The World Without Flags

“Unh,” Eric says. He’s just standing there in the moonlight. He’s hunched forward, his arms dangling unnaturally. His eyes are darker than the shadows. His head is angled forward strangely like he’s looking for something he can’t see. But he’s still there, like he’s always been. Eric was there when I was a kid and needed help. He was there to bring me to the Homestead. He was there to build our house. He was there after Lucia died and he was there to read with me on all those cold winter nights. He’s here now. I can’t see him under the Worm, but he’s there, like he’s always been. I think to myself, there’s Eric, as always, fighting. Always fighting. And I know that as long as he doesn’t give up, as long as Eric keeps fighting, I’ll keep fighting too. I feel strength come back to me. My legs grow straighter and I feel the earth under my feet. Eric was there for me. Now I’ll be there for him.

I wipe my eyes dry and suck it up.

I take off my backpack and reach in for a towel. I go to Eric and wipe his face of blood and whatever the hell it is that comes out of his mouth. I shudder as I do this, but it’s not as bad as before. I don’t even gag more than a couple times. I wipe his face as clean as I can. I’m glad to see his nose isn’t broken. His face is scratched up pretty bad, but it could be worse. I hate to see him like that. I have to work to keep from crying again.

“I’m sorry, Eric,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean to pull so hard.”

“Unh,” he answers.

“I’ll be more careful,” I say.

He gurgles a bit.

“I promise,” I tell him.

Then I take up the rope and we start off again, headed north, under the moonlight.

44

When dawn comes, we haven’t gone more than eight miles, maybe. I’m exhausted. For the past couple miles, I feel like I’ve been sleeping as I walk. My mind is full of half-dream thoughts. I think about the last time Eric and I were on the road. I don’t really remember this, but I imagine it or dream it. I’m small and he holds my hand. We’re alone on a long road. There’s fire in all the towns and we walk through forests, quietly. When I glance behind me, I see Eric plodding, his mouth half open, drooling. The hands that I used to hold are covered with gloves.

When the sky starts to lighten, I pull Eric off into the forest. We walk over pine needles and stones, deeper and deeper into the forest. It’s a lot harder to guide Eric now. He doesn’t avoid anything, but just walks in a straight line. He’ll even walk straight into trees if I’m not there helping him. He falls over twice, but thankfully doesn’t hurt himself. I hadn’t thought of this either. What if he twists his ankle? What will I do then? I have to stand behind him and guide him forward around any obstacles.

But we have to be far from the road. I’ve got no choice but to lead him farther away. I had thought that I could take a quick bearing of our location on the road and then just walk in the woods, roughly parallel to the road, but now I’m convinced that we can’t do that. It would only take one little fall from Eric to torpedo this whole plan. We have to walk on the road and I’m not walking during the day. It’s too risky.

By the time the sun comes up, I find a big boulder, split in the center, like an inverted V. The way it sits makes a perfect little cave. I make a quick check for bears, but it looks pretty clean in there, so I lead Eric inside. I find a nice tough root to tie him to on the opposite side of the cave, and then I struggle to get him to sit down. I know he needs the rest, even if he doesn’t. Finally he sits, his legs splayed out in front of him, his arms laying on his thighs, palms up. He snaps his jaw a couple times at me and then wheezes and gurgles and finally coughs up a little black drool. I shudder and wipe his chin.

“Unh,” he says.

I sigh. His eyes are darker than normal. The worms are collecting in knots in the corner of his eyes. I move away, feeling grossed out.

Then I set up a little bed for myself, out of reach of Eric’s rope. Just in case. I keep the gun out and right beside me. It’s loaded.

I lay down to sleep, but I can’t. Whenever I close my eyes, I see the white worms wriggling in the corner of Eric’s eyes. When I open them, Eric is staring straight forward, not moving, his mouth open. Tracks of blood run from his eyes, but the blood is very, very dark, almost black. Finally, I get up and open the backpack. I take out an old, crimson t-shirt that says HARVARD on it and I rip it into long strips. I go to Eric and wrap his eyes in the bandages, trying to ignore the smell coming from him. When I’m done, Eric looks much better. If it wasn’t for his slack jaw, he’d look almost normal. Well, as normal as a guy in a blindfold can look.