The World Without Flags

The two of them laugh bitterly. I’ve heard that the Stars have tanks too, but I don’t mention it. I don’t think it would be smart to get into a political debate. Maybe I’ve already pushed further than I should have. I suddenly wish I could talk to Eric. I feel it so bad, it’s like a pain, like something is being torn inside me. I turn my head down to hide the pain from them. In my sudden grief, the ghosts of the Homestead come to me, like they’ve been waiting for some kind of gap in my emotional defenses: Artemis, Diane, Fiona, Crypt, Gunner, they all do a silent, ghostly march through my mind. The pain is so intense, it’s like being immersed in frigid water on a hot day. I have to repress a gasp as my head swims. To hide it, I shake my head and laugh bitterly, as if I’m joining them, as if I have the slightest idea who really is at fault for the war, the Stars or the Gears.

It’s then, behind Boston and Sidney, I see a horse riding toward us.

Even from this distance, I would know the riders anywhere, just from how they seat the horse. Norman and Pest.

My laughter dies like it was stabbed by a knife.

57

Why can’t I catch a break?

The thought flashes past me as the next few seconds happen almost instantly.

When I stop laughing, Boston and Sidney turn around. They spring into action so fast, I can hardly keep track of what’s happening. They each have their guns out, and I reach out and grab mine, not thinking that my gun is useless, loaded with blanks. Norman and Pest are riding toward us at a nice clip. I see the both of them have guns. I assume they recognize my figure just as I recognized them. I don’t know what to do. They must know that Eric has the Worm. It wouldn’t take much searching in our abandoned cabin to find evidence of that. They’ve been sent out to find us, I’m sure. They’ll bring us back, and then, after a lengthy debate, they will drag Eric off to a solemn funeral, kill him, and then burn his body to ashes. And expect me to live with it.

The thought occurs to me that if I open fire, someone might get confused and start shooting real bullets. In the resulting fire fight, I could sneak off with Eric.

I squeeze my trigger, but then relent. I can’t sneak anywhere with Eric, or successfully escape if people are pursuing us. I need another way.

I lower my gun as Norman and Pest approach. When I make out their faces, a strange pain hits me. These are my friends, the closest thing I know to family. It’s like I forgot that until I saw their faces.

“Don’t shoot!” I cry to Boston and Sidney. “Don’t shoot! I know these guys!”

Boston and Sidney glance back at me and then back to the approaching horse. I see they’re not convinced. Norman and Pest both have their guns raised, pointed at Boston and Sidney. My heart thumping, I find myself doing something stupid: I leap between them, waving my arms.

“Don’t shoot!” I cry. “Please! Lower your guns!” I’m waving my arms like I’m trying to fly.

The horse stops and Pest is the first to dismount, swing off it gracefully, and landing without relaxing his aim. It’s strange to see him with a gun, but he’s holding it like it’s an old friend. I realize I don’t know as much about him as I thought. Pest looks angry and keeps flashing his eyes from Boston and Sidney and then back to me. Norman stays on the horse, but his gun is lowered. Slowly Norman dismounts too. I’m not sure why, but it registers then that they’re riding Bandit, the most stubborn horse at the Homestead.

Both Boston and Sidney are not relaxing their guard.

“It’s okay,” I tell them, turning toward them. “I know these guys, they’re from the Homestead.”

That doesn’t seem to relax them much, so I turn back to Norman. “It’s okay,” I say to him.

“Are you okay, Kestrel?” Pest asks. I look at him. His eyes glint dangerously. His voice has a thin quality that I’ve never heard. His finger is tense on his trigger.

“These guys have been watching out for me,” I say. “I’m okay.”

All the men just keep glaring at each other. Murder is just a bad look away.

“Everyone just calm down,” I continue.

Guns start to falter. Norman is the first to put his gun away, followed by Sidney. Pest keeps his in his hand, even after Boston puts his away, although he points it at the ground. Norman turns toward me, looking tired and sad and disappointed. I feel ashamed, even though I’m sure I’ve done the right thing since the beginning. I’ve always thought of Norman as something like a grandfather.

“I didn’t have any choice,” I tell him.

Norman shakes his head. “Maybe I’d a done the same thing,” he says sadly.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Sometimes doing the right thing and the good thing aren’t the same,” Norman tells me. “Maybe you did what was good, honey, but not what was right.”

Boston makes a sound. “So killing a helpless man is right?”

Norman glances at Boston and then back at me. “You didn’t tell them?”

My heart falls. I’m sorry, Eric. I tried to protect you. I tried. I sink to my knees and shake my head.

“Tell us what?” Sidney growls.