The World Without Flags

Looking back, I watch Eric get tugged forward by the rope and then walk. He walks faster without the backpack, I’m happy to see, but he doesn’t walk fast enough to keep from getting pulled by the rope every couple of minutes. Every time the rope goes tight, he staggers a little forward before finding his stride. Everything is great then for a minute or two before Bandit’s pace takes up the slack in the rope and the cycle starts again. If Eric would speed up just a little, it wouldn’t happen, but Eric is a one-gear machine, so every minute or so, I have to pull the reins on Bandit and get him to stop. Then I wait for Eric to walk closer before getting Bandit to move again. It’s a real pain, to say the least. I can’t think of any way to change the pattern.

At least the rhythm of stopping and going keeps me awake. I’m not too excited about the thought of falling asleep and dreaming. Things are tough enough, I don’t know why my stupid brain has decided that now is the best time to dredge up all those old memories of my father. It seems needlessly cruel.

Rounding the lake, we turn south and follow the road until I see another, in worse state, headed off to the west. I take that one and keep following it, putting as much space between me and the Homestead as I can. At some point, just as the sky starts to turn that deep violet color right before dawn, I see a road to the north and I take it.

This road is considerably worse. Sometimes it’s hard to see it’s even a road. There’s crumbled asphalt everywhere and it’s hard to walk. I have to keep an eye on Eric to make sure he doesn’t trip and fall. If he falls, he won’t even try to protect himself like a normal human. He’ll just fall. Hard. If he breaks a leg, I don’t know what I’ll do. Finally I have to get off Bandit and lead Eric more carefully. Now I’m the one tugging at Bandit, who stops whenever he can to munch on grass or just stand there, looking at nothing, not moving in the slightest. I really don’t know what’s going through his head when he acts like that. Maybe the dumb horse has the Worm too. I laugh a little at that, but I guess it’s not really that funny.

“Come on,” I say to Bandit, giving his rope a tug. “Stupid zombie horse.”

“Unh,” says Eric.

“That’s right,” I say. “You tell him, Eric.”

We’re walking mostly uphill now, sometimes steeply. With the dawn light coming, it’s easier to see and maneuver around the pits in the asphalt road, but it’s still not easy going. I’m really tired, and guiding Eric is hard. He’d walk right over a cliff if I pushed him in that direction. A couple of times, he stumbles and almost falls, but I get to him just in time, putting my shoulder to his chest to keep him upright. Whenever I do this, I almost gag just from Eric’s smell. It’s getting worse, it seems. Plus, when I put my shoulder into his chest, I can feel his bones. Sharp. Distinct. Eric was always tough and broad around the shoulders. Now he isn’t much more than a skeleton. I feel like every mile we walk is dragging him that much closer to death. If Eric doesn’t eat, I don’t see how he’ll live much longer.

If this worry isn’t enough, there’s also Bandit. Now that there’s no one riding him, he’s got the idea that he’s his own boss. He must be tired too because he just wants to stand in that obstinate way of his, motionless, head straight forward, not budging at all. It seems like every fifteen minutes, I have to yank at his reins to get him to move. Between Bandit and Eric, it’s hard as hell to move at all, let alone the miles and miles I want to get away from the Homestead.

Just then we crest a hill. There’s no trees at the top of the hill and the morning sunlight is brilliant. I shade my eyes and blink.

“Unh,” Eric says. I give his rope a tug and he stops.

“Yeah, it’s bright,” I agree.

Below us are rolling hills, fields sparkling with dew, acres of jewels, bordered by evergreen. About a mile off, I see a herd of deer lazily rising from their night’s rest. There must be a hundred of them. After the humans all died off, the deer inherited these fields and have been multiplying like crazy ever since. That might change in the future. Randy used to tell us stories of wolves, pushing down from the north. I look down at the deer and think their easy days are numbered. For now though, they look peaceful and content.