Lexicon

what.
    “Does it wear off?” he said. “The word?”
    “No.”
    “Jesus fuck.”
    “Why are you trying to save me?” He ignored this because it was a stupid question. Something outside went:
fwick
. “I thought you didn’t love me.”
    “Quiet.” He saw a flicker. Only a glimmer through the holes in the door, but it was enough to recognize: The cop was setting the bakery on fire.
    “I got everything wrong.” In the dark, she cried brokenly.
    He could see it in his mind: the cop hanging back, leaning against a door frame, gun aimed at the cool room. The second Harry popped open this door, the cop would shoot him. Maybe the fire wouldn’t catch. Maybe the cop would give up and go away. Or maybe not. Because it wasn’t KILL A BUNCH OF PEOPLE, was it? It wasn’t KILL AS MANY AS IS CONVENIENT.
    “There’s something in my eye,” Emily said.
    He could hear crackling. The cool room was growing brighter. “Em, I need to open the door.” She had her head in her hands. “
Emily.
Listen to me. Wait here until I call for you. Understand? Do not move until I call your name.” Was there anything out there he could use as cover? Something he could throw? Yes. Yes, he would hurl a baking tray at the cop, and it would deflect the bullets, and dazzle him with its reflection of the flames, which of course he would have to run through, and then he would disarm the cop with his superior hand-to-hand combat training. “Are you fucking listening to me?” He resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her.
    “Please just leave me, Harry.”
    He could feel the heat through the walls. The cop must have moved by now. Retreated to the storefront, at least, maybe right out to the street. The greatest danger now was waiting too long, until there was nowhere to go except into an inferno. He released the handle and pried Emily’s hands from her face. For a moment, he thought he really did see something in her eye, but it was only the dancing reflection of flames. “Em. You are pissing me off. But I will never leave you. Ever. So stop talking. We’re getting out of here.” He wound his fingers into hers. “Ready?” She stared at him. “Sure you are,” he said. He scooped her up. Her arms around his neck were stiff as poles. He took a breath, watching the door, the flames flickering behind it. He kissed her, because fuck it, he was probably about to die. Then he kicked open the door and the fire roared like a living thing and he ran into it.
    • • •
    She woke in a bed. No. Wrong. On a stretcher. Something portable. She was in a room full of stretchers and it smelled bad. Burned. Wait. That was her. She was singed. She put her hand to her hair and it felt very wrong.
    The room was very bright. Beyond wide windows, sunlight leaped from the chrome of half a dozen muscular vehicles, Humvees and trucks and Jeeps. Beyond those was endless rolling earth. She was encircled by a colorful strip of paper on which were letters and numbers and puppies and dinosaurs and elephants. The walls were lined with posters about Brazil and global warming. Beneath the windows were desks, all pushed together. It was a classroom. She was burned, on a stretcher, in a classroom.
    “Oh,” said a woman. “You’re awake.”
    Emily didn’t know this woman. Which was odd, because Emily knew everyone in Broken Hill. Also, the woman was wearing fatigues, like a soldier. She came closer and checked Emily’s tubes. Emily had tubes. They ran from the insides of her elbows to plastic bags on a trolley beside the bed.
    “How do you feel?” Before she could stop her, the woman peeled up one of Emily’s eyelids with her thumb. “You’re in Menindee. It’s a little town outside Broken Hill.” A patch on her khakis said: NEILAND, J . “We’re using the school as a hospital. Are you in pain?”
    Her hands were wrapped in bandages. Like big mittens. There were three other stretcher beds in the room but none were occupied. She tried to sit up. She remembered fire, smoke. Harry carrying her through it. She had passed out. Then she had been flying, skimming across the earth, and bouncing, being held by Harry on a dirt bike. She had seen kangaroos fleeing flames. “Where’s Harry?”
    “The man who brought you in?”
    “Yes,” said Emily. “Yes, yes.”
    “He’s up the hall. They’re working on him.”
    “Is he all right?”
    “Just relax,” said Neiland.
    She almost asked,
Are you a dog person or a cat person?
Because she