Ben Bedard - The World Without Crows

“I know what the world is, Brad,” Sarah said. “I don’t need you to tell me. There’s plenty of fish in the creek. We can afford to share.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Brad said angrily. “We can’t afford to share. We can’t ever afford to share. Ever.”

They were quiet. The only sound was Brad, slurping up the chowder. After he finished and sighed, he put down his cup on a nearby stone, where it fell, clattering tinnily. He didn’t say anything more but gazed into the growing darkness of the forest. The sun was turning orange in the sky.

“We made it another day,” said Sarah, sitting back, and stretching her legs out.

Eric felt like an intruder because of Brad’s stiff, angry posture. Birdie sidled closer to him and clasped his hand. Eric relaxed and remembered something. He took out his backpack, and then took out some materials, laying it out in front of Birdie.

“Do you like to draw?” he asked.

“Oh!” she cried, “I love to draw!” Birdie dove on the crayons and paper and, eyes sparkling, set to drawing. Sarah smiled, watching her. Only Brad seemed untouched. He glared over at her.

“Where’d you find her?” he asked. “She ain’t your family, that’s obvious.”

“At a store further south,” Eric answered.

“He almost shot me,” Birdie said, drawing intensely. Eric blushed so furiously that his eyes glistened with wetness.

Brad laughed. “Afraid of black people much?”

“No,” Eric responded quickly. “I didn’t even see her before I shot.”

“Good thing you didn’t shoot her little head right off,” Brad said. “Wouldn’t that have been something?”

Eric paled and looked down at his hands. It made him sick to think about it.

“Don’t be an asshole, Brad,” Sarah said. Brad chuckled a little, as if he enjoyed being called an asshole, and then shrugged and turned back to the forest. Sarah turned back to the fire and poked at it with her stick. “Where are you from?” she asked.

Eric told most of the story. Beginning with the death of his mother, he told how he had formed a plan, and then found maps and camping supplies and emergency survival kits, and then moved north. He told them about Charlie’s murder and then finding Birdie. “That’s about it,” he finished. “I hope to be in Maine by September, so I can have time to get ready for winter.”

“You’re going to walk to Maine?” Brad laughed. “Look at you! You’re too fat to walk all that way. You’ll fucking die of a heart attack before you get out of Ohio!”

“I have to try,” Eric said timidly.

“Why don’t you just get a car and drive?” Brad asked. “Then you might have a chance.”

“Probably for the same reason we don’t have a car,” Sarah said. “Too much attention. You might as well just join the Snakes. I think it’s a great idea.” She thought about it, and then turned to Eric. “Actually, I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

Brad made a hissing sound, but then settled back. “Winter will freeze Zombies,” he acceded. “Sometimes on cloudy, cold days, they can hardly move. I’ve seen it. I think they’re cold blooded, like lizards. They need the sun to warm up their muscles.”

Eric nodded. “I think the Vaca B causes the body to shut down. That’s why they can live so long without eating, I think. Snakes can live months on one meal.”

“Winter is a good idea,” Brad repeated. “We were moving south. I figured it would be best to go somewhere warm all the time, so we wouldn’t have to worry about freezing to death. But maybe getting killed by a cracked Zombie is the thing to worry about.” He sat up.

“Maybe,” Sarah began. “Maybe we could come with you?”

They both looked at him. Eric thought about it. He didn’t like or trust Brad, but Sarah could fish and she was a good cook. They needed that. Besides, Brad seemed tough and mean. Eric would feel better with him around. He tapped Birdie on the shoulder.

“Birdie,” he said. “Do you think we should let them come with us?”

For her response, she held up her drawing. It was a picture of multicolored stick people, holding hands beneath a blazing sun. There were four of them, and in the background was a lake. In the lake was the island. It was decided.

“Okay,” Eric said. “We go together.”

Over the crackling fire, Brad told Eric his story. Birdie was curled up against him, her dark hair in angry snarls. She’d fallen asleep with a crayon in her hand. Sarah sat on the opposite end of the fire, listening while Brad spoke.

“After the Vaca B came to Wooster,” he began, “things went bad quickly. Everyone I knew was either dead or dying. I was trying to find some food one day when a cracked Zombie came out of nowhere.” Brad made an expanding gesture with his hands. “It was the Snakes, they saved me. Blew off that Zombie’s head with a shotgun. I ended up joining them. It seemed the safest thing to do. They had a king, called him the King Cobra. He said we were supposed to repopulate the earth. It was our job.”

Sarah interrupted then. “He was crazy,” she said. “King Cobra had the Snakes gather girls into a compound.”

“Like a warehouse,” Brad offered.

“Like a prison. They were there just to,” Sarah said. “You know.”

“Fuck,” Brad said helpfully. “King Cobra decided who had earned the right to women every day.”

“They came in at night,” Sarah said. “They picked them out like they were dogs.”

“I was never one of them to go to the warehouse,” Brad said. “I was on Zombie round up. We put Zombies into trucks and drove them out to Lake Chippewa. When those Zombies got a good look at that water, they just walked in and drown. You know how the worm makes people crazy for water. Then we’d drag them out and burn them in great pits. King Cobra said we were cleansing the world.”

Sarah made a hissing sound. “I hate the sound of his name,” she said.

“What happened to make you leave?” asked Eric. These kind of stories were exactly the reason he was trying to avoid gangs.

“One day,” Brad began in a reluctant tone. “One day we went down to the lake with a truck load of Zombies in the back. It was me, Harry, Paul, and this kid, Willie. Willie weren’t more than thirteen, I think. He was a good kid. Never did anything to anyone.” Here Brad faltered and then cleared his throat. “Well, we got down to the lake and let the Zombies out. Paul and Harry were laughing as they all lurched into the water. The sight of all them men and women just walking to their deaths, it made your skin crawl. When they were all dead, we dragged their bodies out of the water. Paul got on the bucket loader, and we put the dead Zombies in the pit to burn. Me and Willie were down by the lake, dragging the bodies on shore when Willie found it.

“It was a silver gun with gold designs. It shined in Willie’s hand. Willie’s eyes shined too. We were making quite a noise over that gun, so Paul and Harry came down to see. Willie showed them the gun. Then Harry held out his hand and said, ‘Give it here.’ You could tell by how he said it that Willie wouldn’t ever see that gun again. So Willie said to him, ‘It’s my gun, I found it. Finders keepers.’ I remember he said that because it was like what a kid would say on a playground. Same tone and everything. ‘I’m the boss here,’ said Harry. ‘Now give it over!’ But Willie stuck the gun in his pants instead. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You ain’t the boss of me. There ain’t no bosses no more.’

“Willie was wrong though. There are still bosses. Harry kind of nodded at Paul and Paul, who was this big, quiet guy, he grabbed Willie from behind. Then Harry started beating on Willie. I wanted to say something, but they were big guys. They beat him like he was a full grown man. They beat him bloody and took the gun from him. Then they laughed and were walking away when Willie found some strength. He shouted at them, ‘You better sleep with one eye open, you fuckers! This ain’t over!’ He said it like a kid. You know how kids say those things. They don’t mean it.