Almost six months had passed since the last confirmed outbreak. That fact comforted most folks, but Max resisted the urge to grow complacent. As a federal agent, he had been stationed in Boston four years ago and had seen the impact of a new generation of infectious disease. Boston had been ground zero to the worst outbreak of its kind. A repeat event would likely cripple the economy and put millions out of work. Then, of course, there would be the suicides. Boston had temporarily closed many of its sidewalks to protect pedestrians from being mashed under the weight of a suicidal jumper.
Max
waited in the city hall lobby of a small New England city just north of Boston
and considered what another outbreak might entail. But it wasn’t long before
Mayor Morris appeared, with the local police chief in-tow.
“Special
Agent Rockwell?” the mayor said as she approached.
“Yup,
that’s me,” said Max as he stood.
“Mayor
Morris. You can call me Diane,” she said.
The mayor then inclined
her head toward the uniformed man on her left and added, “This is Chief
Decetti.”
“Hey,
how’s it going?” Max said to the mayor and then gave the chief of police a
playful wink. Max certainly looked like a federal agent with his neatly trimmed
hair and well-fitted trench coat, but he acted quite differently from what Mayor
Morris might have expected from someone of his station.
The mayor
wore a confused expression as she spoke,“Um…special agent, your department
called me this morning and told me of a possible active case in this city.
I’m…most concerned, as you can imagine.”
“That’s
why I’m here,” said Max. “I’m looking for a kid who likely had prolonged
contact with a victim of the most recent strain.”
“Please,
this way,” the mayor motioned for the agent and chief to follow her.
She
led the trio back to her office, overlooking the wealthy town of New Havenport.
“This
is very serious, Mr. Rockwell,” the mayor said after seating herself in the
cushy office. “If word gets out that this region has been hit with the disease,
it will likely negatively impact our tourism.”
“Shame
that would be,” Max said, his tone neutral.
“Less
tourism means less funding for hospitals and other essential services. Less
funding means more people dying in the long run, Mr. Rockwell,” the mayor said,
as if to impress upon him the significance of the situation.
Max didn’t
respond right away. He wasn’t particularly affected by other’s emotional
appeals, and most conversation was comprised largely of them. He also didn’t
feel the normal cognitive pull to fill an uncomfortable silence, though he’d
read about how strong that impulse was for most.
When he did respond, he
shifted conversation and asked, “Did my department send you all of Daniel
Craft’s details this morning. He’s the kid we’re looking for.”
The
mayor leaned back in her chair before looking over to her companion. “Chief
Decetti,” she said.
The
chief nodded, “Yes, my best investigators are looking for him as we speak. Daniel
Craft’s last known location is a suburb just west of here. We have one of the
most advanced surveillance systems in the northeast, and it’s difficult for
citizens to move about the city without us knowing. We’ll find him.”
Max
nodded in reply, but he wasn’t looking at either of the two people in front of
him. His gaze wandered around the lavish office, never resting.
“What should we do when
we figure out where he is?’ the chief asked.
“Just
let me know. I’ll take care of it.” Max said.
“I’ve
heard rumors about the agents in your department.” The mayor’s listless, grey eyes
narrowed as she spoke. “So, tell me, what are you? Scientists? Federal Police?
Psychiatrists?”
Max
nodded “Yes.” Then after a short pause he added, “The CCN wears many hats, and
so must I.”
The
mayor frowned and said, “I won’t pretend like I understand the world of
psycodemiology, special agent, but maybe you could shed some light on how these
new-age diseases spread. Perhaps it could help us assist you in your search.”
Max
nodded, “I doubt it could help, but most people are curious, so I don’t mind
indulging your curiosity.”
The
agent then looked up at the ceiling and whispered to himself, as if performing
a quick calculation.
Max
continued, “Well, we used to think that only physical illnesses could be
contagious. But that largely changed about 35 years ago. It turns out that
patterns of thought are contagious too. It’s just that diseased patterns of
thought are harder to contract, because the exposure period often has to be weeks,
months, or even years.”
“And
that’s what hit Boston?” the mayor asked.
“Yes,”
Max nodded. “Patient zero there was a local educator and preacher named
Zoranuman.”
“I
heard of him. He reportedly infected hundreds by himself, and his disciples
even more,” said Decetti.
“True
enough.” Max said.
“How
often do these mental infections occur?” the mayor asked.
“Often,”
Max nodded, “but many times the really pernicious ones kill their carriers off
via group suicides before spreading too far. Symptoms spread unbelievably
quickly among infected groups, so when the more critical behaviors appear, they
kind of happen to everyone at the same time.”
“But
that wasn’t the case with Zoranuman?” the Mayor asked.
“No,
because most of the people he infected didn’t commit suicide. Less than half of
them did, so it could continue to spread. But all of the infected stopped
working and participating in any meaningful sort of activity. They nearly shut
down the city. It’s a really bad strain of a thought pattern we’ve identified
as Melancomia.”
“And
you think that’s what we have here?” the mayor looked terrified as she asked.
“It’s…possible.”
Max nodded.
Mayor
Morris sat up, and began to breath heavily as she asked, “But what if this guy you’re
looking for, Daniel, really does have it? And then what if he gets on social
media and spreads it virtually? What if he already has? What if thousands of
people here already have a latent form of Melancomia, and New Havenport becomes
the new ground zero for a worldwide –.”
“Easy,”
Max said.
He waited two full
breaths and continued, “These mental infections don’t tend to spread via media.
Firstly, because my department, CCN, has advanced algorithms that monitor the
digital world closely. If we identify these patterns reproducing online, we
shut it down quick.
And secondly, because the exposure level and
style of media aren’t usually sufficient to contract Melancomia…in most cases.”
Mayor Morris sat back
down, eyes still a little frantic. Then she said, “And in the fringe cases?”
Max waved a dismissive
hand, “A period of quarantine and cognitive retraining is enough to treat most
patients.”
“I’m
perfectly capable of leading New Havenport through a crisis if it does come to
that.” Mayor Morris announced.
Max
didn’t say anything. Truth be told, he didn’t really care. He was only here for
one purpose: to get to Daniel. None of the rest was any of his business.
A
creeping excitement seeped just inside the boundaries of Max’s awareness: a
possibility about the true substance of Max’s chase. He thought that perhaps
Daniel was more important than anyone, even his superiors at the CCN,
understood.
“Found
him!” The police chief shouted, pulling up a screen with tracking icons too complex
for Max to decipher.
“Daniel Craft was sighted
near the New Havenport Dam!” the chief exclaimed.
Max
stood.
“You
can ride with me,” the police officer said, motioning towards the office door.
He gave one final look toward the mayor in request to be dismissed.
She
nodded towards the chief but addressed Max before he could exit.
“Mr.
Rockwell,” she offered one last challenge. “I’ve also heard that CCN agents are
statistically the most likely people to be carriers of a contagious mental viru.
You’re the most likely to come in contact with the infected after all. How does
it feel to spend your days chasing madness?”
Max
smiled, “Those days feel a hell of a lot better than the ones when I’m being
chased.”
***********
Chief
Decetti punched in the coordinates for the New Havenport Dam, and the police
vehicle took off with a silent fury. Max and the chief sat in the back seat,
and the chief wore a worried look on his face.
“You
really wanted to come along, didn’t you?” Max asked.
“Hmm?”
the police chief seemed startled by the sudden conversation. He’d been in deep
thought. “Oh… yes well of course, I’m worried about a young man living in our
city…you know?”
Max
nodded. “That’s very compassionate.”
A
short silence followed. That seemed to bother the chief.
“How
will you know if he’s infected?” the chief asked.
“I’ll
interview him.” Max said.
“There’s
no…test or anything?”
“I am
the test,” Max explained, “patterns of thought are much harder to detect than
physical ailments because of their deeply conceptual nature. Even with advanced
brain scanning technology, it isn’t possible to detect infectious patterns
without interacting with a person directly.”
“And
your determinations are always certain?” the chief asked.
“Nothing’s
certain, but I do have a particularly good track record. That’s why CCN sent me
here.”
The captain
nodded.
“You
won’t be able to accompany me during the confrontation though, chief. I’m sorry
to say.”
“W-why?
The chief asked. “Would one interaction be enough exposure to contract a
thought pattern?”
“Unlikely,”
Max said, “But this wouldn’t be your first time interacting with Daniel, would
it?”
The
police chief went rigid. His eyes became wide. And soon his hand began to creep
toward a pulse pistol at his hip.
“Don’t,”
Max said, pulling his coat open to reveal a much newer model, holstered snuggly
under his arm.
“I promise, I’m faster.”
Max said nonchalantly.
The chief’s
hand froze in place, and Max continued. “I know you had a son in Daniel’s high
school class. I wasn’t certain if they were friends at first, because it’s a
pretty big school. But your behavior led me to think that they must at least have
known each other. And you’re worried what that could mean to your family.”
“I
know what you do to people who are too far gone.” Decetti said.
Max
shrugged.
“Are
you going to test me?” Decetti asked.
Max
laughed. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”
The
police chief furrowed his brow.
“You’re
clean,” Max assured him, and then he closed his trench coat back up.
The
policeman’s tension began to dissipate, and slowly, his hands returned to their
normal resting position.
“But you still can’t
come,” Max said as his gaze wandered through a car window.
He watched the blurred
landscape zoom past them and offered “Do you know that the biggest danger to a
CCN agent is not the infected people, not by far. My biggest danger is healthy
people who think they might be infected?”
The
old police chief wore a look of shame for a solid moment.
“It’s just…my family, you
know?” the chief asked.
“Not
personally, no. But I can empathize. I’m very good at that,” Max said.
“These
new age diseases are all just so mysterious. Everyone’s on edge.” the policeman
said, offering a justification.
Max
agreed, “They have to be mysterious. Knowing what these thought patterns
are is the first step to being infected by them.”
“So, you
can’t even tell me what thought patterns you’re looking for?”
“No,”
Max answered, “the diseased patterns themselves are classified. That’s why so
many people have heard of Melancomia, but almost no one knows it’s specific symptoms.
Only those with a particularly high tolerance are allowed to know. But it’s
also the reason why most of the carriers are completely unaware that they have
it. How could they be? So, well-meaning people can spread Melancomia far and
wide.
And, to make matters
worse, we still haven’t found a consistent trigger for them either. For
instance, some mental infections require a violent event to act as a catalyst,
and sort of activate the infected thought pattern. But Melancomia didn’t
require any such violent event. That’s why we missed it at first.”
Decetti
shook his head. “The world seems to become a more frightening place all the
time.”
Max
didn’t respond to this. He didn’t really have an opinion about it.
The
rest of the ride ensued without incident, and at last the car arrived at the
dam.
The area around the high
dam had already been cordoned off by police, and an assembly of onlookers all
stared out toward a lone figure on top of the dam wall,
This figure stood in the
light breeze, hands in his pockets as though he didn’t have a care in the
world. The winding river foamed and churned about 100 feet below him.
Max ducked under the
police tape and advanced on his target.
It was about a quarter
mile walk up to the middle of the dam, and as Max approached, Daniel Craft
never turned to look in his direction once. The target simply stared down over
the crashing waterfall and into the river beyond.
Daniel
looked older in person than he had in his picture. Perhaps it was the blond stubble
or the tired eyes, but he didn’t look like a kid in person at all.
Max
hopped atop the wall beside the figure, put his own hands in his pockets, and
stared out over the water as well.
The
pair stood there for a while, until at last Daniel offered, “You know, this –right
here-- is really my thesis.”
“I
read a lot about you on my way here. You’re quite the brilliant student.” Max noted.
“Yes,”
Daniel nodded. It wasn’t a gloat. It was the simple agreement of an accurate
observation.
“Do
you know how this works?” Max asked.
“No,”
Daniel shook his head.
Max
gave a self-satisfied smile, and then asked, “Can you tell me what we’re
supposed to be doing here?”
“That’s
it.” Daniel nodded, “The question. But are you sure you want the answer?”
“Is
there another question you’d like to answer?” Max asked.
Daniel
didn’t respond his glazed eyes were fixed on something that didn’t seem to
exist in the current moment.
“Daniel?”
Max asked. “How about this: how are you feeling?”
There
was a long silence, and Max thought Daniel wasn’t going to answer again, but
after a space, Daniel said, “Powerful.”
The
single word escaped the lad like a shiver, involuntarily.
But once he had begun to
speak, Daniel couldn’t help but continue.
“I tested my creations on
a new professor every year” Daniel said. “It was a new pattern of thought each
time. Hmm, but poor old Zoranuman he was my first breakthrough: Melancomia.
Thank you CCN for the name by the way.”
Max
nodded, “So it’s true: an architect. My directors at the CCN didn’t believe one
could exist. But I knew…eventually someone would find a way to weaponize diseased
thought.”
“It
didn’t begin that way.” Daniel said earnestly. “I grew up training people with
mostly harmless thought patterns. Catastrophizing was my first. I taught my
little siblings to catastrophize, and I noticed that once they adopted the
pattern, it was very difficult for them to unlearn. Paranoia came next. But
eventually I became convinced that I could create an actual thought infection.
The patterns I invented became
more complex, and more difficult. The whole world because my lab. And at last,
I thought I could create one which would make it into the hallowed vaults of the
CCN and be registered as a communicable mental disease.”
Max took
a minute to digest this, and then finally he asked, “Why?”
Daniel
turned towards Max and smiled, “Because, you --and those like you-- made
certain ways of thinking illegal. And you have to pay for that. This is all
really your fault. You servants of tyranny deserve worse.”
Max
shrugged, “You can’t elicit anger from me, Daniel. That doesn’t really work on
CCN agents. We specifically train against it, because it would weaken our mental
tolerance.”
“Hmm,
it was worth a shot.” Daniel said with a smile. “Very well then, am I under
arrest, special agent Rockwell?”
“Yes
–” Max paused. And the profound realization of his position took hold all at
once. He drew his pistol.
“Your
first breakthrough?” Max asked.
“What?”
Daniel asked in return.
“You
said that Melancomia was your first break through.” Max said.
“Did
I?”
“Yes,
you’ve…invented another.” Max said
Daniel
couldn’t stifle his smile.
“You expected
me,” Max said. “You wanted to meet me here. To infect a CCN agent with a new
mental disease. You want to infect the entire agency through me, don’t you?”
Daniel said nothing.
Max continued, “And without
CCN, the world would be defenseless against a new mental pandemic.”
Daniel’s
face was blank.
“Maybe
I’m already infected.” Max said, looking down into the water below.
“Easy,
Max,” Daniel returned, “Remember, I became a master at spreading paranoia.”
Max
lifted the pistol and pointed it at Daniel’s head. “I can’t let you off this dam,”
he said. “If you’ve invented a new infectious thought pattern, you’d be able to
spread it without me having any way of know?”
“True,
true” Daniel shrugged in agreement.
“Have
you infected anyone else!?” Max demanded.
“You
know I would never tell you that.” Daniel responded with a wink.
Max
shouted in frustration and lowered the pistol. He had to know if Daniel had
infected others, and so he couldn’t simply kill the villain. He also knew that attending
a violent event could act as a trigger for certain mental infections. Perhaps
Daniel wanted Max to kill him.
“I’ve
been preparing for our meeting for a long time, Agent Rockwell,” Daniel said.
“Gods!”
Max shouted again. He didn’t know what to do.
Daniel
turned and put a friendly hand on Max’s shoulder. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you
more than I thought I would.”
Max
only locked his jaw in anger and squeezed the handle of his pistol.
“Hey,
watch this,” Daniel said, and in one fluid movement, he flung himself over the
side of the dam.
“Noooo!”
Max grasped out madly to stop Daniel. But he only snatched the empty air.
Daniel
fell headfirst, hands still in his pockets and was dashed upon the rocks and
water below.
The
broken body sank below the water for a brief moment, but then floated back to
the surface, face down.
Max’s
heart raced, and he stood in the sudden stillness, completely disoriented by
the mad death he’d just observed.
He
didn’t move for a very long time. He simply starred down at Daniel’s lifeless
body floating away down the river, and Max wondered if he should follow.
