Ben Bedard - The World Without Flags

“Thanks,” he tells me. “Now stop worrying about me. Do your thing.” He smiles at me and takes out a book that Eric gave to him. For a minute, I see him look out toward the fields. Like me, I think he sees the people he misses. Rebok and Crypt and all the others from the goon squad. His eyes look tired for a second and then he turns his attention back to the book.

I sit down and get out my drawing materials. The paper is yellow and brittle with age, and reminds me that I’m going to have to learn how to make paper, but the pencils are top notch. Boston and Sydney brought them to me from Boston. After the Barber funeral, which, by the way, also stopped the war, at least for now, Boston and Sydney have been coming regularly up north, establishing a safe, but not entirely safe, trading route. They always visit me and bring me stuff. I don’t know if they do it to make me feel better or for themselves. It’s awkward. As I look at my fancy pencils, I think Boston and Sydney must feel pretty guilty for almost shooting me to hunt these bad boys down. By the time we dragged Randy back to camp, they had found some oatmeal bars laced with Worms in Randy’s bag, and when he tried to lie his way out of that, they found a lot more of them back at the warehouse where Dr. Bragg did his…work. Not only that, but there were a lot of idiots there who were more than happy to tell them the whole process of how they kidnapped people with the Worm and gave them to the Doctor. The warehouse itself was full of evidence, including several notebooks penned by the dear departed Doctor. There was plenty of evidence to hang Randy, but they didn’t. They shot him instead.

I begin to sketch out the cemetery. It’s not the time of year to start thinking about the new calendar, but this year, I want to do something special. It’s been a rough year for everyone, and we all need to remember it. Summer is nearly over, but a lot of the flowers are out in full bloom. There must be twenty different species, all different colors, all different shapes, red triangles and orange ellipses and buttery yellow circles. It will take a lot of work to sketch them out, but for now, I just outline them.

I’m just about ready to turn back to my drawing when I see a flash of black and white fur, followed close by a little bundles of yipping mayhem. It’s Queen, the new mother, leading her four puppies to Pest. When the fire started in Cairo, it was too much for her and she ran away. When we left Cairo, she still hadn’t returned, and we all thought she would never come back. But just a few weeks ago she returned, just in time to give birth to four puppies in the barn. They are all glossy brown in color except for one fluffy white one with brown spots which has taken a liking to me. I was going to call him Prince, but with the Good Prince living with us, I thought it would be more appropriate to call him Duke. Now Duke comes up to me, wagging his tail so wildly that he falls over, nipping at my hand as I pat him.

When the puppies bound away to play in the grass and Queen follows after them, I turn back to my drawing. I’ve been so busy running with Eric and then coming home again that I haven’t had time to think of the people we lost, the people I called my family. Once it was all over, I thought there would be time, but it never seemed to be over. There was always something else to take my time. First there was the burial at Cairo. Almost everyone in the town was dead. We didn’t get there in time to stop the Stars from shooting everyone with Worm. All we could do was help the few that were left gather up all of the bodies and burn them. The worst was the Good Prince. The day after the Worm broke out in Cairo, they dragged her out of her home, and almost hung her. The man we met on the stairs, Jim, he didn’t let that happen, but they locked her up in church like a criminal in one of the jail cells in the basement. The fires that burned down Cairo spared the church, mostly. After it was all over, the Good Prince left Cairo. Too much had happened for her to stay. Now she lives with us here, in the Homestead, in Beth’s old house. We’re happy to have her, but losing Cairo has broken her heart. She doesn’t talk much anymore, but even so, Eric and I still go sit with her to look out over the fields.

I begin to sketch out the tree and the roots, the branches and the spreading leaves.

The days right after the burning of Cairo were hard. Although Boston and Sydney knew we were innocent, after President Barber was shot and killed, there was confusion in the Stars. There were rumors of insurrection, assassination, some fiendish plot by the Gearheads to take control. We had to stay and tell our story at something like a trial held in the church of Cairo, or what was left of it. Some of the back wall was burned out. It was unsettling, but by the time it was over, everyone seemed satisfied that the truth was out. They gave the President a decent funeral. They shot their guns in the air and wrapped up Barber’s body in a flag before they burned him. It was all very solemn, and, I have to say, a little ridiculous. I remember Pest told me after the funeral when we were sure that we were alone that it was a lot of show for nothing. “No one will remember that flag in ten years,” he said. “Someone should have just talked about who he was.” But no one talked about Barber. Maybe no one knew anything about him. Maybe that’s why the flag was so important to them, something that marked him, something that told everyone who he was and what he thought and felt and believed when no one really knew that much at all.

I start to capture a little of the background. I make sure to catch the sloping hill behind the tree and the fields. This is what we believe. This is more than a place, it’s who we are. I was so happy to see it when we returned that I forgave Franky and Norman and I think they’ve forgiven me, although I do get some looks from time to time, puzzling looks, sad but also hurt? Betrayed? I don’t think they will ever look at me the same way again. I lied to everyone, but I did it for a good reason. They will have to understand that. Now that Eric is back and healthy, they have to admit that I was right to do what I did. I don’t think they like that, but they respect me more for it. They look at me different now. They tell me that I am different, that I’m not the same person I was before. I’m more talkative, they say, and I laugh more. They’re right, I have changed, but I don’t tell them how I think I’ve changed. I don’t tell them that I know things about myself now that I wish I never knew. I’m easier to fool than I ever thought, I’m capable of doing very bad things to survive, and I know a place inside me that is dark and devoid of feeling. Every time I look down at my healing wrist, I’m reminded of just how delicate this whole thing is. Not just life itself, but all the connections between us, all those things that hold us together and make us family and friends and make other people enemies. It can all change. It can all change in a moment.

I feel a shiver of fear and take a deep breath. I’m not here to think about myself. I’m here to think about them. I open my eyes and sigh and look up at the tree. I would do anything to see them again. All of them who died because they ate an oatmeal bar given to them by someone they trusted. Crypt, Gunner, Rebok, silly boys, always fighting, but I loved them; Matt with his secret suffering; Patrick, Fiona, Peter, Beth, so many. And Artemis. I look down at my paper, my lips trembling. My best friend who always needed hugs I never wanted to give. I take a sharp breath. I haven’t allowed myself to think of her, and now that I do, I suddenly remember how she smelled like candy. I rub my nose and realize that I’m weeping.

“Are you okay?” I feel Pest’s hand on my shoulder, and I reach out and put my hand on his.