The World Without Flags

There’s an iron cook stove in the corner of the Lodge, the kind covered with white enamel. It was already old when the Worm was around. It works perfectly though and even heats up the Lodge, so it’s perfect for us. We’re always on the look out for more of them. They’re way better than gold. Norman and Crystal are feeding the stove with good seasoned wood and setting up the kettle of cider. Nothing like cider to cut the taste of fertilizer (shit) out of your mouth.

Eric is sitting next to me, quiet. Across from him is Matt, fidgeting in place. Matt hasn’t been doing very well since Randy told us about the war. His eyes are dark and red. I’m sure he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s shifty and communicates in hisses and grunts, and I’ve seen him give Eric dirty looks when he thinks no one is watching. The great thing about not talking much and being practically invisible is that most people don’t notice me. I observe. I remember. I’ve told Eric that Matt’s got it out for him for some reason. Eric just looks sad and shrugs.

This night Matt is worse than usual. Probably because earlier, while he was spreading manure with a spade, he stumbled. Eric was right next to him, so, by instinct, he reached out and grabbed his arm to keep Matt from falling. Instantly, Matt pushed the helping arm away. He fell because of it, but he got up instantly, swearing, and brushing off fertilizer (shit) from his pants. The look he gave Eric made me reach for my knife. I calculated how long it would take me to reach Eric’s side, and if I should cut Matt or stab him. Luckily, none of that was necessary. Matt just hissed again and continued to work.

I was hoping that Matt would go straight home from the fields and cool down, but he didn’t. So he’s here now, giving Eric a baleful look with bloodshot eyes. I don’t like that look. I feel something’s going to happen. I move my hand closer to my knife, making sure I’m ready. Eric doesn’t seem to notice. He just sits there, thinking, as we wait for our cider. I’m ready, even if he isn’t. I calculate I can slice Matt to the bone in about the time it would take him to stand up. But I keep a nice look on my face, blank, unreadable. I hope.

Crystal and Norman come with cider and set it down on the table and the goon squad comes over to grab theirs and fight over it. I ignore them and keep my eyes on Matt. He’s taken his mug from Crystal, but he’s not drinking it, he’s just fidgeting with it and looking everywhere but at Eric. I put my hand on the warm mug of cider, and I smile and look down at it, but my attention is focused tight on Matt. If I see his body tense up like he’s about to do something, there’s going to be trouble. Suddenly I get shoved. Pest has sat right next to me, way too close.

“Sorry,” he says. He sidles away from me and then smiles at me. He has brilliant blue eyes, like Eric’s, but it’s a quizzical little thing, that smile. Gives me the heebie jeebies, as Franky would say.

I narrow my eyes at him but don’t say anything. I haven’t got time for Pest’s weirdness now. I turn my attention back to Matt. He still looks angry as hell. Norman sits beside him with that old man groan he uses whenever he sits or gets up. A couple from the goon squad laughs at the sound, I’m not sure who.

“You wait until you're my age,” Norman tells them with a severe look. “You’ll be making the same sounds, believe me.” The goon squad look away, abashed.

Eric lifts up his mug. “To another day,” he says.

“Another day of shit,” Rebok says and we all laugh—well, except for Matt—and lift our own mugs over the wooden table. Matt mumbles something while everyone drinks. I keep an eye on him over the lip of my mug. His hair is all crazy and messed up and his body is full of nervous energy, like he’s about ready to explode. Times like these I wonder why I’m the only one who sees this stuff.

“This is shit,” Matt mumbles finally.

Crystal looks over to him. “What’s gotten into you?”

Matt hisses, his whole body jerking up. My heart starts beating. When people get riled up like this, that’s when you don’t know what they’ll do.

“What’s gotten into me?” He makes another puff of a sound, the most perverse chuckle you can imagine. “This.” He waves his arm over the table. “Everyone acting like nothing’s changed, nothing’s changed. There’s a war out there and they’re coming for us!”

“Calm down now,” Norman tells him. “We know it too, but the fields have to be planted. Nothing we can do about that.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, old man,” Matt hisses, his body tensing.

I feel Eric stiffen next to me. Most of us respect Norman, but Eric has always held him in much higher esteem than anyone else, I don’t know why.

“Matt,” Eric says in a flat voice. It’s the closest thing that Eric gets to menacing.

Matt snaps his attention away from Norman at the sound of his voice. “And you,” he says acidly. “You don’t do anything! What kind of leader does nothing?”

Eric just watches him and sets down his mug.