The Book of Wanda, Volume Two of the Seventeen Trilogy

by Mark D. Diehl

  “No, no, honey,” the one he’d called Kym said. “I know you worked for the Garbageman, but he’s not the General. The General is going to rid the world of his kind, don’t you worry.”

  Inti calmed, letting the pain and exhaustion consume her. The man harrumphed at the interruption and kept on talking.

  “Now, there’s this powder that brings soldiers like me and the general here,” Furius said.

  The powder! Like Lucas, like me!

  “We’ve got to spread the powder around, and I’m thinking of ways to do that. I figured a way you can help, if you want. If you don’t, you can go and find your own way in life. This is the only use you’ll be to me ‘cause you’re ugly like liquid shit, now. Got it?”

  Inti didn’t react, but he kept talking as if she’d agreed. “The guy who last used this body had a contact who makes this drink, called sodje. Popular stuff, seems like everyone here drinks it. I’ve seen groups of people all over the place sharing bottles of it. Anyway, I’m going to introduce you to the bottler and tell him pretty much the truth, that you can’t be a whore anymore and you’ll work there for one meal a day. This guy and my body donor used to be pretty close, so I think I can get him to go for it. And that’s good for you, because another meal a day is gonna come from me, as long as you do what I say. You’ll do that for me, right? You got nothing else you can do.”

  The powder apparently brought better people than the ones who lived in this world. Inti truly had nothing else and no other options. She nodded her head slowly.

  “Why are you bothering her now, after all she’s been through?” Kym, the one who had saved her, asked. “She’s patched up enough that she can walk, maybe. The sun’s up and we gotta get her to the doctor. She won’t be working at a sodje bottler today no matter what, so you can leave her alone.”

  He ignored her. “Just twenty-five doses of Pink Shit, into twenty-five different bottles, every day. That’ll give me a nice steady stream of new soldiers to get organized before the big wave of them comes. Once the backlog of amino acid blocks clears and they start using the ones we’re making here, we’ll be getting hundreds, maybe thousands a day. We gotta be ready for that, and you’re going to help. Twenty-five doses a day. Okay?”

  Kym put her arm behind Inti’s shoulders and pulled the wincing girl into a sitting position. “It’s too bad we gotta stay away from Dok’s place now, Addi,” Kym said. “He’s the best. This other one I know is okay, too, but the clinic is farther away.” She pointed at Furius. “Too bad for you that we’re not going to Dok’s place. That’s where I met the General.”

  “The General?” he said, almost shouting. “Take me there!”

  “Can’t. Nobody’s there now. Not Dok, an’ really not the General. An’ the Feds’re watching the place, alla time. Maybe Unnamed Executives, too.”

  “I’ll take my chances with them,” he said. “Don’t have to care how big they are in a world of guns.”

  Kym’s voice was angry, breathy and low. “If you’re gonna serve the General, know this: You fuckin’ don’t fight Feds. Think you can take one, or two, or ten, because you got a gun? Fine. You’re a fuckin’ idiot, but fine, say you can. Then there’s gonna be ten or fifty more of ‘em, in person, in trucks and tanks, on helios. They work together and they can always call more. You talk about guns, guess what? Nobody got more guns than Feds do. You fuckin’ can’t fight Feds!”

  The man considered what she’d said. “All right. I see. I do understand that kind of power. It’s how Rome conquered the world.”

  There was a buzzing sound and Kym went to look at a computer. “Refinery business,” she said. “Four people carrying a body.” She leaned toward the screen’s microphone.

  “I see you’re all carrying weapons,” she said. “Scanners pick them all up, so don’t try anything stupid. Two of you stay outside with the weapons and the other two can come in unarmed. Got it?”

  Inti watched the screen from across the room. Kym opened the gate electronically, and two men carried in a body. The gate closed behind them and Kym gestured through the office glass, showing the men where to take it. They heaved it onto a small platform that Addi’s memories told her was a scale, and Kym went out to meet them there. The body’s limbs were fairly long and spindly, but even on the screen Inti could see it was not skinny enough. It wasn’t Lucas.

  Kym worked out some kind of deal with the men and paid them, probably in casino chips.

  “United in faith we live!” someone called from outside the gate. “We serve the One Who Returned! Porter, are you in there? We have news—a meeting of Disciples and they’re waiting for you.”

  Furius checked the screen. “Four more of ‘em? A bit suspicious, I’d say.” He drew a gun and stepped out the door.

  One of the men who had been negotiating with Kym cupped his mouth with his hand and yelled over the gate. “United in faith we live, brother! This is Porter. I’ll be right out.”

  Kym followed the two men toward the gate. Furius pushed past her and approached them, talking. Inti could no longer keep her eyes from closing but she continued to listen to his voice. Unlike most of this world’s inhabitants who apparently felt it was better to go unnoticed, Furius seemed constantly to speak in a loud and attention-seeking way.

  “Hey, you there! What did you say just now?” Furius said, his voice becoming fainter as he moved away. “You serve one who returned?”

  Inti’s attention faded. She reopened her eyes, widening them and clenching her sore jaw in an attempt to maintain consciousness. This was a dangerous place with terrible people, and there were too many strangers here to let go. Her eyes closed again anyway.

  The next time she opened them, she was lying on a stretcher between two poles. The ends of the poles near her feet left lines in the gravel. She was being dragged somewhere.

  Grunting in pain, she sat bolt upright. Or tried to. She was tied up! Inti thrashed and twisted, trying to raise her hands to the strap around her midsection.

  “Shh! It’s okay.”

  It was the woman. Kym. Kym gently stroked from Inti’s right temple to her cheek, one of the few parts of her body not covered in knife slashes. In the background, Furius was talking excitedly. “Higher than a general! Sounds like we’ve got a new praetor! Now things are really going to start happening here.”

  Kym leaned close, talking quietly. “Furius talked to these guys; they’re parta some religious group or some shit like that. They gotta doctor for you. We’re takin’ you there so you can get better, but you gotta join their religion.”

  The clinic Mikk had captured

  Mikk Evans wasn’t the type to gush in gratitude for his fortune. Whatever he got in life always seemed to be a little less than he deserved. That was why guys like Mikk always rose to the top: Lesser men were easy to satiate.

  Still, the last few days had been a hell of a ride. Once the Horde’s leadership was out of the way, Hordesmen had been begging to become Saved. They already had thousands, and more were coming every day, clamoring to do whatever the fuck Mikk said.

  It wasn’t all good, of course. He’d started out unconscious, right here, in this clinic. Then some other fucking guy had awakened in Mikk’s head instead of him, controlling his body and leaving Mikk memories of all this idiotic shit he’d done, like springing out of bed and running around the place, touching all the sick fucks lying around, like he’d never heard of getting germs. Shit like that pissed Mikk off, the memory of this fruitstick in his head mopping up diseases with Mikk’s own bare hands.

  But that was also what had gotten him here today, to this position of power. The patients had started gathering around him, hanging on everything he said and staring at him with their mouths open. This other guy in his head could talk for hours, and they all just sat mesmerized, staring at him, listening to stories and self-help kinds of shit. That left Mikk to actually put them to work, because what the hell good was a big group of people if you weren’t going to use them for anything? The gr
owing collection of people around him, all of them practically begging to be told what to do, was too powerful a force to ignore. As far as they knew, he’d healed them and brought them back from the brink. They owed him obedience. That first day when he’d left the clinic, a full dozen of them had trailed along, telling everyone they met about how great he was and how he would heal and protect them. By the next morning, there had been a hundred or more, all reaching out to others. The more people who followed him, the easier it was to convince new ones to join. Everybody was afraid of getting sick or injured, especially here on the filthy Zone streets.

  It was weird, but Mikk himself kind of believed the bit about healing them. From his memories it seemed like even the grossest of these fuckers were actually getting better.

  Whatever. The important thing was that they believed he was Holy Fucking Shit. The power they gave him wasn’t the kind he was used to lording over junkies and whores. These people were afraid of everything but Mikk, like Fiends and diseases and other typical Zone shit, and they kissed Mikk’s ass all the time, hoping he’d use his magic mojo to protect them from it. All he had to do was make his voice sound strung out on jellies, all calm and melodic and douchey, like this Holy Shit who sometimes took a turn in his head, and they’d fucking do anything he said, just like that.

  They called him the One.

  And that was where the real power was. Years on the streets had proven the effectiveness of making people fear him, but nothing compared to being worshipped.

  The patients never sprung back to life when Mikk was Mikk, the way they did when the other guy was here. Mikk supposed it was some sort of power of positive thinking type of deal; they got better with that guy because he actually seemed to care about what happened to them. They were certainly useful, especially the zealots, but Mikk couldn’t be bothered about whether any particular one lived or died. Why deal with all that, when so many new ones sprang up every day to replace them?

  There were always zealots nearby, maybe one percent of them who doted on him, bringing him food and clothes and pretty much begging for him to boss them around. They’d even set up an apartment for him across the street from his clinic—the only other unit with all its glass windows still intact in this whole area! Already Mikk seemed to have amassed a small army of devotees who were all obviously over-the-top in their support and dedication to the One’s many pursuits, including Mikk’s own idea to knock off the Directorate and take over the clinic.

  All he had to do was keep his face blank, his voice tranquil, and his orders clear. Mikk leaned toward one of the zealots nearby, hooking two fingers at him. “C’mere.”

  “Yes, Lord?” the zealot asked.

  “I got a job for you.” With his voice he struggled to mimic the effect of tranquilizers. “My son.” He’d never actually bothered to learn the man’s name, but the way he hung around and stared at Mikk with big cartoon eyes showed he was definitely one of the zealots. Calling zealots “my son” seemed to get shit done. Mikk pulled him closer with a fistful of shirt. “Through the glass, in the parking lot, behind my left shoulder,” he said. “Yellow shirt, yellow hair. Maybe, I dunno, fifteen or so. See her?”

  “Yes, Lord,” the zealot said.

  “Get her. I want her in my apartment in fifteen minutes. No need to pretend she has a choice.”

  The zealot’s face went sort of blank and pale. He was a Gold so all those reactions were exaggerated, changing his complexion like that. The little gears in the zealot’s head froze up for a moment and he just stood there, staring.

  “Yes, Lord,” he said finally.

  One of the nurses, or bedpan jockeys, or whatever they were, came up by him, irritatingly close. “Excuse me?” she said. “I need to speak to this patient a moment.” She pointed past Mikk to the head of the bed.

  “Go around the other way,” Mikk said. This angle gave the best view of the parking lot. Mikk watched his zealot work his way through the beds and out through the glass door, approaching the girl.

  The fuck?

  There, out in the gravel that had once been a parking lot, stood a collection of individuals from his past. Kym and that shithead Mr. B. together? And why would either of them be standing here with one of his whores, all cut up on a stretcher? Was this some kind of sabotage? A trick?

  No matter what they were up to, these three posed a threat to everything Mikk had achieved with these people. Mikk knew the zealot who had brought them, too; the one called Porter.

  Porter came up to the building, peering through the glass as he walked. Spotting Mikk, he flung open the door and came up quickly, making some little bowing gesture. “United in faith we live, Lord,” he said.

  Mikk nodded at him.

  “I have encountered a man who is desperate to meet you, Lord. He wants to believe. It appears that he and the woman with him run a protein refinery nearby. There’s also a girl we brought who needs immediate medical attention.

  That puke Mr. B tries to take over my refinery and now he gets himself brought here to show me he cut up one of my whores? What’s he up to?

  Bringing his tone way down, Mikk said, “She won’t survive, my son. All this clinic would do is prolong her suffering. The man she’s with is the one who cut her. She needs to end her misery and he needs to be punished.” Porter was a smart enough guy. He’d know what that meant. Wouldn’t he?

  Porter just stood there.

  Mikk leaned in closer and grabbed him tightly by the shoulder, right at his neck. “Just drop ‘em both right fuckin’ there, all right?” He cleared his throat. “My son. Bring the protein refinery woman to my apartment, and throw out the bimbo who’ll already be in there.”

  Porter stood still another moment. Was this zealot going to give Mikk a hard time about this, after he’d done such a good job following orders in taking over this clinic?

  “Yes, Lord,” Porter said finally. He went back out and shot the whore Addi right in the face, twice, as she lay on the stretcher. He spun toward Mr. B but the dealer was too fast for him, drawing two guns of his own. Both men fired, but Mr. B was already running toward the corner with Kym. Porter shot three times but probably missed.

  Porter clutched at what looked like a fairly light shoulder wound, stumbling to one knee. He made a good show of climbing back up and chasing after Mr. B, but Mikk would have to punish him for fucking up like this.

  Near the River

  Ernesto tried to focus on staying one step behind Arrulfo and slightly to the left, as Arrulfo had taught him to do. Staying upright as they ran through the slippery mud was difficult but he kept his hands over his ears as best he could. Concentrating sometimes helped to block out the sounds and commotion. Ernesto watched the distance and angle between himself and Arrulfo as they ran, but it was hard to maintain position because they were running on the sloping bank next to the river, and being chased by the screeching heliodrone.

  The helio noise was terrifying, and so loud that even when Ernesto pushed his earlobes into the holes in his ears and covered them with all his fingers, it still went straight through his head. Ernesto screamed to try blocking out the sound, but he wasn’t loud enough. He fell behind and Arrulfo grabbed his arm, ripping his hand away from his ear to pull him forward. Rosa slipped and Arrulfo turned to help her, then Ernesto slipped, falling into the mud face-first.

  Arrulfo yanked him up again and they ran under a bridge. The helio was closer than ever, its sound consuming all of Ernesto’s thoughts.

  Suddenly Arrulfo was pushing him forward, toward an opening they’d found under the bridge. The helio appeared, screaming and shuddering, spraying droplets of mud as it struggled to remain upright in the drafts it was causing.

  The opening led to a tube, and then they were sliding down, falling, and landing on a hard surface below the entrance. The vibrations in the tube and floor said something heavy was dragging, shifting to cover the opening through which they’d come, sealing them in total darkness.

  A new sound, more fright
ening than anything Ernesto had ever heard, erupted outside. The helio was shooting. The bullets weren’t coming this way, having been redirected by whatever had moved to trap them here, but the sound made his stomach feel turned inside-out.

  As suddenly as the shooting had started, it stopped again.

  The girl, Eadie, flicked the lighter Ernesto had restored and for a moment, produced a small flame. The brief flash of light revealed a roomful of smudged, wide-eyed faces.

  The clinic

  Wanda poured a sterile uric acid solution over the wound in Porter’s right shoulder. He shuddered and inhaled, producing a low, sucking hiss. The One had gone back to his posh apartment.

  “The bullet went through your trapezius muscle,” Wanda said. “As you were mindlessly, heartlessly killing that injured girl.”

  She shouldn’t have said it. The Saved owned the clinic. The Saved owned her. Porter had just shown his true nature, and yet she found herself so disgusted and shocked that she couldn’t help the words tumbling out.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” he said. “You were right here. You heard him give the order.”

  “You know what I heard? I heard a psychopath tell you to do something twisted and evil. Then I watched you do it. That’s what your faith brought you to, shooting a bleeding woman on a stretcher? Some lord and savior you’ve got there.”

  “He doesn’t always seem so psychotic, you know. You’ve seen him when he’s… I don’t know what to call it. Magical? Holy? Serene? I know you’ve met that One.”

  “I watched you as he said it. You were shocked. You knew there was nothing holy about killing that girl, but you did it anyway. You could have decided to turn away from it. Instead you killed for him.”

  She stopped rinsing the wound but kept the little pail under his shoulder as it continued to drip.

  “Are you going to stitch it?” he asked.

  “Can’t. The size and shape of the wound makes it too likely that I’d stitch an air pocket and cause sepsis. It’s just going to have to fill itself in over time. Once the bleeding stops I’ll bandage it.” She realized she was crushing the plastic bottle in her hand and tried to relax her grip. “See, I feel a duty to respect and protect human life, even in those who murder people for no reason at all. Oh, sorry, not for no reason. You did it because your holy psycho told you to.”