The World Without Flags

by Ben Lyle Bedard

  “What about the Gearheads?” I ask. “Won’t they do the same thing?” I’m genuinely curious about this whole war. I’m not faking anything. I don’t understand how two organizations that have the same goal can end up as enemies. I try to put this words for them. “If you both want peace and security, why not work together?”

  Boston makes a hissing sound and Sidney shakes his head. “The Gearheads are just interested in power,” Sidney says. “They don’t give a shit for anything else.”

  “At first,” Boston continues, “we were willing to work with them. They keep order over there and we keep order over here, works great for both of us. But then, all of a sudden, they’re pushing toward us and forcing people to fly their flag.”

  “We never force anyone to fly the Stars,” Sidney says. “They do it because they see it’s the right thing to do. The Gearheads force people to follow them.”

  “All those Gearheads care about is power,” Boston explains to me. “They could have stayed where they were, but no, they had to move south and east. They had to expand and force people to join them.”

  “And build an army,” Sidney adds. He flicks his eyebrows. “With tanks.”

  “You think they’re fixing up tanks to be friends?”

  The two of them laugh bitterly. I’ve heard that the Stars have tanks too, but I don’t mention it. I don’t think it would be smart to get into a political debate. Maybe I’ve already pushed further than I should have. I suddenly wish I could talk to Eric. I feel it so bad, it’s like a pain, like something is being torn inside me. I turn my head down to hide the pain from them. In my sudden grief, the ghosts of the Homestead come to me, like they’ve been waiting for some kind of gap in my emotional defenses: Artemis, Diane, Fiona, Crypt, Gunner, they all do a silent, ghostly march through my mind. The pain is so intense, it’s like being immersed in frigid water on a hot day. I have to repress a gasp as my head swims. To hide it, I shake my head and laugh bitterly, as if I’m joining them, as if I have the slightest idea who really is at fault for the war, the Stars or the Gears.

  It’s then, behind Boston and Sidney, I see a horse riding toward us.

  Even from this distance, I would know the riders anywhere, just from how they seat the horse. Norman and Pest.

  My laughter dies like it was stabbed by a knife.

  57

  Why can’t I catch a break?

  The thought flashes past me as the next few seconds happen almost instantly.

  When I stop laughing, Boston and Sidney turn around. They spring into action so fast, I can hardly keep track of what’s happening. They each have their guns out, and I reach out and grab mine, not thinking that my gun is useless, loaded with blanks. Norman and Pest are riding toward us at a nice clip. I see the both of them have guns. I assume they recognize my figure just as I recognized them. I don’t know what to do. They must know that Eric has the Worm. It wouldn’t take much searching in our abandoned cabin to find evidence of that. They’ve been sent out to find us, I’m sure. They’ll bring us back, and then, after a lengthy debate, they will drag Eric off to a solemn funeral, kill him, and then burn his body to ashes. And expect me to live with it.

  The thought occurs to me that if I open fire, someone might get confused and start shooting real bullets. In the resulting fire fight, I could sneak off with Eric.

  I squeeze my trigger, but then relent. I can’t sneak anywhere with Eric, or successfully escape if people are pursuing us. I need another way.

  I lower my gun as Norman and Pest approach. When I make out their faces, a strange pain hits me. These are my friends, the closest thing I know to family. It’s like I forgot that until I saw their faces.

  “Don’t shoot!” I cry to Boston and Sidney. “Don’t shoot! I know these guys!”

  Boston and Sidney glance back at me and then back to the approaching horse. I see they’re not convinced. Norman and Pest both have their guns raised, pointed at Boston and Sidney. My heart thumping, I find myself doing something stupid: I leap between them, waving my arms.

  “Don’t shoot!” I cry. “Please! Lower your guns!” I’m waving my arms like I’m trying to fly.

  The horse stops and Pest is the first to dismount, swing off it gracefully, and landing without relaxing his aim. It’s strange to see him with a gun, but he’s holding it like it’s an old friend. I realize I don’t know as much about him as I thought. Pest looks angry and keeps flashing his eyes from Boston and Sidney and then back to me. Norman stays on the horse, but his gun is lowered. Slowly Norman dismounts too. I’m not sure why, but it registers then that they’re riding Bandit, the most stubborn horse at the Homestead.

  Both Boston and Sidney are not relaxing their guard.

  “It’s okay,” I tell them, turning toward them. “I know these guys, they’re from the Homestead.”

  That doesn’t seem to relax them much, so I turn back to Norman. “It’s okay,” I say to him.

  “Are you okay, Kestrel?” Pest asks. I look at him. His eyes glint dangerously. His voice has a thin quality that I’ve never heard. His finger is tense on his trigger.

  “These guys have been watching out for me,” I say. “I’m okay.”

  All the men just keep glaring at each other. Murder is just a bad look away.

  “Everyone just calm down,” I continue.

  Guns start to falter. Norman is the first to put his gun away, followed by Sidney. Pest keeps his in his hand, even after Boston puts his away, although he points it at the ground. Norman turns toward me, looking tired and sad and disappointed. I feel ashamed, even though I’m sure I’ve done the right thing since the beginning. I’ve always thought of Norman as something like a grandfather.

  “I didn’t have any choice,” I tell him.

  Norman shakes his head. “Maybe I’d a done the same thing,” he says sadly.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Sometimes doing the right thing and the good thing aren’t the same,” Norman tells me. “Maybe you did what was good, honey, but not what was right.”

  Boston makes a sound. “So killing a helpless man is right?”

  Norman glances at Boston and then back at me. “You didn’t tell them?”

  My heart falls. I’m sorry, Eric. I tried to protect you. I tried. I sink to my knees and shake my head.

  “Tell us what?” Sidney growls.

  “About the Worm,” Norman says. “That helpless man is carrying the disease that near wiped out the human race.”

  Boston and Sidney look at me. I watch as looks of recognition come to their eyes, old, old memories of the Worm and the people who had it. How they looked. Behaved. Smelled. I see the certainty of it pass over their eyes. For a minute, with their jaws hanging like that, they look like Eric.

  I’m sorry, Eric. I tried. I really did.

  “I touched him,” Boston says weakly. His face loses all color, and then he stumbles to the side and leans over clasping his knees. For a minute I think he’s going to puke, but he doesn’t.

  58

  Think, Birdie. Think.

  Now there’s four and they all know the truth. They will all want him dead and burned. They will do it for the greater good, for everyone’s future.

  I’m sorry, Eric.

  My body feels weak and helpless. Think, Birdie.

  I need to convince them. I don’t have a weapon. I don’t have the strength or ability to fight them. I need to argue. My mind begins to buzz with the arguments, the counter-arguments, which ones are better suited to Pest, which ones might work better on Boston or Sidney, which ones I can use to make Norman see as I do. Think.

  On my knees, surrounded by armed men, I feel an old strength kindle. Eric would never give up on me. Never.

  I won’t give up on Eric.

  I stand up.

  59

  Everyone is talking. I feel like it’s happening in another world. Very far away. Distant. Everything is muffled. My own mind is louder than reality, careening, grinding, buzzing. I se
e their lips moving, the disbelief on their faces, the anger, the sadness, the fear. I see all of these emotions leading to a decision. The decision to kill Eric. They think they’re making the hard decision, but it’s the easy one. Then suddenly Pest is in my face.

  “Kestrel?” His voice is clear. He sounds concerned.

  Then he’s pulled away and I see Norman. I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen him out of his canvas overalls. He’s wearing a red, plaid shirt and jeans. He frowns down at me. I’ve never seen him like this. Like he’s made of iron.

  “It’s a simple question,” he says. “Where’s Eric?”

  I can’t say anything.

  “He’s in the forest,” Sidney tells him. He points into the afternoon darkness of the woods. “That way.” Sidney shoots me a look of pure fury. I see I’ve made an enemy.

  Norman nods at Sidney and then turns toward the forest, gun in his hand. I can see in the way he holds himself, the strength in his back, the slow sadness of his walk, determined but painful, what exactly he plans to do. I imagine how it will be: he walks up to Eric, who just stands there with his mouth open, Norman moves behind him, puts the gun to his head, he says sorry, Eric, and then he pulls the trigger.

  “No!” I cry and move toward him. I feel a hand hold me back, and I come to a jerking stop. “NO!” I yell again toward Norman’s back. I struggle against the hand and then turn around. It’s Boston grasping me.

  “You could’ve killed all of us!” he snarls.

  Suddenly my hand is free as Boston is hurled to the ground.

  “Get your hands off her!” It’s Pest, standing next to me, his gun out again.

  Boston springs back to his feet and lunges toward Pest, but Sidney is there to hold him. Pest stands straight his gun pointed at the ground, his chin thrust forward. I don’t see even a glimmer of fear in him. He looks strong and solid, and to see it in someone so young is blood-curdling. I stare at him for an instant, kind of hypnotized, before I leap to my feet and stumble toward the woods after Norman. I only have time to hope that Boston and Sidney don’t kill Pest before I vanish in the woods.

  “Norman!” I scream. “Don’t! Just wait!”

  I race through the forest and catch up to him just as he’s found Eric.

  Eric is standing with his face against a tree for some reason. Norman has stopped a few feet away. He raises his gun toward the back of Eric’s head.

  “WAIT!” I scream.

  Norman turns his head toward me, but he doesn’t lower his gun. “Just turn around and go back, Kestrel,” he tells me. “You don’t want to see this.”

  He levels his gun.

  “NO!” I scream. Norman pauses.

  “Please don’t make me do this in front of you.”

  But I’ve got him listening. “Norman, Norman,” I say, holding my hands out to him. “Just look at me. Look at me for a second.” Norman turns his head toward me reluctantly. “Wait, just hear me out, okay? Just lower the gun and listen to me.”

  “The longer we wait, the harder this will be.”

  “Norman,” I say. “Listen to me, please. It’s been days now, what’s a few more minutes? Just a couple minutes to listen, okay?”

  “You think this is easy for me?” Norman asks. “He was my friend too. But what you have to realize is that he’s gone. This isn’t Eric. Eric’s already dead. The longer we wait, the harder this will be. And it’s already the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” This thought seems to comfort him. He steadies his aim.

  “NO!” I scream. His finger pauses on the trigger. I lower my voice a little, trying to get his attention. “Norman, I’ve known you all my life. You’re like a grandfather to me. Please listen to me.” I get down on my knees and clasp my hands together. “I’m begging you to listen.”

  Norman chokes. “Don’t do this to me, Kestrel.” His mouth is quivering.

  “He’s the only father I’ve ever known,” I say.

  “Don’t say that,” he says.

  “Please don’t kill my father.” I’m trembling, my hands held out to him.

  “Stop saying that,” Norman says. “That is not Eric.”

  I’m crying now. “I’m begging you, Norman.” I let out a sob. “Just give me a minute. Just one minute. Let me explain.”

  Tears run down his face. “Don’t do this to me,” he says. His finger quivers on the trigger.

  “Please, Norman,” I beg. “Give me a chance to explain. Please!” I can hardly speak through the sobs.

  Norman’s arms fall to his side. He wipes his face with the crook of his elbow. I close my eyes with relief. Norman turns to me.

  “One minute,” he says. “Then you’re going to leave me to do what has to be done.”

  I nod, my chest still heaving with emotion.

  “One minute,” he repeats.

  Norman sits down on a nearby rock and waits, his head hung in defeated sorrow.

  My one minute begins.

  60

  I stand up from my kneeling position. I’ve never begged anyone for anything. I’ve never done anything like that. I feel shame and relief, gratitude and anger, all at the same time. I feel like hugging Norman. I feel like killing him. I’ve never called Eric my father. Never in my whole life. I didn’t even think I thought that way. I didn’t just say it for Norman. It came out of me without thinking. It was raw and true. I feel lightened somehow by having said it. I feel stunned by it. I’ve never felt so many things at once. I feel sensitive and confused. But I can’t, I can’t deal with any of that right now. I have to focus.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slow.

  I have one minute to save my father’s life.

  61

  “First of all,” I say to Norman, “Eric told me himself that not everyone died of the Worm. So Eric could make it!” I pointed at him. “He could still be in there, alive, fighting. If you shoot him, you’ll be killing Eric, not just some walking disease. You have to give him a fighting chance. You have to trust in him.”

  “How does Eric know that?” Norman asks. “I was alive when the Worm came the first time. I remember what it was like. I don’t remember anyone coming back.”

  “Probably because everyone was like you,” I answer. “No one gave those people a chance.”

  Norman makes a powerful puffing sound. He isn’t agreeing with that. I don’t want to push too hard at this point. Who knows how many people with the Worm he shot back then? I don’t want to make him feel like a murderer.

  “Look,” I continue, “this is what Eric told me. He told me that Good Prince Billy saw it with her own eyes.”

  “I’ve never met this Good Prince Billy,” Norman says. “Why would I trust her? Maybe she doesn’t even exist.”

  “Eric never lies,” I tell him. “You know that.”

  Norman glances over at Eric at the tree and then he looks down at the ground. He knows that is true at least.

  “Norman,” I continue, seeing a little weakness in him, “if you agree that there’s even the smallest, remotest chance that Eric might survive, you can’t kill him. You have to give him that chance. You told me yourself that Eric was the toughest son of bitch you ever met. Remember that? You have to let him fight. If you even have the smallest doubt, then it’s murder. The price of being wrong is just too high.”

  “What if I don’t kill him and he ends up infecting three other people?” Norman asks. “And what if those three people go on to infect a whole community? And that community goes on to destroy what’s left of humanity? That’s on me. That’s a hell of a risk!” He looks at me sadly. “I can see why you would take that risk. But how can I?”

  I swallow. It’s the heart of the issue. “It’s a risk,” I say. “But look, Norman, Eric doesn’t bite, he doesn’t scratch, he hardly does anything. If we put him in a special room and take care of him very carefully, maybe it’s not as big of a risk as you think.”

  Norman looks at Eric. I study him, but I don’t know what he’s thinking. I can’t mak
e out if he’s agreeing with me or not. He’s just a block of stone looking at Eric. This instant scares me. I decide to take advantage of his indecision.

  “Look, Norman,” I say, “it’s complicated, right? Why don’t we take Eric back to the Homestead? We can all decide what to do there. You don’t have to make a decision right now.”

  Norman looks at me and something drops down over his eyes. My heart drops with it. I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  “We already made that decision, Kestrel,” he says. “Franky gathered us all together and told us what he’d found in your cabin. He told us that Eric had the Worm, and we discussed it. We all agreed what the best thing was.”

  I start to tremble. Franky. Of course he’d want to get rid of Eric as soon as he could.

  Norman stands up. “I know it’s hard to hear,” he tells me. “But we already decided what to do.” His eyes are steel. “I’m sorry, but your father is already dead. That isn’t Eric.” He points at Eric with his gun. “Right now, he’s just a disease. And I have to do this.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but I can see in how he’s standing, in the iron in his back and the stone in his eyes that Norman has made up his mind. I watch him step forward.

  “Don’t make me do this in front of you,” he says. There’s nothing soft in his voice. He’s readying himself and I know there’s nothing more I can say. Nothing more anyone can say. Eric is a dead man.

  62

  It’s like slow motion. My heart thumping. Norman’s gun raising. Waiting for the gunshot. Then maybe it’s the pressure that does it, but I remember something. It goes off in me like a blast of light.

  My gun leaps to my hand. “Stop Norman!” I yell. “Don’t make me shoot you!” Of course, my gun is full of blanks.

  But Norman doesn’t know that.