The World Without Flags

Then I see it, up ahead. In the middle of the field, on the crest of another hill, is an old clapboard farmhouse with a lopsided barn next to it. It’s just the kind of place I’ve been looking for. Just seeing the place and the hope it represents makes me forget my exhaustion. We can rest there. I tug at Bandit’s rein and eventually he starts forward and then I give Eric a little shove in the back to get him going, and our slow train moves ahead, one plodding footstep at a time. The sun is rising to our right, cutting across the glimmering fields and shining bright in a cloudless sky. Already the fields have started to steam from the evaporation of the dew. The birds have come alive in the sun too and as we make our slow way to the farmhouse, I watch swallows dart and fly over the field, catching their breakfast of insects and chattering as they go.

The sun has climbed far over the trees before we reach the farmhouse. I tie down both Eric and Bandit to a fence before I eye the farmhouse apprehensively. Now that I’m here, I have to deal with the idea that the farmhouse might not be empty. I haven’t got a weapon either. Not a gun filled with blanks. Not even my knife. I survey the house. I don’t see any evidence of people using it. It looks like it hasn’t been entered in a very long time. But I can’t afford to be stupid, so I circle around, looking for the slightest evidence of use. The barn doors are open, but there are no footprints or hoof prints in the dirt around it. There’s no sound. The only movement I can see are the barn swallows who dive in and out of the barn through the open door.

Finally I creep into the barn and look around. It’s a simple barn with a few stalls and a hay mount above. In the back corner there’s a chicken coop, but there’s only a few old gray feathers to show it was ever used. Carefully I climb the wooden ladder to the hay mount. Nothing up there but a few piles of hay, rotted almost to dirt. I climb back down and look in the stalls, but the barn has been thoroughly cleaned out. There’s nothing in there that could be of any use whatsoever. Not so much as a stray nail. I pry a thin board off the wall between the stalls. It’s got a nice heft to it, and I give it a practice swing. That should do some damage if it comes to that. Emboldened, I move closer to the house with my new weapon.

The house isn’t in great condition. As I get closer, I see some details that I missed before. All the windows are broken. The roof is sunk in on one side and looks on the verge of collapsing. The door is open too, but only a crack, as if someone forgot to shut it on their way out. I can’t help but imagine that a family must have lived here once. Laughing kids, barking dogs, a few cars, maybe a horse or two in the barn. I open the front door carefully, but the hinges screech, which makes me cringe.

Still, I tell myself, it’s a good sign. No one has opened that rusty door in a very long time. I slip inside with my plank ready to swing. The living room, or what’s left of it, is fairly large. A rotting couch happily sprouts grass in the center of the room. A bowed coffee table sits in front of it. Surveying the damage is a wrecked television set, shattered long ago, probably just for the hell of it. I don’t see any other reason to smash a television set. Behind the television is a wall covered with moss and dripping water. This is where the collapsed roof leaks in. The water has rotted out the wood in the ceiling. The house smells like wet, damp earth. But no sign of anything alive…yet.

When I move to the kitchen, I see that the place has already been searched over, many times. All the cupboards are open, some of them broken. There’s not a can left, not a toothpick, nothing. Not even an old knife or fork. It’s completely scavenged like a dead deer after the wild dogs have fought over it. There’s absolutely nothing here. But this is good news. I’m not looking for supplies, I’m looking for a place to stay.

I check the second floor, but it’s even worse than the first. Someone has even scavenged the mattresses, shoving them out of broken windows is my guess, by the looks of the windows, which aren’t just broken but totally smashed away. I don’t stay on the second floor long. The floor creaks and whines too much and I don’t trust the house. It looks like it might start collapsing any day now. Eric used to tell me that the worst thing that can happen to a house is a leaking roof. Then it’s only a matter of time before it’s totally ruined. Looking at the house, I can see why. It won’t be long before it just crumbles in on itself.

I breathe easier. We’re alone.

I decide to set us up in the barn. After unpacking and unsaddling him, I guide Bandit into a stall where he nickers at me petulantly. “I’m tired too,” I say, defensively. “It’s not like I wanted to walk all night either.”

Bandit tosses and shakes his head.

“Don’t be an asshole,” I tell him, feeling underappreciated.