The World Without Flags

I’m so tired, I just want to get Eric into a stall, lay him down, and then crawl into the last stall by myself and sleep for about seventy hours. But as I’m maneuvering Eric, I’m struck by how much weight he’s lost since he got sick. It breaks my heart, and before I know it, I’m crying again, soundlessly. I rub the tears out of my eyes, but a feeling of guilt rises to me, hot and angry. I can’t sleep knowing he’s like this. So I find myself walking around, gathering up old, dry wood and then struggling to start a fire. Finally I get one going, crackling and snapping energetically, and I go to the backpack and come back with a kettle. Then I pour the last of the water that I brought with us. Struggling to stay awake, I wait for the water to boil. It seems to take forever. I realize I’m crying louder now, but it’s not from sadness. I’m just so tired. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since before the Worm hit us. I’ve never cried from exhaustion before. It’s pure misery.

After about six hours, it seems, the water boils. I wipe my eyes and pour some into an aluminum mug. I notice I’m shaking a little, but I breathe and try to control my crying. Then I stir in all of our maple sugar until it’s fully dissolved. I’m sniffling the whole time. It’s so hard just to stay awake. Then I have to wait for the boiling water to cool. I don’t want to burn Eric. After that ordeal, I bring the mug to Eric who is standing where I left him. I put the mug down carefully on the ground and move Eric into his stall. Then it’s another struggle to get him to sit.

“Come on,” I say, tugging at him. “Just sit down!”

“Unh,” Eric says, not budging.

I try to trip him, but he seems pretty good at keeping his feet for some reason. Maybe I’m too tired to do it right.

“Come on!” I yell and push him. Luckily, he stumbles a little, and I take advantage of it and pull him toward the ground. He falls slowly to the ground and then topples to one side so that his face is pushed into the dirt.

“Unh,” he says.

“Damn it, Eric,” I hiss, and pull him back up to a sitting position, his legs spread out in front of him like a frog. Half of his face is covered in dirt. I take out the rag from his shirt that I’m starting to think of as the drooly towel and wipe his face clean, or try to. Mostly the dirt just streaks like camouflage. I’m too tired to wipe anymore, so I leave him like that and go get the mug of very sugary warm water. It’s the last of our sugar so I’m careful with it. It could be life and death for Eric.

I crouch in front of Eric, holding the mug carefully. Eric just sits there with his jaw open. To get his attention, I pour a few drops into his mouth. Immediately Eric jerks violently to life, sitting straight up toward me, his tongue lashing out for the water. The movement is so abrupt, he knocks the mug out of my hand. I feel the emptiness in my hand and my heart plummets inside me.

I cry out in frustration. I look down at the empty mug and the wet earth where the last of our sugar has vanished. I could die.

“Unh!” says Eric desperately, his black tongue waggling horribly in the emptiness in front of him.

I grab my hair in frustration.

“Unh!” Eric repeats.

“Shut up!” I scream.

“Unh!” Eric repeats. His tongue lashes back and forth like some ominous black flag.

I can’t stand it. I lash out and slap him hard across the face. “Shut up!” I scream.

The force of my slap doesn’t seem to affect him at all. He sits there like before, tongue out, writhing like a snake, but I see the growing red mark where I struck him. I feel sick.

I grab the mug and stumble out of the stall, shutting it behind me. I’m shaking and trembling all over. I’ve never felt so small and petty and hateful. For all I know, Eric could be dead in the morning. And the last thing I did was slap him across the face.

Sobbing with guilt and exhaustion and anger and a whole slew of emotions I can’t even begin to describe, I lumber into the last stall and collapse on the ground. It feels like I fall directly into darkness.

68

When I wake up, it’s still daylight. I slept so profoundly that it takes me a few seconds to remember where I am and why. For those seconds, I’m confused that I’m not in our cabin in the Homestead. I expect to wake up and look at the roof of our house, to see the sheet that acts like a curtain and separates our beds. I expect to smell breakfast, to hear Eric walking around below in his heavy boots. I expect to get up and work. Then the confusion evaporates and I remember everything. It happens suddenly, like someone opened a curtain in my mind and let the sun in.