Free The Spiral Effect by James Gilmartin

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    A hundred individual voices filter into my
mind.
    Snap—pop—flare.
    Synapses and brainwaves ignite and break
Einstein’s speed of light. In the land of thoughts, time holds no
meaning or measurement. Multi-tasking takes on an unimagined
definition. One part of my consciousness copies memories, another
snaps shots of current thoughts, a third carefully transfers and
catalogues them into my own mind, and my third eye—well, it watches
in disbelief as the world falls apart.
    “Help!”
    “God save us!”
    “Why—why!”
    A hundred individual souls, the most I can
see simultaneously. Some go about their normal routine, many use it
as an excuse for debauchery, while others simply try to
survive.
    Janine Spangler, thirty-eight, cradles her
dead husband Mike. Blood, brain tissue, and skull fragments stain
the floor and wall as a gun hangs limply in his hand. As much as
I’d like, I can’t raise him back from the dead. If he had any
glimmer of life left, then there would be some hope. The best I can
do is soothe Janine’s frantic mind and remove that small kernel of
desperation to grab the gun and use the other bullet to join her
husband.
    Not ten miles away, Jason Ledbetter,
thirty-three year old assistant from the CDC, stares at
three-thousand dead bodies, piled atop each other like crumpled
sheets of discarded paper. Disease ridden bodies where loose skin
hangs in folded, wrinkled rolls, the illusion that these poor souls
had gone decades beyond the average life expectancy, when in fact
most were between twenty and forty-five. He nearly pukes inside his
hazmat suit, a futile precaution, but no point in telling him that.
Instead, I drop a seed of optimism in his subconscious. A cure
is in the works. Hold out.
    Private Donald Templeton’s rifle trembles in
his hand as Sacramento’s remaining thousand inhabitants, eyes
glowing blue and red, swarm the gates surrounding what’s left of
the hospital. Terror swarms around him and the other two remaining
soldiers left to guard the hospital.
    —They’ll consume us.
    —Not enough ammo.
    —Shit shit shit shit shit.
    The three doctors aren’t fairing any better
inside. Three of the six patients are near death and one of the
doctors is hiding that she has recently developed symptoms. Hope
must take precedence over fact because the cold truth will only
stir more panic and death. Takes nothing to calm the soldiers,
doctors, and patients—ease their mind from the worries of death and
the unknown—soothe the pain tearing their bodies apart. The crowd
of a thousand, however—
    Push—A hundred at once—Copy, copy—paste,
paste—soothe and ease—
    Primal instinct grapples against change more
than rational thought. It cages the conscious mind, the logical
decision, the human identity, and snarls, barring sharp fangs to
discourage escape. Like any animal, it only needs a firm, gentle
hand.
    Push.
    One hundred—two hundred. The back of the
stampeding mob loses its momentum and stands in a stupor.
    Three hundred—four hundred—they’ve broken
down the gates.
    Push.
    Five hundred.
    Copy, copy—paste, paste—soothe and ease—
    Six hundred.
    Copy, copy—paste, paste—soothe and ease—
    They storm past the three euphoric
guards.
    Copy, copy—paste, paste—soothe and ease—
    Seven hundred.
    They’ve broken in.
    Damn the memories and information—push push
p—
     
    Find the Cause.
    Find the Source.
    Find the Beginning.
    I blacked out again. Pushed myself too hard.
Need to—wait, what was I doing? What was I—think—prod—poke. Ah,
there we go. Sacramento.
    Find the Cause.
    Find the Source.
    Find the Beginning.
    The mob. Did I stop them? Two hundred were
left and…and…I tried to stop them at the same time. Two hundred at
once. That’s why I blacked out. But…
    Find the Cause.
    Find the Source.
    Find the Beginning.
    …did I stop them?
    Fi—
    I haven’t forgotten. Find the cause, the
source, I know—I always know.