Vox Mentis

This must be that keyword that makes people cooperate in performing tasks that require a lot of manpower, like flipping cares and standing around in a group until you drop dead

It's possible. There are some powerful words out there. Granted, you've never seen one work so well on this kind of scale. Words are usually targeted to individuals, not mass populations.

Take a break, Campbell. Get your composure back. You're feeling stressed (understandably) and in that atmosphere it'd be easier for someone to break past your defenses with something even more shocking. Say, something in the creepy hospital with all the bodies leading up to it. Come back to the car, we can discuss what you've seen so far and you can try to get further tomorrow.

"Take a break."

Heavy breathing.

"Campbell. You need to calm down. You can come back. You don't need to do this today."

The kid takes a shaky breath. "Yeah, I do, Eliot."

"It's not that important. Forget about Thoreau."

There's a snuffling sound. Eventually you identify it as laughter. "You have definitely been away too long, Eliot. 'Forget about Thoreau'. Jesus fucking Christ." He sucks air. "I'm fine. I'm calm. There's a lot of damage here. Cars on the sidewalk. I saw this on the satellite pictures, but up close it's... more real, I guess. On the computer they just looked badly parked. Like everyone was in a real hurry. But... they hit things. They're all... all somewhere for a reason." He swallows. "Almost at the hospital. Looks... smaller... than I expected, actually. Like a library. I can see the entrance to the ER. Ambulance out front. I mean a van. A paramedic van, up on the curb. Front of the ER's all glass, but I can't see inside." You hear the kid stop. "It's real dark in there. Or grimy or something." He hesitates. "I'm going around to the main entrance, okay?"

"Just take it easy."

"It's just, I don't think I need to mess with this black room if there's another way in."

"Agreed."

"Okay. I'm coming up on the main doors. Shit. I don't even know if this is better."

"Tell me what you see."

"Bodies. Desiccated bodies, piled against the glass. But I can see inside, at least. I'm at the doors. There's..."

"What?" You wait. "Campbell?"

"There's a sound."

"What kind of sound?"

"I don't know. Shut up a second; let me listen." Time passes. "Like a hum."

"A person?"

"No. Like a machine. Something electronic. But that can't be right. There's no power here. It's not that loud. I'm going to open the doors." There's a scraping. You hear the kid gagging. "Fucking hell."

"What is it?"

"The smell."

"Stop where you are."

"Okay. Okay, I've stopped."

"Look around. Tell me everything."

"Seats. Reception desk. Shit on the walls."

"Shit?"

"I mean stuff. Ads. Get your vaccinations. Eight out of ten mothers experience postnatal depression. When was your last prostate exam."

"What about the sound?"

"Oh. Yeah, that's flies. Ten billion flies."

"Stand there a minute."

"She's not here, Eliot. I told you. If there was anything bigger than a squirrel moving around in here, we'd know it."

"Rabbit. There are no squirrels in Australia."

"No..." The kid breaks out in laughter. "No squirrels? Are you shitting me?"

"No."

"Well maybe I'll fucking move here! It's starting to seem like fucking paradise!"

"Keep it together, Campbell."

The kid's breathing comes harsh and ragged. "You're right. You're right." He steadies. "I'm going in." There's a scrape. The ambient noise alters, thickening. "I'm inside."

"Tell me everything."

"There are lines on the floor. Colored lines. Man... well, I guess I'll follow the red one. For Emergency. There are so many bodies... it's hard to avoid them. Jesus fuck. I am never getting this smell off me." Shuffling. "Doors are propped open with bodies. I'm in a corridor. It's getting darker. The, ah... yeah, the lights don't work. Just confirming that. There's..."

"What?"

"There's a skull with an ax in it."

"An ax?"

"Yeah. A red ax. For fighting fires. I can see where someone pulled it out of the case. Someone broke the glass and took the ax out and buried it in this dude's head. Hey? Eliot?"

"Yes?"

"I'm taking the ax. Okay? I just... I'd feel better if I had it with me. So I'm going to put down the phone for a minute to pick up the ax."

"Okay."

The phone goes clunk. You hear the kid grunting, then a brief squeal. "You there?"

"I'm here."

"I got it." The kid laughs. "I just pulled a fucking ax out of a skull." He exhales. "I feel better. I feel kind of badass. Hey. I just had an idea. I'm going to take a picture of this shit, send it to you."

"On your phone?"

"Yeah."

"Can you do that without ending the call?"

"I don't... uh... not sure."

"Then don't do that."

"I'll send it and call you right back."

"Do not hang up the phone."

"Okay. Jesus. Okay, okay. Just an idea. I can see the doors to Emergency just ahead. Double doors. Lots of... oh. I just figured out what this black stuff on the walls is."

"Blood."

"Yeah. Lots and lots of blood." A pause. "Is that...? Yeah. That's them."

"Who?"

"An extraction team. I know these guys. I mean... I saw their video. You know these people in black suits Thoreau uses sometimes? The soldiers with the goggles? They're supposed to be screens against compromise."

"Yes."

"It's them. Some of them, anyway. They're not wearing their goggles. They... they're pretty messed up."

"How?"

"They're tangled. In each other. Their faces are black. Dried blood. They don't have any eyes. I don't know if... I don't know if that's decomposition or if... or what." His voice shakes. "They look like they went through a fucking shredder, Eliot." You realize the kid is crying.

"Campbell-"

"But they weren't poets. That's the difference. I'm the king of defense."

"Come back. You can report in what you've learned. Try again tomorrow."

"No. No."

"Thoreau can wait another-"

The kid's voice rises. "Eliot, you have no fucking idea what's required, okay? You've been in the fucking desert and you don't know. I am not telling Thoreau I got this far and left. That is not fucking happening, and if you had half a clue you wouldn't suggest it."

"Not all of us agree with Thoreau."

The kid sucks air for awhile. "I could have your head, Eliot. I could have your head on a plate for what you just said to me."

"I know that."

"Yeah. Yeah." Seconds pass. "Doors ahead. Closed double doors. Sign says Emergency."

"Campbell, please."

"I want to hold the ax in two hands. I'm going to wedge the phone under my ear." There's a scraping. His breath comes in gulps. "Hey, Eliot?"

"Yes?"

"I appreciate it. Saying that about Thoreau. That's good of you."

"Campbell, please stop." Command words rise in your mind. Weak, over the phone. Probably pointless.

"If anything goes wrong, I want you to tell Thoreau I was cool under pressure," says the kid. "I'm opening the..." There's a squeal of hinges.

"What do you see?"

The kid's breathing.

"Campbell? What do you see? Talk to me."

The phone barks into your ear. You jerk it away. By the time you bring it back, there's nothing but dead air. It hit the floor, you think; that was the noise. The kid dropped it.

You think you hear a faint squeak: the kid's shoes? "Campbell?" You say the kid's name again, and again, and again, and there's nothing.