Ben Bedard - The World Without Crows

John Martin nodded his head at the other two and then all three walked away together. Eric watched as they quietly conferred. When they came back, John Martin held out his hand to Brad. “If you don’t mind,” he said. “We’d like to share the road with you for a while, at least as far as New York.” Brad looked at the others. Eric and Sarah nodded.

Brad shook John’s hand.

“Glad to have you,” Brad said, with a smile.

“Now, first things first,” John Martin said. “We need food.” He looked off to the north and east. “We got to go in there.”

“There” was the town of Warren, Ohio, with its wisps of gray smoke, like the hair of an old man, falling from the sky.

They went to the north of the city, hiking wide of the airport, across a junk-strewn highway, which they scuttled across like rats, and then across a railroad to a road, behind which they could see a block of houses. To the south was the rest of Warren. From somewhere in the city came the sound of rock music, but it was too far away to say exactly what the tune was. “The Snakes,” Brad said knowingly. “We always played music loud.”

John Martin said the houses here, away from the city, might be safer from gangs but not from Zombies. “Every large center has Zombies,” he said. “And where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” he said. “There’s bound to be some cracked ones too.”

“Unless the Snakes cleared them out,” Brad said. “That’s what they usually do. They go into a new place and just drive around for a couple weeks, shooting anything that moves.”

“Maybe,” said John. “But be careful anyway.”

“We have to be careful,” Lucia agreed. “We can’t afford to think there’s no danger. That’s how people get killed.”

Brad blushed. “I didn’t mean not to be careful,” he said. “Of course we should be careful.”

“I know,” said John Martin.

Crouching with Birdie on his right and Sarah on his left, Eric was conflicted. A part of him felt he should be near to John Martin and Brad and Lucia. He should be consulted. But he also didn’t want the responsibility. He would be happy to follow John Martin’s instructions. Or Brad’s. Or Lucia’s. By Sarah’s silence, Eric imagined she felt the same way.

“We should go tomorrow,” said Lucia. “It’s getting dark.”

It was true. The shadows were stretching long across the ground. John Martin had just suggested they camp back at a shack they had passed earlier when they heard the truck.

The seven of them ducked down to the ground, beneath bushes, and waited.

It was the Land Rover. It drove by them slowly, its headlights on, and though he was too hidden to see, Eric imagined Carl Doyle searching for them along the road. When he had vanished toward the center of Warren, the group hiked quickly back through the dusk to the railroad track.

They dug a pit to hide the light of the fire. But the last of all their food was only enough to leave them wanting more. Sitting by the fire with Birdie next to him, leaning against his leg, Eric watched the others talk. Brad had already struck up a friendship with John. Sergio talked to Sarah, with Lucia next to him, quiet and contemplative. Eric was uncomfortable how quickly it had happened. They were all friends so fast. It made him nervous.

The next day dawned clear and brisk. The wind sliced into them. Eric woke up miserable, having slept badly the night before. He dreamt he stood at the edge of a hole. He had to decide either to jump into the hole or be pushed into it. The hole was only as large as his body, and he knew when he fell in, he would scrape the sides all the way down until he became wedged deep below. He would stay there until he died of thirst, clawing at the smooth side until his fingers were bloody. He stood at the edge and could not decide.

Eric had a hard time waking Birdie. She groaned when she finally rose. There were large, black circles under her eyes, and she walked as if she were carrying some great weight. She needed food. Eric felt something like fear and anger both inside him. It was an uncomfortable, evil mixture. He didn’t talk to anyone as he took her hand. Without anything but a cup of water for their empty stomachs, they began to hike north.

On the way, the group outlined in hopeful terms what they needed. Cans of food, rice, good flour if they could find it, bags of popcorn, and pasta. Sarah also said they needed to find a Sears if they could, where they could find some fishing supplies and some more camping supplies to replace their own. The others seemed more excited than frightened about the prospects of Warren. Eric felt nervous and fearful. Yet he felt a fury he did not understand. He didn’t mention it, but he knew what he would be looking for today. A gun.

They agreed to break up into groups. John, Sarah, and Lucia made one. Brad, Sergio, Eric, and Birdie made up the other. As they were making groups, Lucia came up to Birdie and crouched down in front of her. “Do you want to come with us?” she asked her. Eric felt a burst of protective anger. She too thought that Eric was not good enough to take care of Birdie. He was about to snap at her, beautiful or not, but Birdie spoke up.

“No,” she said. “Eric take cares of me, not you.”

It was very blunt. Lucia blinked in surprise and then smiled awkwardly. “Okay,” she said. She looked at Eric once, but he couldn’t read the look she gave him. Was it apologetic? Doubtful? Distrustful? Whatever it was, Eric squeezed Birdie’s hand.

One group was to go down one side of the street. The other searched the opposite side. When they reached the end of the street, they would begin another. When they found what they needed, they agreed to stop together, as a group, and find a Sears.

With plans made, they emerged from the roadside and walked into town.

The Snakes had not been there yet.

There were Zombies everywhere.

“Welcome to Champion Heights.”

Eric read the sign and felt sick. Nestled under spreading green trees, were rows of short, two story houses or smaller ranches. Each house was surrounded by an overgrown lawn in front of it, the grass already two feet high. Useless telephone wires crisscrossed above the streets.

Lumbering across the street, dragging one broken foot behind her, was a young woman, half of her face scratched to the bone. She walked to a house and began licking the chipping clapboard. Her tongue was ragged and frayed like a flag in the wind.

Birdie clutched at his hand.

Looking into a light blue house near them, Eric saw another Zombie, an old man this time, standing at the window. His hair was mostly ripped out. What was left was red and matted with blood. Somehow the old man had lost half his nose. It dangled from his face, connected by a thin tissue of skin. He stared at them through red eyes.

“I don’t like this,” said Eric. Brad shouldered his backpack.

“Fucking grow a pair,” he responded. Sergio chuckled next to him. Though they had just met, it was obvious that Sergio had attached himself to Brad. Brad glanced back at Eric, his face severe. “They’re only Zombies,” he said. “We need the food. As long as we keep seeing Zombies, we won’t see Snakes. They’re the real problem.”

Eric wanted to respond, but he didn’t. He knew Brad well enough now to know it wouldn’t do any good. He thought back to the Zombies on the street back in Athens. He had seen one, cracked, come racing down the street, a man in his forties, sprinting like a young man. The man was screaming, “The wind is talking! The wind is the fire!” Then he flung himself on a passing Zombie. Tearing him apart, the cracked man, eyes dripping blood, held up his bloody claws of hands. “It’s the wind! The wind!” The memory made Eric frigid.