The World Without Flags

“About the Worm,” Norman says. “That helpless man is carrying the disease that near wiped out the human race.”

Boston and Sidney look at me. I watch as looks of recognition come to their eyes, old, old memories of the Worm and the people who had it. How they looked. Behaved. Smelled. I see the certainty of it pass over their eyes. For a minute, with their jaws hanging like that, they look like Eric.

I’m sorry, Eric. I tried. I really did.

“I touched him,” Boston says weakly. His face loses all color, and then he stumbles to the side and leans over clasping his knees. For a minute I think he’s going to puke, but he doesn’t.

58

Think, Birdie. Think.

Now there’s four and they all know the truth. They will all want him dead and burned. They will do it for the greater good, for everyone’s future.

I’m sorry, Eric.

My body feels weak and helpless. Think, Birdie.

I need to convince them. I don’t have a weapon. I don’t have the strength or ability to fight them. I need to argue. My mind begins to buzz with the arguments, the counter-arguments, which ones are better suited to Pest, which ones might work better on Boston or Sidney, which ones I can use to make Norman see as I do. Think.

On my knees, surrounded by armed men, I feel an old strength kindle. Eric would never give up on me. Never.

I won’t give up on Eric.

I stand up.

59

Everyone is talking. I feel like it’s happening in another world. Very far away. Distant. Everything is muffled. My own mind is louder than reality, careening, grinding, buzzing. I see their lips moving, the disbelief on their faces, the anger, the sadness, the fear. I see all of these emotions leading to a decision. The decision to kill Eric. They think they’re making the hard decision, but it’s the easy one. Then suddenly Pest is in my face.

“Kestrel?” His voice is clear. He sounds concerned.

Then he’s pulled away and I see Norman. I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen him out of his canvas overalls. He’s wearing a red, plaid shirt and jeans. He frowns down at me. I’ve never seen him like this. Like he’s made of iron.

“It’s a simple question,” he says. “Where’s Eric?”

I can’t say anything.

“He’s in the forest,” Sidney tells him. He points into the afternoon darkness of the woods. “That way.” Sidney shoots me a look of pure fury. I see I’ve made an enemy.

Norman nods at Sidney and then turns toward the forest, gun in his hand. I can see in the way he holds himself, the strength in his back, the slow sadness of his walk, determined but painful, what exactly he plans to do. I imagine how it will be: he walks up to Eric, who just stands there with his mouth open, Norman moves behind him, puts the gun to his head, he says sorry, Eric, and then he pulls the trigger.

“No!” I cry and move toward him. I feel a hand hold me back, and I come to a jerking stop. “NO!” I yell again toward Norman’s back. I struggle against the hand and then turn around. It’s Boston grasping me.

“You could’ve killed all of us!” he snarls.

Suddenly my hand is free as Boston is hurled to the ground.

“Get your hands off her!” It’s Pest, standing next to me, his gun out again.

Boston springs back to his feet and lunges toward Pest, but Sidney is there to hold him. Pest stands straight his gun pointed at the ground, his chin thrust forward. I don’t see even a glimmer of fear in him. He looks strong and solid, and to see it in someone so young is blood-curdling. I stare at him for an instant, kind of hypnotized, before I leap to my feet and stumble toward the woods after Norman. I only have time to hope that Boston and Sidney don’t kill Pest before I vanish in the woods.

“Norman!” I scream. “Don’t! Just wait!”

I race through the forest and catch up to him just as he’s found Eric.

Eric is standing with his face against a tree for some reason. Norman has stopped a few feet away. He raises his gun toward the back of Eric’s head.

“WAIT!” I scream.

Norman turns his head toward me, but he doesn’t lower his gun. “Just turn around and go back, Kestrel,” he tells me. “You don’t want to see this.”

He levels his gun.

“NO!” I scream. Norman pauses.

“Please don’t make me do this in front of you.”

But I’ve got him listening. “Norman, Norman,” I say, holding my hands out to him. “Just look at me. Look at me for a second.” Norman turns his head toward me reluctantly. “Wait, just hear me out, okay? Just lower the gun and listen to me.”

“The longer we wait, the harder this will be.”

“Norman,” I say. “Listen to me, please. It’s been days now, what’s a few more minutes? Just a couple minutes to listen, okay?”

“You think this is easy for me?” Norman asks. “He was my friend too. But what you have to realize is that he’s gone. This isn’t Eric. Eric’s already dead. The longer we wait, the harder this will be. And it’s already the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” This thought seems to comfort him. He steadies his aim.