The World Without Flags

by Ben Lyle Bedard

  116

  “Oh man,” Randy the Vandal says as I lead Eric to him. “You’ve looked better, buddy,” he tells Eric. I appreciate that he talks to him.

  For once we’re having some good luck! When we saw it was Randy riding Tangerine, the both of us ran down the hill to greet him. We both trust him to do the right thing. Just to see Randy turn towards us in surprise and then laugh in recognition made my heart rise. We really need the help.

  “We’re trying to get him to the Good Prince,” I explain. “Eric said that she knew how to help people with the Worm. She’s his only chance.”

  Randy turns his head toward me. His brilliant green eyes twinkle like sunshine on a lake. “You’re in luck,” he says with a wink. “I’m headed her way right now.”

  I actually cry out in delight and before I know it, I give Randy a good, tight hug. He hugs me back with a laugh, but I can tell he’s surprised by my attention because his body is tense.

  “It’s good to see a familiar face out here,” Pest says as I pull away from Randy.

  “I imagine it is,” Randy says with a smile. “It’s not easy out here on the best of days. Dragging around him must have complicated matters somewhat.” He points at Eric with a grin.

  “Unh,” Eric says.

  “You said it, pal,” Randy chuckles. He smiles over at me. I don’t know why, but it makes me uncomfortable somehow. Randy might have seen the discomfort on my fact because he smiles a crooked, mischievous smile at me like he’s playing a joke on me or something. I can’t help but laugh a little.

  “We have to move,” he says finally. “We’ll talk on the road. I think if we push it, we can make it to the Good Prince by late evening.”

  I feel like I’m almost floating from relief. Finally a little relief, a little luck. In no time at all, the three of us are marching down the road. As usual, Eric sets the pace with his shambling walk. I wish Randy had his wagon as he normally does. Then we could really make time. But it’s a minor gripe, considering.

  I try to walk close to Randy so that I can join in the conversation, but Tangerine is spooked by Eric’s smell. If I get to close, she begins to get skittish, and when she actually kicked out once, I have to give up and fall back, watching as Pest walks beside Randy. The two of them talk back and forth, but I can only hear little parts of what they’re saying. The rest of it is taken away by the wind. It’s annoying. All I can gather is that the whole area is infested with the Worm and that Randy is headed to warn the Good Prince, if she doesn’t know already. To make matters worse, I can tell the Stars and Gears are still a problem, although I can’t really get any details.

  Of all the times to worry about armies and guns and flags, it has to be now. I stop and let Eric pass me, reaching into his pocket as he passes to get his drooly towel. I wipe his chin and mouth as he ambles forward. His tongue snakes out and briefly touches my hand. I snatch my hand away, feeling a shiver of revulsion.

  “Gross, Eric,” I mutter.

  Eric doesn’t say anything, just continues his walk forward.

  Not only do I have to try to get Eric somewhere safe and avoid the Worm outbreaks, I also have to worry about the war. I think for a second about Boston and Sydney and the look on their faces when they discovered that I had lied to them. I wonder where they are and if they’re all right. I wonder if they’ve warned people in the south about the Worm. I wonder how bad the infection has gotten. I haven’t really thought about it too much. I haven’t thought about the thousands of people living in Boston and Portsmouth and Portland. I wonder if they’re okay or if this second infestation might be the one that kills the whole species off for good. It’ll just leave people like Pest, people who’ve had the Worm before and somehow survived. Truth is, I’ve been so beset by misery and horror that I haven’t thought at all about any of these larger questions. I look over to Eric and sigh. I’d give anything to talk with him about it. He’d have ideas, good ideas. Instead there’s just me and Pest and I feel like we don’t know much at all.

  As we plod along behind Randy and Pest, I suddenly remember the black fountain of gore erupting from Eric’s mouth after I pulled him out of the river. I shiver and squeeze my eyes shut as if just by willpower, I could forget it ever happened. But it did happen. I remember the taste of that black bile in my mouth and how I couldn’t get it out no matter how many times I rinsed in the river. I won’t ever forget the taste of it, that deep, acrid ammonia that was almost sweet at the edges. My stomach turns thinking of it. I don’t understand why I’m not infected just like Eric. There’s a chance it will just take longer. The thought makes my blood run cold. Am I infected right now and just don’t know it?

  I realize that one of the benefits of being chased and worrying about Pest is that I didn’t have to think about these things. Now that I don’t have to worry about how to find the Good Prince or how we’re going to eat today, now that I can let other people think about those things, now my mind has the opportunity to think about all those other things that I’ve ignored.

  It’s not exactly a blessing.

  117

  Just as Randy said, the four of us reach the village of Cairo just as the sun is turning the rooftops red as blood. There’s a wooden and steel wall cobbled together that surrounds the whole place. At the gate of Cairo, made of rusted but thick corrugated metal, they make us wait. From below, we can hear arguing. I hear the word “Worm” several times. It’s a long discussion. Finally they agree to let Randy in, but not the rest of us.

  Randy turns to us and stretches his lips over his teeth in that smile of his. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll talk to the Good Prince.”

  “Tell her it’s Eric from the Homestead,” I say to him needlessly.

  He nods and then two men open the gate, and point guns at us while Randy slips through. The three of us slump down on the grass outside Cairo, waiting. While we’re waiting, I ask Pest about what Randy and he were talking about earlier.

  Pest sighs. “The War, mostly,” he tells me. The Stars and the Gearheads are moving through the area pretty fast.” He tells me that the outbreak of the Worm has made both sides paranoid. There’s a rumor, Randy told him, that it’s the Gearheads who have been spreading the Worm, using it like a weapon to wipe out any community that have sided with the Stars.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I tell him. I haven’t told him much about Doctor Bragg. It’s not a memory I like to revisit, but I tell him about the Doctor and how it was him who resuscitated the Vaca B. “I didn’t see any flags around his compound, did you?”

  “No,” Pest admits. “But when people are scared, they believe anything.” He shakes his head. “Besides, I don’t think we know the whole story at that compound.”

  I have to admit that he’s right. Doctor Bragg didn’t seem to me the kind of guy who leads people. Someone must have set up that rat nest of bandits. For all we know, it could be the Stars. Or the Gearheads. “I guess spreading the Worm isn’t something they’d want to wave a flag about.”

  Pest takes a deep breath. “When it comes to war, people will do almost anything.”

  I look at Pest with his ruffled dark hair, his face turned toward the ground where he’s picking at grass, and I can see him thinking. I know he’s older than he looks, but it’s still jarring to see it. I move closer to him and nudge him with my shoulder. When he looks up, I smile at him. I want to say that I’m glad that he’s with me, that it’s been so lonely trying to understand all of this myself. But all that comes out is that smile. Pest smiles back. It’s so little, but it seems to be enough for us right now. I have the feeling that it’s us against whatever is happening, and it’s a great feeling. It’s the best feeling I’ve had since this all began.

  Maybe we would have said more if the gate didn’t open. Randy comes out with a hop in his step and walks over to Tangerine. He looks at us and winks. “The Good Prince will see us,” he says. As he comes up next to us, he gives us a more serious look. “Don’t expect a party though. Wel
coming the Worm into Cairo is not exactly a popular decision.” As we pass through the open doors of the gate, and they shut it quickly behind us, I see there’s a big, black horse painted on the inside of the gate. The word MUSTANGS makes an arc over the rearing horse.

  Cairo is a bunch of old, clapboard houses surrounded by a wooden fence. All the windows have bars on them and the doors are all reinforced with steel. It looks like a place that’s been under siege for about a decade, which, I guess, maybe it has. Lining the road as we walk through are more than two dozen men and women, all holding guns. None of them look very welcoming. They all stare at Eric in open hatred. One old man, mostly bald and toothless, leans out and squirts out a thin line of spit in front of us.

  Once again I’m grateful for Randy. There’s no way we would have gotten this far into town without him. I watch him up ahead, smiling at the people who hate us. He’s got a talent, all right. He doesn’t seem to be bothered at all by them. He looks at them all like they were the best of friends. As for myself, I seem to feel every gun pointed my way, and it makes me nervous as hell to think of how any one of these people could shoot Eric down right now and no one would blame them. I don’t have very many warm feelings for these people. All I care about is getting Eric somewhere safe as fast as I can. I look around for the Good Prince, but I don’t see anyone.

  Randy leads us to an old church, with its little block of a steeple topped by a brass cross. Once the church must have been bright yellow, but now it’s faded and chipped. The windows are all completely barred with steel. The double doors in front are also made of steel, inexpertly welded, patchworked together from whatever they could scavenge. Above the door is a strange wooden bear, seemingly carved with a chainsaw from a single block of wood, and painted deep black, except its eyes which are disturbingly white. Under the bear and just over the double steel doors, GOOD PRINCE BILLY is written in garish, bright pink letters.

  There’s a man waiting for us outside the church. He’s dressed like many of the others, in faded and ripped blue jeans with a worn plaid shirt. He’s got a long beard and cradles a shotgun in his folded arms. His thin face studies us as we approach.

  “This is Jim,” Randy whispers over to us. “He’s been in charge of the Mustangs for a while now.”

  “Where’s the Good Prince?” I ask Randy nervously. “I don’t like this.”

  “Me either,” agrees Pest.

  Jim chimes in before Randy can answer. “Let me see Eric,” he says.

  Feeling nervous, I step ahead and give Eric a little tug forward. Eric shambles forward toward the church. I put out my hand and stop him at the base of the steps. Jim looks down at us for a second and then comes down the steps to look closer. He eyes me for a second.

  “He bite?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  Jim comes forward and studies Eric up close. Then he steps back and looks him up and down. “Shit,” he says. “Hey there, amigo.” Jim smiles weakly and pats Eric on the shoulder. He turns toward me. “He came through here a long while back. He was just a kid then.” He looks at Eric again. “It was a memorable day.” His eyes seem to drift off and then he turns away and strides up the steps. He turns back and waves us forward. “Billy will want to see him.”

  It’s hard to get Eric up the steps. I never thought of it, but Eric has never had to use steps before. He keeps stumbling and tripping. He falls over a couple times. The crowd that we’ve attracted seems to find this funny. They laugh every time Eric stumbles or falls trying to get up the steps. It makes me burn with anger, but I smile at them like I’m in on the joke too. I’d rather have them laughing at Eric than shooting him. After Eric falls hard enough to draw a black wound on his cheek, and the crowd roars with laughter, Pest and I decide just to drag him up the steps. He’s lost so much weight, it’s easy to do. Feeling ashamed and humiliated and enraged by the laughter of the crowd, I quickly lead Eric into the church. I could’ve kissed Pest from gratitude when he shut the church doors behind us. In the silence of the church, I take out Eric’s drooly towel and wipe the black blood from his face.

  “Sons a bitches,” I say under my breath as I clean him.

  “Unh,” Eric agrees. Black bile drips from his mouth and stretches down nearly to his knees before it breaks off and lands wetly on the church’s wooden floor. I wipe his mouth and then put the drooly towel back in the pocket of his shirt.

  The inside of the church is empty except for a table near the back. Behind the table, I can see a door. On the opposite wall, there’s steel where there must have been a large window. The steel is painted to look like a stained glass window, but instead of any kind of religious imagery, the painting is a silhouette of a horse, but done in many colors, like a painting of a mosaic. The church is full of dust, and I have the feeling that no one uses it anymore. Sitting at the table is Good Prince Billy. With visible, shaking effort, she pushes herself up from the table using a cane, and then hobbles slowly toward us.

  She’s older than I thought she’d be. Her hair is silver white and thin on her head, and her eyes are clouded so badly, I wonder how much she can see. Her face is wrinkled as a prune and in one of her hands, she clutches a cane that she leans on heavily. She’s wearing a worn and faded floral shirt and a pair of overalls so old, they’re almost the same color as her hair. She smells like the forest on a hot, dry day, all pine needles and dust. The Good Prince peers over me at Eric, but I don’t know how much she sees.

  “Is that Eric?” she says in a dry, tired-sounding voice.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “Well, I can smell him,” The Good Prince answers, wrinkling her noise. She turns her sightless gaze toward me and clears her throat. “You’re Birdie, aren’t you?”

  The sound of my true name coming from a stranger’s voice is disconcerting. I feel uncomfortable, but I have to say something. “How’d you know my name?” I ask her.

  The Good Prince smiles at me. “You live as long as me and you hear things other people don’t hear.” To my surprise, she reaches out a hand and takes Eric’s arm. “I can hear him in you. Plain as day for those that know how to listen.” She pulls Eric forward.

  “Unh,” Eric responds and starts walking forward. Instinctively, I put out a hand and stop him.

  The Good Prince turns her head just slightly toward me. “It’s okay, honey,” she says. “I’m going to help him best I know how.”

  I take my hand away from Eric’s chest and feel a little ashamed. “Thank you,” I say.

  The Good Prince laughs then, dryly, and ends up gently coughing. “Well, don’t thank me yet,” she says. “You won’t like what’s about to happen, I can tell you that.” She gently pulls Eric forward again. “First thing we got to do is get Eric cleaned up.” She leads him forward toward the back of the church, and when I don’t immediately follow, The Good Prince turns her head toward me. “You too, honey,” she says. “This is something you got to do.”

  I look toward Pest who smiles weakly at me. The smile says “So glad not to be you” plain as day. He nods toward the back of the church where the Good Prince is disappearing through a door with Eric. I feel uncertain. Then I turn before I can think about it too much more and follow the Good Prince and Eric through the door and down into the dark basement.

  118

  The basement is divided into three jail cells. Facing the cells is a short hallway with a wooden table in the corner, against the wall. Near the table, there’s a cast iron wood stove burning hotly so the basement is dry, almost hot. The basement is lit by two kerosene lamps, one inside one of the jail cells, and another sitting on the table next to a plastic jug and an aluminum mug. There’s something underneath the table too, but I can’t see what it is. Two chairs are set at the table. In the jail cell, I see a large tin bucket and a mop. Gently, the Good Prince leads Eric into the jail cell with the lamp inside. He walks to the corner and presses his face into the cement. Leaning on her cane, the Good Prince hobbles out and, with great effort, sits a
t one of the two chairs next to the table. She takes a deep breath and then taps the other chair with her cane.

  “Come sit,” she says. It’s more like an order than a request and something in me rebels against that. I just stand there.

  “Can I get something to eat first?” I ask. “I’ve been walking all day.”

  “Believe me,” the Good Prince says. “You’re not going to want to do this on a full stomach.” She taps the chair. “You can eat all you want after.” She laughs then. It’s almost a cackle really, like something a witch might do. I don’t know what’s coming, but I know I’m not going to like it. The Good Prince taps on the chair a third time and this time I move obediently and sit down.

  “Why do they call you the Good Prince?” I ask her. I’m stalling and I can tell that the Good Prince realizes it immediately.

  She ignores the question. “This is what is going to happen,” she begins, her blind eyes fixed toward me but somehow not at me. “First, you’re going to get all those horrible clothes off him. All of them. We’re going to have to burn them,” she says. “Then you’re going to pick up this cup.” She points to the aluminum mug on the table. “And fill it with salt water from this jug.” She points vaguely toward the old plastic jug. “You’re going to make Eric drink as much as he’ll drink, but no more than this gallon.”

  “Salt water?” I look over at Eric. “Won’t that hurt him?”

  “Hurts the Worm worse,” she answers. “The salt water kills the worms. Right now his stomach is full of them, and from there they get into his blood and all through his system. We got to throw water on the fire, understand?”

  I nod, but then remember that she’s practically blind. “Yes, I understand,” I say to her.

  “After he’s done with that,” she continues, “you’re going to wash him from head to toe with that bucket of soapy water. I mean you got to wash him good, understand?”