The Book of Eadie, Volume One of the Seventeen Trilogy

by Mark D. Diehl

  I was panting and pointing the gun everywhere, and all I could think about was firing more shots into another enemy Seeker, but we found no one else. We had finished off the entire Andro-Heathcliffe group and our team hadn’t sustained a single casualty.

  2. Please share some details of your experience in group therapy today.

  Back in the conference room I told my group that I worried I was becoming a heartless killer, driven only by orders. It really felt like I was killing those Seekers today, and my only sensation at the time was exhilaration. Shouldn’t I have felt at least some remorse for causing another person such terrible pain, even though I knew I hadn’t actually killed anyone? Instead I was excited, relieved that it hadn’t been me shuddering on the ground. I confessed this internal conflict to my group. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” I said.

  “That’s great,” DeeElle said. “You’re beginning to understand that you’re not alone. You’re cleansing yourself of the primitive animal mindset that has separated you from the rest of the company, 2Q. You’ll only learn who you are once you truly accept that you and Amelix are one.”

  Seazie allowed both 6T and me to reward ourselves to a level two. I was sure I would be too self-conscious to follow through, but the constant arousal in this place, pathway amplification, and the permission she’d given made it impossible to resist. Soon we were side by side, kneeling on the table, taking our rewards as the rest of the group jealously watched.

  3. Please consider other events of the day, such as religious services, mealtimes, and interactions with your Accepted advisor, and explain how these experiences helped you grow and change.

  I’m getting better at controlling the sickness. Whenever I see things that would ordinarily upset me, I force myself to think about something else. Often I can reverse a downward spiral just by remembering times of the day when I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do. At religious services today I had an impulse to fight, to hold on to my own thoughts, my own identity. A wave of nausea and dread flooded my body, and without thinking I stopped it, reminding myself that there was nothing I could do to change my circumstances. I was briefly able to compound that into a feeling of euphoria, but then it was gone again.

  The next thing I knew, I was back in my room with Andrew. I was on the floor, leaning against the bed again, and he was on my chair, but I had no memory of us putting ourselves into those positions.

  “Congratulations, 2Q,” he said. “You made real progress today.”

  The euphoria was gone. I put my palms over my face cover and laughed once. “Progress? Toward what? I got a thrill out of ‘killing’ people today, out of causing them pain. I actually found a sense of accomplishment in causing others to suffer because I knew it was what was expected, that my team would be proud of me, that I would be rewarded. Then when given the chance I performed for them, grateful that I’d been judged worthy. What am I becoming? I don’t even know whose thoughts I’m thinking in this place.”

  “If it’s inside your own mind, it’s yours.”

  “Even if it didn’t start out there?”

  “If it didn’t start out there, you may consider it a gift.”

  4. Please share any additional thoughts or comments.

  I don’t have any. Maybe I’m just tired.

  The tiny tenement room where the black man had waged his futile battle against God’s will

  “I’m not sure he really has a flu, doctor,” the woman said. “He slipped on the ice and got this bruise on his head, and he’s got a couple of fingers with a little frostbite. That’s all. I haven’t seen any other problems.”

  Daiss shook his head and licked his lips. “You people are so goddamned irritating. Why did the boy fall down? Does he regularly go banging his head on the ground? He fell because he’s developing this flu. And it’s a nasty one, too, with lots of vomiting and a very, very high mortality rate. And highly contagious—you’ll almost certainly get it, too. But if you think you know more than I do, then don’t give him the two powders. Don’t take them yourself; follow him into death. I don’t give a shit.” Opening the door, he scooted the woman and her son out the door and into the black-suited chest of a large man standing outside.

  The woman grabbed the boy’s hand and skittered away down the hall. The Unnamed Executive already had his hand under his jacket. “Oh,” Daiss said, sounding bored. He slid his hand to the grip of his Gloria 6. “I was wondering when your master would send you sniffing around here.”

  “This is real cute, what you Feds are trying to pull,” the man said.

  Daiss stared back. “Yes. Too bad we got here before you did. You would’ve used your usual good manners and slaughtered everybody in here before we could extract any information. Your boss must be pissed that we beat you to the scene.”

  “Boss? I have no boss,” the man answered.

  “Mmm. Yeah, that’s right. The UE are nothing if not predictable. You’re here due to an entirely independent curiosity.” Daiss laughed. “I can see the leash running all the way back to the CBD.”

  “What’d you accomplish, beating us to the scene? Doesn’t look like you got the girl, or the Williams kid.” The Unnamed smirked. “This is the Zone—it’s a job for real men, not boys dressed up in costumes.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me,” Daiss said. “I’ll be just fine here all by myself. You and your corporate monkey pals need to stay the hell away from this door. You’re scaring away my customers. Where are your little friends, anyway? Down the hall? Hiding in the alley? Spying down from rooftops?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. The Unnamed always worked in groups of four. Not three, not five, and never, ever alone. Their absolute insistence on this proved their weakness and ineptitude. The man raised a black-sleeved arm, stroking his chin. The double gold ring on his two smallest fingers glimmered in the dim lamplight that shone through the open door. “Are you really sure you want to stay and play doctor in this sad little office all alone? Now that we corporate monkeys are here, the Zone’s getting more dangerous by the minute.” He touched a finger to the side of his bulletproof sunglasses.

  Daiss looked directly into the tiny camera between the man’s eyes as he spoke.

  “My Task Force is something new to you boys,” Daiss said. “So you’d better wise up. I don’t give a shit about your boss or his friends, and I sure as hell won’t have a problem cutting you down if you fuck up my objective.”

  Williams Gypsum Corporation Headquarters, Central Business District

  “What have you done?” the president said, her eyes taking in her husband’s office from wall to bloody wall. Eight new guns were lined up on his desk, with eight gold double rings next to them, but the headless bodies had been disposed of.

  Chairman Williams snatched the bloody bulletproof sunglasses she had carried into his office from the hall. He glared into the tiny camera between the lenses. “Fuck you and your whole goddamned company,” he said. “You send thugs to my place of business because your son couldn’t outfight a waitress? Fuck you.” He hurled the glasses over her shoulder, back to the hallway floor, where they were picked up by one of the Unnamed and carried away. “Dump those with the bodies, will you?” Mr. Williams called after him, wiping blood from his hands with his handkerchief. “Damned things are indestructible; we can’t have that asshole spying on us.” The Unnamed nodded and was gone.

  “What have you done?” she asked again, panic rising in her voice. “You started a war with RickerResources? How could you do something so stupid?”

  “Stupid? They’re the ones being stupid. Arrogant assholes, storming in here making demands, thinking they can intimidate me. They can’t demand I do anything! I wish they’d sent more for me to kill!”

  She lowered her voice. “You’ll get your wish. Now they’ll send another team. Or ten more teams, or two hundred more teams, or God knows how many more. Our corporation doesn’t have the means or the capability to deal with that kind of threat!”

  �
�We’ll prepare ourselves to respond to any action they elect to initiate,” he said. “We will restructure, staffing with as many Unnamed as we need.”

  “Mercenaries,” she said. “Dropouts and criminals. They’re hardly trustworthy. And what will our company produce if you use all our assets to hire an army of new staff?”

  “It’s time for a new corporate structure. I’m certain we can find uses for a few hundred Unnamed. As for trustworthiness, we will simply put them under the command of those we do trust. The Unnamed are all reconditioned, you know. They’ll be fine.”

  “I won’t stand for this. You’re talking about dismantling our entire company! I’m calling a special meeting of the Board.”

  “Two Board members are back at the house,” he said. “My parents, in the Elders’ room back home. And I vote their proxy. Then there’s my brother.”

  “That still leaves three other members and myself. That’s four for you, and probably four for me. Company president votes in a tie, so I vote twice. That will be five for me.” She shook her head. Her blond hair fell perfectly back into place but tears ran down her porcelain face. “I can’t let you destroy our whole company just so you can do battle with another raging egomaniac.”

  He scowled. “You have been reconditioned to obey the chain of command. Without question, and certainly without a temper tantrum like this. Need I remind you that you are talking to your corporate superior?”

  Her eyebrows, which had been lowered in anger, rose as her eyes widened in response to his expression. “No,” she said. “I mean, I’m sorry, sir. I overstepped.”

  “You overstepped?” he said. “You dare to call me a raging maniac and threaten to turn the Board against me? I’ll tell you what, madam president. Your reconditioning was clearly a miserable failure. Maybe you’ve forgotten your duty, but I certainly haven’t. It is my God-given right as your superior to be trusted and obeyed! “ He paused, looking her up and down. “Surely you understand that such willful and insolent behavior on your part cannot be tolerated. There must be serious consequences.”

  She was backing toward the open door, shaking her head. “Sir, no. Please. You’re right, of course. You should follow your plan, sir.”

  “Get back here,” he said. Her face was horrified but her body obeyed. She attempted once more to apologize. “Shut up,” he said. “Now undress and get on your knees.”

  Her jaw quivered and tears welled in her eyes, but she complied.

  Shitbox Manor

  Old Fart breathed in the musty Zone air. The hangover’s nausea and dizziness were completely gone now and Dok had taken back his needles. Never in his life had he spent so much time just sitting around like this. He remembered watching an ancient film clip of lions on the savannah when he was a boy; they had slept and rested most of the day, saving their strength. Old Fart watched his companions with childlike wonder.

  Kel tried to slide the notebook away from Eadie, who was leaning back against the wall with her eyes closed. Her eyes snapped open the instant the notebook moved, her hand snatching Kel’s wrist. Kel pulled back, but not in the jerking way Old Fart had expected. His movements were slow and almost gentle.

  “Sorry, and alla dat,” Kel said. “Didn’ mean to scareya. Just wanted my book back, is all.”

  “Oh—I’m sorry I didn’t give it back to you. It’s wonderful … but if you have an idea and need to write more, take it, of course.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Kel said. “Write more. That’s what I gotta do.” He stood up, taking the lamp. “Gonna go out there an’ work.” He nodded at the open door.

  “Okay,” Eadie said. “Thanks for sharing it with me. I really love the way you see the world.”

  “Sure.” Balancing the lamp, Kel gingerly stepped over the hole in the floor and moved through the doorway, leaving the room dark.

  The light cast strange shadows around the hallway as Old Fart listened, first to the subdued tearing noise and then the crumpling. Could Eadie really believe Kel was writing out there?

  The light wavered as Kel picked up the saucer and lit his pipe.

  Stomping. Running feet. Noise suddenly filled the hallway. Something clattered to the floorboards—probably Kel’s pipe. Indistinct sounds of scuffling and impacts and pained grunts grew louder and more frantic. Old Fart stood up, heading for the door, and ran into someone else doing the same. From the size, it had to be Eadie.

  Five figures surrounded Kel in the hall, shadowy silhouettes against the dark walls in the flickering light of Kel’s single wick. They all were apparently armed, some with knives and others with sticks that looked to have been cut from broom handles. Kel shifted and twisted, avoiding swings and stabs. Old Fart tackled one man to the floor, struggling with his chest on the man’s back, grabbing for the wrist above the large knife in his hand. Eadie was standing behind another one, fighting for the stick he held. The man managed to wrench himself free and spun around to face her, revealing a knife sticking out from his shoulder and blood running down his back. Eadie took three hard punches in the stomach, then kicked him in the groin and wrestled him to the ground, his head ending up between Old Fart’s feet.

  Old Fart kicked, his shoe connecting with Eadie’s man in the head, face, and shoulders. He tried for the shoulders more, hoping to drive Eadie’s knife in deeper. Lawrence appeared, attempting sincerely but ineffectively to help Eadie free herself. Kel was fighting the other three men in a tangled blur of kicks and punches.

  The one under Old Fart was younger and stronger, but Old Fart was heavier, managing to keep his weight on top and push down on the knife hand with all his strength. The man wrestling with Eadie screamed. Lawrence stood over him, frozen, holding Eadie’s knife. An errant foot hit the edge of Kel’s saucer of oil, knocking it over and soaking the floorboards. The flame spread.

  “Do it!” Eadie said. The man beneath her grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head into the wall. Old Fart cringed at the sickening thud and the crack as something in the wall gave way. At least he hoped it was the wall. “Lawrence! Stab this motherfucker right now!”

  Another thud. And another.

  Lawrence pointed the knife at the man’s shoulder and made a short, diving jump, falling with the blade first. Eadie’s man screamed again. Old Fart turned to get a better look.

  Eadie crawled away from her man as Lawrence grappled with him, both hands holding the embedded knife and pulling it sideways like a handle. Eadie snatched the stick from the man’s grasp but collapsed against a door, breathing hard with her chin up. Flames began climbing up the wall, the fire obscuring Kel’s battle on the other side. Dok rushed into the hallway, trying to smother the spreading flames with his coat but was forced to jump back to dodge an attacker’s club.

  Zone buildings were infamous firetraps, their old, bare wood flaring almost instantly. Old Fart realized the entire building was about to erupt into an inferno, and there wasn’t even a stairway to run down. To stay here more than a few more minutes would mean death.

  He still held his man down, but he felt himself weakening. The young man twisted, seizing his shirt at the shoulder and rolling Old Fart over to the floor, his face grating on the splintery floorboards. A strange howling sound began to echo through the hall and the hand forcing him down jerked a few times, then released him. Old Fart rolled to his back, watching as Eadie swung her stick again and again, howling and growling through gritted teeth. The sound was guttural and loud and desperate, like a machine running at a destructively high speed. An arc of blood glistened on the wall, tracing the stick’s path.

  Lawrence still gripped the knife with both hands. The man punched him in the midsection, struggling to pull away. Eadie took two steps, still howling, hitting him in the neck with the stick. Lawrence let go of the knife, grabbing his fingers where Eadie’s stick had rapped them as she pulled her arm back to swing again. Eadie kept swinging until Lawrence pointed her through the flames at Kel’s fight. She ran through them, jumping over Dok’s flaming coat and str
iking at the first one she found on the other side. The hall sounded with running footsteps—the attackers running away.

  Kel coughed, leaning against the wall. “Brian!” he said. “Brian, this is Kel, man. I’m comin’ in, so if you’re home somehow, don’t fuckin’ kill me!” Kel kicked the door, which tore from the hinges and fell inward. He rushed inside and came out seconds later, holding a large pipe with caps screwed on to each end.

  The Prophet suddenly materialized next to Old Fart. Eadie reached into the flames, pulling out the charred notebook and patting out her smoldering sleeve with it. All six of them ran for the stairs, with Dok yelling behind him, “Fire! There’s a fire in the hallway! Get out, however you can!”

  Old Fart turned and paused for a moment before following the others into the stairwell. The flames had sealed off the hallway and were spreading fast. Turning back, he saw Kel run past Lawrence, tossing the big pipe to him, saying, “Hold onta this, okay? I might have to fight.”

  They climbed down the remnants of the lower stairs and dashed out the door, joining the crowd that had formed. Screams and shrieks sounded from windows above. More people emerged, crawling and falling from windows and stumbling from the door. The windows on Kel’s floor glowed orange and the air was thick with smoke. The crowd stepped back, and kept stepping back, as the fire built and the heat grew.

  Dok stood next to Old Fart, staring at the fire with a sour expression. There was nothing to be done. Fires in the Zone were left to burn themselves out, often smoldering for days, sometimes taking hundreds of lives.

  Old Fart straightened up, standing on his toes, but he could not see the end of the crowd. “Where did all these people come from?” he asked. “This area was almost totally deserted.”

  Dok’s eyes remained fixed on the flames licking out of the windows and reaching up toward the top floor. “That’s what it’s like in the Zone. Always looks like nobody’s anywhere, but really there are thousands of people. Everybody hides here, locked inside, afraid of each other. This building? Seemed like maybe ten, maybe twenty people in it, right?” He exhaled sharply, approximating a laugh. “Probably two hundred.”