The World Without Flags

Reluctantly I open my eyes. For a second all I can see is Randy’s jacket, and then he strides through the cold water and turns back toward me. Grinning as malevolent as a troll, he points his gun at my forehead. Behind him, Eric’s body rotates silently in the water. I have no feeling left. Not even fear. Just a fatigue so profound, heavy as a thousand dark worlds, that I am looking forward to his bullet, looking forward to the endless rest and the comforting darkness. I don’t have anything left in me. It’s over.

“All of this for a goddamn Zombie,” Randy hisses.

“Eric’s not a Zombie,” I tell him. “He’s my father.”

“No, he’s not!” Randy yells. “You stupid little bitch, look at him!” Randy points his gun toward Eric’s corpse while he looks at me. “He’s white as mayonnaise and you’re black as charcoal! You ever look in the mirror, for crying out loud?”

I’m not sure if I’m seeing what I see. I blink. I see it again. I see Eric’s hand twitch.

“He’s got blue eyes! Your eyes are the color of horseshit! That ever make you think?”

Eric begins to move. His arms reach down through the water to the stones of the riverbed. His body stops rotating. My eyes widen in disbelief.

Randy points the gun at me again. “All you had to do was let Eric die! That’s all you had to do. Just let him die! Everyone dies, you know, it’s not such a big fucking deal!”

Putting his legs underneath him, Eric rises out of the water behind Randy. If Randy wasn’t screaming at me, he might notice. The red bandana around Eric’s eyes slips away. His blue eyes are clear as a summer sky, but his face is dark with fury.

“Now you’ve ruined everything for me, you stupid, little bit—”

Eric’s arms wrap themselves around Randy and lift him out of the water. Randy’s eyes go wide and he drops his gun as he flails his arms to free himself. With arms formed by years of chopping trees, Eric easily begins to crush him. Randy’s eyes bulge and his face turns red and then purple. I hear the sickening crack of his ribs and Randy squeals in pain. Eric cries out and throws him down into the water with intense violence. Striding forward, Eric puts his knee on Randy’s back and pins him under the water.

Regaining myself, I splash forward through the water and cling to Eric.

“No!” I cry. “No, don’t! Don’t kill him!”

At first, Eric doesn’t listen to me. His body is like steel, holding Randy underwater.

“We need him to talk!” I cry. “Think about it! Think!” I shake him. “Think!”

Eric suddenly lurches off Randy and then drags the man to the shore. Randy splutters up water and then, rolling to his back, he passes out. Eric stands up and looks around him. Trembling, I walk to him and take his hands. “Eric?” I look up at him.

He looks back, his eyes unfocused, cloudy with confusion. Looking at me, this slowly fades as his eyes come to rest on me. “Birdie?” He reaches out his arms toward me.

It isn’t until I hear his voice that I realize I never really believed he would survive. Not until this moment. I collapse into his arms, crying and gasping for breath. The tears shudder through my body like spasms beyond my control. Eric doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just holds me and lets me cry.

Finally, after a long time, I stop crying and look up at him, wiping my tears away.

“Birdie,” he says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Where the hell are we?”

160

Back at the Homestead, I have to help support Pest to the cemetery garden. Randy shot him, well, there’s no delicate way to put it, Randy shot Pest in the butt. I should say buttocks. When I say butt, I want to laugh, but it’s not funny. Really, it’s not. Pest has a hard time walking and sleeping, and Eric says it will probably be a few more weeks before it gets too much better. Bringing him with me wasn’t my idea, I thought he’d be better at home, resting, but the truth is, after all we went through together, we don’t like to be apart. Eric lets Pest sleep in our house, on a mattress near the stove. Sometimes at night, I have to whisper down to make sure he’s there. He always is.

When we get to the cemetery, I take out the blankets and get a place ready for Pest. As you can imagine, it’s very difficult for him to sit, and it’s complicated to get him comfortable. He doesn’t complain or anything, but I can tell when he’s in pain. It takes a few minutes to get him just right under the tree with the blankets.

“Thanks,” he tells me. “Now stop worrying about me. Do your thing.” He smiles at me and takes out a book that Eric gave to him. For a minute, I see him look out toward the fields. Like me, I think he sees the people he misses. Rebok and Crypt and all the others from the goon squad. His eyes look tired for a second and then he turns his attention back to the book.