Marcus Caine - The Last Words

“And?” Jude asked, taking notes in his journal. I’d found him wandering the halls this morning, terrified, not having any idea what was going on. I calmed him down and got him to read his journal to catch up and I must say; he is taking the end of the world pretty well.

“Well, I don’t know what it means, really. What I’m thinking is completely illogical, nothing I would normally put stock in but…well, let me give you exhibit B first. The Pattern.”

“Pattern?”

“Yes, from the news reports it looks like he was the first to… act out, to succumb. Then more at Oxford, Cambridge, Harvard, Cornell.”

“Universities.”

“Yes. At first. Then it was students, young people. Most of the reports the second and third day were of younger people — an engineer, a programmer, college students — then the riots broke out and the news became so scattered, the violence so widespread, it became hard to follow the pattern.”

“What about today?”

“Today? Today I haven’t found any news. No official reports, no blog updates, no tweets. At least not in English.”

“Not in English?”

“No, but there are some in French, German, Spanish. I know a little Spanish and can tell from the pictures that they were reporting about killings and riots in their own countries. And more reports in Arabic, Chinese, etc. that appeared to be about what was happening in the US, but I didn’t see any pictures indicating that it was going on there, yet.”

“Yet?”

“It is, I would assume, only a matter of time. It’s probably starting already.”

“So, where are you going with this?”

“Well, at first I thought virus or some other communicable disease. Then maybe toxins, some sort of weapon or terrorist attack.”

“You saw reports in Arabic and Chinese, maybe it was one of them, terrorism or an act of war.”

“No, it’s so widespread, it doesn’t fit the pattern of diseases. And attacks, why start with universities? No, there was a report from China the first day, I suspect that the government there has simply cracked down on any other reports.”

“Then the middle east? Iran?”

“No, I have another theory, one which maybe doesn’t even make as much sense as a biological or chemical weapon, but, well, here it is. There is this phrase.”

“Yeah, it was in my journal, worm milk…”

“Stop! Don’t repeat it. And, I must urge you, if you have written it down, scratch out most of it. Save the first few words, just so you can recognize it.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how long the whole phrase is, or if any of us have heard or seen the whole thing, but I urge you to make sure you don’t have it written down anywhere. So scratch most of it out, and leave just the first couple of words.”

“I’m not following.”

“OK, come look at this.”

I took him to the nurses’ station and sat down by the computer. Then I brought up the video I had saved, the video of the President, addressing a nation in turmoil.

“My… fellow Americans. We are facing…”

He paused, he seemed to be struggling.

“Our darkest hour.”

He was visibly sweating.

“A threat, a crisis, like no other we as a nation… worm.”

He whispered it.

“Or as a world, have ever… milk”

This time was louder.

“My heart, in my chest, these words from my mouth. This wound from this sea of violence…”

He wasn’t making sense. Someone in the crowd started chanting. There was a commotion and a secret service person opened fire on what I assumed were reporters and on the Presidents face, instead of shock, we saw rage. Then it was over, the camera turned off.

“Fucking shit.”

“You heard it, yes?”

“The words? Of course. But I don’t understand.”

“I think… I think it is something like a virus.”

“But you said…”

“A computer virus.”

“What?”

“A virus that spreads through information, through language, and infects the mind. Like a virus would infect a computer’s software.”

“How is that even possible?”

“It’s not. It shouldn’t be. But that is what I believe.”

“Then, everything is gone? The President…”

“The government, society, at least here, collapsed, yes, gone. From everything I can tell.”

“How come we aren’t?”

“Well, that’s another part of why I believe my theory is correct. The professor at Oxford, he was the first day. Then there were more the second day. Maybe it takes a while to set in. And you, perhaps you simply can’t remember it long enough for it to affect you.”

Jude was silent, thinking, so I continued.

“And Timothy, perhaps it is that he cannot understand it, so it doesn’t affect him. Same with some of the other patients who are, well, less responsive. And Cassie, well, her paranoia about computers and TV and radio, might actually have protected her.”

“What about you, Doc? And Eric, and the rest?”

“I don’t know, Jude, I don’t know. Perhaps, being somewhat isolated here, we haven’t been fully exposed. Like I said, I don’t even know if I have seen or heard the whole phrase. Or, maybe, it is too late for us, maybe it is only a matter of time.”

“So what do we do with you?”

They were trying so hard to tell me something, but for the life of me I just couldn’t figure out what.

The Doctor was pointing at himself and holding his thumbs up, all cheerful looking, then he crouched down and tried to look mean, and made a stabbing motion. I knew, I knew they were trying to tell me something serious, something important, but I just couldn’t help it, I laughed.

He looked flustered. I apologized and asked them what they were trying to say, at least I’m pretty sure I did. You know, when I open my mouth to talk it sounds like gibberish to me, just now it sounded like I said “Garble es mumfies, and waller like a make a lot.” but I know what I’m trying to say, I’m thinking the words, and people seem to understand me, so I’m pretty sure it comes out like I think it should.

Joe took over. He didn’t try to act it out or anything, he just pointed with his thumb at the others, then at himself and me, then made a throat cut motion. Very serious.

“Who do we need to kill?” I asked. I didn’t understand.

He shook his head no, pointed around again, and made a motion like they were coming here, then again, pointed at himself and made the throat slit motion.

“Oh,” I think I understood, “who is going to try to kill us?”

Yes, he shook his head.

OK, I knew what they meant, but I didn’t want that responsibility. They knew I knew when someone went bad, when they started glazing, and their fingers started twitching. And there were little, I don’t know, flashes, that you could barely see on their faces, this micro second of rage, then back to normal, blink of any eye, but I saw it. I can’t understand people’s words, so I have to understand their meaning. You know?

“You aren’t going to kill them are you?”

They both shook their head, no. And Joe held up his keys. I understood.

“OK. Hoss, Julia Roberts, Too Tall, and Danny Boy.”

The Doctor told Joe who I meant. He knew what nicknames I used for people. Then they talked to each other, debating something and came to some agreement and then made an announcement. There was some yelling but no one got locked up so I’m really not sure what was going on.

Today was much less eventful, giving me time to study and think about our current predicament. And, time to observe the affected on our floor. The previous residents who are still with us, save for c5, all seem to be affected. At times we can hear them chanting in a low mumble in their rooms, but when we approach and they hear us they start attacking the doors, screaming and sometimes chanting the phrase until we get away, and then it takes them a while before they settle down.