The World Without Flags

The road turns north to go around a lake. In the moonlight, the lake looks silver. As Bandit clops up the road, I marvel at the stillness of the water and how it shines in the light, like it’s been polished. After all the chaos of the last few days, having a few moments to look and see the world seems like a luxury. The silence of the night is welcome too. No gunshots. No whispered talking or scheming. I’m so relieved I don’t have to think a hundred miles an hour that it seems like everything is slow and beautiful, a rhythm of serenity. I feel myself begin to tear up, not from sadness, but from sheer relief. Both Eric and I are still alive, walking among silver lakes, pine trees shining at their edges like sharpened blades, fields populated by shards of crystalline grass. The peace I feel is immense, almost overpowering.

But it doesn’t last. Soon the beauty flakes away, and I begin to helplessly recall the faces of the people who won’t see this beauty ever again. Artemis and Peter and Matt and all the boys of the goon squad that are mostly dead now, except for Pest. And I see Pest himself, his round, white face, like a baby’s, his dark, curly hair, and his shining blue eyes, shimmering with intelligence and cunning. I wonder if, like all the rest, I will ever see him again. The thought makes my heart drop in my chest.

Then, as if my dropping heart has raised another memory, like my emotions are some kind of watery deep inside me, I remember again the days following the Worm, not recently, but a decade in the past when I was just a little girl. I remember a night like this. I’m walking under trees. Leaves crunch at my feet. Eric is walking next to me. He stops suddenly and looks down at me. He’s smiling. He puts his hand on my shoulder. I’m so tired, but his hand gives me energy because I don’t want to let him down. I want to keep going. Then he takes my hand.

It’s the memory of the hands that brings me racing to another memory, one older and more confused. Of my actual father. The feel of his large hand in mine, warm and soft, comes with images of fire and smoke. I’m frightened. I hear him talking to me, but I can’t understand all he’s saying. Only these words focus clearly: “You can do it, Birdie.”

That’s when I hear the crash, and I realize I’ve been sleeping. I look back. The sled has fallen apart.

67

I swing off Bandit and go back to check on Eric. He’s fine, lying flat on his back on a ruined sled. It’s all the same to him if he’s moving or not. I take the opportunity to wipe the black bile from his chin and face. He’s getting even thinner. I have to figure out a way to feed him or he’ll just waste away. I can’t keep giving him sugar water. I don’t have enough sugar for that. I look at him, concerned. I can’t help but brush his hair out of his eyes with my fingers. I feel my heart twinge in me so painfully, I have to get up and get away from him. I’m not going to be any use to him if I start crying my guts out.

It doesn’t take too long before I realize the whole sled is completely unfixable. The rope we used to lash it together has been frayed by the dragging. I try to use the remaining pieces to fix it, but it’s hopeless. When I think I have it fixed and get back on Bandit, he steps forward and rips it all apart again. Eric just lies there on a pile of logs in the middle of the road.

“Unh,” he says, but I don’t bother to answer him. I jump down from Bandit to survey the remnants of the sled and think. I stand there for a while under the moon.

Bandit is grazing on the side of the road, not a care in the world. At first I get very frustrated, but then I shrug. What can I do? I feel grateful that the sled lasted this long, just far enough to be ahead of Norman and Pest. It will take them all night to walk back to the Homestead. It gives Eric and I the start we need to vanish.

“Well,” I say to Eric, beginning to untangle him from the ruined sled. “I guess we walk from here.”

“Unh,” he says as I tug him to his feet.

“I’m not happy about it either,” I tell him. I pat him on the back.

There’s enough rope left to lash Eric’s backpack to Bandit. Then I climb on Bandit, who is annoyed at this and tries to step away, but I swing into place before he can get far. It’s the first trouble he’s given me, so I feel more lucky than annoyed. “Hush now,” I tell Bandit as he walks sideways for a second with the new weight. Then I prick him forward with my heels.