by Marcus Caine
“My God,” the Doctor said. “There’s more of them today. I suppose those who weren’t affected yesterday are now, and tomorrow there will be even more. I doubt many will escape hearing it or seeing it. How could they? And those not affected, it’s doubtful they’ll survive long. We just happen to be in the right place. There’s not many people here on the island, but there, in the Bronx, in Manhattan, there’s no real escape. And I think more of the affected may be coming here. I can see them over there on the bridge.” He pointed to the other side of the ward.
I replied, “they’re coming across maybe to escape the fires, I don’t know. Eventually, there’s going to be too many. Too many for us to hope to get out of here. And we’ll run out of food and water, or some determined ones might get in, if enough of them try, it’s possible. But it’s more than likely that we’ll run out of food and water while trapped in here.”
“Jude, I’m really glad Timothy can’t understand what you are saying. Please don’t talk like that in front of the others.”
“You know I’m right.”
“I know you are, but still, we can’t lose hope. If we do that, then we’re already dead.”
“I’m not losing hope, Doc. I’m saying we need a plan. We need to find a way out of here.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet, but we have to think of something.”
And that’s when Kim went.
No chanting, no signs, nothing. She just attacked Eric and started clawing and biting at this face. Luckily, I was close.
At first I thought maybe it was just a fight but she wouldn’t stop struggling and when we tried to calm her down it became clear real quick that she was gone. She was downright snarling, snapping. I couldn’t hold her so I finally managed to get her in a sleeper until she passed out and we got her to a room, quick.
“What the hell happened?”
It wasn’t Eric’s fault, I guess, but I couldn’t’ seem to pass up a chance to yell at him.
“I don’t know. I was talking to Saul and she just attacked me, I didn’t do anything.”
“Nothing?”
“No, she just went crazy. I promise.”
“She’s affected,” the Doctor said.
Tim Tom started apologizing, “I’m sorry, Joe, I didn’t see that one coming. I had been watching some of the others.”
“It’s OK,” I tried to communicate to him, hoping the reassurance in my voice told him what my words couldn’t. “It’s OK.”
I felt we were lucky that he could spot even some of them.
“By the way, I think Saul is going soon.”
“Damn. OK.”
Saul didn’t take it well. He didn’t fight us, he was just sad. He didn’t want it to happen. But I think he also kind of knew already. The phrase was cycling in his mind, he said, it’s all he could think about. He had tried thinking of other things. He had tried songs and jingles. He had tried Journey. But the phrase just kept coming, he told us. He couldn’t seem to fight it.
He told me the whole phrase and I wrote it down, but not here in my journal, that would be insane.
I just wanted to have it so the Doctor could see it if he wanted to. Maybe if I just read him the beginning and the end, so he would know, but maybe it wouldn’t affect him, and then maybe he’ll know if he’s heard or seen the whole thing. But honestly, the way we were all watching the news, the things he was looking up on the internet, the chanting by the affected, I don’t know how he wouldn’t have heard the whole thing. But he seems fine, so far.
Before the end of the day we had to lock up everyone except Dr. Gates, Tim Tom, Eric, Cassie, and me. Tim Tom and I might be immune, thanks to our fucked up brains. And Cassie, well, from what my journal says she’s always been scared of radio, TV, and the internet, and since this started she’s kept her ears covered and been careful about what she’s seen. But Eric and the Doctor, why aren’t they affected yet? For safety’s sake we decided they should sleep in a locked room too, and Tim Tom or I can let them out in the morning. Unless, of course, they’ve lost it.
I’m really not looking forward to tomorrow morning, waking up not knowing what the fuck is going on, then finding out the world has essentially ended. I wonder how far it’s gone now. How many unaffected are left out there? Not that I’m going to remember worrying about this tomorrow, except for what I wrote in here. For a little extra help I found the marker and wrote on my arm.
A phrase starting with worm milk is causing people to go insane and most everyone is affected or dead. Don’t believe me? Read your journal.
I sure hope that helps.
CHAPTER TEN
From the journal of Dr. Montgomery Gates
12/24/2012
Instead of sleeping I decided to test my newest hypotheses regarding the nature of this peculiar affliction. After realizing that the only people not affected are Timothy and Jude, for obvious reasons, and Cassie, because she has avoided the Phrase, and Eric and myself I had to ask myself why. What do Eric and I have in common that could inoculate us from this seemingly unavoidable and unstoppable malady? Surely, at some point we had heard the whole phrase, if not all at once, then perhaps in pieces here and there. Would that be enough, to hear the entire phrase piecemeal over the course of the day? Would the mind put it together and would it still have the same effect? No, if the others, including some who were not as inundated with information as I, had succumbed, then I didn’t see how I could have avoided it altogether.
So why Eric and I? What else did we have in common that could have saved us, at least for now? Eric was not one of the patients I had brought here, like Tim Tom, Jude or Saul. His was also not a case of mental illness due to genetics, like Cassie. No, Eric was here because he had been addicted to meth, amongst other drugs, and had damaged his brain so extensively that he could no longer function in normal society due to a severe and odd case of amphetamine psychosis.
After his treatment at an addiction center it became clear that his attention span had withered to nothing. His volition, his ability to reason, was almost nonexistent. He had many of the same traits as a paranoid schizophrenic. Much of this I would attribute to perhaps his most devastating disability; he seems to have almost altogether lost the ability to sleep. Not the he didn’t sleep at all, he would probably be dead by now if that was the case, although there are rumors, unsupported of course, of people who go without sleep all together. But there has never been a clinically confirmed case. No, instead he seems to micro sleep, taking little naps of 5 to 10 minutes at a time, and seems completely incapable of falling into a deep sleep. We have had him on a medication regimen but even with heavy narcotics his sleep is fitful and seems to show very little REM activity.
Obviously, I don’t suffer any of these conditions, having never partaken in crystal meth myself, but there is one common denominator here; neither of us slept last night. Eric was no longer medicated due to the chaos of yesterday, and I had stayed up all night working on understanding the nature of this apocalyptic malady. Now, as I stated, there is a very good chance that both of us have been exposed to the phrase, but perhaps exposure is not enough.
Now, look at it this way. The first day was the professor at Oxford, the second day was more professors, people who were probably his colleagues and maybe even his friends. And professors at other prestigious universities, all of them with fields relating to linguistics, translation, classical studies, history and ancient literature, people whom he may very well have been in contact with. It is possible, even likely, that before his killing spree he had sent the Phrase to them through email or text or perhaps IM. Then, a day later, they went on killing sprees.
Perhaps, before their sprees, they had sent the Phrase to other colleagues, and exposed students to it. After the students were exposed they of course disseminated the Phrase using the many methods they have; texting, tweeting, Facebook, reddit, 4Chan, God, who knows what else. And from there there was no stopping it; the news, the government, the intern
et, it was loose. But the point here is in the pattern.
Day one, the professor at Oxford, then a full night before the other shootings at other universities then another full night before the students. Do you see?
SLEEP. It needs a full night of sleep to set in, to worm its way into the subconscious mind of the carrier before it could start replicating itself and taking over their mind and forcing them to disperse it via a multitude of media before finally sending them into the rage state which is it’s final stage, as far as we know. Much like a virus, like herpes, it must replicate in the body before viral shedding begins. After all, isn’t that what this is? A mind virus? A string of information, just like viral DNA is merely information, just like our DNA is merely information, that simply wants to continue to propagate, to find new hosts, to find a way to continue its existence? A verbal virus. A language worm. A mind virus.
And that is what Eric and I have in common; neither of us had slept the night after we were probably exposed. Neither of us gave it the opportunity to sink into the nether regions of our minds to do its insidious work.
And herein lies the dilemma. Is it still in there, just waiting for us to succumb to the inevitable good night’s sleep, or is it gone? Gone from our memories. Gone from our minds. Leaving us safe and secure in our continued sanity, or at least mine. Eric is already kind of insane.
And how will we know without trying to sleep? Do I dare take this chance to see if I have indeed found a way to fight of our mutual and ethereal enemy? More important, do I have a choice? Even now in my excited delirium I can feel the heaviness in my muscles, the ache in my bones, the fatigue in my eyes that I have felt so many times while burning the midnight oil. Eric, without his medication, might go for a long time without a proper night’s sleep, perhaps fighting off the effects of the phrase for days, weeks, maybe even longer. But what about me? How long can I last?
Back in the diabetic ward I had taken a number of drugs that can be used as stimulants in case we had to be alert and ready for an attack at odd hours, but how long would those last? Perhaps I could find more here at this facility. But even if I do, how long will I last?
For surely, no matter how many drugs I inject myself with to fight the coming night, I will eventually succumb. Having read studies on sleep disorders years ago I know that after a few days my mental faculties will diminish, my body will fatigue and malfunction, I may induce a form of psychoses, much like Eric’s, and start to hallucinate. So even if I do manage to avoid the madness of the Phrase, I may experience a very different kind of madness. Will I give up at this point? Or maybe even not remember to inject myself with more stimulants and finally fall into a deep long sleep, only to wake up again and succumb to the Insanity of The Words?
Or, will I continue to inject myself, or have someone do it for me, until my body and mind are damaged beyond repair? Or words? There have been very few cases, but it is known that forced sleep deprivation, used as a form of torture and brainwashing, will eventually lead to death.
So is this my choice: a slow tortuous spiral into madness and death, or a quick ramp up into a raging psychosis, which will also surely lead to death, or worse, the death of others at my hand? This is, of course, not something I shall decide tonight, but it will be weighing on my heart and mind as the nights continue to come and sleep continues to haunt my door. But, for now, I must study, I must stay strong and try to find a way to save these few people who can still be saved. Maybe, if Eric continues to be immune, I can find a way to emulate his sleep patterns, however unhealthy that might be. It could at least give me a little more time to figure this out, maybe find a way to combat it.
I’ve read studies of a drug that has been used to decrease the intensity of a memory. It is not altogether forgetting, but perhaps, at least, a step in the right direction.
From the journal of Jude Guerrero
12/25/2012
This morning was more confusing than most probably are, thanks to the smoke. As I woke up, the sight of my comrades blowing up in a helicopter above me my last memory, I started coughing and my eyes starting burning because of a thick, acrid smoke in my room. Of course, to my mind, this made total sense, as the chopper had just been shot down, but as I felt for my gun and tried to reposition and assess, I realized I didn’t have a gun, I wasn’t in uniform, and I wasn’t on a roof.
Then some big hairy mook says, “mornin’, Joe.”
“Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck is Joe?”
“I don’t know what you just said,” he grinned, “but I have the feeling it wasn’t very nice. Read your arm.”
So I did, and my journal, and went through the ritual I must go through every morning. Then I saw my other arm.
Holy fucking shit.
Of course, I didn’t believe it at first. Who would? But then I read my journal, the cliff notes I keep, and finally read about me writing about how I probably wouldn’t believe it. And there it was, in my own handwriting, in a style that was definitely me, the fucking world was ending, or for all I knew, had already pretty much ended.
And I’m dealing with this shit, and the big guy says, “hey, want some breakfast?”
I don’t know why, but I immediately like this guy.
“Sure, what you got?”
Forgot, he had no idea what I was saying, but he answered correctly anyway.
“Hope you like beans, cause that’s what we’re having.”
A Doctor came up, “Jude, glad you’re awake. We need to talk about this smoke.”
“Is this place on fire?”
“No, no, it appears to be coming from Manhattan. The wind shifted during the night.”
“So, Manhattan’s on fire?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, have you read your journal? Are you all caught up?”
“Just the cliff notes version.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, Manhattan, the Bronx, pretty much the whole city around us.”
“Where are we?”
“Wards Island. Safe for now, but we’re going to need to tighten up this floor as much as possible, see if we can keep the smoke out. The wind is shifting so it’s not as bad now, but it can always shift back.”
As we’re stuffing cracks with towels and sheets the Doctor starts talking to me, “with this smoke, we’re going to have to consider the possibility that we may need to find a way off the island. Even worse than the smoke is the possibility of something here on the island catching fire, especially the sewage treatment plant.”
“Sewage treatment?”
“Yes, right on the river over there. It takes up a good chunk of the island. There are quite a lot of toxic chemicals and flammable gases to consider; methane, co2, nitrates. I’m really not even sure what else.”
The wind had shifted and the smoke was clearing so we moved to that side to see the plant.
“Do you think there is a barge or something that they haul the waste away with?”
“It would make sense. Let’s take a look.”
And there it was, even better, it was an unmotorized barge attached to a tugboat.
“Hot damn,” I exclaimed.
“What?”
“A tugboat. I can get us out of here on that thing.”
As we are looking out at a possible solution, we saw another group attacking survivors trapped in a car out on the freeway. The freeway was completely covered in cars, people trying to flee the city when it all went down I guess. It looks like someone had been trapped in their car, living off whatever they had in there, afraid to leave because of the affected that were crawling all over the place, and they had finally decided to try and make a run for it. They hadn’t made it very far.
“There’s even more today,” the Doctor observed.
“More of the wackos?”
“Yes, running from the fires in the city. Plus just more affected probably than yesterday. Who knows how bad it will get before it gets better.”
“You think it will get better?”
“I don’t really kn
ow. I know they’re like animals, dumb but ferocious. But they were human not that long ago. The question that remains to be seen is are they smart enough to survive, to thrive, to find food and water? Or, will they die out?”
As we were watching them move about in packs a roar came from the end of the hall.
We went to look and I heard the chant before I even got there. A pack of affected was at the gate, trying to get in. And they were chanting together.
“…two horned valley trout bear…”
“How did they find us?” the Doctor asked me.
“Don’t know. Maybe they just happened to find us. Maybe they smell our food.”
The affected we had moved to the rooms at the end of the hall were all chanting with them, chanting the phrase at the tops of their lungs, seemingly delighted to finally find a pack, maybe even thinking they would be rescued.
“Can they get in?” Seriously, why was he asking me?
“No, that gate looks strong and not enough of them will be able to get on it at once to force it open, the hallway is too narrow.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
“But, we do need to make sure our people are safe from the chanting.”
“Everyone, cover your ears. Earplugs on, now, go, now, now!”
And as if that weren’t enough, the world exploded.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
From the journal of Jude Guerrero
12/25/2012
It was huge, and close. I felt the shock at the same time that I heard it. Luckily, no heat though, so we were safe…ish.
