John Ringo - Queen of wands

She laid her hand on his brow, careful to avoid the gnashing teeth, then Opened up her Sight.

The first thing she noticed was, in fact, the neurologist. His aura was as black as the ace of spades. She saw him tense and looked over with a thin, fierce grin.

“Okay, I suppose this isn’t quite as unusual as I’d have thought for you,” Barb said.

“What…are you?” Downing asked, carefully.

“As it turns out, your worst nightmare,” Barb replied. She reached for the soul of the afflicted and paused. “Jesus Christ,” she said, softly.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to curse,” Kurt said.

“That wasn’t a curse, Special Agent,” Barb said. “That was a prayer. This person is dead.”

“Dead?” Dr. Downing said, snorting. “I can assure you, as a physician-”

“With what’s riding you, there’s no way that you heal,” Barb said. “So calling yourself a physician, Doctor, is a stretch. Research. Poke. Prod. Possibly advance science. But that…thing in you isn’t going to allow you to ever heal. And when I said this person was dead, I was very specific. This…thing has no soul. None. No ka. No ba. It is a walking dead thing.”

“Zombie?” Kurt said. “Please, not zombies.”

“Not the movie zombie,” Barb said. “I’m not sure what it is or how it was created. But this person has no more soul than a rock. How it’s continuing to exist is a real question. There is power coming from somewhere that is continuing to give it the semblance of life.” She stepped back and started to close down. Then, just as an exercise, she fully Opened her Power.

Dr. Downing immediately took an involuntary step backwards and grunted. In the distance, one of the patients started howling, setting off others.

“What just happened?” Kurt asked, looking around.

“ That is what I am, Doctor,” Barb said. “Is that clear enough for you?”

What was clear was that it wasn’t simply the neurologist that inflicted the place. It stank with evil, and shadows filled every corner.

“Yes,” the doctor said in a strained voice.

“God has given me the grace to be His sword upon this land, Doctor,” Barb said, softly. “Your Master cannot prevail against me, for I wear the armor of righteousness, and the power of the Lord is held in both right hand and left. So fill us in and quit playing power games. I have neither the time nor the patience, and this place quite frankly wants me here slightly less than I want to stay.”

“I have a short video I’d like to show you.”

The video started with Darren apparently asleep in the traditional rubber room. He was slumped in one corner, his mouth open and flaccid but his limbs twitching.

“I thought these things were a myth,” Kurt said, looking at the view.

“They are not a preferred environment,” Dr. Downing said. He’d managed to calm down a bit on the walk to the meeting room and was still trying for suave and debonair. However, he was keeping the special agent between himself and Barbara.

“But there are conditions in which they are useful. Such as this one. I wanted to observe his actions under a variety of stimuli, and given the reports of his admission, I was unwilling to do so outside of a controlled environment. He was heavily sedated when placed in the room, and the first part is rather boring. I’ll fast forward.”

The digital file skipped forward until, in fast motion, Darren lurched to his feet and started walking.

“There,” the doctor said. “Note the nature of the motion.”

“He looks like a zombie,” Kurt said, his brow furrowing. “Christ, why’d it have to be zombies?”

“Yes,” Dr. Downing said, smiling faintly. “He does, doesn’t he? Arms extended, although more to the side than the traditional zombie look. And that would be why?”

“His balance,” Barb said, nodding. “He’s got real balance problems.”

“Due to the lack of reflex,” Dr. Downing said. “It gives him the equivalent of an inner-ear infection, and he uses his arms to maintain his balance.”

Barbara leaned into the video and nodded.

“His lips are moving,” she said. “Is there audio?”

“There is,” the doctor said, turning it on.

The syllables were harsh and guttural, mixed with moans and occasional shrieks.

“It appears to be random babble,” the psychiatrist said. “Not entirely idiosyncratic, but uncommon. Normally the patient would be speaking recognizable words but disconnected in syntax. Along with occasional disconnected threats or pleas.”

“I’m not sure that’s babble,” Barb said, listening for a moment longer. “Get me a copy of the audio file. Actually, copies of the audio and video.”

“Of course,” Dr. Downing said, fast forwarding again. “However, after this had gone on for some time, I sent in guards to restrain him again. And…watch.”

The two guards entered fast when Darren’s back was turned. They were wearing some sort of full-coverage white body armor including helmets and gloves. They looked like they were suited up to work with an attack dog. They also carried clear plastic shields, and one of them was carrying an air injector presumably filled with a tranquilizer.

A third guard shut the door when they were barely in the room, but before they could even approach the subject, Darren turned, showing more coordination than had previously been evident, and charged, screaming a ululating cry of what sounded like rage and pain. He hit the shield of the guard with the syringe so hard the man was thrown off his feet, and the patient fell on top of him, screaming and scrabbling to get past the shield.

The guard flipped the syringe out from under the pile and the second guard picked it up quickly then fell onto the patient, pinning him between the two guards and injecting him in the back of the neck.

“And that’s about it,” Dr. Downing said, turning off the video. “The patient is fast and strong beyond the norm, but very clumsy. In part, I believe, because of the lack of reflex response. The patient’s balance is particularly bad probably because, at some level, he has to think about standing up. It’s notable that when the patient has had to be…restrained, he falls down quickly and tends to fight on the ground. The precise symptoms have never been recorded in literature. I’m considering doing a paper on them. It’s possible it may be an entirely new psychiatric condition. If so, I’ll have to name it.”

“Chattanooga Zombieitis?” Kurt asked.

“Thank you for your input,” Dr. Downing said dryly. “But…no. Among other things, ‘itis’ is the suffix for irritation and swelling.”

“Neurological indications?” Barb asked. “For laymen?”

“Due to the nature of the problem, we were, fortunately, able to fund a full neurological workup,” Dr. Downing said. “Various tests I won’t detail. Certain neurotransmitters appear to be out of sync as well as various hormones. Testosterone and adrenaline levels are abnormally high, for example. Dopamine levels as well. Which may explain the lack of reflex response. Glutamate appears to be inhibited and certain portions of the brain are acting in uncharacteristic ways. Mid- and rear-brain activity is overexcited, while forebrain activity is virtually quiescent. The medulla in some of the older patients appears to actually be swelled. We’re monitoring that because we’re afraid that if the condition progresses it will lead to death.”

“Forebrain is conscious thought,” Barb said musingly. “Mid-brain is sort of higher animal, the puppy brain, and rear brain is the old animal, the lizard hindbrain.”

“In layman’s terms, more or less,” Dr. Downing said.

“So…they’re thinking like animals?” Kurt asked.