Vox Mentis

Cover your ears, close your eyes, and turn towards his general direction.

I'm not going to get you in trouble, you dope. I fucking trusted you. You want to be a rock, stop having feelings, stop having friends? Fine. Be a goddamn rock. I won't stop you. But if you're still standing here when I open my eyes I'm going to punch you in the fucking face.

If you're within 2-3 meters, you can totally punch him in the mouth before he finishes.

As Jeremy runs into the street, you quickly shut your eyes and cover your ears with your hands. "Jeremy-"

Before you can get it out, you hear the muffled sound of screeching tires through your hands. Your eyes flash open just in time to see a car sweep Jeremy away. You shriek and can't hear yourself over the horns.

~

You want to go to the hospital but they won't let you. You have to stay in the sitting room, the same place Jane had interviewed you when you first arrived, curled up in the same armchair.

Finally, Eliot comes in, wearing a long coat. You open your mouth to ask about Jeremy but you can see the answer on his face. You cover your face with your hands and cry.

"Tell me what happened."

You shake your head, not looking up. He crosses the rug and lifts your chin. "No," you say, and try to cover your ears. He pulls away your hands and speaks and your mind goes away. When you return to yourself, he is sitting in the chair across the rug, his eyes dark. You close your mouth and swallow. Your throat feels sore.

"Your time here is over," he says.

"Please don't send me away. Please."

He stands. You begin to cry again, but there's no pity in his eyes. He leaves.



PART TWO



The airplane climbs and you wait for the chopper to shoot at you, or crash into you, or explode for no reason, who knows. But minutes pass with nothing but the drone of the engines and the night spreading out ahead. "Are we clear?" you ask Eliot, and Eliot says nothing, but you think you are. Exhaustion dumps into you all at once: Once minute you're fearing for your life, the next you want to sleep. "I'm going to sit down, okay?" You make your way down the plane. You reach seats and collapse into one. You should buckle up. But the buckles are so far away.

You open your eyes to daylight. The world bumps and shakes. You clutch at the armrests, your head full of half-remembered dreams. A girl with bad words. A kangaroo. The engines are wailing. Beyond the round windows you see snow and wooden fence posts and these seem very close and moving too fast. The note of the engines change and you begin to shed speed. The world slows and stops. Eliot emerges from the cockpit, flips open a panel on the fuselage and begins to crank the door.

"Where are we?"

Eliot keeps cranking. The door becomes a series of steps and he trots down them.

You get to your feet. You're not thrilled about heading out into the snow again, but you do it. Eliot stands at the side of the road, urinating. You look around. The blacktop stretches out as far as you can see. Power lines march alongside. There's nothing else.

"Nice landing," you say. You get nothing from Eliot but a steady stream of urine. "Where are we?"

Eliot zips and walks a short distance down the road. You go after him. The plane is very modern, you notice, sleek and clean with upturned wings. It's surprisingly large, too, although maybe that's because it's on a road, where it doesn't belong.

You stop beside Eliot. You stuff your hands into your pockets. Your breath fogs. "What now?"

"Next car that comes along, I'm catching a ride. Then I'm going to get some breakfast. Bacon, ideally. Lots of bacon."

You shake snow from your boots. "Okay."

"That's me, though. You can do whatever you like."

You squint. "Say what?"

"We're done. This is it. You go your way, I go mine."

"What?"

"It's over."

"But the poets. Woolf... does she still want to kill me?"

"Oh, yes."

"So we have to hide. Go to more of your friends."

"There are no more friends."

You stare. "No?"

"No."

"You mean your entire, what, resistance or whatever, got wiped out yesterday? Everyone?"

"Yes."

"You don't have a cell in another city or-"

"No."

"Jesus." You exhale. "Then we need to stick together."

"Hmm," Eliot says.

"She's coming after you, too, right? Woolf wants you dead."

"Yes."

"So?"

"So from your point of view, I'm a guy who can keep you alive. But from my point of view, you're a useless sack of shit. You don't help me at all."

"You said I was important! You have to find out why I'm immune! To the words!"

"That was before," Eliot says. "Circumstances changed."

"I'm coming with you," you say. "Wherever you're going, I'm coming."

"No, you're not."

"You can't stop me. Your word voodoo, it doesn't work on me. Right? So how do you think you're going to-"

Eliot produces a pistol. He doesn't seem to pull it from anywhere. He just suddenly has it.

Your eyes sting.

"See?" Eliot puts away the gun. "There are all kinds of persuasion." He gazes at the horizon again.

Your breath steams. "Okay. Okay." Anger builds inside you and you don't know what to do with it. "Fine. That's how it is?" You walk back to the place. You don't know what you're doing. But you can do it somewhere warm. You can do that. Halfway up the steps, you yell, "What happened in Broken Hill? Woolf killed everyone, right?" Eliot doesn't move. "Yeah! So you go hide out while she does what she likes to the rest of us! You do that!" You shiver. You stomp up the steps.

~

You stand on the road, scanning the horizon. Your coat flaps around your legs. Nick will pop back out of that plane in about five minutes, by your estimation. That will be the point at which his fear of being abandoned surpasses his physiological desire for warmth. It will be useful if a car appears before then. That way, you can compromise the driver and be on your way without ever seeing Nick again.

The wind stings your cheeks. You can't resist the comparison any longer: the last time you stood like this, waiting and watching to see what comes over the horizon, carrying a gun and hoping not to need it. A little over a year ago. You had been outside Broken Hill.

~

You put the air-conditioning on full, but it makes no difference: The sun blasts through the windshield, broiling you inside your shirt. The kid you collected from the airport, Campbell, squirms and twists his tie and hangs it over the back of the seat. "The sun looks bigger," he says. "Can it actually be bigger?"

"It's the ozone," you say. "There's a hole."

"Do you get used to it?"

"Not yet."

"When I left DC, it was twelve degrees," says the kid. "Twelve." He glances at you. "You miss DC?"

"I visit."

"Yeah, but..." The kid looks out the window at the blasted soil rolling by. "How long have you been out here, in total? Three months?"

"Seven."

"Yeah." The kid nods. "Of course. Well, after this, you can go home." He smiles.

You look at him. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one. Why?"

"How much do you know about what you're doing?"

"Everything." The kid laughs. "Eliot, I'm fully briefed. I've spent six weeks in intensive prep. I was selected for my talents. I know what I'm doing."

You say nothing.

"Four months ago, Virginia Woolf releases a bareword in Broken Hill, Australia, population eighteen thousand. Now population zero. Official story, explosion in the ore refinery plant causing a catastrophic toxic leak. Town is fenced off at a radius of five miles. Scary signs promise death to all who enter. The funny part is the signs don't lie. We send people in, they don't come out. Hence the theory that the word is still in there." He pulls his shirt out of his pants and flaps air. "Crazy idea, isn't it? That a word can persist. Hang in the air, like an echo."

"It can't."

"What, then? Because something bad is in there, and it ain't a toxic leak."

You almost don't say it. "Maybe Woolf."

"Mmm," says the kid. "Yeah, nobody really thinks that's plausible, Eliot. We're all pretty sure Woolf's dead." He taps idly on the window. "We have satellite on that town. We've imaged it a hundred different ways. Nothing moves."

You drive in silence.

Any other conversation you feel needs having before you arrive at Broken Hill?