Trent Jamieson - Death most definite

"That's not good," Lissa says. And it isn't. That was way too fast.

The Stirrer's eyes flicker. And I do it again, this time sitting on its chest while I get out my knife.

I slice open one of my fingers, making a fresh wound, and touch the Stirrer's cheek. There's a definite finality to that stall, like a door slamming shut. The body stills for good. Nothing will get through now, as long as I stay alive.

I get to my feet. We have to keep moving.

"The world's gone to hell," I say as I dash across the park, Lissa by my side.

"Not yet," she says.

And I know she's right. Things can get a whole lot worse, and they probably will.

"I have to see, Mr. D," I say. "There's no way I can leave Brisbane with this going on. It's obviously getting out of Morrigan's control."

"And I'm telling you that's not going to help anymore-at least, not now, maybe later. You just need to stay alive for a little longer, get out of Brisbane. Come back later."

"But if that's what Morrigan wants-"

"I think he wants you in Brisbane. But regardless, I want you alive. Neither of us know enough about Schisms to hang around, except I can guarantee this much: all the other regions will have closed down communication. They don't want word of this spreading. Something like this could see a whole heap of madness. No, you need to keep moving, and Brisbane's not big enough for that to work."

I head back to the payphone on the edge of the park and dial a number I know off by heart.

"I thought it would be you," Tim says. His voice is strained, the kind of strained that the last few days will engender. I look at my watch: it's three-thirty in the morning.

"Not getting many calls?"

"Too many, but I just thought it would be you. I'm glad to hear your voice."

I'm glad to hear his as well. "We need to meet," I say.

"The Place?"

"Yeah, that'll do. I have to get out of Brisbane." It's not far away, I can easily walk it.

"I'm going to have to organize a few things," Tim says. "You going to be safe until mid morning?"

"Yeah. I think I can manage that." I'm not sure if I can, but Tim knows what he's doing.

"You OK?"

"No. You?"

"Not at all."

Honesty is such a wonderful thing.

Delightful," Tim says, glaring at a gob of spit on the ground by his foot. It's fluorescent green and ants have encircled it like a besieging army, a boiling hungry black mass. "That your handiwork?"

I shake my head, thinking about some of my recent handiwork. "If I start spitting that sort of stuff you'll know I'm not long for this world."

I doubt I'm long for this world as it is, but neither of us goes there. I'm feeling very rough this morning. The souls have kept coming, and the drain I slept in last night was hardly salubrious. I reckon I've slept maybe three hours in the last twenty-four. I know I don't smell that good.

The first thing Tim did was throw some clothes at me. I've got my backpack with me, but it doesn't hurt to have some more. They feel better than what I was wearing, not exactly a perfect fit. The jeans are OK, a little loose around the waist, but my wrists jut a good ten centimeters out of the sleeves. I'm rolling them up as Tim gets to work on his third cigarette.

We used to smoke cigarettes here, when we'd first got our licenses. Or sometimes a little weed, but not for a long time. Tim offers me a cigarette, but I decline. "Yeah, stupid idea." But he lights one up and has a puff.

"The Place" is a small park in Paddington. Very suburban, but old-Brisbane suburban. Big weatherboard Queenslanders surround us, all of them in far better condition than the one I'd belted my way out of in Albion, but essentially the same design. Their verandahs are empty. No one is that interested in being outside.

Tim has driven here, in yet another car that I don't recognize. I apprise him of the situation in detail that I didn't want to disclose over the phone. Tim's opinion I trust, though he doesn't need to know anything about the binding ceremony. Lissa corrects me often enough that, even though Tim can't hear her side of the conversation, he laughs. "You're sounding like your parents."

I glare at him. "Cute. Real bloody cute."

"Schism, you think," Tim says. "I've heard of them."

"Really?"

"You'd be surprised how much the government's got on you. Think about it, Steve. Technically you don't exist. And what are the rules binding government in dealing with things that don't exist?"

"If this goes wrong everybody dies, Tim."

"Which is why we think there should be tighter state controls."

"Do you really think that?"

Tim grinds his cigarette out beneath his boot. "Look at what's happening. Do you think we could fuck this up as badly?" Tim sighs. "But fuck that. Other than Sally and the kids, you're all the family I've got left. You know that me and Aunt Teagan don't get on."

"Who does?"

"Lots of people, just not her family."

"Have you talked to Sally?"

"As much as I can. I don't trust the phone lines either. She says she's sorry. We all are."

"Yeah."

"If locking you up in a room would keep you safe, I would, but you'd find a way to get into trouble." Tim knows me better than I know myself sometimes. "I can understand this is as scary as all hell. But I agree with Lissa, you have to get out of town. I've spoken to Alex, did that after I got off the phone with you. He'll be here soon."

"You know Don's son?"

"You really need to be more sociable, Steve. Maybe it's guilt or something, but we Black Sheep stick together."

"That's a bit ironic."

Tim ignores me. "I've talked to Alex, and he's got a car for you. You take that, and you get the hell out of here until it all cools down, or whatever it needs to do."

I don't think it will cool down. Not in the way Tim means or hopes. "What about you?"

"Some of us have to work for a living," Tim says, and now he's the one trying to sound all casual. He snorts. "Look, don't you worry about me. I can take care of myself. It's what I do for a living. Anyway, you think my minister could take a crap without me?"

That's policy advisors for you. "Maybe I will have a cigarette." But it's a mistake, I'm coughing after the first puff.

"Smoking never took with you," Tim says wryly, picking out his fourth cigarette in half an hour. "Lucky bastard."

Alex pulls into the park flashing his headlights. Lissa shakes her head. "You call that a car?"

"Hey, don't diss my wheels." I'm not sounding that convincing.

Even Tim laughs. "I can't remember the last time I saw one of that… um… vintage on the road."

Alex opens the door and gets out of the multi-coloured, mid-seventies Corolla sedan. It's a patchwork of orange, black and electric green. He looks from me to Tim, who is actually laughing so hard he can't breathe. I'm not far behind my cousin. It's the first time I've laughed like that in-well, in a long time.

"What's so funny?" Alex demands.

There's a full tank of petrol. That'll get you on your way. Wherever that is." Alex chucks me a phone, and a handful of sim cards. "You'll get one call with each of those, I reckon. Probably more, but better safe than sorry. They've probably got the network tapped. Morrigan doesn't do anything by halves. Chuck them away when you're done."

"I will. I'm sorry about your father."

Alex stops me with a look. "I know you are. Let's just keep you alive, eh."

He tosses me the keys. I unlock the front passenger door and put the phone on the seat.

God knows where Alex got the car from, probably the same place as the various other bits of contraband sitting under the blanket behind the front seat. I've got a feeling that if I open the glove box I'll find half a kilo of something or other. I open it. There's a yellowing service manual, which looks like it should be in a museum, a wad of cash that must come into thousands of dollars, a charger for my mp3 player, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. What the hell, I slip the sunnies on.