The Dociles (The Secret Archives Trilogy Book 1)

by Valerie Puri

  The teacher, Mrs. Townsend, strode into the room purposefully. Without speaking, she walked straight to the chalkboard to write today’s topic of discussion. Mrs. Townsend was tall and had a curvy figure which was accentuated by her blue dress. Jennie admired the stiff woven fabric of the knee-length dress she was wearing. It looked crisp and new, and most of all, warm.

  Mrs. Townsend’s brown hair fell elegantly to her shoulders and bounced slightly as her arm shot up and down while she wrote. Once finished, she folded her arms and stepped to the side to reveal the phrase written on the board: “Life Before the Commune.” The word “Before” was underlined. The class let out a collective gasp. This was a forbidden topic, and Mrs. Townsend knew it.

  “Class, how many of you know what life was like before the Commune?”

  No hands went up.

  “How many of you have seen texts from before our three-hundred-acre paradise was created? Who can tell me how we were founded?”

  A small hand went up timidly.

  “Yes, Miss. Caraway?” Mrs. Townsend pointed to Jennie with the chalk.

  Jennie reluctantly regurgitated what Elder Victor had always taught at the Commune Council. “It is said,” she began, “that the last survivors of humankind came together in this forest searching for food, shelter, and safety. They found, in the heart of the forest, a clearing with a small cluster of buildings. They took shelter in the structures and found peace in the clearing. Using stones from a nearby quarry, they erected a wall surrounding the area and established the Commune as the last sanctuary of humankind. They tilled the land, bred livestock, and harnessed the power of the sun to generate electricity, thus creating a self-sustaining way of life.”

  Jennie saw Mrs. Townsend was nodding along. When her teacher did not speak, Jennie took that as permission to continue.

  “They proclaimed that the Commune would be led by two Elders – one male and one female – who would appoint their own successors. A weekly council would be held with all those who dwell within the Commune present. All townspeople, Profession Heads, and Advisors would have an equal voice, helping to guide the Elders in making decisions which preserve the longevity of the Commune. And so, for two-hundred years, this has been our way of life.”

  Jennie always thought the story of the Commune’s origin had too many holes in it. How many people were in the original group? Where did they come from? How could they manage to build such a tall wall encircling such a large area? How did the founders choose the first Elders when there were no predecessors? How did the dociles get in? And most importantly, how could the founders have been so sure they were the last humans left?

  Jennie wanted to ask Mrs. Townsend these things, but she heard her father’s voice in her head. “Your curiosity will get you into serious trouble one day, Jennie. There are some things you should not go digging into.” This always unsettled her and for years her questions remained unasked.

  “Very good,” Mrs. Townsend said, snapping Jennie back into the present. “This is the founding we have all been taught. But this is only a part of the story.”

  The students all looked at each other with wide, questioning gazes. No one had ever made such a statement before. Jennie leaned forward in her chair with a surge of excitement.

  “You have never been taught about where we came from. What I am about to show you is from the Secret Archives of our society.”

  The class was murmuring when Mrs. Townsend mentioned “Secret Archives,” No one had heard of such a thing. Their teacher held up her hand for silence, “I have for you the full story.”

  Mrs. Townsend dimmed the lights and turned on the projector. An image appeared on the screen at the front of the class. It was a picture of a group of people standing just outside of the school building. There were about seventy-five of them, three rows of roughly twenty-five people each. Some were holding shovels, some holding large knives, and some with bows; their quivers of arrows slung over their backs.

  Jennie had never seen any of these people before nor such an arsenal of weapons. Their clothing consisted of tattered fabrics in muted colors, giving one the impression they had all worn these same clothes for numerous years. There was nothing remarkable about any of their faces, except that one seemed familiar to her.

  Mrs. Townsend continued to speak. “These are our founders. They took this photo roughly two hundred years ago. Every twenty-five years, a photo is taken of the entire population of the Commune. We are told they are used to catalog our population growth for future generations, so they can learn how we continued to increase our resource yield, meeting the needs of our growing society. However, few have ever been shown these photos, because the images reveal too much. Hence, why they were in the Secret Archives.”

  Mrs. Townsend started clicking her hand-held device to progress through the photos, each taken twenty-five years apart. Some of the faces repeated, looking older with the passage of time. As she clicked through the images, Mrs. Townsend continued the tale.

  “You will notice that the faces age and new faces are added as families grow. But has anyone spotted the one anomaly?”

  Mrs. Townsend’s eyes scanned the class as if entreating someone to answer. Murmurs of confusion filled the room behind Jennie. She slumped in her chair, trying to become invisible. She had spotted it - spotted her – but she was too shaken to speak.

  “There is one face which never changes, never grows old, and is in every photo. She is here in this corner.” Mrs. Townsend pointed to the woman Jennie recognized. “She is one of our Elders, Marlene Saunders.”

  4

  Jennie walked to the school cafeteria in a daze. Her mind felt numb. Could it be true? she thought. It was common knowledge that the monsters didn’t age. Elder Marlene wasn’t a monster, was she? Jennie shook her head, dismissing the idea. She couldn’t be one of them, she thought, trying to convince herself.

  After picking up her food tray from the counter, she made her way to her usual lunch table. She spotted the back of Belle’s head with her unmistakable frizzy, tight curls. Her best friend never changed; Belle was still the same bubbly, brilliant girl Jennie had met nearly eleven years ago.

  “Hey Belle.” she said.

  “Hey,” Belle said brightly. “Wait, what’s gotten into you? You look…” She paused and squinted at Jennie. “Disturbed.”

  “I’ve never been good at masking my feelings, have I? Where were you this morning? You missed some really heavy stuff.”

  “I had to work late at the solar farm. We had to replace some dead solar cells. Routine stuff really, but when we got in there to check it out, all the cables were chewed through. Rats probably.” Belle scrunched her nose while stabbing at her beans with a fork. “We had to rip out the whole sector of panels and replace all the cables. It was not fun. Trust me, I would have rather been in class.”

  Belle worked at the solar farm which generated the electricity used to provide key buildings in the Commune with power. The only buildings that had electric lights and conduits were the school, medical and science facilities, and the lower levels in the Sanctuary. There weren’t enough solar panels to power all the buildings, houses included, with electricity.

  “So, what did I miss?” Belle asked.

  Jennie summarized the morning lesson for Belle. She even shared her half-formed thoughts about Marlene somehow being like the monsters. Belle listened intently with her mouth agape.

  “But,” Belle began, “it can’t be. Maybe the woman in the pictures isn’t the same woman at all. Maybe they’re all Marlene’s ancestors. I mean, she can’t be a monster, she doesn’t even look like one.”

  “You’re right. She doesn’t have the grey, blotchy skin, the green-tinged lips, or the yellow eyes.” Jennie shuddered. “But it’s just too strange. Come on, finish your food. You need to see it for yourself.”

  The girls hurriedly ate their food and dashed out of the cafeteria. They still had about fifteen minutes left before the next session started.


  As they walked quickly down the hall towards their classroom, Belle said, “If this is true, I can see how it’s a bit shocking to find out that one of your Elders has eternal life, or however you want to put it. But technically, it’s not teaching the forbidden subject. Mrs. Townsend only taught what happened at the time of the Commune’s founding and what came after. Although, it is a little out of synch with how history is usually taught.”

  Jennie chuckled as she thought of how she parroted the Commune’s history to the class. It was vague and drilled into them in a repetitively.

  “Yeah. I bet if Elder Victor found out about today’s lesson he wouldn’t be happy. Anyway, before dismissing us for lunch, Mrs. Townsend said this was to ‘prime our minds.’ During the afternoon session she’s going to teach us about what happened before the founding.”

  They reached the door to their classroom and stepped inside. Mrs. Townsend was sitting at her desk reading a worn book, “Ah. Jennie, Belle, come in, please. We missed you during class this morning, Belle,” she said, closing the book rather quickly.

  “Sorry about that. There were some unexpected issues down at the solar farm. I have a note from my superior,” Belle handed Mrs. Townsend a paper from her pocket.

  “Mrs. Townsend, we were hoping you would let Belle see the photos you showed the class this morning.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Mrs. Townsend said coolly. Her eyes darted toward the door and back to them.

  Mrs. Townsend hastily opened her desk drawer, extracted the photos, and placed them in between the pages of the book she’d been reading. She then thrust the book, pictures and all, into Jennie’s hands.

  “Thank you, Belle, for the note. I will be sure to mark your absence this morning as excused,” Mrs. Townsend motioned to Jennie’s bag.

  Jennie quickly stuffed the tattered book into her bag. She and Belle stared at each other with raised eyebrows, wondering what was happening.

  The classroom door swung open. In stepped a man with a shaved head. The dark clothing he wore made his pale skin seem nearly translucent. His broad shoulders were slightly hunched forward as if weighed down by his muscular arms. His gaze was cold, staring at them with dark, beady eyes.

  Jennie recognized him right away. He was Jacob Sash, a key Advisor to Elder Victor. His presence made her stomach turn over. He narrowed his gaze at Jennie and Belle. His lips pressed into a thin line. The way he glared at them made her wish she were still in the cafeteria, far away from him.

  “Thank you for stopping by girls. You can have a two-day extension on your assignment. I suggest you go and start working on it now,” Mrs. Townsend said, dismissing them casually.

  When Jennie turned to leave, she noticed the word “before” on the chalkboard had been erased and replaced with “inside”. The topic “Life Inside the Commune” was an accepted one and taught often. Jennie wondered what had happened to make Mrs. Townsend change it.

  As Jennie and Belle closed the door behind them, they heard Sash say to Mrs. Townsend, “You have done a very bad thing Eleanor. You’ve upset some very important people. They want to see you now.”

  5

  With head held high, Eleanor Townsend walked alongside Sash who had come to take her away. He had a firm grip on her right arm, and she knew it would leave a mark. His dark, recessed eyes were fixed ahead and his thin lips were set in a stern frown. She recalled that Sash was not a very friendly man; his personality was in stark contrast to the rest of the residents of the Commune.

  Eleanor had known that sooner or later they would send someone for her, but she had not expected it to be this soon. Her task was to reveal the hidden knowledge to her students, then to the rest of the Commune. But her time had been cut short. You can’t just break into the Secret Archives and not expect anyone to find out, she thought.

  Early that morning, before anyone else was awake, Eleanor slipped through a side door of the Sanctuary. She made her way to the tower entrance on the third floor. The door leading to the tower was usually closed, but it stood open. She bit her lower lip, wondering if it was safe to proceed. Swallowing her apprehension, she took her lantern from the bag hanging at her side and lit the wick with a match.

  In the dancing light of the flame, she ascended the cold, stone spiral staircase. She ran her hand along the wall as she continued to climb, counting each step as she did so. She stopped at the step where her husband said the door would be, the door to the Secret Archives. Sorrow gripped at her heart as she thought of her husband, James. He hadn’t made it this far.

  They took him after he discovered what they were doing. When he refused to participate, they made him disappear. He was a scientist working on a serum to restore the dociles back to their human state. James was reviewing his earlier research when he discovered someone changed his records. His superiors had taken his life’s work and tainted it. They wanted to create more dociles.

  Eleanor stood in the darkness in front of the door. She clenched her fist when she thought about the horrors her husband uncovered. She had planned this moment carefully – it was one month to the day after her husband’s disappearance. She would find proof of the corruption within the Commune and share it with the brightest minds of the new generation: her students.

  The door to the Secret Archives was constructed to appear as a continuation of the curved wall in the staircase, but the mark scratched into the stone was unmistakable. In the dim light of her lantern, she ran her fingers over the etched symbol. She traced the outline of a rearing horse inside of a circle. This is it, she thought.

  Eleanor placed her palms on the symbol and pushed with all of her strength. Despite the stone door’s weight, it opened with ease. A sudden rush of cold air enveloped her and threatened to extinguish the flame of her lantern. She entered the Secret Archives where the scent of aged, musty books welcomed her.

  Eleanor stumbled as Sash aggressively pulled her forward. His unfaltering grip on her arm caused her fingers to tingle from lack of blood circulation. They walked across the cobblestone square, which marked the center of the Commune, and up to the main entrance of the Sanctuary. Eleanor scanned the open area but saw no one. People in the Commune always ate together in the dining hall at this time of day, so she was not surprised to find the lively square completely vacant. She was alone.

  Sash led Eleanor into the Sanctuary and up the stairs. He pulled her past the door leading to the tower where she had just been earlier that morning. She wondered if they had even bothered to take her husband here before they made him disappear. It would have been ironic for James to be brought so close to where the Secret Archives were stored only for him to be disposed of. Eleanor’s upper lip twitched with rage as she thought of the injustice committed against her husband. She would do anything to get him back and see those responsible brought to justice.

  Sash thrust Eleanor into one of the small meeting rooms. She stumbled forward from the force. A tall man with broad shoulders and grey hair stood at the opposite end of the room facing the window with his hands held behind his back. His silhouette was dark against the bright day outside. As he turned to face her, she did not recognize him right away. It wasn’t until he spoke that she realized she was looking at Victor Glassman. Victor the Elder.

  “Eleanor Townsend, do you know why you are here?” he asked, his deep voice crisp and commanding.

  “No,” she lied.

  A chilling smile spread across his face. “How amusing.”

  He gestured for Eleanor to sit at the table between them. Sash shoved her toward the chair, and she sat down reluctantly. She was still too stunned by Victor presence to be able to fully comprehend what it could mean. How far up did this plot go? she wondered.

  Victor continued. “A trusted informant of mine provided me with details of your activities this morning. My informant saw a light in the west window of the tower. There is only one window on that side of the tower, and it belongs to the Secret Archives,” he paused and tapped his finger
against his lips, feigning thinking, “but I think you already knew that.”

  “I assure you, I have no idea about any Secret Archives,” she said, shaking her head.

  She thought about the pictures and the book she had stolen from the Secret Archives earlier that morning. Jennie will figure out what to do with them. Eleanor thought, she is smart, and we have the same motive, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

  “My informant also tells me once the light faded from the window, you walked out of the Sanctuary less than five minutes later.” His voice had an edge of impatience.

  “I was under the impression there were going to be others here,” Eleanor said coolly. “Where are they?”

  “They do not need to be here. I speak for my counterparts, and do not interrupt me.” Victor replied. “Now tell me, why were you in the Secret Archives this morning? What did you take? Who did you tell?”

  “Again, I don’t…”

  Victor slammed both of his hands on the table, yelling, “Do not lie to me.”

  Sash stood in the corner of the room behind Victor, his arms crossed in front of his chest and wearing a smirk on his face. Eleanor could tell from his body language that he was enjoying this.

  “Accessing the Secret Archives is forbidden. Stealing is forbidden. Spreading your lies is forbidden.” Victor’s voice was now a harsh shouting.

  “My lies?” Eleanor questioned hotly. “What about your lies.”

  “We have never lied to our people. We have only done what is best to preserve our way of life.”

  “The omission of the truth is just another way to lie.” Eleanor lost all control. There was no possible way of getting out of this situation. Regardless, she still wanted answers. “Tell me,” she demanded, “what about preserving the lives of those who oppose you? Why don’t you tell the Commune about where people really go when they disappear? What about my husband’s disappearance?”