how much these guys really trust me.

“He’s all right,” I ask. I take a breath and decide to get to the matter at hand. “Can I ask you something?” Boston nods and Sidney just shrugs in a way that says well, if that’s what you want to do . So I continue. “Are you spies?”

Sidney smiles, but Boston looks serious. Then it’s like they switch parts. Boston laughs out loud and Sidney gets real serious. I wait until they settle into their parts. They both look at each other and smile faintly and shrug and seem to communicate a lot by just looking at each other.

“We’re not exactly spies,” Boston says after a second. “The President sent us north to look for supporters. We try to talk to them before the Gearheads can recruit them.”

“And to see if the Gearheads have come this far north?” I ask, watching them.

The question seems to make Boston nervous. But Sidney chimes in. “Yeah, you could say that,” he answers. “As we look for supporters, we’re supposed to watch out for Gearheads.”

“Seen any?” I asked.

They’re quiet, looking at me. “You tell us,” Sidney says finally. “Have we?”

Now they’re both studying me. The tension has gathered suddenly between us, like a fog has rolled in. I even notice that they’re keeping their gun hands at the ready by holding their tin plates with their left hands. I smile and then give out a little laugh.

“I’m not a Gearhead,” I say. “I’m just trying to get my father back to the Good Prince.”

“Well, there’s the thing,” Boston says. “The Good Prince isn’t siding with anyone. Not yet. But she will. Thing is, maybe she’s got spies of her own.”

I puff out some air. “Yeah, like a girl and her mentally deranged father make a really good pair of spies.”

They both keep looking at me.

“Seriously?” I cock my head at them.

“Since we’re being honest,” Sidney says, “I’ll just come out and say it. Something isn’t right with your story. You’re hiding something.”

“If I'm so suspicious, why’d you give me my gun back?” I ask. When they keep studying me without responding, the answer comes to me. Fear crackles down my back. “Those aren’t real bullets in my gun, are they?”

They don’t answer which is answer enough. I thought about the night before, my gun pointed at Sidney. I almost shot a blank. That would have been the end of me. They would have killed me and then Eric. I get up, feeling a knot of panic in my chest. I feel my heart in my throat. The feeling of security I had until a few seconds ago is gone.

“Calm down,” Boston says, not moving. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“We could’ve done that a thousand times by now,” Sidney adds, which sounds threatening, but actually does calm me a little. I step back though. Without a weapon, I feel lost and a little angry. My knife isn’t even with me. I should have listened to Eric. He’s told me a million times never to go anywhere without it.

“So what do you want with us?” I ask.

“Nothing much,” Boston says.

“Just information,” Sidney adds. “Just the truth. Whatever you’re hiding.”