by Rayya Deeb
Contents
Title Page
Website
Acknowledgments
Blank Page copy
Dedication
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Rayya Deeb is a screenwriter and Virginia Tech Hokie
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RAYYA DEEB
THE SENECA SOCIETY BOOK II
Copyright © 2019 Rayya Deeb
All rights reserved.
RayyaDeeb.com
This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the author
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Mediology Productions
12400 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 1275
Los Angeles, CA 90025
MediologyProductions.com
ISBN: 978-1-7342016-1-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019917459
First Print, First Edition 2019
Cover Design by Chris Thompson/Lucky Ember Design
Explore Seneca
SenecaSociety.com
&
Acknowledgments
My biggest mistake in Seneca Rebel was not placing my acknowledgments in the front of the book. Many of you were right there with me from the beginning of the process, and even before that, so this is where you truly belong— front and center.
Aaron. I love navigating through all of this with you as my P.I.C. and the most dedicated father that two little girls could ask for. Thank you for constantly speaking with me about these fictional characters in Seneca like they are our friends. It’s a pretty special thing that we can dive into a make-believe world together like it’s totally normal. Well, it is our normal, and I love you for that, for the man you are, and for the woman you inspire me to be. I could not have written this book without you— this one even more than the last. I cherish our life together more than all the writerly words could ever express.
My mamma. This book wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for you. Thank you for guiding me to be me. Thank you for, once again, reading my pages with a red pen. Taking Simone to the library in the morning and then London again later in the eve. Often spending up to four hours a day at the Thousand Oaks Library with our little ones. Reading books, dropping knowledge and showering them with your love. You are a gift to me, to them and to anyone who has the good fortune of knowing you. I also credit you for accounting for at least half of Seneca Rebel’s book sales. Thank you for that.
My two beautiful daughters— London and Simone. Being your Mamma is the greatest privilege life has given me. You inspire me beyond measure. Even when you drive me bonkers, you push me to grow. I am proud of you, I love you, I live for you, I write for you— hopefully to give back to you some of the inspiration and love that you’ve given me. Please don’t ever stop being the kind, loving and curious individuals that you are, and don’t ever be afraid to stand up for what you believe in. I love you, London. I love you, Simone.
Marcus Lee. Magnus Kim. I thank each of you for caring and sharing your brilliant minds with me along this path: from notes on screenplays to legal contracts to marketing materials, to ice cream making advice and beyond.
Chris Tomasino. Thank you for being a tremendous voice of reason and pushing me to be smarter without even pushing.
Fallon Ureda. Thank you for sitting down with me and looking at these pages line-by-line and immersing yourself into the world and the work. You know part of this process was quite painful for me, but the part of it I experienced with you was the opposite. It’s been a total blast imbibing your insight to make these pages glow. And Krista Howard. We clicked instantly with all sorts of laughs and long chats about my book and others too. Your opinions have influenced these pages and I thank you with my heart and soul.
Chris Thompson. Your passion for art shows in what you’ve done with this cover and so much of the design that accompanies the release of both books. Thank you for your enthusiasm and dedication.
Michael Shields. You are one of the most positive and persistent people I know. I appreciate the energy you invested in Seneca.
Pat Chapman. Thank you for the awesome Seneca Rebel teaser you cut for us.
My champions, confidants, collaborators and closest friends. You’ve done it again. Everyone I thanked in Seneca Rebel, I cannot thank you enough; for the success of the first book and for taking this journey with me through the second. I am filled with gratitude for every single person that invests their precious time into reading what I’ve written.
All of you unexpected, superstar supporters— cousins, friends of friends, my mom’s friends. Wow. You have no idea the fuel you give me to keep writing. So many people have had my back; From old junior high, high school and college friends, to people I hadn’t even met, like Douglas Grant. Thank you all for supporting me. Thank you for the reviews, the e-mails, texts, phone calls and social media posts. Thank you for reading Seneca Rebel (and now Seneca Element) from the airplane to the beach and sharing pictures… keep ‘em coming!
London’s and Simone’s incredible teachers— Terri Arroyo, Mrs. Hanna, Pat Noe, Lisa Frangos, Karen Cyffka, Joshua Sarena, Casey Reimer, Mrs. Wood & Mrs. Martinelli and now Jen Barber and Karen Swanson. Kelly Lovenson, you are straight stardust. We hit the teacher jackpot! Thank you for sharing your kindness, strength, intelligence and love with our girls.
The moms I ride alongside, and my girls with whom I lunch, brunch and happy hour with, together and individually— you have enriched my life and I am incredibly grateful for your friendships.
Our neighbors on the legendary Avenue. You guys are too good to be true. It means everything that we have each other’s backs the way that we do. Thank you for the bonfires, kickball games, crab fests, Halloween and everything in between. It really does take a village and ours is stellar.
Someone who dedicated her life to community, emphasis on unity— Judith Peters Beattie, or as I knew her, Mrs. Beattie. She may have passed away this year at ninety-five-years-young, but her spirit lives on in the hearts of so many. She will forever be in mine.
One Love
For my man.
1
SALT-LACED SWEAT seeped across my lips and hit the tip of my tongue. Pretty much running on empty, it was just the jolt I needed. My taste buds enjoyed the kick, so I licked a bit more, then sucked in a colossal breath, desperate to get enough oxygen at such a wicked elevation. I was born and raised at sea level, and this gargantuan wilderness somewhere between Cusco and Lake Titicaca, up near twelve thousand feet, was swallowing me. I was on my own with the moth-sized mosquitoes, monstrous spiders and smothering humidity and heat. Beads of perspiration trickled down my face, moistening the neck of my t-shirt. With blistered feet, breaths inconsistent and deep, I yearned for some of that thick, juicy oxygen I was used to back in Virginia.
Slammed up against the side of a mountain, I scaled along a muddy path, barely two feet wide. It was as if the entire sce
ne had been plucked from a fantasy film and planted into the story of my life. To my left was a drop so immeasurable I couldn't bear to look down, but when I did, what I saw astounded and confused me: a neon-colored watermelon with purple, bloodshot eyes came to life. I watched as it tumbled down the mountainside in slow motion, smashing to smithereens on the rock candy-like ravine far below. That was exactly what could happen to my head if I wasn’t careful.
Stepping backwards out of my own body, my right foot slipped on a patch of wet limestone, sending me careening over the edge. I grabbed for the ground, plastering both arms to the rain-slicked path, but when I felt my legs dangling over the cliff's edge, I knew I was doomed. My fingers dug desperately into the dirt but couldn't find a grip. The waterlogged skin of my fingertips tore off, and in the blink of an eye, I lost my hold on the earth. I plummeted, terrified. Ricocheting off rocks, I took a gash straight to the bone on my left arm. The cold air singed the tissue of the exposed muscle and I thought I was screaming my insides out, but there was no sound.
My body collapsed back against the wall of mud and exposed roots and I crumpled to the ground, grabbing at my arm. There were no gashes— my flesh felt fine. Better than fine. Marvelously smooth and sparkly, like diamonds. The sting of sweat trickling into my eyeballs combined with the potent Peruvian sun made me squint. I tried to blink thoughts away but my confusion only got worse. Black clouds rolled into my consciousness, bullying the innocent white ones off into someone else's dreams.
The rain began as a sprinkle, and then the concussive sound of thunder hit. The storm rolled in quickly, shifting from oppressive heat to a wet cold. I undid the latch of the strap across my chest and yanked off the eggplant-colored canvas backpack. I pulled out the rubbery hooded raincoat that I'd picked up at the outfitters in Lima and put it on. With my arms squeezing the backpack tight, I curled into a ball right there on the side of the mountain and waited for the storm to pass. If this mountainside had been through so many storms before and was still standing, then I figured I’d be fine as long as I blended in with it, chameleon style. But then, as the dagger-like rain began to strike my body, the cold became unbearable. I grabbed the emergency blanket I had packed and wrapped myself in it, fearing I might freeze if the storm didn't end before nightfall. I shivered inside my soggy cocoon, teeth clanking uncontrollably, arms plastered to my body as I hugged myself, covered in goosebumps the size of pimples. All I could think about was getting to a lower elevation... if I could just survive the night.
The whole point of the trip was to get to The Seneca Society's Hub 48 entrance on Lake Titicaca and find my dad. I was determined to see if he was really there, and to finally discover the deeper, hidden secrets of this subterranean, technologically-advanced world. I had the coordinates for the covert entrance point, but somehow I’d become inexplicably disoriented. Now I was lost in the middle of nowhere, practically beaten to a pulp and starting to doubt my ability to find Hub 48 after all. And to make matters worse, I was disconnected from the data grid, without access to the superhighway of information and the network of people that could help me figure out the right way to go. All the planning I had done and the materials I had collected for this trip, now stored in my encrypted Veil, were completely inaccessible.
My Veil was my lifeline, everything— and I mean everything— important was there. It had the recognition data I’d borrowed from my friend, Brittany Gilroy, the daughter of a Seneca Senator, to get me into the Aboves in the first place, and keep me untraceable. It had all the maps I needed to find my way. It stored my passwords, health records, personal contact information... literally everything that meant anything to me. But now the harsh reality of making a successful trek while being completely off the grid was beginning to sink in. What if no one finds me out here?
My FlexOculi was going bananas. Up to this point I’d only had the experience of using it to project computerized images in front of my eyes on command. It was doing its own thing now, blasting disturbing imagery at me. It felt so real I couldn’t tell whether or not it was. I was suddenly in this vortex of wet trees and vines that shapeshifted like flexers, all with minds of their own. Was my flexer implant letting me see an alternate dimension or was my mind playing tricks on me? It had been a hard decision to implant the flex into my body. The ways it enhanced and expanded my own human capabilities had proven many times over to be well worth the high risk that came with the invasive implant procedure. I thought this device inside me could be trusted even more than the people I loved, but now I was second guessing everything.
Which brought me back to thinking about my dad. Had he really chosen a life in Seneca over one with my mom and me? I had to believe that wasn't the case but I was desperate to find out. And Dom— man, did I love Dom. And now I’d lost him, too, without ever getting the chance to tell him how I felt.
Dom and I had been back together for two whole months after the debate— sort of the Bonnie and Clyde of the Seneca Education and Research Center, or as we called it, S.E.R.C. I was addicted to the butterflies and he was addicted to my butt— always grabbing it. Let me be clear: if anyone else, ever, in my entire life, had grabbed my butt, I seriously would have roundhouse kicked them. But, with Dom, it was different. It let me see a playful side to a guy that was always so intense. I felt accomplished in some strange way, to have brought out that side of him. But it was serious business when he kissed me. Like he had this whole world to give. I never knew a kiss could have that power.
I craved his kiss again as I lay on the mountainside. The sting of salt on my lips reminded me of the last time I had been moved by Dom's touch, before everything had come crashing down.
2
FROM THE FIRST moment I saw Blue Combat Boots, I was consumed beyond reason, which was completely out of character for me. Dominic Ambrosia. His essence is so powerful that it stays with me, even when we’re apart. It's weird how I can wish I’d never met him, but at the same time want to be with him like crazy. The hours spent together had always vanished as if no time had passed, and in those moments I’d let myself go. I’d become hooked.
During Operation Crystal, I was engulfed in this fully-fledged Dom-fog. The job of deactivating illegal nanobots appearing in the blood of Senecans had been assigned to Dom and me by Seneca's governing body, the Seneca Senate. Our discovery of this scheme by underhanded Senecans was a huge coup, but it also ended up being incredibly dangerous for us. Some of the individuals who’d spearheaded the use of the nanobots had been members of Seneca Observation and Intelligence League— S.O.I.L., the internal Seneca organization that was still in charge of security there. They had decided that Dom and I were a threat to their systems and attempted to have us exiled to the Aboves. Ultimately, after a huge fight to stay in Seneca, we came under the protection of the Seneca Senate, and that’s when they put us to work in Operation Crystal, eliminating the nanobots. I should have been completely focused on the task at hand, but I was mesmerized by Dom and that totally affected my thinking.
Here and now, in South America, I tried my darndest to shove Dom out of my thoughts so I could use my flagging energy to navigate out of the wilderness. Thoughts of him kept haunting me, though. Curled up inside my soaked gear, I even believed I heard his voice echo through the thunder, "Doro!" It jostled me— it sounded perfectly authentic. Could he really be here?
"I love you, Doro!"
I peeked out of my hood but I couldn't see him. Was I delirious? It wouldn’t be the first time on this trek I thought I’d seen or heard something that wasn’t real.
"Dom?"
"I'm staying right here with you, no matter what."
Whoever was messing with me, it had to end. "Stop!" I screamed. "Please, just stop!"
"Don't shut me out, Doro, I need to help get you through this—"
But I was shutting down. I felt a disconnect between my mind and body. I couldn’t push the words out of my mouth because I couldn’t even find the right ones. My eyes burned and I could barely lift my h
eavy head.
"I don't understand what's happening!"
"We can try and make sense of everything that happened between us later. Right now we need to get you to safety!"
"Dom?!"
"Doro, I need you to follow my directions, okay?"
I nodded my head.
"There's a cave ahead. I am going to guide you there."
"I can't!" I shook my head hard.
"You can!"
"No! I'm frozen!" My teeth chattered uncontrollably as I yelled gibberish out into the storm.
"I know, I know. God, I wish so badly that I could warm you up right now. I'm sorry, Doro, I'm so sorry."
My consciousness began to fade. Dom's presence waned as I slipped out of my body one moment and then back in the next, wedged between what felt like my reality and some other realm I couldn’t recognize or define.
"If you don't get out of this freezing rain, you’ll die!" Dom’s cries rippled with panic. Was his voice just a figment of my imagination? As hard as I could, I tried to force my eyelids to part. A splattering of rain and dirt smacked me in the face. I wiped the gritty mess away with the back of my cold, wet, rubbery sleeve. A sudden drive to survive at any cost surged through me.
A six-inch, hologram FigureFlex version of Dom, was suddenly projected in front of me. He was one thousand percent focused on me. His presence was so lucid that for a wrinkle in time I forgot where I was. I was with Dom and he was with me and nothing else mattered. I tried to speak but the sound I emitted was garbled.