Ben Bedard - The World Without Crows

He folded up the map and stuck it carefully back in its plastic bag and then replaced it in his pack. When he heard a familiar rattling, he smiled and took out a leather bag, and dumped his dice on the end table. He picked out three six-sided dice and rolled them. He loved the sound of them on the wood.

14. 12. 8.

For a moment, he thought about Jessica, the feel of her soft hand in his. Then he thought of her body in the gutter, her eye shot out. He thought of his mother, stiff in her bed, her hands clawed and bloody from scratching herself. He saw the flames of their house burning.

He put the dice away.

Eric gave Birdie a glass of water. “Thank you,” she said. Birdie always said please and thank you. It was the most of what she said. “You’re welcome,” said Eric and poured his own. They had been in the barn with Sharif and had come back for some water. When they walked back to the barn, they heard raised voices. The both of them stopped still. It was Sharif and Sharon, a young woman with corn silk hair and expressive round eyes. Eric was embarrassed around her because she was so pretty. Right now, she sounded furious.

“You can’t act like this!” she exclaimed.

“Act like what, Sharon, a human being?”

“Don’t you do that to me!” Sharon said. Eric wanted to leave or to announce his presence, but they were approaching, and he didn’t want them to think he had been listening. He was still deciding how to handle the uncomfortable situation when Sharon spoke again: “You can’t just invite them to stay as if you’re the king of this place! This is not what we’re about, and you’re not king!”

Now Eric and Birdie ducked into a stall to listen. This was about them.

“I talked with everyone, Sharon,” Sharif said. “Everyone thought they should stay.”

“Not everyone,” she said. “Not me. Not Mark. And Van wasn’t sure either. That’s nearly half of us. We should’ve talked about this more.”

“They’re children,” Sharif said. “We need children.”

“There’s plenty of children at the Hollow,” Sharon spat. “But you didn’t want them here, did you?”

“That’s different,” Sharif answered. “They still have their mothers and fathers. I didn’t think splitting up families was wise.”

“We wouldn’t be splitting up anyone!” Sharon said. “It would have been a revolving system. Everyone should share in the upbringing of children.”

“We don’t have the right to take children from their parents, Sharon.”

“Are you kidding me? David is a drunk and Francine isn’t even sure he’s the father!”

“We still can’t take those kids,” Sharif said a little angrily. “We’ve gone over this before. We don’t have the right!”

“Those kids need me!”

“Sharon, stop it! You’re not getting those kids!”

There was a pause, and then the sound of Sharon, crying.

“You could’ve stayed,” Sharif said, more quietly. “I would’ve understood.”

“I love you,” Sharon said and then sobbed. “I can’t leave you.”

“Sharon, I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t even touch me,” Sharon spat suddenly. “I hate you!” She sobbed again. “I don’t see how you can be so cruel. You accept these strangers, but those kids, those kids were mine!”

“Honey,” said Sharif. “They aren’t your children.”

“They were mine!” Sharon insisted. “Not in blood, but everything but, everything in me says it’s true! Their so-called parents were gone for months! You don’t understand, you don’t understand what it really feels like. You have more feeling for these strangers than you do for me!” Her voice had risen to a shout again. “I won’t stand for it, Sharif, and neither will Mark. They have to go! We’re not going to have a fat kid and some little nigger girl eating all our food!”

“Chrissakes, Sharon, get a hold of yourself!”

“We all work for that food! Not just you! All of us!”

Then there was a flash as Sharon left the barn in a storm. Birdie clung to Eric’s leg. They waited for another five minutes before they emerged from hiding.

Eric walked to Sharif. He turned around, and when he saw them, smiled warmly. He handed Eric a pitchfork.

“How’s it going?” Eric asked.

“Fine,” Sharif said, and smiled again.

Eric could read nothing in that smile.

Eric woke to screaming. He stumbled out of bed, dazed, and, his heart beating wildly, he fumbled for his gun that he hid under his bed. The screaming continued, somewhere nearby, a wrenching, horrible sound. Trembling, Eric gave up looking for the gun and ran outside his room in the darkness. He felt Birdie suddenly grasp his legs. The hallway began to fill with people carrying flashlights and candles. They gathered around an open door.

Inside, on the bed, Sarah grasped a pale, tortured Brad. His mouth was hung open and the scream still seemed to echo from him. Brad’s face was wet with sweat. Red hair clung to his forehead. His eyes were dark and hollow. Sarah rocked him in his arms.

“Oh god, oh god,” Brad gasped.

“It’s okay, it’s all right,” Sarah said, holding his head tight in his arms.

“No, it’s not, no, no,” Brad sobbed. He saw them watching, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Shh, quiet, it’s all right,” Sarah said.

“No, no, it’s not,” Brad sobbed.

Sarah embraced him tightly and looked at them meaningfully. They began to disperse. Eric took one last look at Sarah holding Brad and whispering in his ear before he left, taking Birdie with him. Without having to ask, Birdie crawled into bed with him.

“It’s because of his family, isn’t it?” she asked when it was quiet.

“I don’t know, Birdie,” Eric said.

“It’s because of his family,” she stated.

Eric didn’t answer. When he closed his eyes to sleep, his mother came to him again, in her bed, sweating from the Vaca Beber. Her eyes seemed so large, so red. Blood trickled from them. “Eric,” she said to him. “Eric!”

“Momma,” he said from the door frame. He was scared of her. Scared of dying how she was dying. Scared of the worm. Scared of what she might say to him.

“Eric, come here.”

He hesitated, but he did, finally.

But she didn’t say anything. She just held his hand and cried until her pillow was red with blood.

They were fishing when they saw the Land Rover. Sarah saw it first. She grabbed Eric’s shoulder and pointed. Van, a middle-aged man with short brown hair and a long, wedge-shaped nose that made his face look like a hatchet, stood up straight to watch the Rover. His face went dark. They all dropped their fishing poles. Eric grabbed Birdie and they ran back to the farm.

By the time they got there, out of breath, Carl Doyle was already there, talking to Sharif and Mark. Brad was behind Mark, glaring at Doyle.

“I only want what is mine,” Doyle said. “These children stole from me.”

“Do you have anything of his?” Sharif asked, looking to them all. Eric, too out of breath to answer, just shook his head.

“We didn’t take shit from this guy!” Brad exclaimed.

Doyle shook his head. “They stole my father’s medal for service in World War Two,” he said. “He won that in the Pacific, he was a hero. I want that medal back.”

“We didn’t take anything from you,” Eric said. “Maybe you dropped it.”

“I searched,” Carl Doyle insisted, his red lips quivering. Intense, dark eyes swiveled to meet Eric’s. “I searched and I searched. Someone took it. One of you took it. I want it back immediately. Just give it back to me and we can forget all this unpleasantness.”