Ben Bedard - The World Without Crows

“What is it?” Sarah asked.

“Let’s go,” he hissed. “We have to go now!”

Without another word, they slipped away from Kane, and vanished back into the protective shadows of the trees. They didn’t question him until much later. Eric told them about the Seneca woman and the war for Buffalo. Lucia and Sergio were quiet and solemn. If there had been any lingering doubts about their path, the story extinguished them.

They hiked quickly the next day, heading east and south toward Susquehannock State Forest. The flat lands were a thing of the past. The landscape was folded now and forested, for the most part. The roads were easy to escape and find again, twisting and curling, up and down the hills.

Summer had come. The temperature had risen in the past few days until they had to stop for long periods to boil water and rest in the shade of trees. Everything was green and flourishing, and they saw little evidence of other human activity. Once they came across a burning truck. In the back burned a human body. It was hard to tell if the body had burned with the truck intentionally or if there had been some kind of fight or accident. They were so used to such sights now that they talked about it as if it were a game, trying to figure what happened.

They spent more and more time boiling water as the temperature rose.

It seemed so long ago that John Martin had been with them. Eric was ashamed of himself. In days, he was already forgetting him. He said so to Sarah one day as they gathered firewood. They hadn’t spoken much since they kissed.

“What do you expect?” she asked. “You can only see so much death before it doesn’t bother you anymore. It’s just the way the mind works.”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Not maybe,” she said, suddenly angry. “That’s the way it is. Deal with it, Eric. People die. We’re all going to die.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, confused at her sudden anger.

“I don’t care if you’re sorry,” she spat. “Grow up, Eric.” She stalked away, leaving him and Birdie alone.

Eric blushed as he watched her walk away. She had only kissed him because she missed Brad. Now she was ashamed of herself. Now she hated him. It was obvious.

The next day, Sarah stayed away from the group. For the first time, she left them to cook for themselves. They sat around the fire, eating beans and spaghettios. Sergio talked about the best way to navigate the next day while Lucia and Eric listened. Birdie drew with her few remaining crayons. She drew dark flowers blooming in dark earth under a darkling sun. In the dark forest, dark creatures roamed and dark people held to each other with dark arms and grasping dark hands.

Lucia asked Eric to talk about the island again. Eric was bashful but agreed.

He told them about the aluminum canoe and the sound the water made against it. He told them about the little shops where they sold soda and doughnuts and butter and fresh bait. About the sound of pine needles crackling under your feet. About the loons calling out over the water at night, so mournful and alone, but comforting somehow, gorgeous. He told them how, on the island, you couldn’t see any road, any street, any building, no sign at all of humans. Just the sound of the loons and the soft lapping of the water against the shore.

It was not exactly with hope that they listened. Or excitement. They listened with a profound reverence that was like the call of the loon itself, mournful and hopeful at once.

They had crossed route 46 and climbed a hill to a copse of trees when Sarah collapsed. Lucia was hiking next to her when it happened. When she went to help her up and touched her skin, Lucia flinched away from her. “She’s burning up!”

Eric staggered forward and dropped to his knees in front of her. “Sarah!”

After a moment, her eyes fluttered open. “I’m sick,” she said with a sob. “I’m sick, Eric!” She cried in his arms. “I’m going to die,” she said.

“No,” Eric said. “You don’t know that, Sarah. You could just have a fever.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said weakly. “I’m going to die.”

“Please stop saying that,” Eric said. He trembled holding her and tears escaped from his eyes. “You don’t know that!”

He held her for a long time, and then they helped her to her feet. They continued east as best they could.

The next morning, Sarah’s eyes were red.

While the rest of them waited with Sarah, Eric crept into Austin, a small town surrounded by forests and hills. Not much more than a few streets. They told him it was useless, but Eric insisted, hoping to find a pharmacy. John Martin had been carrying all of the antibiotics he had found after Brad died. Now Eric hoped that John Martin had been right. If he could find enough antibiotics, maybe Sarah would survive the Vaca Beber.

Austin had only a few streets. Most of the buildings were squat and flat, a few were made of fine, red brick. None of them looked like pharmacies. Eric strode down the street in a rush, feeling light without his backpack. The sun was brutally hot above him.

He came to a low, metal building with a broad triangular roof and a glass front. A grocery store. Without halting, he barged open the rusty front door, shattering glass in the process. In his right hand, he held a lug wrench he found in an abandoned car on the way in. His desperation made him fearless.

The grocery store, located right on the street, had been ransacked several times. The shelves were empty. “Goddamn it!” Eric swore, walking down the aisles. He found nothing but a tube of toothpaste. He went to the back and kicked open the back door. He heard a yipping sound and then a few growls.

In the back was a pack of dogs, only three or four. They were eating a Zombie, who was, technically, still alive. It’s mouth worked up and down although half of its face had been eaten off already. One of the dogs was tearing away at its stomach when he opened the door, and now it gulped down the innards, and ran away, trailing intestines behind it. The Zombie’s mouth opened and shut with a wet, clapping sound. Eric shut the door and then stumbled back, holding his mouth.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. He searched every store, every house. He saw other bodies. Other Zombies. He ignored them all, searching through the houses with monomaniacal energy. The only thing he found was a small .22 pistol and some bullets for it.

Finally, as the sun set and it was getting hard to see, he returned without medicine.

Eric made a stretcher from some tree limbs and an old blanket he found on a clothesline. Eric got the idea from his survival guide, which had laid, long forgotten, at the bottom of his bag. He brought it out in hopes that it would have something to say about First Aid. This is what it said:

“Before you venture out into God’s land, you’ll need to bring a First Aid Kit. Minor cuts and bruises can become a big deal when you’re in the wilderness! Cuts can fester and cause deadly infections and minor sprains can turn an idle hike into a nightmare of pain. Be prepared and you can be assured that you will be safe in the great outdoors!”

Flipping through it, he saw a plan for a stretcher. They put Sarah between a blanket strung between two long poles. They dragged the ends of the poles on the ground. It was not easy.

It was a long, arduous hike to the forest, where they could safely stop. Finally they entered the calm darkness of the forest. Sweating and heaving, they dragged Sarah up a long hiking path. There was a cabin there, empty. Inside, they put Sarah onto the wooden frame of the bed, made as comfortable as they could with leaves, rags, and the blanket from the stretcher.