The Nirvana Plague (15 page)

“Come on, doctor. If you’d been going strictly by stats you wouldn’t have written your paper. Hell, most of the diagnoses you psychiatrists take for granted as real are statistically unsupported. If you based all your treatment decisions on stats, a lot of people would be suffering needlessly.”

“Are you sure about that, colonel? All we’ve got so far is a handful of psychotic patients that seem to be able to go off their meds without significant consequences and a couple dozen soldiers who don’t want to shoot people anymore or get shot at. From
their
point of view, are they suffering?”

On the left, the Watergate and the Lincoln Memorial came into view; the frozen reflecting pool and the snow-covered mall opened like a runway toward the Washington monument and the Capitol. On the right, the Pentagon and the Air Force memorial drifted past. The road and rail bridges flicked by below.

Benford countered: “You don’t take a psychotic’s report of his condition at face value, do you?”

“No,” he answered, “but you do take their reports of their experiences at face value. If they say they hear voices that you don’t hear, you don’t assume they’re lying.”

“No, but you also don’t assume they’re hearing those voices in the same sense that you hear voices.”

This point reminded him of an exchange he’d had with Karen Hanover a few weeks ago. She’d taken him to task for talking to her about Roger’s motives instead of talking to Roger. And she’d been right. He wondered how Benford and Karen would get along — like two cats with their tails tied.

On the left, another helicopter flashed past soundlessly. On the right, a fat commercial jet flopped into the air off the runway at Reagan and showed them its belly as it drew in its wheels.

Benford met his eye again. “You think this whole thing is an overreaction.”

“I don’t know.”

“It isn’t. It hasn’t had much play in the press yet, thank God, but the CDC has been circulating a report on the incidence of new infectious disease outbreaks. There’s no doubt that new diseases are appearing worldwide at increasing rates. Significantly increased rates.
New
diseases. You understand? Stuff we’ve never seen before. Stuff that’s never
existed
before. Stuff we have no natural immunity to. We’re evolving deadly new stuff faster than ever before.”

“We are? How do you mean?”

“The stress that human civilization is putting on the natural environment is driving the evolution of new opportunistic organisms. We’re not overreacting. It’s a different world. Nature has turned up the heat. If we don’t respond appropriately, sooner or later, and probably sooner, we’re going to have human casualties on a scale not seen since the Black Death.”

They flew into Andrews like a seagull dropping into a garbage dump. A drab black bus was waiting for them on the tarmac.

It rumbled across the airfield with them to a distant hangar where the 25
^th
Army battalion was staging for departure. A gigantic dull grey C-17 transport sat nearby idling its engines, ground crew swarming round it like drones round their queen.

Benford had called orders ahead and got the logistics officers on the hump setting up an expedited “departure process.” At a worktable in a corner of one the cavernous hangars, they each went through the routine: photos snapped, IDs made, questionnaires taken, next-of-kin contact information provided, measurements taken. Boots, helmets, dress, sundries, and packs were distributed. Six-point electronic dog tags were encoded and patched to each team member’s skin.

Peters asked what they were for.

Sikora told him: “So they can match up your parts again after they get separated.”

Peters looked a little pale.

Weapons were not issued. The whole chaotically efficient process made them uneasy. Both the banter and the bickering stopped. They spoke little and smiled less.

Benford stayed close, making sure the little assembly line didn’t hitch up anywhere. The battalion commander came over to ask her how soon her team would be ready to go.

“We’ll be ready, colonel,” she said.

“Your people understand we’re under communications embargo?”

“Yes, sir.”

Half an hour later she led her little team out a side door of the hangar and across the tarmac toward the towering tail of the absurdly oversized plane. The aft ramp started closing even as they were hiking up it. They took seats in one corner of the rear, a few rows from the backs of the nervous young battalion troops that filled the rest of the hold.

Almost immediately, it seemed, the heavy jet was thundering down the runway. They lurched into the air, banked sharply, caught a last glimpse of the ground as they turned, then rolled out and started climbing. The Atlantic opened toward them.

Benford had again made a point of sitting with Marley.

“So where are we going?” he asked her.

Every team member within earshot turned to hear the answer.

“Kenya.”

On the table beside her, Karen’s phone chimed. It was the downstairs door. She snatched it up and punched the talk button. The TV screen muted itself automatically.

It was Ally.

“I come bearing groceries!” she said. “You’re not going to believe what he’s doing now.”

Karen buzzed her in and went down to help her carry.

Ally had two bags full of food. At the top of the stair, Karen asked her to wait in the corridor while she carried them in. She came back out with cups of coffee. The two women sat down on the cold landing outside the apartment, cradling the steaming cups in their hands.

“So what am I not going to believe?” Karen said.

Ally told Karen about her call from Marley.

Karen stared at her in disbelief.

“But where is he going?”

“He didn’t know, or he wouldn’t tell me, but he was scared. I could tell he was scared.”

Karen could tell that Ally was scared too.

“But you’re sure he was going to a war zone?”

“Yes. I got that much. He only talked to me for maybe thirty seconds. He said he was in the bathroom! I messaged him after, asking what the hell was going on. But he hasn’t responded yet.” She fetched her mini-tablet from her coat pocket as she said this and checked again. Still nothing.

“But why?”

“To see cases firsthand. On the spot. Be there when it happens.”

“But he didn’t say what country he was going to?”

“No.” She shoved the mini-tablet back in her pocket. “What difference does it make?” she said. “Killing is killing.”

“How long before he gets back?”

“No idea.”

“Surely he won’t go very far forward. He’ll just go to the field hospital, or whatever.”

Ally clicked her rings together nervously. It made a little pinging sound in the stairwell.

“He’ll go where the cases are happening,” she said. “Where do you think that is?”

“He’s not a soldier,” Karen said. “They won’t let him actually go into battle.”

“
Let
him? You don’t know how he is.”

“I know he’s not the heroic type.”

Ally smiled humorlessly. “No, he’s the damn fool type.”

“What’s all this got to do with Roger?” Karen said. “I mean, with what’s happening to him?”

Ally shook her head.

“It must be happening in the military too,” Karen said. “That’s got to be what this is all about.”

“Schizophrenics and warriors. What’s the connection?”

“Weird.”

They fell silent for a while, watching the steam off their cups kick about in the stairwell drafts.

“So, how’s it going with you?” Ally said. “Cabin fever set in yet?” Warming from the coffee, she loosened her coat.

“I called my department head yesterday and told him about it. He was less than sympathetic. I expect if it goes on more than a few days I’ll finally lose my job.”

“You’re kidding. Aren’t you tenured?”

“Hardly. I stepped out of the research and publish parade years ago. ‘Look at me, I’m Dr. Dee! An expert in banality!’ — Life’s too short.”

“Can you take a sabbatical or a leave of absence or something?”

“Maybe. I can try.” She took a sip of coffee. “To be honest,” she said. “I don’t know if I care.”

“What will you live on? Do you have any money?”

“Well, there is that problem, I guess.”

“Does Roger get any disability?”

“Long gone.”

“I mean from the government.”

“So do I.”

“So they restrict you from doing your job, and won’t give you any compensation either?”

“Roger’s the one who’s restricted, and he doesn’t have a job anyway. But if I don’t stay here, neither will he. And if he doesn’t stay here, they’ll lock him up.”

“He’s locked up either way.”

“But they’ll put him in an isolation room in the hospital.”

“What about getting someone to come in? A nurse, maybe a friend or neighbor?”

“No one allowed inside the apartment.”

Ally sipped her coffee.

“I’m just so worn out,” Karen said. “I’ve had enough, more than enough. Ten years of this. Ten years watching my husband lose his mind. Sometimes I wish he’d die. Or I’d die. I just don’t want to do this anymore.”

Ally shook her head sympathetically. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t listen to me. Sometimes I just don’t know how I’m going to cope. But we always seem to go on anyway.”

“This thing that’s happened to him. Is it better or worse than before?”

“I don’t know. It’s both. He’s not raving anymore. He’s not paranoid. That’s better. And he’s not on medication, because he won’t take any. But he’s not himself either. He’s not anybody. It’s like he’s been erased, he’s a blank. He’s — I don’t know what he is. It’s hard to explain.”

“A lot of the crazy stuff that schizophrenics say is confabulation,” Ally said. “I know you know that already. I’m just thinking out loud. — But it’s like they’re trying to explain what’s going on so that reality isn’t just chaos. They don’t even know they’re doing it. But the mind would rather be in a strange world than a random world.”

“Maybe,” Karen said, “but they really have hallucinations.”

“Sure, but maybe hallucinations are just the way the brain is making sense of the chaos within. Like dreams. Dreams are what happens to thinking when it’s disconnected from the senses. It goes adrift. And Roger isn’t hallucinating anymore, is he?”

“I don’t think so. If he is, he isn’t letting on.”

“I told Carl I’m not convinced this thing that he calls IDD even qualifies as a disease.”

“What do you mean?”

“From what he’s told me about it, and what you have, it doesn’t sound to me like these people are any worse off. In fact, they sound better off.”

“You think so?”

“In some ways. In fact, I told him that if you ignore the special terminology, his clinical description of IDD sounds kind of like how mystics talk about their experiences.”

“Oh, come on.”

Ally just shrugged, letting it drop.

“Is this the kind of thing you and Carl talk about in private?” Karen said.

Ally shook her head. The beads in her hair rattled together. “We don’t really talk much in private. We’re not so close anymore.”

“Neither are Roger and I!” Karen said, like it was a coincidence.

Ally looked away.

“Sorry,” Karen said. “That’s not funny.”

“No.” Ally finished her coffee. “Carl’s got his work, his patients, his teaching, his students. I’ve got the shop. We’re not home much. Between the two of us, I doubt we could keep a cat alive.”

Karen nodded. “I have my classes, or I hole up in my office, or down at your place, or down at the pub. Roger, of course, has his insanity to keep him busy.”

“Also not funny,” Ally said.

“No,” Karen said.

They said nothing for a moment.

“Bitterness becomes a habit,” Karen said.

“There’s no need to take it out on everyone.”

It was the least sympathetic remark Karen had ever heard from her.