Lexicon

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 up 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 Yeats uses sometimes? The soldiers with the goggles? They’re supposed to be screened 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 shook. “They look like they went through a fucking shredder, Eliot.” He realized the kid was 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.”
    “Yeats can wait another—”
    The kid’s voice rose. “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 Yeats 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 Yeats.”
    The kid sucked air 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 passed. “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 was a scraping. His breath came in gulps. “Hey, Eliot?”
    “Yes?”
    “I appreciate it. Saying that about Yeats. That’s good of you.”
    “Campbell, please stop.” Command words rose in his mind. Weak, over the phone. Probably pointless.
    “If anything goes wrong, I want you to tell Yeats I was cool under pressure,” said the kid. “I’m opening the . . .” There was a squeal of hinges.
    “What do you see?”
    The kid’s breathing.
    “Campbell? What do you see? Talk to me.”
    The phone barked into his ear. He jerked it away. By the time he brought it back, there was nothing but dead air. It had hit the floor, he thought; that was the noise. The kid had dropped it.
    He thought he heard a faint squeak: the kid’s shoes? “Campbell?” He said the kid’s name again, and again, and again, and there was nothing.
    • • •
    Eliot waited against the car as the sun settled behind him and heat bled from the air. He didn’t expect the kid to return. But he was giving him the chance.
    Why are you here, Eliot? You see where the organization is going. You know what’s coming. Yet here you stand.
    In an hour, it would be dark. Then he would climb into the car, drive four hours to his hotel, and phone Yeats. He would tell him Campbell had not come back, keeping his voice empty, and Yeats would express his sorrow, in the same tone.
    Emily, Emily
, he thought.
Where did you go
?
    Something shimmered on the road. He squinted. The haze had lifted, but the wind blew dust into his eyes. Then he was sure: Someone was coming. Eliot straightened. He raised a hand. The figure didn’t respond. There was something odd about the way it was moving. Its gait was lopsided. Not Campbell? But it had to be. There was no one else out here.
    A minute passed. The haze condensed into Campbell. The reason he was lopsided was that he was carrying an ax.
    Eliot returned to the car, opened the glove compartment, and retrieved his gun. By the time he returned to the fence line, Campbell was two hundred yards away. Eliot could see his expression, his focused emptiness.
    He stuck the pistol into his waistband and cupped his hands around his mouth. “
Campbell! Stop!
”
    The kid kept coming. His shirt was soaked with sweat. Wet, matted hair poked from beneath the THUNDER FROM DOWN UNDER cap. He had lost a shoe.
    “Campbell, drop the ax!”
    For a moment,