Ben Bedard: The World Without Crows

“I know you can, Birdie.”

Eric went slower all the same.

Moving north, they came to a large creek and followed it north. Eric told Birdie he thought it was called the Killbuck, but it was hard to be sure. His map wasn’t clear.

Eric and Birdie kept to the forest when they could, but kept the road in sight. Roads were the only way that Eric could be sure he was going in the right direction. As they moved north, more signs began to have SNAKES spray painted on them.

Eric saw a person walking on the road once, but he could tell, even from far away, that whoever it was was no longer living. It had a way of walking that was clumsy and awkward. No human walked like that. The worm had rooted into its brain. It was nothing more than walking corpse.

Eric and Birdie crept back into the hills and forests and worked their way north, trying to keep clear from the roads.

They came to a very small town called Blissfield. There were only a few houses. A burned out truck decayed in the middle of the street. One of the houses had a red snake painted on it. Nothing moved in the town.

“Wait here,” Eric whispered to Birdie. “I have to see if there’s food there.”

Eric got up, but Birdie clutched his hand. “No,” she said. “I’m coming too.”

“Birdie,” Eric hissed. “It’s dangerous down there!”

“It’s dangerous every where,” she said.

She was right. “Okay, but stay close and don’t wander off.”

They went into the town.

It was quiet in the houses. Most of them were empty. They looked like they’d been abandoned for years. Squirrels, raccoons, and foxes had moved in. They had built nests all over the houses, and they scurried away when they came near. In a few, they found a couple cans of food, corn, beans, and, in one, a small can of shrimp. In one room, Eric found a box of crayons and put it in his bag with a notebook he found in the closet.

Soon afterward, Eric got a bad feeling. He didn’t like staying in these places for too long. He took what they had found and crept north out of town where the Killbuck slid past. They crossed a bridge across it and kept moving north.

The feeling wouldn’t leave Eric. He kept Birdie close to him and kept looking over his shoulder. Finally he couldn’t stand it, and they climbed up a hill into the woods to eat.

Eric kept watching around him, his hand on his gun.

Eric and Birdie moved north at a greater pace. Eric still felt nervous. He was angry too, even if there wasn’t a target for his anger. He couldn’t let anything happen to Birdie. She was his responsibility now. He hated to think what might happen to a little girl in the wrong sort of gang. Birdie needed him. He kept looking over to her in concern. He felt fear like a knot in his throat.

The whistling sound came to him suddenly. He stopped abruptly, putting his arm in front of Birdie. “Shh!” he hissed. Birdie crouched near him. Eric crept toward the sound, motioning Birdie to wait. He pulled out his pistol. He could feel his heart beat rapidly in his chest, almost painfully. Peering from around a tree, he saw a lean figure against the Killbuck creek, fishing. It was a young woman, not much older than him, Eric figured. As he watched, her voice rose up around him.

“Sail away, sail away, sail away!” she sang.

It was a very popular song, right before the end. Eric relaxed his grip on the pistol. He was ashamed he pointed it at her. She pulled back suddenly, and her pole made an arc over the water. She gave a cry of triumph and, wrapping her hand around the line, dragged a fish on the bank. She took a club and brought it down upon the fish’s head, ceasing its struggle upon the shore.

Perhaps he made a sound. He was never sure. Her head snapped toward him suddenly, and without a doubt, she saw him, a fat kid with a gun. Eric froze. For an instant they stared at each other without moving or making a sound. And then her hand flashed and then glittered, holding a long, slim knife.

Eric took a step back and lifted up his pistol.

“This is my fish!” she cried. “Back off!”

“I don’t want your fish,” he replied. “We just heard you singing and—”

“We?” The young woman paled and glanced around her.

“Just me and one other person,” Eric said, unhappy he’d even mentioned Birdie.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I was just, just looking. I thought you might be a part of a gang.”

“Gang?” The woman stood up and breathed out a puff of air. “Hardly. Where’s the other guy? Hiding?”

“Yes,” Eric said.

“Tell him to come out.”

“No.”

They stood and looked at each other. The young woman was probably only a year or two older than him. Her hair was yellow like corn, tied back in a pony tail. She was slim and short, her face round, with a short, squat nose. Like them, she was very dirty. She had on a jean jacket and green pants. He didn’t want her to know about Birdie. If it was just him and a little girl, maybe she would steal all their stuff and leave them out here with nothing. She looked like she’d used that knife before.

“Hi.” The both of them turned. “My name is Birdie,” Birdie said. She waved.

The effect on the young woman was instantaneous. She smiled and lowered her knife immediately. “Hello Birdie,” she said. “My name is Sarah Ross.” She glanced over to Eric. “Would you like to come and share this fish with us?”

Just then another figure strode to them. He was tall and lean, with bright red hair. His face was smothered by freckles. He looked at Eric and grimaced.

“Who the fuck are these jokers?” he asked, casually waving a gun toward Eric and Birdie.

At the shore of the Killbuck, Sarah cooked the fish with Birdie’s help. After the fish had fried, Sarah stripped the flesh from the bones, added some water, a measure of powdered milk, wrinkled potatoes and a can of corn. Taking a plastic bag from her backpack, she retrieved a shaker of salt and pepper and vigorously shook them both into the pot. She also sprinkled some other herb into it. Birdie stirred it while it cooked.

It was fish chowder. Real fish chowder.

When Sarah served it to them in tin cups, Eric could hardly believe what he was holding. For weeks, he had eaten plain rice and canned beans. Birdie sat down next to him and they both spooned the chowder into their mouths.

It was the best meal Eric had ever eaten.

They had just finished eating when the redhead returned. He had left angrily when Sarah invited them to dinner, stomping and swearing into the woods. His name was Brad. “How was dinner?” he asked, sitting down beside them. “Food that you ain’t worked for always tastes best, don’t it?”

Eric looked away, ashamed of himself. It was true. They had contributed nothing to the meal.

“Brad, please,” Sarah said.

“Sarah, please,” he returned. “We can’t go feeding every fuck nugget who comes waltzing by.”

“I’m not a fuck nugget,” Birdie murmured.

Brad didn’t respond to her. “We can’t be giving away our food willy nilly to every Joe, Bob, and Mary Jane that comes around, that’s all I’m saying.” He spooned some chowder in his mouth. “You know what I’m saying, don’t you?” Brad asked to Eric. “You got to feed this kid, right? Would you give us a meal for nothing?”

Eric shrugged. He liked to think he would, but he wasn’t sure.

“She’s just a little girl, Brad,” Sarah said.

“This ain’t the world it used to be,” Brad said, as if Sarah had said nothing. “We can’t be the people we once were. We can’t be nice and charitable or we’ll be nice and dead. I thought you learned that.”