The World Without Flags

Eric is shivering in his bed, his eyes dark with blood.

28

Something changes in me. I grow solid inside when I see the Worm has Eric. I feel like a hard, furious crystal. I want to scream looking down at him. I want to die. I feel so many desperate desires rage through me that I fear I’m losing my mind. I shake my head.

“Think, Birdie,” I tell myself out loud. Think.

They’ll kill him if they find him like this. If he doesn’t die, if he doesn’t crack violently, he’ll still die, just like Rhonda and Sam. He’ll get put in quarantine and even if the Worm doesn’t kill him, they will. If they find him, he’s dead. I have to move him.

The sun has just vanished, leaving a blueberry sky. The fire consuming the bodies of Sam and Rhonda is still burning, lighting up the quarantine houses where a few of us are still waiting to die. Whoever is there will be inside, watching the sick ones, fighting to stay awake. The rest will be at home, sleeping or trying to choke down some food. They won’t notice us. Somehow I get Eric to his feet. I even get him a few rungs down the ladder before he falls down to the floor. I wince when he hear him hit the floor and hope he hasn’t broken anything. When I drop down to him, I check him over carefully. Luckily, he seems fine.

Yes, I think, they won’t notice us, but if they do. If they do. I look around. I stand up Eric who moans and leans against the wall, trembling. I throw a thick winter coat over him. Then I get a hat and put it down over his ears and eyes. I try not to look at the blood that smears on the hat. I’m thankful that Eric must have been too sick to take off his pants or his boots before he collapsed in his bed. If people see him from a distance, he could pass as healthy. Maybe.

Now think, Birdie.

Think.

“Come on, Eric,” I tell him. “Come on, follow me.”

I take him by the hand and give him a pull toward the door. Eric groans but follows me a few staggering steps. I open the door and look around. No one. I look toward the trees down the hill and to the northwest. It’s far. It seems like miles of open field to the dark tree line. Anyone could see us. I move to support Eric as best I can. I feel his hot, feverish breath against my neck and close my eyes against the revulsion and try not to think of the worms.

I get him out the door. He half walks, half drags himself forward, using me as support. I never realized how heavy he was. We’re both groaning now as we move toward the woods. I stop for a second to catch my breath and look back. I move my right hand to my knife and it’s there and I feel better. Then I see a shadowy figure move and I pull Eric down to the ground, which isn’t hard. He just collapses like a bag of meat. I watch the figure approaching our cabin. I see that it’s Franky. I close my eyes and hope that he didn’t see us. I can’t let him take Eric. I can’t let that happen. They’ll kill him. I know it in my heart. They’ll shoot him right in the back of the head like they did the others. Like we did. I can’t let them to do that to Eric. I won’t. I move my hand to my knife.

But Franky stops halfway to our house. He just stops and stands there. I think I know what’s happening. Franky’s like me. He’s had time to think about what we did with Rhonda and Sam and he doesn’t feel good about it. He wants to talk to Eric, just like I did. He wants to be told we did the right thing. I watch him standing there, thinking. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe he thinks we’re tired. Maybe he won’t bother us. My heart is beating and my hand is clenching the knife handle. Everything depends on what he decides to do right now.

Franky lurches forward toward the house at a big stride and my heart falls. When he finds out no one is there, there’ll be questions. Maybe he’ll smell the Worm in our cabin. Maybe he’ll come out and hunt for us. He’ll find us easy enough. I can’t let Eric die. That is not going to happen while I still breathe. It’s the way it has to be, like the decision was made in my bones. It’s a decision made without words or thought. Every part of me vibrates with the knowledge that while I live, nothing happens to Eric and no one touches him. No one.

This is what I’ll do. I feel cold, thinking about it. If Franky comes near me, I tell him to go away, if he doesn’t, I bring out the knife. Franky has a trick right shoulder, so if he comes near, I’ll move to my right. I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to, but they’ll kill Eric. If I wound him, he’ll scream for help and they’ll kill Eric. I will make it painless. Move to the right and slice his throat. Quick, easy. It’s the only way. I play it over in my mind, but I’m trembling with fear. I don’t think I can do it, but I don’t know of any other way.