Lexicon

talk us out. With the word voodoo.” He leaned forward, searching the sky for choppers. “Don’t you think the priority here is you being okay?”
    “The bareword is the priority.”
    “Right. The bareword.” He peered ahead. “There’s something on the road.” A chain-link fence stretched away from either side of the road, but whatever lay between was lost in the heat haze. “Is that a gate?”
    “Just loose wire.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Pretty sure.”
    “Are you really sure?” he said, but by the time he got the words out, the answer was clear. It was a solid red and yellow barrier. The Valiant plowed through it and a yellow block flew at Wil’s face and ricocheted off the windshield with a light
boonk
.
    He looked out the rear window. Colorful blocks rolled slowly across the road.
    “Plastic,” said Eliot.
    “You said it was wire.”
    “Last time I was here, it was.”
    The police cars were shrinking. “Hey. They’ve stopped.”
    “That’s because they believe what they’ve been told about Broken Hill. They don’t want to die.”
    “So no one will follow us in here? We’re safe?”
    “Regular people won’t. Proles will.”
    “Oh, yeah,” Wil said, dismayed. “Proles.”
    “Also EIPs,” said Eliot. “You haven’t seen those yet. When they show up, we’ll need the word.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “I’m going to pull over and let you drive for a while.”
    The car coasted to a halt. Wil ran around the vehicle, hunkering down in case of cops with sniper rifles, or helicopters, or whatever. He didn’t know. It could be anything. The engine stuttered and he thought,
Please don’t die, you cock
. He pulled open the driver’s side door. Eliot was sitting in the passenger seat like he’d been dropped there. One hand rested on his abdomen. His face was made of paper. The driver’s seat was wet with blood. “Holy crap,” said Wil.
    “Get in.”
    His butt pressed into the wet seat. The smell was rich and loamy, like a vegetable garden after rain. “This is seriously bad, Eliot.” He pulled the door closed and set the car to moving before it could capitulate. “Is there a hospital in Broken Hill? A clinic, at least?” He glanced at him, abruptly fearful that he’d died in the past five seconds. But Eliot was still there. “Maybe we can do something for you there.” Maybe Eliot had medical knowledge. Maybe Eliot could dig a bullet out of his body and administer the correct doses of expired medicines. He’d stuck a needle into Wil’s eyeball; he must know something. The engine coughed three times. A structure rose in the distance: something old and industrial. “Are you listening?”
    “Yes. It’s a good plan.”
    “Is it?” But Eliot’s expression suggested otherwise. “Fuck! Then what?”
    “We get the word.”
    “And?” Eliot said nothing. “What . . .” he began, and forced himself to stop peppering Eliot with questions. He should let Eliot concentrate on holding in his kidneys. A house came up on the right, a squat thing with sun-blistered paint, but he’d seen more run-down places in Portland. It didn’t look abandoned. It was the windows, he realized: They were intact. And there were no weeds, no overgrowth. The sun sterilized everything. He spotted gray-white clumps scattered here and there and thought,
Anthills?
One was on the road, more distinct. He swerved. “Fuck!”
    Eliot grunted.
    “Skeletons,” he said. Of course there were skeletons. But still. Skeletons. On the road. A lone gas station came into view. A skeleton hung halfway out of a burned-out station wagon. He glanced at Eliot, to see if Eliot was getting this and was at least a fraction as freaked out as he was, but Eliot’s eyes were closed. “Eliot.”
    His eyes opened. He began to shift himself up the seat like he was arranging something heavy. “Don’t. Let me. Close my eyes.”
    “That’s why I said something.” He slowed. There were more skeletons here and he didn’t want to drive over them. He didn’t want to hear the noise. The industrial structure he’d seen earlier was identifiable as a refinery, crouched above the town like a wrecked spaceship. Like it had descended to Earth and murdered everybody. That he could believe. A death ray. A creeping light that spread through the town, disintegrating people. He could understand how something like that could wipe out a town. Not a word. “Eliot!”
    Eliot opened his eyes.
    “We’re almost there.” The