The World Without Flags

Eric is easy to guide. I mean, real easy. I only have to give a little tug on the rope and Eric follows. He even follows the sound of my feet, mostly, so I don’t even have to constantly pull at the rope. He just shuffles forward in his big boots. The problem is that he doesn’t go very fast and there’s really no hurrying him. It’s just this constant movement forward at a velocity best described as a “plod.” It doesn’t matter how much I pull at the rope, Eric is a one speed machine. This isn’t good because it’s going to be a long night. I have to put as much space between me and the Homestead as I can. I don’t know if they’ll come looking for me, but they might. When I think of Franky, the way he looked at me, I think it’s likely he will look for me. And I did the best I could, but all they have to do is turn over Eric’s mattress to see the blood stains. From there, it’s pretty easy to start piecing things together.

It’s only when I realize how slow Eric moves that I really begin to think of the trouble I’m in. After a few hours of moving under the nearly full moon, we’re still far too close to the Homestead. I could probably run back there in a half hour if I really put my mind to it. That means someone on horseback could get to us even quicker than that. The thought makes my heart beat faster and I realize I should have thought this through better than I did. I was only thinking of getting Eric away with all the food and supplies we need. It never occurred to me that he would move this slow.

To make it slightly worse, we have to follow an old road. After ten years without traffic or maintenance, these roads are all overgrown. The asphalt is broken up and trees and shrubs are growing up in the middle of the road. I know traveling on the road makes us easy to find, but I can’t walk off-road in the dark, it would be even slower. I figure I have until dawn before I have to get off the road. I don’t know how far we can get, not at this pace, but I know it’s not far enough. Franky has horses. If they find us, Eric is dead, and I’m stuck as Franky’s princess, or maybe his soon-to-be-queen. The thought is so disgusting, I give Eric a tug to get him to move faster.

“Unh,” he says. But he doesn’t go any faster. Like I said, he’s a one speed machine.

To make matters worse, much worse, the silence is getting to me. The night is quiet and full of shadows. Once in a while, I hear a loon in the distance, but otherwise, it’s silent. Usually I like the silence, but this silence brings ghosts. I start to remember. I remember Artemis hugging me, the look in her eyes when she laughed. I remember Diane and her tired smile. I remember how I used to help in the fields, working with the goon squad and how Crypt would smile dumbly at me. I think he had a crush on me or something. I remember the first day Matt stayed with us. How he walked around the Homestead like he was hollow, helping everyone. So grateful. So alone. I remember Norman and Franky helping to build Beth’s house and how she used to tell us stories in the Lodge, of a time long before the Worm, when there weren’t televisions yet. I remember laughing and dancing and crying and fighting. I remember way too much and before I know it, I’m stumbling ahead, sniffling and crying.

It’s too much. It’s all too much. I’m a fugitive from the only home I’ve even known, or the only one I remember. My best friend is dead. Most of the people I’ve known and loved have been turned to ashes. And Eric is a goddamn zombie!

A really, really slow zombie.

I give his rope a vicious tug as I sob.

“Unh,” he says. He stumbles forward and then trips up and falls down hard, right on his face. He doesn’t even try to catch himself. He just slams down face-first.

I feel horrible as I try to help him up. The sunglasses I gave him are broken. His face is bloody so I have to take off the dust guard.

“Unh,” Eric says.

Black blood oozes out of his mouth and a few white worms fall out to the ground. I stand back and try not to puke. Now I’m crying and gagging. After I pull him to his feet, Eric stands there in the moonlight, bleeding, his face scratched all to hell. I start to feel lost and uncertain in a way I’ve never felt before. Like the whole world is nothing. Like I’m floating in nothing. I feel it all drop away. What’s the use in doing anything? I feel every ounce of myself reduced to nothing. I want to sit where I am and cry and not do anything forever. I feel my knees start to buckle, like I’m going to give up right there, fall down, and never get up again.