The World Without Flags

But as I watch the men’s backs as they walk down the hill toward the Lodge, I know that everything and everyone I thought I knew has changed.

It’s not a pleasant thing to know.

31

I don’t stay long at our house. I need to think, but I also need to be at the Lodge with everyone else. I need Franky and Norman to see me there, see me struggling with Eric’s absence. I don’t need their suspicion. As I trudge down to the Lodge, I pass the quarantine houses. In the midst of them is a smoking pyre. I can see two or three bodies still smoldering in the fire. I avert my eyes and continue downhill toward the Lodge. I can’t think of that right now.

When I get there, a silent crowd has gathered. I have a sinking feeling in my chest. Is this all of us? The benches have been moved around several tables. Crystal has been cooking cornmeal cakes all morning. Someone brought up a new gallon of maple syrup, and Crystal is at the stove in the corner of the room, frying a dozen onions or so. She fries the onions down until they are dark and sweet and then puts them on the cakes with some maple syrup. Everyone is eating, but it’s hard to have an appetite. I look around, trying to be thankful for who’s left, but everyone I see just reminds me of someone who is gone. When I look at Pest, all I can see is the shadows of all the people who are dead now and burned to ashes. Crypt. Gunner. Matt. Rebok. All gone. When Crystal gives me my cornmeal cake, I see Rhonda in the kitchen in the farmhouse, giving me oatmeal cookies. I see her slumping down after Crystal shot her in the back of the head.

I look around, but don’t have the heart to count people. It’s easy to see we’ve lost more than half. We eat without talking. There’s just the sound of forks and knives scraping against plates. Maybe a statement here and there about the weather. Maybe some talk about what needs to be done, but quietly, half-heartedly. We are in the company of ghosts. We can’t say anything. We can’t think too much about it. Our lives have to go on. It’s a new world, more haunted than the old one. None of us want to remember.

I finish my first cornmeal cake without noticing that I’m eating, and Crystal slides me another. Norman passes me the maple syrup from across the table, and I pour it over the yellow cake and onions. I eat quietly.

While I eat, I think. It keeps the ghosts at bay. I think about Eric burning away with fever up in the woods. I think about how I’m going to take care of him. What I should do when he dies. Will I tell people? Will I say I just found him like that? Will they believe that? What will they think when they find out that I lied to them? I think too of more practical problems. How will I get Eric to eat? How will I keep his temperature down? What will I do if he cracks? How will I find the strength to shoot him? It has to be me. I won’t let anyone else do it if it has to be done. This reminds me I have to get Eric’s gun.

I hardly notice when Franky rises. He gets up and walks around the tables, clapping backs. I watch him move around and I can tell he’s already thinking of himself as the leader in Eric’s absence. People will follow him. They’re already used to asking for his help when something breaks. I would have thought he would be useless with grief after losing Diane and Amber, but instead he seems steady. I also detect in the way he moves around the room that he’s enjoying this, enjoying his new role in the community. I begin to think he’s always wanted something like this. He’s always been waiting for his chance. Eric had a powerful influence over people, without really trying, so Franky never made a move, but now… I don’t watch Franky directly. Just out of the corner of my eye. Something about the way he comforts people. The way he smiles sadly. Squeezes their shoulder. I don’t trust it. I am more sure than ever before that if I bring Eric back now, he’s a dead man. No doubt it would be Franky himself who would put him out of his misery. For the good of us all.

As I finish the last forkful of my second corn cake, Norman gets up and goes to Franky. They’re talking in low voices. I notice they’re both wearing guns. I think I see them glance over to me. I don’t know what they’re saying, but I can guess. People will want to hear from me about Eric. I have some power here, some kind of influence, as Eric’s shadow. They are talking about that. I don’t know if it’s positive or negative, but I suddenly feel a twisting in my stomach. I don’t trust those two, not at all. I can see now that they are re-grouping with themselves as the leadership: Franky and Norman forever. I huff out in spite of myself. It’s amazing how quickly people change. Whole communities. They are either becoming different people or more themselves. It’s hard to know which is which.