The Spiral Effect (2 page)

Superhero.

Superhero.

Superhero.

Now why does that seem so familiar?

Find the Cause.

Find the Source.

Find the beginning.

Right. I’ll come to it later. Superhero.
Remember superhero, brain.

Maurice actually took the opportunity to
help a few people before the disease hit. Slide show of one
splendid snapshot after another of him retrieving little Amanda
Turlington’s cat from a tree.

Comic book panels.

Issue #1: Maurice Saves Tommy McGill from
the Bullies.

Panel 1:
Maurice stands tall, hands
on hips, blue cape flapping in the wind while his gold painted belt
buckle glimmers in the sunlight. A giant, yellow M boldly stands
out on his green chest.

MAURICE

Stand down villains!

Panel 2:
Bullies double over
laughing.

Panel 3:
Tommy trembles, unsure if
Maurice is actually helping, or only making the situation
worse.

Panel 4:
Maurice stares down the
bullies with stern justice.

MAURICE

You like to laugh? Here, laugh at this!

Panels 5-9:
Each panel shows one of
the bullies experiencing the effects of Maurice’s TK whack. Pants
fall off Bully 1, Shirt clings to the face of Bully 2, Bully 3’s
shoe strings unlace and tie themselves around his hands, Bully 4
repeatedly slaps himself, and Bully five finds a barrage of dirt
flying in his face.

Panel 10:
Bullies flee, trail of dust
behind them.

Panel 11:
Tommy points and
laughs.

Panel 12:
Maurice puts his arm around
Tommy.

MAURICE (Thought Bubble)

And the young hero saves another kindred
spirit from the hands of villainy.

The world may not consider him a hero, but
those kids sure did. Seems like an overall good guy. A shame
Maurice didn’t practice telepathy too. It might have prevented
someone else from manipulating him to join the mob surrounding the
hospital in Sacramento.

Moving on.

Richard Kirts—
Sacramento
—sub file:
Male
—sub file:
Ages 46-50
—sub file:
Non-Carrier
—sub file:
Memory Type
—sub file:
Symbols
.

Now the work gets difficult. Taxing. Was
hoping to sift through more than two memories before coming across
someone with symbols. Hopefully Richard Kirts, excuse me, Dr.
Richard Kirts, held a better grasp of the English language and
molded his thoughts in complete and coherent sentences with few
grammar mistakes. So far it’s more decipherable than some of the
others I’ve read. But apparently he didn’t take paragraphing
seriously in school. Nor correct comma usage. What should I have
expected? He’s a doctor, not an English teacher. But at least it’s
readable.

Interestingly enough, Dr. Kirts hasn’t
experienced any symptoms yet. Never heard anyone else’s thoughts.
Didn’t move a pencil with his mind. Strange, especially since he’s
been working alongside so many infected. Is it possible I’ve found
someone immune? If so, then—

No.

Dr. Kirts had a—what is this?

Julien:
Pointless risk.

Kirts:
Don’t care Julien. Just do
it.

Julien:
There’s an 85% chance of
waking up a vegetable.

Kirts:
Those were performed by hacks.
The good ones know how to do it. Either way I won’t have someone
digging through my thoughts or controlling my mind.

Julien:
The inhibitor is only 65%
effective.

Kirts
: We tell cancer patients that
with optimism.

Julien:
The FCC is pulling it from
the market tomorrow.

Kirts:
Then you better get on with
it. I’d rather the best brain surgeon in the world do it than some
dropout for ten grand in a back alley.

Why haven’t I heard of this inhibitor
before?

Kirts:
Oh, and while you’re in there,
have the IT kid keep me from remembering or knowing it’s there.

Julien:
IT kid?

IT kid?

Kirts:
Don’t play dumb. I know
someone from the--------Institute has it hooked to a computer. Can
program it to disrupt memories, change personality traits.

Did Dr. Kirts mean for the hiccup as a
slight pause, or does the institute have an actual name?

Julien:
It doesn’t delete them.

Kirts:
Don’t patronize me. I know it
doesn’t. But IT can make it where it blocks my memory of this
conversation and the procedure. If I don’t remember I won’t give
them
any clues. Won’t have anxiety one of
them
is
going to give me a full frontal lobotomy by ripping it from my
brain. I’ve seen what an amateur psy can do to the ear models.
Messy and irreparable.

Julien:
(sigh) Have you eaten
anything since midnight?

Kirts:
Of course not. Even have my
updated information and chart for you. You’ll be removing a tumor
(wink—wink).

Julien:
Okay. I’ll have you prepped
by eight.

Kirts:
Make it 7:30.

Explains the strange lock I found attached
to this memory. Completely different from the self-created mental
deterrents I’ve seen in others. I wonder—yes, there are other
similar locks around his thoughts, but only a few more. Highly
unusual and different. A breakthrough?

Device—Institute (generic or part of an
official name?)

Device—created because of patient zero?

Device—who made it (maybe he or she knew
patient zero)?

Time to go deeper. Maybe the Institute has
answers. Need a name though. Funnel through the memories. Search
name of Institute.

RESULTS:

—&*^%@#Institute

—&*^%@#Institute

—&*^%@#Institute

—&*^%@#Institute

Hmm. Never seen that before. A lock within a
lock or just a glitch in his memory? Should be able to get around
it. See if I can’t decipher and interpret the meanings of the
symbols.

RESULTS:

—&*^%@#Institute

—&*^%@#Institute

—&*^%@#Institute

—&*^%@#Institute

Focus. Try it again.

—&*^%@#Institute

—&*^%@#Institute

—&*^%@#Institute

—&*^%@#Institute

WORD DOESN’T EXIST.

Now that shouldn’t be possible. Did the
implant alter his short term memory, replace words with
undecipherable symbols?

Maybe if I find the inventor.

RESULTS:

—*(^$%^&*()!@#$%^&

—*(^$%^&*()!@#$%^&

—*(^$%^&*()!@#$%^&

—*(^$%^&*()!@#$%^&

FILE CORRUPTED FILE CORRUPTED FILE CORRUPTED
FILE CORRUPTED FILE CORRUPTED FILE CORRUPTED

That doesn’t look good. Uh…repair file?

DENIED DENIED DENIED

Repair file.

DENIED DENIED DENIED

Once more for good measure. Focus. Push.

REPAIR FILE.

FILE CORRUPTED DUE TO UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS
FILE CORRUPTED DUE TO UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS FILE CORRUPTED DUE TO
UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS FILE CORRUPTED DUE TO UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS—

Damn. A doctor with insight. Enough good
sense to implant an inhibitor to keep out unwanted minds.
Sixty-Five percent effective. What does he know? How important are
his memories? Obviously enough to lock and encrypt.

Push a little harder. See if we can’t
break—

Find the Cause.

Find the Source.

Find the beginning.

That’s what I’m doing. Let me focus.

Find the Cause.

Find the Source.

Find the beginning.

But this doctor knows something.

Find the Cause.

Find the Source.

Find the beginning.

Get off my back.

Find the Cause.

Find the Source.

Find the beginning.

For the love—just shut up!

*********

(Sigh)

Now I’m yelling at myself. What’s next,
conversations with the—

Help.

Hello?

Help.

Someone there?

Oh God, please help me. Anyone, please.

A distress call. Like a beacon, her thoughts
radiating out to anyone who might listen. She’s near too.

Find the Cause.

Find the Source.

Find the beginning.

I will, later. Right now—Mary Abnette—needs
my help.

Mary runs, sucking in one quick breath after
another. The sweat of fear pours down the side of her face. Blonde
hair sticks to her forehead, making it difficult to see clearly.
The thud of shoes and broken sobs shatter the silence on the
deserted highway. Not a single car resides on this stretch of
Interstate 5 outside Centralia. No trees for cover, not yet at
least.

Every few seconds she looks behind her,
certain that she will see the five men behind her. Nothing but
empty highway. She swears she can feel their breathing on her neck,
ears, in her mind.

The sharp, electrical waves of pain in her
knees and ankles grow more intense. She isn’t sure she’ll make it
to the trees near Fort Brost Lake where she can quietly sneak into
water, follow it to the river, and float away to safety.

Oh no. Don’t think it. They’ll hear. They’ll
hear.

If only she could shut off her thoughts,
keep them from tracking her, keep them from trying to take her and
Taylor. Mary tightly holds onto her five year old daughter, hoping
beyond hope that a car will appear and save them both. Drive her
away from the awful town that consumed itself with power. But no
car will come. She knows it. I know it.

Another pain shoots through Mary’s body,
this time below her ribs. She almost doubles over—nearly drops—

“Taylor. Don’t worry sweetie. Mommy—mommy
will keep you safe.”

She spots the deserted Value Inn to the
right and shuffles toward it. Maybe, she thinks, the clerk kept a
gun under the counter. They sometimes did that, right? At least on
TV. This wasn’t a five star hotel she was trying to reach but a
small motel for frugal vacationers.

“There’ll be a gun, there’ll be a gun,
there’ll be a gun,” Mary quickens her shuffle, the newfound hope of
finding a weapon masking the pain.

She reaches the door to the front office,
grabs the handle, pulls, and—

“No—no—NO!”

Mary drops to the floor, still holding an
unconscious Taylor, and begins to sob.

“No, no, no, no.”

Five derelict bodies, looking more like
zombies with sagging, melting skin than men, stare with toothless,
hungry grins. They no longer wear clothes, only the gray-brown,
leathery hide of their dying skin. Loose strands of hair limply
hang from their nearly bald heads. On a bony finger, one of the men
twirls the revolver Mary had been hoping to find.

Mary’s thoughts become disjointed by
emotional turmoil, trying to figure out how they caught up to her,
and what will happen after they steal her and Taylor’s bodies. The
exact name for the individuals do not form in her mind. They can’t.
She has no name for them. But I know what they are. I’ve dealt with
a few before.

Jumpers.

Find the Cause.

Find the Source.

Find the Beginning.

Not now.

Mary clutches Taylor closer to her breast as
the five jumpers float closer, their toes lightly scraping the
floor.

“Leave us alone!”

Mary swings her arm out in defense.

Need complete focus. Some jumpers are
incredibly strong, devious. Stay aware—on guard. They still haven’t
noticed my presence. Only five minds.

Focus—past the five frontal lobes. Just slip
in and—

BERRRRR!

BERRRRR!

An alarm blares and red lights flash with
the same subtlety found in a cheesy sci-fi movie. The invisible
image of my traveling mind is pulled and prodded, forcing me to
create something akin to a physical representation of myself. These
five appear skilled, have learned to work as one, making them more
dangerous than the minds I’ve recently touched and catalogued.

The neural pathways of their collective mind
converge and turns into an open landscape of concrete. Black clouds
flurry at a furious speed as lightning and thunder shatters the
sky. Walls of rock and granite explode from the ground, looming
thousands of stories high. They mean to cage me in this forest of
rock, trap me in their consciousness until they find my body.

RESISTENCE IS FUTILE TRESSPASSER.

One of these guys has seen too many B
movies.

YOUR BODY IS OURS.

You’ll have to find it first. The walls of
rock are nothing but mental images. Ghosts of reality—holographic
images. One step forward and—

Through the first wall. The others become
less tangible and solid with each step.

The emotional stasis of the collective gasps
at the failure of their defense.

More rocks rise from the ground but
harmlessly pass through my projected body. The lightning and
thunder increase, bolts of electrical furry take their swing.

Zap. Miss.

Zap. Miss.

Zap. Miss.

Find their center, where their full
consciousness resides. Groups like this always seem to have an
access point, a place for them to converge and defend if necessary.
Push a little more and—there, follow the green arrows.

THAT IS FAR ENOUGH.

GO NO FURTHER.

HEED OUR WARNINGS.

OR FEEL THE FULL POWER OF OUR WRATH.

THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING.

Five floating heads appear, in mimicry of
that devious green wizard, each one younger and healthier than the
physical reality of their bodies on the outside. How long has it
been since they actually wore these faces? How long since they’ve
lived in their true bodies?

“It’s none of your business.”

“Leave us alone.”

“They’re ours.”

“We found them first.”