The Last Words

From the journal of Jude Guerrero 12/23/2012

So I wake up like I suppose I do every morning; heart pounding, feeling for my gun like I’m still under fire. I see that tatts, I read my quick notes, and eventually I’ve freaked out, cried, settled down, worked out, and I’m out the door.

“Morning Joe”, “Morning Jude”, good morning says a bunch of people I don’t know. But they know me. And I do know them, I just don’t remember them. And I don’t remember what they are all talking about but I catch up quick.

The killings. It’s all they are talking about.

“I think it’s just copycatting. These things always come in waves, like the postal shootings and the school shootings.”

“And those stabbings in China.”

“No, it’s the Devil doing it.”

But no one listens to that guy.

“It’s a virus.”

“It’s stress, the economy you know.”

“Aliens,” said one of the schizos with crazy tall hair.

And then we are all back at the TV, looking to find out more. And there is more. Another one already, a guy who murdered his family in France. The only connection is the words, worm milk chest mouth, some other words, written over and over on his twitter feed, the whole phrase short enough to fit in one tweet.

We get computer time. When we can email family and friends, or do, really whatever we want, they don’t censor us. But today everyone is checking the news. Checking twitter, blogs, etc. It’s all about the shootings. No one even on Facebook. I guess Facebook is still the thing, you know, I’m not sure, it’s been two years, sort of. Maybe MySpace is back, probably not.

And they’re talking about the words; written in notebooks, repeated on computers that the killers had. Worm, milk, some other words, that didn’t make sense. Repeated, over and over. Moth oil. What the hell does that mean? Why would all of them have it? Is it like some cult thing, spread out in the world? A code, maybe? Do the words have some other meaning?

From the journal of Marcus Welsh 12/23/2012

@marcus314 Worm milk, chest mouth, sea wound…

Status: Worm milk, chest mouth…

Liverpool — Another pub brawl gone terribly wrong, and football not even involved.

Los Angeles — Onlookers reported that the gunman started beating people with his fully loaded gun instead of shooting while repeating the words worm milk chest mouth…

…went on a rampage in his software firm…

Front page of reddit:

Worm milk

Worm milk

Worm mil…

Look at my cat.

Worm milk

Worm milk

A stick figure cartoon: So I’m away from reddit for a few days. Wtf is worm milk?

…civil engineer throwing weights from his condos rec center down on innocent bystanders…

…a virus, says one English epidemiologist…

Tumbler:

Fuck Yeah Worm Milk

…navel crest…

Another campus stabbing, this time with a Katina sword…

…perhaps a water borne pathogen…

…student used what is reported to be a Klingon dagger…

…armed with a battle ax…

…and written in the blood of his family on the walls of their own home was the phrase; worm milk chest mouth wound sea…

…perpetrators primarily aged 20-40…

…first college campuses, now tech firms…

What is causing this rash of violence?

From the journal of Timothy Lorne 12/23/2012

I noticed the big orderly first. Something was just, I don’t know, off about the way he was moving. It was kind of twitchy, jerky, almost like he wanted to dance but was fighting it. Was the rhythm going to get him? And the way his face looked. Blank, but with brief little rage faces. Like he would go from nothing to furious in the blink of an eye then back to calm. No, not calm, just kind of blank. I doubt anyone else had noticed. Going for as long as I have without being able to understand what people are saying or writing, I’ve gotten pretty good at reading body language and facial expressions and I knew something was way off with him. His eyes were unfocused, and he seemed to be saying something to himself with his mouth closed, I could see his jaw moving. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t really know him, just figured he was high or something. Wasn’t my business. You would think in a building full of shrinks someone would see something was off. I should have said something.

I was playing ping pong with Ponch, of course I don’t know his real name, I think it’s Eric. He was pointing at Eric Estrada one day on CHiPs, probably trying to tell me his name, so I started calling him Ponch because it seemed to frustrate him and he’s kind of a dick. Anyway, he was sucking at ping pong something fierce and I was talking about this shag carpet I remembered from a house I lived in as a kid, how I used to lay on it and move around and build up static electricity and go shock people in my family. I was beating Ponch something awful and his face was just getting more and more irritated, probably at losing and probably at my constant talking, but that just made me enjoy it more. A lot of them think the talking is because of the accident, but actually, I was like that before. I’ve always been a talker, a storyteller, a gabber, even, at times, a poet.

I heard screaming and hit the ball hard at Ponch’s face before going to see what was going on. The big guy had grabbed a girl by the arm, hard, and started yelling something, of course I didn’t know what, but something, and everyone seemed real confused. And the other orderlies, they looked dazed, like they cared more about what he was saying than what he was doing, so I stepped in. After all, I’m not a little guy.

“What the hell are you doing?” I think I yelled. And he looked at me and I could see something was broken, something was very deeply wrong. He started yelling something again, but in a singsong chant kind of way, and was about to get in my face.

Joe grabbed him and turned him around and didn’t even try to talk with him, he just knocked him out, one punch. He didn’t need to do that, I could have taken him, I’ve been in my share of brawls in my time.

He turned to the girl, I guess asking if she was OK. And I looked around, confused as all hell, and at least two others looked off, like he had, dazed, and a doctor, and one of the patients, and a nurse. Something in general was very wrong. But what? It was really creepy, the way they just looked kind of blank, like they were all thinking something really hard, but something unpleasant. And the worst part is it was like they were all thinking the same intense, unpleasant thing. Should I say something? What would I say? That they all looked weird? I would sound like one of the schizos.

From the journal of Cassandra Morgan 12/23/2012

When I first heard the orderlies start saying something, off, you know, those words, I covered my ears. Jude had mentioned some strange phrase on the TV, and I knew, I knew, this must be it, this must be how they did it. Maybe it was the code words that they had conditioned into us with the TV and radio and internet. Conditioned us from birth, and these code words would activate us, or sedate us, or something, like on the Manchurian candidate. Brainwashing. Or maybe we were starting to hear the words they had conditioned us not to hear. I don’t know but I knew I couldn’t listen to them. I knew that their true purpose was…insidious. So I covered my ears and went to my room and put in my ear plugs. I kept a stash I got from the nurses’ station, for when the TV was too loud. And then I tore my pillow case into strips and wrapped it around my head and put some extra padding from the pillow over my ears, just to make sure.

I would have to be careful about seeing it too, stay in my room as much as possible. I made a blindfold to keep around my neck, in case I needed it to cover my eyes later. I also made a bandana, you know, like those anarchists and rioters, to cover my mouth in case there was gas and smoke later. There was always gas and smoker later, wasn’t there, when things like this started? Molotov cocktails, tear gas grenades. Police state. It was coming. I was right, and I wished for the first time that I had been wrong. That I had just been crazy, like they said I was. I wish I had been wrong.

There was fighting out in the common area. Jude and Tim Tom beating somebody up, everyone else just watching. I knew if Jude and Tim were beating somebody they had a good reason. But it was so weird that no one was trying to stop it.

From the journal of Jude Guerrero 12/23/2012

First it was the big one, Jim or John or something. I knocked him the fuck out before he could do anything. I expected the rest of them to jump on me, restrain me, even though I was just defending the girl, but no, they just stared, looking stupid. Looking creepy, actually.

After that I tried talking to Tim Tom, see what he knew, but that’s never easy. He did say he thought something was wrong with the guy, like he had looked off. I was asking him what he meant by that when it happened again. Another orderly started screaming those words; worm milk chest mouth… what the hell? And he started fighting with one of the male nurses, not just fighting but scratching, biting, going for the eyes. There was blood. It took five of us to get him off but he would not settle down, not for anything, even with a good punch to the solar plexus, nothing, no reaction, so I had to knock him out too. Had too. No real choice, and still, no one did anything.

Dr. Gates seemed to be the only one with enough sense to get patients to their rooms, to separate people and start asking questions. He was talking to the other doctors but seemed frustrated with them. Then he backed off, looking at them like there was something wrong with them. And he looked at me, and he was scared, visibly frightened.

And that was when it just all went to shit.

I was trying to talk to Tim Tom again, and a few other patients, seeing if anyone had any idea if they had been on drugs or if there had been any bad blood. No one knew anything. One of the patients even said the guys had been friends, had joked around with each other.

While we were talking I heard one of the doctors, an Indian guy, start chanting, but in Hindi I think. He started chanting louder and louder and his face went from blank to stony then to straight up rage. I saw it come up fast, filled his eyes with malice. I knew he was seeing red but had no idea why. And I didn’t react fast enough. He pulled out his pen and stabbed a patient. Just fucking stabbed him. And then kept doing it while Tim Tom and I pulled him off. Dr. Gates tried to help. But everyone else was just acting stupid. I managed to get the pen from him but broke a couple of his fingers doing it, and he didn’t seem to feel it, he just jumped on me, biting at my face. He wasn’t big but he was mad, none the less I managed to get him in a sleeper and he was out.

Then another one started, a nurse, then another, another orderly. They started chanting and I was ready, knowing it was coming. The Doctor knew too, and was even more prepared than me. He had a syringe and got the girl first, she jumped on him, and I pulled her off but could feel her already going limp. Tranquilizers. He didn’t even hesitate to inject the next person. And he gave me a couple to help him.

We put them in the computer room and in the solitary room.

“I’ve never had to use this room before, not sure if anyone has in a while,” Dr. Gates huffed, trying to catch his breath.

Then he told me, “something is wrong. Very, very wrong and whatever is happening is on the news. It’s spreading.”

And then we heard the explosion, far away I think, but big, and we looked out the window and could already see the smoke. It was coming from Manhattan.