Ben Bedard - The World Without Flags

“What now?” I ask without looking away from the fire.

Pest sits back and looks over at Eric. He points a smoking branch toward him. “We got to get him somewhere safe.”

I nod and then smile. That’s another thing we agree on.

That night I dream I’m walking. The night is on fire. There are moans around me and shuffling footsteps. I’m tired and hungry and confused. Everyone has left me. Everything is on fire. I look up to the sky, but it’s only smoke and ash and the flashing light of fire.

I hear singing, the singing I know now is my mother, and then I feel a hand in mine. I look up, wanting to tell my mother that I’d be okay, I could do it, she could rest.

The face staring down at me is Eric’s, white worms wriggling from his eyes. He looks down at me and a black tongue snakes out of his mouth. His grip tightens on my hand, and I tug to get away, but I can’t. His grip is painful and I cry out. Eric’s black mouth twists in a perverted grin, and he leans down toward me, the worms in his eyes writhing in the smoky air.

I wake up at dawn. The bird’s are singing. For a moment, the darkness of Eric’s eyes seems to stay with me. Like I’m awake but still dreaming. I have to get up and walk it off, walk off his eyes, the feel of his grip on my hand. I tremble and shiver. It takes me a moment to realize that both Pest and Queen are nowhere to be seen. Eric is in the same place as always, sitting with his back to the tree. His jaw is hanging on his chest, his dark mouth agape like a putrid cave. But the disgust of his disease is no longer as strong as it was, and I shrug off the feeling and go to him. By the time I get him to his feet for some exercise, to get some blood pumping through his stiff legs, I’ve mostly forgotten my dream.

“Unh,” Eric groans as I lead him around the little camp.

“Just a little more,” I tell him. He begins to kick out his left leg at a strange angle like he’s trying to shake something off.

“What’re you doing?” I laugh. I wait for him to stop and then lead him forward again. He walks with a strange stiffness on his left side and I start to get a little worried. I bring him back to the tree and ease him down to a sitting position as best I can.

I see the problem right away. It’s the wound in his foot, it’s festering. Well, festering is probably not the right term. There’s dark blood coming out of it, but it’s grayish and stinks like rotten eggs. I stare at it, frowning, not knowing what to do, when suddenly I am pushed down to the ground. I see a flash of white and black fur. A wet tongue rakes across my forehead. I put my hand up.

“Queen!” I cry. “Don’t do that!”

I hear a laugh and then a short whistle and Queen backs away. When I get up and brush myself off, I see Pest standing there with two fat squirrels in his hand, already skinned and ready for the pot.

“It’s not funny,” I mumble. “I didn’t see you guys coming.”

“Yeah, I know,” Pest says with a smile. “But it’s still a little funny.” His dark eyes twinkle at me and I frown.

“I’ll sneak up on you sometime and see how you like it,” I tell him with a scowl.

“Como quieres,” Pest says in Spanish. Lucia’s face shoots across my consciousness, and I feel a lightning bolt of pain.

“Don’t do that,” I tell him, harsher than I mean to.

“Do what?”

“Speak Spanish,” I say. I feel myself glare at him, my eyes like focused lasers.

Pest looks at me for a moment. Then he shrugs. He holds up his dead squirrels and shakes

them at me. “Breakfast,” he says. “And lunch too, probably.” Queen trots around him, her tongue lolling out as she looks up at the squirrels with hunger. “No, not for you,” Pest says. “Go on, now, go find your own food.” Queen licks her jaws and then pushes her head into Pest’s leg. Helplessly, I feel that same jealousy I always feel when animals like other people more than me. I don’t know why I’m like that, but I am. Pest pats her roughly on the head. “Go on now.” Queen gives a little whine and then looks at me once before bounding away into the forest.

“What will she eat?” I ask.

“What won’t she?” Pest asks back. He sees me looking out into the forest after Queen. “Don’t worry about her,” he says. “She can take care of herself.” He crouches down in front of the circle of stone and ash that had been last night’s campfire and lays out the squirrels on one of the rocks. I watch him start building a fire for a minute before I go back to Eric, looking with concern at the wound in his foot. I need to clean it and get him some boots. I go back to the campfire and help Pest build it. I’ll need boiling water to clean that wound. When the fire is going, I take the pot to the nearby stream and come back with it brimming with water. Pest is watching me with those thinking eyes of his. I’m suddenly struck by something I’ve never thought before. The way he thinks, no, the way I can see him thinking, it reminds me of Eric. It makes me uncomfortable, that connection.

“How’s he doing?” Pest asks, motioning toward Eric. I explain the wound in his foot without looking up. Pest gets up and goes to see for himself, and I have to bite down annoyance. I don’t like other people messing with Eric, even if they mean well. Or maybe it’s just Pest, I don’t know. He looks up from the wound. “It’s bad,” he says with a concerned voice.

“What gave you the clue? The stinking hole or the gray puss?” I know I sound like a real jerk, but it just comes out of me before I have time to stop it.

Pest ignores my tone. “We might have to burn it out,” he says.

“What?” I look at him with wide eyes.

“Just look at it,” Pest says. “If this thing spreads, he’ll lose the whole foot.”

“What’re you, a doctor now?” I try to keep from being a jerk, but…

“No,” Pest says, “but I know a bad infection when I see it.”

I know he’s right when he says it. But I don’t like it. And I don’t like that I didn’t see it right off. I know he’s right. The darkness of the wound is already spreading and long red lines of infection cover his foot like a web.

“We should do this now,” Pest says. He gets up and goes to the backpack, rummaging inside it. He takes out something and then walks toward me and hands it to me. “You forgot this,” he tells me. For a moment, I’m puzzled before the recognition lights up my face. My knife! The minute my hands grasp it, I feel a sense of relief come over me. It’s so strong that I gasp out loud.

“Thank you!” I exclaim. I feel tears coming to my eyes, and I turn away and wipe them away in the crook of my elbow, embarrassed. I look at him and smile. “I don’t know why I’m crying, it’s just a stupid knife.” I try to laugh, but I feel more tears come, and I remember as clearly as if it’s happening all over again, Eric look over and tell me, keep it with you and keep it sharp. Keep it sharp. I laugh a little. How could I have ever lost it?

Pest nods toward the fire, and I know what I have to do. I put the knife blade into the hottest part of the fire. Pest leans over and blows into the red hot coals to make them even hotter. It isn’t long before the end of the blade is blazing orange. I realize suddenly what I have to do and my stomach recoils. Still, I can’t show Pest how I feel. I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to do it. No one touches Eric but me. No one.

I get up from the fire and walk to Eric. I kneel down in front of him and look at the festering wound. Although it was just a small puncture wound, it’s swollen to the size of a golf ball. The swollen wound is seeping grayish, stinking ooze like some nasty volcano. I swallow and try to steady myself. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.