The World Without Flags

“Stop!” I hear, and my heart falls. I turn around and Doctor Bragg is standing in the middle of the hallway. He’s got a gun in his hand pointing toward us. “Stop!” he says again. He pulls the hammer back on his gun. His aim is steady. My mind is running too fast to think. I can only stand there terrified. We’re so close to freedom! So close!

Suddenly there’s a tremendous shattering sound and the Doctor falls to the ground. Standing over him is the woman from the prison, holding the remains of a jar. Next to her is the little girl, looking dispassionately down at the Doctor. The woman looks at me for a moment without emotion. She just stands there. We all just look at each other. Suddenly my heart races to life, and I grab Eric and we bolt outside into the cool, night air. I leave the door open, in case the woman and the little girl follow, but I can’t think of them. I can still feel their eyes on me, but I don’t understand what they want. Standing in the cold, fresh air, I see their eyes gazing at me, the hollowness of them, the darkness.

88

Finally I take Eric’s hand and lead him down the bank toward the river, trudging through leaves and mud. It feels like I’m dragging Eric forward, which I practically am. He doesn’t act any different as he always does, oblivious to the fact that we’re fleeing for our lives and that if anyone sees us, we’re dead. There are several loud gun shots that seem so loud, the sky seems to crack in half. I stop and look back, but I don’t see anyone charge out of the steel warehouse as I feared.

“Please, please, please run!” I beg Eric. I realize I’m crying again as I drag him forward toward the sound of the river.

And then he is running. He’s running faster than I’ve ever seen him run, even before he had the Worm. I’m gleeful for a moment, thinking it’s a miracle, until I realize he’s running for the water. I bolt after him, thinking that I have to stop him from drinking himself to death, when I run out of the trees and almost die from terror.

The river is not a calm thing, gently gurgling its way to the ocean. It's a roiling, boiling mass of white water, churning up river stones and tearing whole trees from the banking, roots and all. The flooded river has cut a swathe through the area, and there’s a huge, granite outcrop on our side—Eric is sprinting straight for the edge! I hurl myself forward, bursting forward with every ounce of energy I can find. I race toward him, reaching out, hoping I can get to him before he reaches the deadly river. I hammer forward with my legs, expending every bit of energy I have. I sprint forward and reach out for him. I feel my fingers graze his back and then he drops away from me. I skid to a halt and watch with terror as Eric falls, falls, falls, his body turning strangely below me until he vanishes under the white water.

“Eric!” I scream. My whole body goes cold and distant. I look over to see Eric’s red shirt downriver, impossibly far away already.

Time seems to slow. My heart beats once, languidly, like it has to pump ice through my veins.   I am stunned he’s gone. It doesn’t seem possible or real. I can see my hand out there, still reaching for him. My heart thumps again. I can get him, I tell myself. I look down at the boiling river and I think it doesn’t look bad. I can jump. I can still get him. I feel myself begin to jump, and then I stop.

“Think, Birdie!”

It’s like a voice. Like his real voice. Like Eric’s in my head talking to me.

My heart thumps again.

Think.

If I jump, we’re both dead. I see it. It’s obvious. Below me, a tree passes, shuddering as it shoots by. If I had jumped, the tree would have struck me. I turn away from the bank and start running downriver, following the pounding water on its course, racing into the dark forest as the light of dawn begins to brighten the sky.

89

I dash through the forest downriver as fast as I can.

I see him sometimes, up ahead, in the river, usually only a glimpse of his red, plaid shirt, bright as blood in the white water before he vanishes in a maelstrom of roiling water.

I have to concentrate on the run. I jump over rocks and duck under tree branches. When I can, I turn to the river to see if I can see him, to see if the river hasn’t washed him up on the shore, or if some overhanging branch hasn’t snagged him. But the river is moving too fast to stop him. The water is all I can hear now, a thundering, rushing noise in my head.

I breathe. I run. I concentrate.

I look for signs of him and I think I will probably never see him again. The river will take him away from me, tear him apart as it crashes downstream, leaving me nothing, nothing.

But this doesn’t come to me as a thought. It’s just a feeling of doom, of loss, of horrible, aching emptiness. In the end, after all I’ve gone through, I lost him to a river! I lost him because I didn’t think about the sound of water and what it would do to him. I lost him because I forgot what he has become.