Ben Bedard - The World Without Crows

After a moment, Brad leaned close to them. “We have to get the fuck out of here!” he hissed. “This guy’s a lunatic!”

Sarah shook her head. “Not here,” she whispered back at him. Afraid they would be heard, the four of them crept away from the fire and walked down to the creek and then some distance, crouching together at last by a small waterfall that gurgled about them. It didn’t take much talking among them to agree that none of them trusted Doyle. They would wait until he passed out and then go on to Cuyahoga by themselves.

When they returned to the fire, Doyle was sitting with Eric’s map laid out on the ground.

“It’s brilliant!” Doyle exclaimed, studying the map and the colored lines that traced a route from Ohio to a circle in Maine. He looked at Eric. “An island, of course!” He looked into the distance. “An island.” The phrase seemed to have some importance to him. “From the island, order. Like Victoria.” He searched the map, smiling and then looked up at Eric. “This is well done. Well done!”

“We aren’t sure about it yet,” Eric said. He wanted to take the map from him but didn’t dare.

“It’s brilliant!” Doyle repeated. “Utter brilliance!” Then he stood up tall. “I can help you,” he said, wavering slightly on his feet. “I can help you get there. We can start again. We’ll establish order on the island, as an example. An example for the whole world!”

“Okay,” said Eric after glancing uncertainly about him.

“Jolly good,” Carl Doyle muttered. “Excellent. You are fine young chaps.” He slumped back down to the ground. He sat wavering. His eyes drooped. After mumbling something into the fire, he lay back and fell asleep, his great bulk splayed out over the ground.

The rest looked at each other with relief and then began packing for their escape. Eric gathered his belongings that Doyle had taken from his backpack and carefully folded the map. He saw Brad reach back into the Rover for Doyle’s assault weapon and he spoke up, “Don’t,” he said. “He hasn’t done anything to us. We shouldn’t take anything that’s not ours.” Brad made an annoyed face, but he left the assault rifle where it was.

Eric put more wood on the fire before they set off north again. He held Birdie’s hand as they followed Brad and Sarah into the moonlit darkness.

When they figured out where they were, they pointed themselves north and east, moving slowly through the forests and strips of woods, keeping as far from roads as they could. As they walked along a tree line across a field, they heard an engine. Ducking down into the bushes, the four of them huddled down into the grass. They watched the pale green Land Rover careen pass them. They couldn’t see Carl Doyle, but they imagined, from the way the Land Rover sped over the road, that he was furious. Even after he had passed, they waited in the trees, silent for some minutes.

“That guy is insane,” Brad said. He took out his gun and checked it. Eric took out his own to do the same, though he didn’t know what he was checking. “You can see it in his eyes,” Brad continued. “What’s with that fake accent? The guy thinks he’s, I don’t know, the king of England or some shit.”

Sarah took a long drink from her water and then handed it to Birdie who took it without a word. “He’s gone now,” she said. “Let’s just forget about him.”

Birdie handed Eric the water. When he took it, Eric took her hand. There was a long, angry red weal across her palm. Eric groaned unconsciously. “What happened?” he asked. Birdie shrugged. Grabbing his bag, Eric rifled through it for his medical pack. He took a salve and, after washing her hands, he applied it. His hands were shaking. “Birdie,” he said to her, holding her shoulders. “You’ve got to tell me when you hurt yourself, okay? It’s very important.”

“Ow,” said Birdie, and Eric released his clutch on her.

“It’s okay, Eric,” Sarah said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

Eric shrugged it off. “No, it’s not,” he said firmly. “Don’t you get it? It’s not! If she gets an infection, what’re we going to do? We have to be mindful. We have to be careful!” Eric shook his head. Then he looked at Brad and Sarah who were studying him, alarmed at his reaction. “It’s not okay. It’s not.”

They left him alone that evening. Eric crawled into his tent with Birdie. Later, he listened to her breathing. A powerful feeling came over him. His eyes watered and he trembled. He put his hand on her shoulder.

Just a year ago, he fantasized about the end of the world. He thought it would be nice to be on his own, away from the terror of school, away from his mother’s cloying attention, away from the stupid world and its wars, famines, fears. But the reality was cold and horrifying.

One small mistake and Birdie could die.

Eric did not sleep that night.

When they arrived at Cuyahoga Valley National Park, it rained over the valley. It was a sharp, cold rain, that snapped against the new leaves, turning them glistening emerald. The valley was lush and verdant. The gentle hills made it look a sea of green. Brad led the way through the forest with his walking stick. Sarah came behind and Eric and Birdie, the slowest, were last.

Eric was in pain with every step. Since Brad came, the pace had quickened. He was so tired, he kept dragging his feet. He stumbled several times a day and fell more often than he wanted to admit. It was humiliating. His body failed him, as it always had. Though every part of his lower body shined with pain and his shoulders felt like knots of rocky pain, Eric refused to complain or ask Brad to slow down.

Brad came running down a hill then, his walking stick in his hand. His face was red and flushed, making his freckles disappear. “People,” he said breathlessly. He waved them forward.

They came to the crest of the hill and looked over. There, in a long river valley was a farmhouse and fields newly sprouted. On the lawn of the farmhouse were three picnic tables. In the middle of the field were one, two, three, four… eight men and women. They were playing volleyball. The rubbery smack of the volleyball was a dream of some forgotten past. When the ball finally fell, the people burst out laughing.

“We should go around the north,” said Brad. “We can’t stay here. Where’s the next stop, Eric?”

“Pymatuning State Park,” Eric breathed, staring at the people.

“What?” hissed Sarah. “We need food, supplies, and rest. We should talk to these people.”

“No,” said Brad, shaking his head. “They look fine, but who knows what’s in that barn, huh? Who knows what these fuckers are really up to?”

“Don’t be so paranoid,” Sarah snapped. “And you don’t get to say no and that’s it. You’re not the leader here.”

“Oh yeah? Who is then?” Brad poked Eric painfully in the shoulder. “This fat fuck?” Eric looked down at the ground.

“Yes,” said Sarah defiantly. “It was his idea to go to Maine. It’s his map. He’s in charge.”

They both looked at him angrily. Eric glared at Brad for a second and then sighed. He looked down at Birdie. “What do you think, Birdie?”

“I like them,” she said, watching the figures.

“That’s all I need,” Eric said, rolling to his knees and then lifting himself up. He looked at Brad. “Sarah’s right. We need help. We’re going to have to trust someone, some time.”

Brad hissed and stood up. Then a smile came on his face and he shrugged. “Okay,” he said. He patted Eric on the back. “If that’s what you guys want to do.” He sighed and clapped Eric on the back. “Sorry I called you a fat fuck,” he said. “I can be an asshole. Can’t I, Sarah?”