The Spiral Effect, Page 3

  *********

  (Sigh)

  Now I’m yelling at myself. What’s next, conversations with the—

  Help.

  Hello?

  Help.

  Someone there?

  Oh God, please help me. Anyone, please.

  A distress call. Like a beacon, her thoughts radiating out to anyone who might listen. She’s near too.

  Find the Cause.

  Find the Source.

  Find the beginning.

  I will, later. Right now—Mary Abnette—needs my help.

  Mary runs, sucking in one quick breath after another. The sweat of fear pours down the side of her face. Blonde hair sticks to her forehead, making it difficult to see clearly. The thud of shoes and broken sobs shatter the silence on the deserted highway. Not a single car resides on this stretch of Interstate 5 outside Centralia. No trees for cover, not yet at least.

  Every few seconds she looks behind her, certain that she will see the five men behind her. Nothing but empty highway. She swears she can feel their breathing on her neck, ears, in her mind.

  The sharp, electrical waves of pain in her knees and ankles grow more intense. She isn’t sure she’ll make it to the trees near Fort Brost Lake where she can quietly sneak into water, follow it to the river, and float away to safety.

  Oh no. Don’t think it. They’ll hear. They’ll hear.

  If only she could shut off her thoughts, keep them from tracking her, keep them from trying to take her and Taylor. Mary tightly holds onto her five year old daughter, hoping beyond hope that a car will appear and save them both. Drive her away from the awful town that consumed itself with power. But no car will come. She knows it. I know it.

  Another pain shoots through Mary’s body, this time below her ribs. She almost doubles over—nearly drops—

  “Taylor. Don’t worry sweetie. Mommy—mommy will keep you safe.”

  She spots the deserted Value Inn to the right and shuffles toward it. Maybe, she thinks, the clerk kept a gun under the counter. They sometimes did that, right? At least on TV. This wasn’t a five star hotel she was trying to reach but a small motel for frugal vacationers.

  “There’ll be a gun, there’ll be a gun, there’ll be a gun,” Mary quickens her shuffle, the newfound hope of finding a weapon masking the pain.

  She reaches the door to the front office, grabs the handle, pulls, and—

  “No—no—NO!”

  Mary drops to the floor, still holding an unconscious Taylor, and begins to sob.

  “No, no, no, no.”

  Five derelict bodies, looking more like zombies with sagging, melting skin than men, stare with toothless, hungry grins. They no longer wear clothes, only the gray-brown, leathery hide of their dying skin. Loose strands of hair limply hang from their nearly bald heads. On a bony finger, one of the men twirls the revolver Mary had been hoping to find.

  Mary’s thoughts become disjointed by emotional turmoil, trying to figure out how they caught up to her, and what will happen after they steal her and Taylor’s bodies. The exact name for the individuals do not form in her mind. They can’t. She has no name for them. But I know what they are. I’ve dealt with a few before.

  Jumpers.

  Find the Cause.

  Find the Source.

  Find the Beginning.

  Not now.

  Mary clutches Taylor closer to her breast as the five jumpers float closer, their toes lightly scraping the floor.

  “Leave us alone!”

  Mary swings her arm out in defense.

  Need complete focus. Some jumpers are incredibly strong, devious. Stay aware—on guard. They still haven’t noticed my presence. Only five minds.

  Focus—past the five frontal lobes. Just slip in and—

  BERRRRR!

  BERRRRR!

  An alarm blares and red lights flash with the same subtlety found in a cheesy sci-fi movie. The invisible image of my traveling mind is pulled and prodded, forcing me to create something akin to a physical representation of myself. These five appear skilled, have learned to work as one, making them more dangerous than the minds I’ve recently touched and catalogued.

  The neural pathways of their collective mind converge and turns into an open landscape of concrete. Black clouds flurry at a furious speed as lightning and thunder shatters the sky. Walls of rock and granite explode from the ground, looming thousands of stories high. They mean to cage me in this forest of rock, trap me in their consciousness until they find my body.

  RESISTENCE IS FUTILE TRESSPASSER.

  One of these guys has seen too many B movies.

  YOUR BODY IS OURS.

  You’ll have to find it first. The walls of rock are nothing but mental images. Ghosts of reality—holographic images. One step forward and—

  Through the first wall. The others become less tangible and solid with each step.

  The emotional stasis of the collective gasps at the failure of their defense.

  More rocks rise from the ground but harmlessly pass through my projected body. The lightning and thunder increase, bolts of electrical furry take their swing.

  Zap. Miss.

  Zap. Miss.

  Zap. Miss.

  Find their center, where their full consciousness resides. Groups like this always seem to have an access point, a place for them to converge and defend if necessary. Push a little more and—there, follow the green arrows.

  THAT IS FAR ENOUGH.

  GO NO FURTHER.

  HEED OUR WARNINGS.

  OR FEEL THE FULL POWER OF OUR WRATH.

  THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING.

  Five floating heads appear, in mimicry of that devious green wizard, each one younger and healthier than the physical reality of their bodies on the outside. How long has it been since they actually wore these faces? How long since they’ve lived in their true bodies?

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Leave us alone.”

  “They’re ours.”

  “We found them first.”

  “We’ll hurt you.”

  If the rock cage and lightning is your best, then I doubt it.

  TREMBLE AND FEEL THE WRATH OF TRUE POWER.

  The illusion of power felt in yelling.

  A green dragon appears. It’s solid and large, about the height of a giraffe and girth of an elephant, but lacks those diamond hard scales. No horns either. Like a harmless cartoon. Even the mind of a child would see it as nothing more. How these men jumped from one body to another for so long, terrorizing poor souls, is beyond my comprehension. I guess fear and despair gives way to weak villains.

  The beast opens its mouth and spits a stream of bright, neon red fire. I allow the bright light to wash over me. The five men expect the mental projection to induce the same affect it has had on so many others—skin melting, crackling pain. This, however, isn’t any more painful than the cool beam of a flashlight.

  They try to increase the intensity.

  The light from a computer screen could do more damage.

  “Shut up!”

  “Burn!”

  “Scream!”

  “Tremble!”

  “Die!”

  Not to this illusion.

  The dragon disappears and in its place appear five demons—red, spikey horns, vampire teeth, and crudely made spears—who dance and jump around like silly cartoon monkeys.

  Those who stick to stereotypes are always the least imaginative.

  Their eyes flame with anger. I’m getting to them.

  “No you’re not.”

  “Shut up, don’t let him hear you.”

  As if you could control whether I hear you or not.

  The demons quit dancing and stand still, unable to decide for themselves what course of action to take as their puppeteers bicker.

  “Focus and kill him already.”

  “Leave me alone. You’re not doing anything.”
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br />   “Sorry—just, everybody, focus.”

  The demons face me again, hold their spears steady, and rush. Two swipe their silver bladed tips across my face. One jabs at my chest. The other two try to pierce my stomach. All five spears safely pass through me.

  “He’s too strong.”

  “He’ll kill us.”

  “Focus. We need those new bodies.”

  I wonder if they’ve figured out how to divide two new bodies between the five of them?

  Poof! The demons disappear.

  “Yeah, how are we going to—

  “No. Stay together.”

  “It’s a diversion.”

  “Stick to the plan.”

  “I—I—sorry.”

  Look past their threats, their floating faces, into each wrinkle of the brain. They’re scared. Want an end to this disease that kills them quickly and painfully. One of them is Tom Berger. He had a wife, three kids, and a good job—accountant for a large hospital. Then he pulled his car from a ditch with the flicker of a thought, his life changing forever. Brought him here, already on his third body, ready to take another. And with this new girl’s body, kill the other four.

  “Tom.”

  “Traitor.”

  “I knew it.”

  “How could you?”

  “Lies—they’re lies.”

  Brandon wishes they wouldn’t hurt anyone and just die with dignity. Currently on his seventh body, he hates himself and wishes someone would kill not just him but all of them. Put an end to the suffering they inflict on others and themselves. The strain is almost too much, having to hide this thought from them every minute of every day. Why he goes through bodies so much faster than the other four.

  “Pussy.”

  “You’d rather die?”

  “Want someone to kill us.”

  Justin, self-proclaimed leader of the group, tricked William’s wife into thinking she was making love to her husband. Then he killed her when she realized it wasn’t William. Justin would have just erased her mind, deleted the memory, but he wasn’t, and still isn’t, strong enough for such a mental excursion.

  William