by Valerie Puri
The Dociles
Book One in the Secret Archives Trilogy
Valerie Puri
Contents
Synopsis
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Follow Valerie
Synopsis
Walls are meant to keep the monsters out…
Deep in the forest there is a wall where no wall should be. Behind it live the people of the Commune, the last remnant of human kind.
Jennie Caraway has lived behind the wall her entire life, certain that it protects her and her brother from the lemerons, ravenous undead monsters whose only desire is to kill – and feed.
Jennie’s peaceful existence is shattered when she uncovers a secret organization whose purpose threatens to destroy not only Jennie, but her entire world. The Order has a deadly mission, and they will stop at nothing to see it completed.
Jennie and those closest to her must expose the evil truth before they are killed – or worse.
Copyright © 2018 Valerie Puri
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission from the authors, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For my husband
Prologue
The icy rain felt like blades slicing into the ranger’s face as it came down diagonally in heavy sheets. His green tunic was drenched and he was chilled to the bone. The treacherous storm cast everything into penetrating darkness. Unease filled the ranger as he maneuvered his way through the thick, mangled forest. The howling wind was just audible over the deafening barrage of rain beating against his soaked hood.
Lightning ripped across the sky, giving a momentary burst of light accompanied by thunderous booming. The heart of the storm was growing closer and more violent. During the brief illumination, the ranger tried to orient himself and gain an understanding of his location. He could only make out the small portion of forest which was close enough to avoid being distorted by the heavy rainfall.
A flash slashed through the clouds. He saw the surrounding trees again and made his way forward. By the light he could see movement in the bushes ahead. At first, he thought it little more than the wind blowing in the underbrush. The next flash of lightning changed his mind.
Emerging from the bushes was a skeletal figure. It was coming toward him with a slow, determined pace like an animal stalking its prey. An animal would run from the ranger. However, this was no animal. The ranger froze in his tracks. This was the creature he feared most.
It was closing the distance between them. The ranger had to get away before it was too late.
1
A chill was in the air that autumn morning as Jennie Caraway started out of her house to tend to her work. The days were growing shorter, and the sun had yet to rise over the top of the wall encircling the Commune. Jennie didn’t mind the dimness that surrounded her as it was always before dawn when she started her day. It was five o’clock in the morning, judging by the position of the constellations in the sky. She could always mark the time by the stars – a talent her father said she inherited from her mother.
Jennie ambled along the cobblestone path shrouded in deep, purple shadows. The muffled tapping of her leather boots was all that could be heard in the silence preceding dawn. She walked by a gap between neighboring homes, and a gust of wind made her shiver. Jennie pulled the ends of her sweater sleeves over her hands and folded her arms tightly against her body. Her favorite maroon sweater did little to stop the wind, and she silently cursed herself for not wearing her coat.
As she walked the familiar route by memory, Jennie passed small cottage homes identical to the one she shared with her father and younger brother. Her father, Jack Caraway, had previously been one of the hunters who often braved the forest and the darkness within. No one left the Commune anymore – not even the hunters – so her father now worked as a blacksmith, making tools for the farmers. Her brother, Travis, was only twelve and still too young to select a profession. Until he came of age, Travis helped in the Commune kitchen, preserving food for winter.
The cottages gave way to more substantial stone, and brick buildings as Jennie neared the town’s center. She crossed the square and made her way past the towering building known as the Sanctuary. The impressive structure situated at the center of town had stately appeal. Tall white, columns stood like sentries at the front entrance. A tower emerged majestically from the center of the lower portion of the structure, making it the tallest building in the Commune.
Like all the townspeople of the Commune, she frequented the lower levels of the Sanctuary where weekly Commune Councils took place. Despite entering the building numerous times, Jennie had never entered the Sanctuary’s tower where the two Elders lived. Glancing up, she wondered how far someone could see from the top of the soaring structure.
A faint light glowing from one of the high tower windows caught her eye. The window faced westward, the only opening on that side of the tower. She thought the light was strange at this early hour. Dismissing it as nothing more than a gas lamp someone forgot to extinguish, Jennie continued toward the stables located on the opposite side of town.
The horses had to be tended to before the others awoke to begin their daily work. During the peak farming months, Jennie had to have the horses ready for when the farmers came for them at first light. As it was late fall, the horses wouldn’t be needed until the final harvest in two weeks’ time. It was easier on both her and the horses if she kept her usual schedule.
She took pleasure in this time of year. She was able to enjoy her uninterrupted time with the animals she loved. When the horses were working the fields, her work in the stables was lonely. The presence of the gentle beasts of burden comforted her.
They reminded her of her mother. So when the horses were with the farmers, she felt the emptiness of the stables reflected the emptiness within.
Her mother had been the previous Stable Head and, when Jennie was younger, she would often come along to help. She had worked with the horses for as long as she could remember and it was the highlight of her morning.
As she walked through the square, the water trickling softly in the fountain brought her memories forward. She recalled how her mother always said the horses seemed to be soothed by Jennie, how it was her special talent. She never thought her abilities were different from anyone else’s. The Elders seemed to recognize her gift, however, for they named her Stable Head at the age of thirteen after her mother had… Jennie shuddered and pushed the thought from her mind.
She focused on the wind, likening it to the feel of cold feathers brushing against her face. She cocked her head, listening to the sound the trees made as the branches rustled in the wind. After putting distance between herself and the town square – and memories of her mother – she walked between two rows of apple trees. Reaching up, she grasped an apple. A gentle shower of morning dew shook free from the branch, which snapped back into place after freeing the apple. Jennie dried her dew-dampened hand and dropped the apple into the tan bag hanging from her shoulder.
The familiar scent of hay, grain, and horses welcomed Jennie as she entered the stables. The building was a wooden structure with numerous stalls lining each side of a central aisle. The horses liked to poke their heads out of their stalls to greet Jennie as she walked by. Above was the hayloft accessible only by a wooden ladder in the middle of the building.
She walked up to the first stall on her left. “Good morning, Misty,” she said to the chestnut mare who came to the opening above the wooden gate.
She reached into her bag and pulled out the glossy red apple. With a flat hand, she held it out to the mare. The whiskers on Misty’s chin tickled her palm as the horse gratefully took the sweet treat with her lips, crunching it between her teeth.
“You’re coming along nicely,” Jennie said, more to the mare’s pregnant stomach than to the horse herself. Misty threw her head up and down in a playful manner as if agreeing with her. The exchange warmed Jennie’s heart. She felt rejuvenated from the cold and was ready to begin her work.
2
Travis Caraway woke with a start. His bed sheets were saturated in sweat. He was only eight when he lost his mother, but his recurring nightmares made him relive the terror. Since that day four years ago, his family had never been whole. He shuddered. He was afraid of being taken by them too.
He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to erase the nightmare from his mind. Glancing across the room, he saw Jennie’s bed - empty and neatly made.
Travis put on charcoal grey pants and pulled a blue sweater on over his head. He left the room he shared with his sister and entered the washroom. A ragged stranger with bloodshot eyes peered back at him from the mirror. Splashing cold water on his face, he let the remnants of his dream drip away. He dried his face and combed out his short, brown hair. Scrutinizing his reflection, Travis felt he looked a little better now. He could almost fool himself into believing he felt better as well.
He walked into the kitchen and found his breakfast waiting on the table. Jennie always prepared porridge for him and their father before she left. Travis and his father usually ate breakfast together, but only one bowl remained on the wooden table. Realizing he must have overslept, Travis frantically spooned the cold mush into his mouth and placed the dirty bowl in the kitchen sink. He knew he would be scolded for not washing his dish, but he would face that later.
He threw his bag over his shoulder, and dashed out of the house. His school was in the town center, and it would only take five minutes to get there if he ran. He hated running but didn’t have time for the extra ten minutes it would take to walk the distance. He could not afford to be late to school again.
Being late was frowned upon in the Commune. The two Elders often taught how the Commune was the last refuge of mankind and how its success was indeed built on punctuality.
“If the blacksmiths are not punctual, we do not have tools for the workers. If the farmers are not punctual, we do not yield a good crop. If the students are not punctual, we will not have our future.” This was Victor Glassman’s favorite speech during the weekly Commune Council. He always said the last part while staring directly at where the children were designated to sit, almost daring any one of them to go against his words.
Despite the chill in the air, sweat formed on Travis’ brow. With a clumsy effort, he checked his watch and was relieved to see only four minutes had passed. He’d run faster than he thought.
The school was a square building with three floors, constructed of red bricks and large white corner stones. The copper dome, now green with age, housed the only bell in the Commune. It’s metallic ringing signaled the beginning and end of school sessions and the weekly Commune Council. Fortunately for Travis, the bell hadn’t rung yet. He wasn’t late.
Travis thrust the weight of his slight body into the school’s wooden front door, pushing it open. Students were still mingling in the corridors, and Travis was relieved he had made it in time. Trying to control the heaving of his lungs, he stepped inside and let the door close with a thud behind him.
3
Jennie watched Travis enter the school’s assembly hall seconds before the bell rang, signaling the start of the morning session. The robust door slammed shut with an echo that reverberated against the bare walls and hard tables in the chamber. She caught her brother’s eye and, with a small wave, invited him to sit next to her at the long table she shared with four other students. Travis looked distraught as he crossed the large room with his head down. He had almost been late, and from his appearance it was apparent he’d run to school. Jennie knew he overslept because of the nightmare. It worried her that they were growing more frequent.
“Same dream?” Jennie asked Travis quietly, as he collapsed into the vacant metal chair next to her.
“Yes,” he replied breathlessly.
“That’s three times this week. Why do you think the dreams are happening so often?”
“Working in the kitchen doesn’t help. Those monsters’ eyes are the same. I don’t care if the ones here are harmless,” he murmured weakly with downcast eyes.
Jennie put her hand on his arm to console him. “I know,” she said almost a whisper. “I know.”
“How is Misty doing?” Travis asked, clearly trying to change the subject.
“She’s going to have her foal any day now. Want to come watch?”
With Misty about to give birth to her foal, Jennie spent more time at the stables and less at home. Perhaps having Travis spend time at the stables might help him. It helped her.
He managed a smile. “Sure, that would be great.”
The school principal began speaking at the small podium across the room. Jennie and Travis fell silent so they wouldn’t receive looks from the teachers standing at the edges of the room. The announcement that school would not be in session next week to commemorate the founding of the Commune received cheers from all the students. Jennie was glad she would have more time to spend with Misty and the other horses. The bell rang dismissing the students, and they made their way to their classes on the second floor.
Jennie walked Travis to his classroom, stopping outside the room with “Level 7” inscribed on the door. He kept his eyes on his shoes.
“Try not to think about it,” Jennie said, sensing that her brother was still troubled. “You won’t have to work in the kitchen much longer if you don’t want to. You’ll be thirteen in a couple days, and then you can choose whatever work you want.” She smiled reassuringly at Travis then added, “You can even choose to help me in the stables.”
Travis nodded and walked through the door. Jennie continued down the hall and entered the door labeled “Level 11.” At seventeen, Jennie was in her fina
l year of school. Once finished, she would be able to spend her entire day working and would even be eligible to become an Advisor to the Elders. Not everyone chose to be an Advisor or even the head of their profession. Pride swelled inside her.
Inside the classroom, Jennie slid into her seat at the front of the room. The metal chair was cold and gave her goose bumps when she sat down. She was glad the attached desk was made of wood. It gave her a slightly warmer place to rest her arms. She was still regretting her decision not to wear her coat.
The seat next to her was conspicuously empty and she wondered where Belle was. Jennie and Belle Joiner had been best friends since they were in level one. Jennie hadn’t seen Belle in the morning session either. It was not like her to be late and especially not to miss an entire session.
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.
