Ben Bedard - The World Without Flags

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say to him as I bend over to make sure he’s okay. It’s a terrible thing to strike people you love. Trembling, I look over him closely. He’s bleeding a little from where I hit him, but he’s breathing. He’s okay.

“Unh,” Eric says into the tree.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, without looking at him. “It’s over now.”

But it’s not really over, not yet. There’s still those other three. I pick up Norman’s gun and release the clip. It’s full of ammo. Somewhere between 10 and 14 rounds, I'm not sure which. I don’t know guns very well and I don’t have time to count. I push the gun into my pants and then pull my shirt over it.

I have to think fast.

Going over to Eric, I open up the backpack, and look for something to tie up Norman with. I can’t find anything, so I do what I think I have to: I untie Eric from the tree and then from the rope itself. I have to use that. I just have to hope with every fiber in my being that Eric doesn’t get in his head to walk back to camp. I push him face first into the tree.

“Stay,” I tell him, like he’s some kind of dog.

Eric doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” I tell him. I pat his back. Again, like he’s a dog.

Then I go to Norman and roll him over and tie his hands behind his back. In case he wakes up, I stuff a clean sock in his mouth from our backpack and tie it with a shirt. Then I roll him back over and tie his legs to his arms. When I stand up and see what I’ve done, for a minute, I think I’m going to be sick. Norman, who was like a grandfather to me, is tied up like a criminal. I did that. My diseased father standing with his face against a tree. What a family.

I feel horrible so I squat down next to Norman. I’ve never really touched him before, but suddenly I kiss the top of his head. “I’m really sorry about this,” I say. I see the lump on his head where I hit him, fast turning a ugly, vicious blue color, and I have to get up and stop thinking about what I’ve done. I need to focus on the future.

I shake my arms and jump up and down a little. Then I close my eyes and try to feel bad. I’m so full of adrenalin that it’s hard to get myself to cry. I jump up and down again and then take a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I see all the people who have died. I see my best friend’s hair begin to curl and then smoke and finally burn. I help carry people I’ve known for years to their funeral pyre. I roll over Eric and see the dark blood roll from his eyes. Then, deep inside me, from some depths I thought I’d forgotten, the image of the man I know now is my father comes to me. My real father. From before the Worm. He’s in bed, holding my hand. His face is round, his brown eyes deep and caring. He’s giving me his ring and he’s telling me in his warm voice that I can do it. I can do it.

I’m crying now, real tears. Once the crying starts, it’s hard to stop. Before I know it, I’ve succeeded far better than I meant to. I’m not just crying, I’m sobbing.

But this is what I need.

I got some acting to do.

I stumble out of the woods, sobbing and wiping my face with my arms.

I notice Boston and Sidney standing angrily by the last remnants of the fire. They have their arms crossed as they watch me move toward them. Pest is at my side before I know it. He puts an arm around my shoulders and leads me forward.

“He, he, he killed him,” I tell Pest through stuttering sobs.

“I know,” he says. I’m having a hard time breathing because I’ve been crying so much. My breath is coming in quick, shallow gasps. It’s not fake.

“He, he, he shot him,” I tell Pest.

“Quiet, now,” Pest says to me. I close my mouth to try to stop the gasping, which is embarrassing. Pest’s arm around me is strangely comforting. I look at him. He’s so small. Strange how solid his arm feels. He smells like smoke and corn and honey.

Boston and Sidney watch as Pest leads me to the fire and sits me down. I hug my legs and sniff and try not to make eye contact with them. They’re staring at me with unhidden anger.

“Where’s the other one?” Boston asks me.

I point toward the woods. “He’s going to burn him, him,” I say, having a little hiccup at the end.

“That’s what we should have done,” Boston tells me acidly.

I feel Pest stiffen. “Hey,” he says. “She just lost her father.” His voice cuts like a razor. I look over to him. His blue eyes look at me with sadness and compassion. I try not to think of Norman tied up like a slaughtered pig.

I see Boston has something more to say until Sidney grabs his arm. The two step away from the fire and begin talking to each other rapidly. I pretend to bury my face between my knees, but I’m really trying to keep a better eye on those two. I feel like I can handle Pest. I can talk to him. Those two have been lied to once too often, and I only have Norman’s gun to rely on if it comes to that. I keep an eye on the woods. Part of me imagines the hell that would break out if Eric came out of the woods, walked to the fire, and said, “Unh.”

That would not be good.

Then I feel Pest get up. I look up at him, perplexed.

“I should help Norman,” he explains, looking blankly at me.

I clutch at him. “Please don’t leave me alone with those two,” I whisper. I sure am doing a lot of begging lately. I really detest it, but it works.

Pest looks at Boston and Sidney and his eyes narrow. He nods at me and then sits back down. This time, however, he doesn’t put his arm around me, which, surprisingly, shockingly, I should say, makes me a little sad.

“Thanks,” I say. I wipe my eyes and wonder, out of the blue, what I must look like after days of travel without washing. It’s a stupid thought to have, but it does shoot through my head. Why I should care what I look like is beyond me. I don’t have time to reflect on that stupidity though because Boston and Sidney come walking up to us.

“We’re leaving,” Sidney says.

“We’ve got to let the President know about the return of the Worm,” Boston says.

I don’t know what to say. It’s my first bit of luck in a very long time. I just nod. For a minute, I think I might thank them for helping me out, but in the end, I decide that silence is best. They don’t like me much anymore, I can tell. Who can blame them? I brought history’s worst plague right in their camp and lied to their faces about it.

“Goodbye then,” Pest says. There’s no love lost between him and Boston, that’s clear. The two kind of glower at each other until Boston does that thing where he realizes he’s hating a little kid and he sighs. That happens a lot with Pest.

“You be careful with this one,” Sidney says to Pest, pointing at me. “I’ve seen some liars in my day, but this one.” He makes a hissing sound. I feel my face flush at that. It’s true though, so what can I say? In fact, I’m in the middle of doing it right now. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to defend myself. I want to tell him, “I’d like to see what you’d do if it was your father,” but it’s better not to say anything.

Pest doesn’t say anything. He just moves a little closer to me.

I wonder suddenly if Norman is conscious and struggling in his ropes. Having him come running back to the camp would certainly be a major problem. I glance at the woods nervously. The sooner those two ride away, the better. Then there’s only Pest to deal with. I don’t know yet what I’m going to do with him. One thing at a time, I tell myself.

I keep my face down as Boston and Sidney break down their camp. They do it even faster than they set it up. In just a few minutes, they’ve packed up their horses. I notice they’ve left almost all the venison they had dried. They must be planning to move fast.